Andy Blake in advertising

Front matter

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I

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Chapter I

Summer came down the peaceful valley and with kindly warmth gladdened the fields and gardens made green and hardy by the magic touch of spring. It entered the hearts of men and women, and the hearts of youth, bringing laughter and contentment. It built up thoughts of things worth struggling for and simultaneously fanned the fires of optimism and determination.

Andy Blake was conscious of the lure of summer; and to release the joy that swelled in his heart he merrily whistled the final measures of “How you going to keep them down on the farm?” as the motor delivery wagon that he was driving rattled along Cressfield’s main street. Having completed his last delivery trip for the day he was in high feather. Soon he would be 1 headed for home. At the thought of supper he became keenly alive to an emptiness in the region of his stomach and opened the throttle another notch.

“Good night ! From the way this old bus rattles and squeaks any one would think she was all ready to kick in,” he grinned, slowing up for the alley crossing back of the Landers general store. As he clattered across the sidewalk a boy of the same age raced up from behind and swung on.

“Hello, Chuck,” greeted Andy, making room on the seat for the newcomer.

“Hello, yourself,” puffed Chuck Wilson. “Say, who do you think you are? — Barney Oldfield?”

“I was only going twenty,” grinned Andy.

“You mean forty,” sputtered Chuck.

“Guess you don’t know this old bus very well,” returned Andy. “She sounds a whole lot faster than she really is.”

The car seemed to groan in every one of its rather wobbly joints as Andy applied the brakes. He was about to jump down and open the garage door, with a view of putting the car away for the night, when Denny Landers, the good-na- 2 tured Irish proprietor, poked his red-thatched head out of the back door of the store and called :

“Hey, Andy ! Don’t put the old bus away yet. Sure, Mrs. Charley Corey — the divil take her ! — has just ’phoned in another hurry-up order. She says it’s things she’s got to have to-night. Here’s a slip with the items marked down. Better come in and git the stuff ready. I’d have Miss Cummins do it but she’s busy in the dry goods.”

Andy’s face was stormy as he accepted the slip. When Landers was out of sight he turned to Chuck and growled:

“Darn the Coreys, anyhow! Just because they’re the richest people in town and live on the hill they think they can snap their fingers whenever they please and make other people jump around like a lot of trained monkeys.”

A grin spread over Chuck’s face, setting off the freckles that spotted his red nose. His eyes twinkled mischievously.

“Why don’t you quit your job if you don’t like it?”

“I like my job all right; but I don’t like the idea of making a special trip to the hill every 3 afternoon just about quitting time. Guess it wouldn’t hurt Mrs. Corey to get her orders in on time like other people. Take it from me I’m glad all rich people aren’t as bossy as the Coreys.”

“Well, when you get rich, you can show us how to act,” teased Chuck.

“Aw, shut up, you turkey egg,” retorted Andy, disappearing into the store.

Chuck followed him to the door.

“Hey, Andy, I’ll wait and go with you if you want me to.” »

“All right,” Andy called back, somewhat mollified.

While he was putting up Mrs. Corey’s order, a salesman bustled into the store and attempted to attract the attention of the busy proprietor.

“Sure, it’s a divil of a fine salesman you are to come bobbin’ in here the busiest hour of the day,” grinned Denny Landers. “Shall we talk business and let the people wait on themselves? Or would you mind makin’ yourself to home on that box over there till the rush is over?”

The salesman laughed and set his cases to one side.

“I tell you what I’ll do,” said he, his eyes 4 sparkling boyishly. “Say the word and 111 jump right in and help you out. Selling groceries is ‘pie’ for me. Oh, boy, this is just like old times,” as he yanked off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. In a moment he was behind the counter offering his services to one of the customers. For possibly an instant Denny Landers looked surprised ; then returned to his work with a broad grin.

“He’s a real fellow,” Andy decided. “Say, boy, he’s got a lot of snap ! And he isn’t afraid of getting his hands dirty. The boss is tickled over what he’s doing and that ought to make it easier for him to get an order.” It came to Andy then that salesmanship, after all, is largely a matter of service. He could plainly see that the self-appointed grocery clerk was rendering his prospective customer a service that was bound to create a friendly interest in his goods.

Andy sidled along back of the counter until he was beside the fellow.

“I hope you make a sale,” he encouraged, his eyes expressing frank admiration.

The man flashed him an answering smile as he dived into the sugar barrel.

“Thanks, kid” Then, after a moment: “Do you have much of a call for ribbon goods?”

“Guess so. I don’t know a great deal about the dry goods, though. That’s Miss Cummins’ job. I’m on the delivery wagon mostly. Are you selling ribbons?”

“Yep. That’s my line. I see you handle pretty nearly everything in this store,” glancing around at the crowded shelves. Denny Landers was not the most orderly storekeeper in the world.

