Читать книгу Andy Blake's Comet Coaster - Edward Edson Lee - Страница 7

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Andy was warmly praised for the quick, concise work that he did on the Warman campaign. It was extremely creditable work, Mr. Hatch commended, as he carefully checked over each individual piece. The layouts were nicely balanced; many of them were catchy and clever; the copy was sound and sensible.

“As a matter of fact, Blake,” the executive went farther with his compliments, “the caliber of your work, considering your age and experience, is a pleasing surprise to me. You show a great deal of originality, a splendid personal asset, I might say, in advertising work, yet you couple this with desirable good sense. I had planned on going to Manton with you, to help present the campaign to the carriage company, but from what I’ve seen of your work here I’m convinced that you won’t need me. So you’re on your own, my boy! And the sooner you come back from Manton with the contract the better pleased I’ll be.”

The junior partner’s praise of his work was a pleasing surprise to Andy. He had expected cynical criticism. For throughout the agency Mr. Hatch had the unpleasant reputation of being a chronic fault finder. A “comma hound” is what some of the scornful experienced copy writers called him, meaning that if he could find nothing of importance to pick to pieces in their copy he would question the use of commas in certain paragraphs. But not a single comma had been “killed” in Andy’s copy. Happy, the younger one was also a trifle dazed over his unexpected good fortune.

What had greatly aided the young advertising man in his current work was his enthusiasm, the underlying force of which, of course, was his new friendship with the three Manton young men and his still earnest desire to become associated with them.

Friday morning at ten o’clock Andy left Chicago for Manton, arriving in the little manufacturing town shortly after the noon hour. George Warman was waiting at the depot, having been advised by telegraph of the advertising man’s intended visit and its purpose. There was a warm light in both pairs of eyes as the young men again clasped hands.

“Well,” laughed Andy, tossing his portfolio of advertising suggestions into the rear seat of the waiting automobile, “this is the day we start the big show.”

Arriving at the factory, from which came the drone of woodworking machinery, thus telling of resumed operations, the visitor was taken directly into the manager’s private office.

“Granddad,” George introduced, “this is Mr. Andrew Blake, a member of the Rollins and Hatch advertising firm of Chicago. He’s here at my request to show us how we can use advertising in our business.”

Forewarned, as it were, Mr. Warman had come to certain reflective decisions. His crony, Mr. May, was right. He was getting too old to run the carriage business. It was a burden for younger shoulders. But it was characteristic of the stubborn old gentleman to now want to hold off. So there was nothing friendly in his narrowed eyes as the campaign was presented to him piece by piece.

Andy talked briefly of the integrity of his company, then jumped into a recital of the very probable opportunities that lay within the scope of intensive advertising in the carriage manufacturing field. Quoting Mr. Hatch’s figures, he gave the number of horses on farms in the United States, dwelling on the minor decrease in the past two years, his point being that where there were carriage horses there obviously was a carriage market. Intensive advertising in the leading midwestern agricultural magazines would enable the Warman company to get the lion’s share of the carriage business. A mailing list could be built up of the names of the people who had sent in inquiries, and when the inquiries were not immediately turned into orders the prospects could be circularized regularly with business-pulling direct-by-mail pieces.

In discussing his marketing chart, Andy explained the helpful relation of the proposed advertising to the work of the local dealer. He submitted suggested page advertisements, reading the copy aloud. Further, he quoted magazine circulation figures, advertising rates, estimated the cost of engravings and composition, explained in detail how each part of the work would be handled. Knowing his subject, his earnest words came easily and carried an air of conviction.

“Blake has the right dope, Granddad,” George spoke up when Andy had completed his presentation of the campaign. “His advertising scheme, as you can see, is common-sense stuff. It will enable us to get on our feet.”

“Humph! Who’s going to pay for this advertising?”

“We will, of course.”

“‘We?’” the old man knit his shaggy eyebrows. “Who do you mean by ‘we?’”

“The company,” said George.

“There’s no ‘we’ in this company. I’m the company,” came dryly.

The grandson’s face flushed.

