CHAPTER V
CARMEL was not long in discovering Gibeon’s attitude toward advertising. The local merchants regarded it much as they did taxes, thedull season, so called (for in Gibeon’s business world there were only two seasons, the dull and the busy) and inventory sales. All were inevitable, in the course of nature, and things which always had and always would happen. One advertised, not with enthusiasm and in expectancy of results, but because men in business did advertise. Smith Brothers’ grocery bore reluctantly the expense of a four-inch double-column display which was as unchanging as the laws of the Medes and Persians. It stated, year in and year out, that Smith Brothers were the headquarters for staple and fancy groceries. The advertisement was as much a part of their business as the counter. The Busy Big Store was more energetic; its copy was changed every year on the 1st of January. Seven years before, Miss Gammidge let it be known through the columns of theFree Pressthat she was willing to sell to the public millinery and fancy goods, and that statement appeared every week thereafter without change of punctuation mark. The idea that one attracted business by means of advertising was one which had not penetrated Gibeon, advertising was abusiness rite, just as singing the Doxology was an indispensable item in the service of the local Presbyterian church. It was done, as cheaply and inconspicuously as possible, and there was an end of it.
As for subscribers, they were hereditary. Just as red hair ran in certain families, subscribing to the paper ran in others. It is doubtful if anybody took in the paper because he wanted it; but it was tradition for some to have theFree Press, and therefore they subscribed. It was useful for shelf covering. Red hair is the exception rather than the rule; so were subscribing families.
Carmel pondered deeply over these facts. If, she said to herself, all the merchants advertised as they should advertise, and if all the inhabitants who should subscribe did subscribe, then theFree Presscould be made a satisfactorily profitable enterprise. How might these desirable results be obtained? She was certain subscribers might be gotten by making the paper so interesting that nobody could endure to wait and borrow his neighbor’s copy; but how to induce merchants to advertise she had not the remotest idea.
There was the bazaar, for instance, which did not advertise at all; the bank did not advertise; the two photographers did not advertise; the bakery did not advertise. She discussed the matter with Tubal and Simmy, who were not of the least assistance, though very eager. She did not discuss it with Prof. Evan Bartholomew Pell because that member of the staff was engaged in writing a snappy, heart-grippingarticle on the subject of “Myths and Fables Common to Peoples of Aryan Derivation.” It was his idea of up-to-date journalism, and because Carmel could think of nothing else to set him to work at, she permitted him to continue.
“Advertising pays,” she said to Tubal. “How can I prove it to these people?”
“Gawd knows, Lady. Jest go tell ’em. Mebby they’ll believe you.”
“They won’t b’lieve nothin’ thatcosts,” said Simmy, with finality.
“I’m going out to solicit advertising,” she said, “and I’m not coming back until I get something.”
“Um!... G’-by, Lady. Hope we see you ag’in.”
In front of the office Carmel hesitated, then turned to the left. The first place of business in that direction was identified by a small black-and-gold sign protruding over the sidewalk, making it known that here one might obtain the handiwork of Lancelot Bangs, Photographer. In glass cases about the doors were numerous specimens of Lancelot’s art, mostly of cabinet size, mounted on gilt-edged cards. Mr. Bangs, it would appear, had few ideas as to the posturing of his patrons. Gentlemen, photographed alone, were invariably seated in a huge chair, the left hand gripping the arm, inexorably, the right elbow leaning upon the other arm, and the head turned slightly to one side as if the sitter were thinking deep thoughts of a solemn nature. Ladies stood, one foot advanced, hands clasped upon the stomachin order that the wedding ring might show plainly; with chins dipped a trifle downward and eyes lifted coyly, which, in dowagers of sixty, with embonpoints and steel-rimmed spectacles, gave a highly desirable effect.
Carmel studied these works of art briefly and then climbed the uncarpeted stairs. Each step bore upon its tread a printed cardboard sign informative of some business or profession carried on in the rooms above, such as Jenkins & Hopper, Fire Insurance; Warren P. Bauer, D.D.S., and the like. The first door at the top, curtained within, was labeled Photographic Studio, and this Carmel entered with some trepidation, for it was her first business call. As the door swung inward a bell sounded in the distance. Carmel stood waiting.
Almost instantly a youngish man appeared from behind a screen depicting a grayish-blue forest practically lost to view in a dense fog. At sight of Carmel he halted abruptly and altered his bearing and expression to one of elegant hospitality. He settled his vest cautiously, and passed his hand over his sleek hair daintily to reassure himself of its perfect sleekness. Then he bowed.
“A-aa-ah.... Good morning!” he said, tentatively.
“Mr. Bangs?”
“The same.”