Andy grinned.

“We handle everything from peanuts to washing machines,” he said. “This is the biggest store in Cressfield.”

“So I noticed. Been working here long?”

“Started about four years ago, when I was thirteen. During school I only work mornings and evenings.”

By the time Andy had Mrs. Corey’s order ready it was nearly six o’clock.

“W r e’ll make it snappy,” he said to Chuck, as he positioned the spark lever and cranked the motor.

The delivery wagon clattered down Main Street, passing a group of barefooted boys who 6 were kicking along in the dust on their way back to town after a hilarious afternoon at the swimming hole.

“Hi, Andy,” one of the boys shouted, waving his tattered straw hat.

“Give us a ride, Andy. Aw, come on.”

“Toss us something good to eat, Andy.”

The leader of the gang, a grimy-faced boy with mischief sparkling in his black eyes, jumped onto a horse block and yelled :

“Advertising Andy! The billboard king!”

“You loafers! Take it from me you have it pretty soft,” was Andy’s friendly rejoinder as he and Chuck rattled past.

Chuck grinned.

“Guess they’ve got your measure all right on this advertising stuff. You and Bud York ought to go into partnership and write ads for people.”

“Maybe we will one of these fine days,” returned Andy thoughtfully. “Bud’s pretty handy at drawing pictures. We ought to make a good team.”

“Yes, you and Bud make a good pair,” declared Chuck. “He’s forever daubing around with paints at his father’s printing office and 7 you stay home nights and study advertising books. Miss Dick, at the public library, says you can smell a new book on advertising or salesmanship before she gets it unpacked. What are you going to do when you’ve read all her books?”

“By that time I ought to know enough about advertising to get a job in the advertising department of some company. Oh, boy, I’ll be happy when that time comes ! It must be great to be able to get up ads like you see in the magazines. A fellow’s got to know how to go about doing it, too. It isn’t easy. The books I’ve been reading tell about advertising and selling campaigns, and how to write ‘copy’ and plan ‘display,’ and how to make people want to buy what you’ve got to sell, and everything.”

“It sounds like a grind,” yawned Chuck, cocking his feet on the dash. “Guess I’d rather read a ‘High Benton’ story.”

Andy turned in at the most imposing house on the hill. A boy was knocking a tennis ball about in the court between the house and the drive. He stopped to look sullenly and contemptuously at the boys, on the rattling delivery car.

“Hello, sugar-monkey !” he sneered as Andy drove past. “How much are prunes to-day?”

“We’re out of prunes, but we’ve got a few dog biscuits,” retorted Andy. “How many can you gobble down at a meal?”

“Hurrah !” cheered Chuck. “You sure handed him a hot one that time, Andy, old kid.”

Clarence Corey reddened.

“You fat-head! You better learn to keep a civil tongue in your head or I’ll teach you something about manners.”

“You can’t teach what you don’t know,” flared Andy.

Burning with indignation he delivered his groceries at the kitchen door. As he hopped down the steps of the back porch he saw Clarence rounding the corner, gripping the tennis racket menacingly.

“Keep an eye on him, Andy,” cautioned Chuck. “He’d swat you in a minute if he dared. Just because his Dad is an old geezer of a bank president and a church deacon, that stuck-up kid thinks he can get away with murder.”

“If I were Mother I’d quit trading at Landers’ store till he saw fit to hire decent people,” snapped Clarence darkly. He watched his 9 chance and threw the tennis racket, striking Andy on the head as he turned to climb into the delivery wagon. “I guess that’ll teach you to be more polite to your superiors,” he jeered.

For a moment Andy was dazed by the blow; then he started forward with a cry of rage.

“You — you — ” he stammered, beside himself with fury.

“Go on, get out of here, you common truck peddler! When we want your kind on the hill we’ll invite you. And take your trashy gang with you.”

“Say, who are you calling ‘trash’?” yelled Chuck, scrambling out of the delivery wagon with clenched fists.

“Leave him to me, Chuck,” gritted Andy. His quick eye lighted on the lawn hose. Like a flash he grabbed the hose and, turning the nozzle wide open, permitted a stream of cold water to play on the surprised and infuriated Clarence.

“Hey ! Stop that !” yelled Clarence, trying to shield himself by holding his hands, palms outward, in front of him. “You — you lowborn puppy. If you don’t drop that hose I’ll have my father put you in jail.”

“Soak it to him good, Andy,” yelled Chuck, wild with delight.

“This isn’t half what you deserve,” gritted Andy, directing the stream so that Clarence in his white duck trousers and sport shirt was given a thorough drenching. “I ought to take you down and pound the daylights out of you. Call me sugar-monkey, will you?”