“I said ‘we’ because I work here and take an interest in the business. You know what I mean.”

“How much is this advertising going to cost?”

“Thirty thousand dollars.”

The old man’s voice changed to a sharper pitch.

“Thirty thousand dollars for a lot of advertising folderol? No, no!”

“Granddad, I won’t let you turn this thing down. You don’t understand what it means to me. It’s my chance. And there’s Harnden and Tim Dine. You know about our plans. If you kill the advertising scheme Tim will leave us and go to work for the Rainbow Tire Company. Harnden will leave, too, and get a job where he has a future. There’s no future for him here, the way things stand. There’s no future for any of us. What we are trying to do is to make a future for ourselves.”

This sensible speech pleased the old gentleman, but he carefully concealed his inner feelings.

“I couldn’t sleep last night from thinking of what was liable to happen to the business if you turned down the coming advertising plan. It seemed to me that I could hear the factory machinery turning slower and slower. Then everything was still. The machinery had stopped. I could see in imagination the old workmen come out of the factory for the last time. The gate creaked as the watchman closed and locked it. The business was dead.”

“Thirty thousand dollars isn’t to be picked up on every street corner.”

“Thirty thousand dollars is a lot of money, I know. But think of the good it will do if we invest in advertising, as Blake so sensibly recommends. It will multiply our orders. Instead of having the business divided between ten or a dozen struggling carriage companies, as now, we’ll get practically all of it.”

“Yes, and the advertising expense will eat up the profits. So what have you gained?”

“We may not make a profit this year. But we’ll get started right. And next year—”

The old gentleman arose in interruption, reaching for his hat and cane.

“Granddad, I’m not going to let you cheat me out of my chance of making good in this factory. You’re going to sign Blake’s contract.”

“GRANDDAD, YOU’RE GOING TO SIGN BLAKE’S CONTRACT.”

“I won’t,” the manufacturer thumped his desk.

“Yes, you will,” the grim-faced grandson as vigorously thumped in turn.

The elder one’s cane reached out and craftily pushed forward a fresh sheet of fly paper. Straightway the thumping grandson found himself in a predicament.

“Excuse me for coming in without rapping, Herm,” the banker’s pursy voice came from the doorway, “but from the commotion in here I figured that you might be needing my help.” The visitor’s eyes twinkled. “What’s the matter with Sonny?—is he having a fit?”

“No,” George furiously tore at the sticky fly paper, resenting the intrusion, “I’m not having a fit.”

“He’s trying to get thirty thousand dollars out of me.”

It quickly occurred to the grandson to enlist the banker’s aid. “Blake is here with an advertising proposition, Mr. May. It will put our business back on its feet. But Granddad won’t listen to reason. Oh, blast it all! Plague take this blamed fly paper!”

Gripping his cane, the old manufacturer winked at his crony and the two men passed from the room, leaving the grandson the picture of despair.

“Blake, I guess it’s all off. I’m sorry. I thought that I could get Granddad to see the light. I’m through arguing with him. From now on the business can go to pot for all I care.”

While Andy was gathering up his rejected material the door flew open.

“Hurray!” cried the excited bookkeeper, dancing into the room. “Here’s the contract. Mr. Warman signed it in the outer office.”

“Let me see it,” cried the amazed grandson.

“They say that all’s well that ends well,” Andy laughed nervously, recovering his spirits, “but if I may be privileged to speak my mind, I must say that your grandfather’s way of doing business is hard on a fellow’s heart.”

George’s face was aglow.

“There isn’t another granddad like him in the whole world,” he spoke in a voice that was warm with affection. “About the time he carries his bluff to the point where I want to hate him, he usually turns around in his queer way, as to-day, and does the thing I least expect, thus causing me to love him more than ever. He’s been like that as far back as I can remember.”

It was then suggested by Harnden that they look up Tim Dine and tell him the good news.

“While you’re doing that,” said Andy, “I’ll get the agency on long distance. For everything is in shape for a quick get-away.”

“Atta-boy!” cried George. “That’s the way to talk. What we want now is speed, and nothing else but.”