“I am Miss Lee, proprietor of theFree Press.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Lee, though, of course, I knew who you were right off.I guess everybody in town does,” he added. “We don’t have many move here that would photograph as well as you would—bust or full length.... What kin I do for you?”
“I came to talk to you about advertising in theFree Press.”
“Advertising!” Manifestly he was taken aback. “Why, I haven’t ever advertised. Haven’t anythin’ to advertise. I just take pictures.”
“Couldn’t you advertise that?”
“Why—everybody knows I take pictures. Be kind of funny to tell folks what everybody knows.” He laughed at the humor of it in a very genteel way.
“You would like to take more pictures than you do, wouldn’t you? To attract more business.”
“Can’t be done.”
“Why?”
“Wa-al, folks don’t get their pictures taken like they buy flour. Uh-uh!... They got to have a reason to have ’em taken—like a weddin’, or an engagement, or gettin’ to be sixty year old, or suthin’ sim’lar. No. Folks in Gibeon don’t just go off and get photographed on the spur of the moment, like you might say. They hain’t got anyreasonto.”
“There are lots of people here who have never been photographed, aren’t there?”
“Snags of ’em.”
“Then why not induce them to do it at once?”
“Can’t be done, no more’n you can induce a man to have a weddin’ anniversary when he hain’t got one.”
“I believe it could. I think we could put the idea into their heads and then offer them inducements to do it right off.”
He shook his head stubbornly and glanced down at the crease in his trousers. Carmel’s eyes twinkled as she regarded him, for he was quite the dressiest person she had seen in Gibeon. He was painstakingly dressed, laboriously dressed. He was so much dressed that you became aware of his clothes before you became aware of him.
“Mr. Bangs,” she said, “you look to me like a man who is up to the minute—like a man who would never let a chance slip past him.”
“Folks do give me credit for keepin’ my eyes open.”
“Then I believe I can make you a proposition you can’t refuse. I just want to prove to you what advertising can do for your business. Now, if you will let me write an ad for you, and print it, I can show you, and I know it. How much are your best cabinet photographs?”
“Twelve dollars a dozen.”
“Would there be a profit at ten dollars?”
“Some—some.”
“Then let me advertise that for a week you will sell your twelve-dollar pictures for ten. The advertisement will cost five dollars. If my advertisement brings you enough business so your profit will be double that amount, you are to pay for the ad. If it is less, you needn’t pay.... But if it does bring in so many customers, you must agree to runyour ad every week for three months.... Now, I—Idareyou to take a chance.”
Now there was one thing upon which Lancelot Bangs prided himself, and that was his willingness to take a chance. He had been known to play cards for money, and the horse races of the vicinity might always count upon him as a patron. Beside that, he had a natural wish to impress favorably this very pretty girl whose manner and clothes and bearing coincided with his ideal of a “lady.”
“I’ll jest go you once,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said, and was turning toward the door when Lancelot arrested her.
“Er—I wonder if I could get your opinion?” he said. “You come from where folks know what’s what.... This suit, now.” He turned completely around so she might view it from all sides. “How does it stand up alongside the best dressers where you come from?”
“It—it is very impressive, Mr. Bangs.”
“Kind of figgered it would be. Had it made to order. Got a reputation to keep up, even though there’s them that tries to undermine it. Folks calls me the best-dressed man in Gibeon, and I feel it’s my duty to live up to it.... Well, I ain’t vain. Jest kind of public duty. Now George, he’s set out to be the best-dressed man, and so’s Luke. That’s why I got this suit and this shirt and tie. I aim to show ’em.”
“I should say you were doing it,” said Carmel. “And who are Luke and George?”
“George Bogardus is the undertaker, and Luke Smiley clerks in the bank.”
“I haven’t seen them,” said Carmel, “but I’m certain you haven’t the least cause for worry.”
“Would you call this suitgenteel?”
“That’s the word. It is exactly the word. It—it’s the most genteel suit I ever saw.”
She was about to leave when a rapping on the back door of the studio attracted Mr. Bangs’s attention, and attracted it so peculiarly that Carmel could not but remark it with something more than curiosity. If one can have suspicion of an individual one does not know, with whose life and its ramifications she is utterly unaware, Carmel was suspicious of Mr. Bangs. It was not an active suspicion—it was a vague suspicion. It resembled those vague odors which sometimes are abroad in the air, odors too faint to be identified, so adumbrant one cannot be sure there is an odor at all.... Mr. Bangs, who had been the picture of self-satisfaction, became furtive. For the first time one ceased to be aware of his clothes and focused upon his eyes....
“Er—pardon me a moment,” he said, in a changed voice, and made overrapid progress to answer the knock. It was inevitable that Carmel’s ears should become alert.