“Help! Mother! Help!” screamed Clarence. There was an answering cry from the direction of the house and Andy turned to see an angry woman flying down the steps.

“How dare you play such a wretched trick on my son?” demanded Mrs. Corey.

“He’s always picking on me, Ma,” whined Clarence, his teeth chattering.

“He started it,” declared Andy stoutly, dropping the hose. “He called me sugar-monkey just because I work in a grocery store, and he hit me — ”

“He’s lying, Ma, I didn’t do a thing. He just up and turned the hose on me.”

“When Mr. Corey returns I shall have him report you to Mr. Landers,” threatened Mrs. Corey. Andy tried again to explain, but Mrs. Corey turned indignantly away and listened 11 sympathetically to a highly colored version of the incident from Clarence.

Andy jumped into the delivery wagon and hurriedly drove out of the yard and down the hill.

“Some mess,” he said gloomily, wondering how far Mrs. Corey could go in making trouble for him.

Chuck regarded him anxiously.

“Think she’ll get you canned?” he inquired.

“Like as not. I guess if she threatened to trade somewhere else if Landers didn’t fire me he’d do it. Darn it! I wish I had held my temper.”

On arriving at the store Andy found it empty except for Denny Landers and the ribbon salesman. It was evident that the latter had just signed up the proprietor for an order of ribbons for early delivery.

“I’m a thousand times obliged to you, Mr. Landers,” thanked the salesman, pocketing the order and gathering his samples together. He shot a smile at Andy. “That’s a pretty fine boy you’ve got there.”

A grin spread over the face of the good-natured proprietor and he nodded his head.

“Sure, you’ve said a mouthful. Andy’s a humdinger — the best boy I ever had in the store. A diyil of a time I’d have runnin’ the store if it wasn’t for Andy. Eh, lad?”

Something seemed to bob up in Andy’s throat, choking him. Kind-hearted by nature and responsive to kindness, he had the miserable feeling that he had betrayed the confidence of his employer by permitting his temper to get the better of his judgment.

Denny Landers placed his rough hand in a kindly way on Andy’s shoulder.

“What the divil’s eatin’ you, lad? Sure, you look as though you’ve lost your best friend.”

Andy was utterly miserable but managed to tell his story. Contrary to his expectations Denny Landers did not appear particularly concerned.

“There, there, lad! Forget it! Sure, it’s believin’ you I am that the young ape of a Clarence Corey — bad luck to his tribe! — is deservin’ of the very excellent duckin’ you gave him. And if his old man comes beefin’ around here I’ll give him an earful. But on the other hand, Andy, sure, you better be danged careful in the future. It’s a divil of a lot of trouble you can cause me 13 if you go around duckin’ me best customers. I’d suggest that you do your scrappin’ outside of business.”

Chuck was waiting outside. Andy told him what had happened in the store and the two boys hurried down the street. At the corner they overtook the ribbon salesman, who grinned at Andy in a friendly way.

“If you ever get tired of living in a little town and want to come to the city I’ll get you a job on the fire department — seeing as you’re such a good hand at managing the hose,” he joked.

“Some time I’m coming to the city, but when I do I’m not going to be a fireman,” returned Andy.

“He’s going to be a billboard king,” put in Chuck with a grin.

“What?”

“A billboard king. One of these advertising ginks.”

The salesman laughed heartily.

“An advertising man, eh? That’s fine!” He turned to Andy. “Are you studying advertising?”

Andy explained about the books.

“I don’t know much about advertising but I just want to be an advertising man the worst way,” he said.

“Advertising is a fine business,” encouraged the salesman. “You can’t make a mistake by learning all you can about it. Pretty nearly every business has its advertising problems. I imagine you can get a lot of good dope from books; but, of course, it’s practical experience that counts. What you want to do is to stick to your books and when you’ve covered the subject in that way get a job in the advertising department of some good company. You’ll probably have to start in a small way, but if you’ve got the right kind of stuff in you — and I believe you have — you’ll make good.”

Andy’s eyes sparkled.

“Some day I want to be the advertising manager of a big company,” he confided.

“That’s the way to talk. But to do that you’ve got to dig . Things don’t come easy in this world — the worth-while things, I mean. You’ll need a good practical education, too, so don’t get any foolish ideas in your head about quitting school. And even when you go to the city and take up real work, you better scout 15 around and see if you can locate a night school. Go to the Y.M.C.A. secretary; he’ll get you started in the right direction.

“By the way, I have a little book in my bag that may interest you. It’s mostly about selling ribbons — how to put on special sales, and so on. It’s got a lot of good dope in it.” Opening his grip he produced the book and handed it to Andy, who thanked him. “Oh, you needn’t spread yourself on the ‘thanks’ business. I’m glad to let you have the book. And I hope that one of these days you’ll be advertising manager of one of the biggest corporations in the world. Here’s where I turn for the depot. Well, good-by, boys.”

