Читать книгу Poppy Ott’s Seven-League Stilts - Leo Edwards - Страница 4

CHAPTER I. POPPY AND I DO SOME TOOTING

Poppy Ott had me guessing. Every time I went to his house I caught him with his nose in a thick-backed book. Or if he wasn’t up to his ears in the new book he was fiddling with a home-made drawing board. Curious to know what he was doing, I tried to get a peek at his work. But he kept his drawing board hid. Nor would he let me see his book until I cornered him about it one day.

“What is it,” says I, “an arithmetic?”

“What’s what?” says he, pretending not to understand what I was driving at.

“The book that you’re packing away on the inside of your head,” says I.

“Oh!...” says he, looking out of the window at a yellow tomcat. “Isn’t it a nice day?”

“Of course it is,” says I. “But I wasn’t talking about the weather. I was talking about the book that you hurried out of sight when you saw me coming. What kind of a book is it?”

He grinned. For he saw that I had him cornered. But instead of answering me he picked up a copy of a weekly magazine.

“Just notice the hundreds of advertisements,” says he, letting the pages run through his fingers.

“What of it?” says I, wondering if this was another trick of his to sidetrack me.

He stopped at a full-page radio advertisement.

“What do you suppose it costs the advertiser,” says he, “to get an advertisement like that printed in one issue of the magazine?”

“A hundred dollars?” says I.

He looked at me as though I had said something dumb.

“A hundred dollars! Jerry, it costs five thousand dollars.”

“Back up,” says I.

“It’s a fact. I’ve been reading about it.”

“Ah-ha!” says I, sort of triumphant-like. “So that’s what you’ve been studying, hey? An advertising book!”

I wasn’t surprised. For he’s naturally a deep kid. And I could understand easily enough how an advertising book would strike his fancy.

“I’ve always been interested in advertising,” says he earnestly. “I like to read the advertisements in the magazines. With so much money being spent on advertising each year–millions and millions of dollars–it seems to me that there ought to be some fine chances for a young fellow in the business. And it’s work I’d like to take up. I’m quite sure of that.”

“You’re a funny kid,” says I.

“Funny!” says he, looking at me.

“An old advertising book wouldn’t interest me,” says I. “Besides, this advertising stuff that you’re spouting about is a man’s work. And you’re nothing but a boy.”

“I’m growing up fast,” says he, in his steady, thoughtful way. “And a fellow has got to look ahead if he’s going to amount to anything.”

I yawned.

“Let’s go swimming,” says I. “That’s more fun than studying advertising.”

“Wait a minute,” says he, as I started for the door. “I want to show you something.”

He got out his drawing board then in further confidence in me.

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