She heard a door opened and the entrance of a man who spoke in an attempted whisper, but not a successful whisper. It was as if a Holstein bull had essayed to whisper.
“Sh-sssh!” warned Mr. Bangs.
“It’s here,” said the whisper. “Back your jitney into the first tote road this side of the hotel, and then mosey off and take a nap. Everything’ll be fixed when you git back.”
“Sh-sssh!” Mr. Bangs warned a second time.
Carmel heard the door open and close again, and Mr. Bangs returned.
“Express Parcel,” he said, with that guilty air which always accompanies the unskillful lie.
The zest for selling advertising space had left Carmel; she wanted to think, to be alone and to consider various matters. She felt a vague apprehension, not as to herself, but of something malign, molelike, stealthy, which dwelt in the atmosphere surrounding Gibeon. Perfunctorily she took her leave, and, instead of pursuing her quest, returned to her desk and sat there staring at the picture above her head.
Gibeon! She was thinking about Gibeon. The town had ceased to be a more or less thriving rural community, peopled by simple souls who went about their simple, humdrum round of life pleasantly, if stodgily. Rather the town and its people became a protective covering, a sort of camouflage to conceal the real thing which enacted itself invisibly. She wondered if Gibeon itself realized. It seemed not to. It laughed and worked and went to church and quarreled about line fences and dogs and gossiped about its neighbors as any other town did.... Perhaps, unaccustomed to the life, excited by new environment, she had given too great freedom to her imagination.... She did not believe so. No.Something was going on; some powerful evil influence was at work, ruthless, malevolent. Its face was hidden and it left no footprints. It was capable of murder!... What was this thing? What was its purpose? What activity could include the doing away with a sheriff and the services of a rural fop like Lancelot Bangs?...
Carmel was young. She was dainty, lovely. Always she had been shielded and protected and petted—which, fortunately, had not impaired the fiber of her character.... Now, for the first time, she found herself staring into the white, night eyes of one of life’s grim realities; knew herself to be touched by it—and the knowledge frightened her....
Evan Bartholomew Pell stayed her unpleasant thoughts, and she was grateful to him.
“Miss Lee—I have—ah—been engaged upon a computation of some interest—academically. It is, of course, based upon an arbitrary hypothesis—nevertheless it is instructive.”
“Yes,” said Carmel, wearily.
“We take for our hypothesis,” said Evan, “the existence of a number of men willing to evade or break the law for profit. Having assumed the existence of such an association, we arrive upon more certain ground.... Our known facts are these. Intoxicating liquor is prohibited in the United States. Second, intoxicants may be bought freely over the Canadian line. Third, the national boundary is some twenty miles distant. Fourth, whisky, gin, et cetera, command exceedingly high prices in the UnitedStates. I am informed liquor of excellent quality commands as much as a hundred dollars per dozen bottles, and less desirable stock up to fifty and seventy-five dollars. Fifth, these same liquors may be bought for a fraction of that cost across the line. Now, we arrive at one of our conclusions. The hypothetical association of lawless men, provided they could smuggle liquor into this country, would realize a remarkable percentage of profit. Deducting various costs, I estimate the average profit per dozen bottles would approximate thirty-five dollars. I fancy this is low rather than excessive. One thousand cases would fetch a profit of thirty-five thousand dollars.... Let us suppose an efficient company engaged in the traffic. They would smuggle into the country a thousand cases a month.... In that case their earnings would total three hundred and fifty thousand dollars.... Ahem!... Interesting, is it not?”
“Yes,” said Carmel, “but what set you thinking about it?”
Evan peered at her gravely through his spectacles, as he might peer at some minute zoological specimen through a microscope, and was long in replying.
“I—er—was merely wondering,” he said, “if a life of lawlessness could not offer greater rewards than—ah—respectable journalism.”
“Are you proposing that I become a—rum runner?”
“Not exactly,” said Evan Bartholomew, “not precisely. I was, so to speak, offering you an opportunityto exercise your reason.... If exercise is salubrious for the body, why not for the mind?” He cleared his throat and turned his back upon her abruptly.
“The various sciences you have studied,” she said, sharply, “did not include good manners.”
“As I understand it,” said Evan, “our relations are not social, but purely of a business nature. If I am in error, I beg you to correct me.”
Carmel smiled. What a strange, self-centered, egotistical little creature he was! So this was what became of infant prodigies.... They dried up into dusty intellect, lived for intellect alone; became a species of hermit living in social poverty in the cave of their own skulls!
“I cannot,” she said, “fancy you in any relation which remotely approximated social.”
“H’m!” said Professor Pell.