Chapter II

Andy Blake had lived in Cressfield all his life; and always, as far back as he could remember, he had shared with his mother the little vine-covered cottage that now came into view as he turned from Main Street into Channery Court.

One of Andy’s earliest recollections was the whir of his mother’s sewing machine. The flashing nickeled parts, the thump! thump! of the treadle, the flopping of the belt spelt action to his receptive mind and fascinated him. He liked to be near to watch. As he grew older he came to know r the vital part this sewing machine played in the simple life of the little family, and with the knowledge a determination grew up within him to get a job, not beyond the strength of a small boy, so that he would be earning some money and thereby shorten the hours of his mother’s daily toil.

Andy had no recollection of his father. Mrs. Blake rarely spoke of her husband, and the boy 17 sensed, as he grew older, that his mother’s life had not been wholly happy. His father, it seems, had been by nature a rover, always uneasily conscious of the greener grass on the more distant hill. It was his life insurance that had paid for the little cottage a few months before Andy was born.

Mrs. Blake was in the front yard gathering a bouquet when Andy reached home. She smiled happily when he dashed through the gate and up the walk.

“I’ll bet you’re as hungry as a bear,” she said, running her fingers through his curly hair.

“I’ll say I’m hungry,” returned Andy. With an arm about his mother’s waist he kept step with her until they reached the kitchen door. “Something smells awfully good,” he sniffed.

“Pshaw! You brag of my cooking so often it’s getting to be a habit,” joked his mother.

“As though you aren’t the best cook and the bulliest mother in the whole town,” returned Andy proudly.

Two days later Andy hauled a couple of big boxes from the freight house to the store and when he opened the boxes he was astonished to find that they were both filled with rolls of rib- 18 bon. There seemed to be hundreds of the rolls, of many colors and widths. He could not understand why his employer had purchased such an enormous quantity of the material.

“What the divil — ” exclaimed Denny Landers when Andy called his attention to the contents of the boxes. “Sure, am I dreamin’ or is it ribbons I see by the millions of yards? Divil take the man who says I ordered all these ribbons. Wait a minute, Andy, while I take a peek at the order.” A moment later he returned with a copy of the order the salesman had left with him. His face was the picture of dismay. “Sure, Andy, it’s a big mistake I’ve made. The order calls for rolls and it ought to be yards. There’s more stuff here than we can sell in two years. Sure, we’ll send the whole shootin’-match back to the wholesale house and have them send on another shipment. That’ll be easier than tryin’ to pick out what we need and checkin’ up everything.”

Andy knew very little about ribbons but he was impressed by the beauty of the material in the two boxes. He unrolled a few feet from several of the spools and let the ribbons dangle over his coat sleeves.

“ Jingo! Aren’t they pretty, though? And wouldn’t the girls go crazy over the stuff? I wonder — ” The thought that flashed into his mind caused him to catch his breath.

“Gee-miny ! Why can’t we have a ribbon sale? That would be better than sending the stuff back. I could fix up an ad for the Gazette ; and we could have a ribbon display in the window just like it tells about in the little book the salesman gave me.”

When Denny Landers heard Andy’s propose tion he scratched his head thoughtfully.

“Sure, Andy, do you think we can do it?”

“I’m sure we can, Mr. Landers,” assured Andy enthusiastically. “You know how everybody reads the Gazette ; and if we fix up an ad telling about the ribbons, and have some on display in the window, we’ll have every woman and girl in town wanting to buy them.”

“It’s a divil of a lot I don’t know about advertising, Andy.”

“Oh, I’ll do that, Mr. Landers. I want to do it. I’m just tickled to death to get the chance. And I’ll get Chuck Wilson to help me on the window and Bud York and I’ll work out a blinger of an ad for the newspaper.”

Denny Landers smiled whimsically.

“Sure, it’s a bug you are on this advertising stuff, I see. Advertising Andy ! Well, lad, pitch in. I’m willin’ to take a whirl at it if you fix up the advertising. And what we don’t sell we’ll send back.”

It was plain that Landers had no great measure of confidence in the possible success of Andy’s proposed sale. He had built up his business by dint of hard work and long hours. No one had tried to show him how he could use advertising to increase sales or give prestige to his business. In fact he knew very little about advertising, except as it came to his attention in a casual way.

That night after supper Andy pocketed his ribbon book and hurried down to the Gazette office to tell his friend Bud York about the scheme. Bud’s father was editor and manager of Cressfield’s weekly newspaper, and as Bud frequently helped his father set type for the advertisements that appeared in the newspaper, Andy figured that he would be able to offer some good suggestions regarding the proposed ribbon advertisement. As he turned in at the printing office he encountered Chuck Wilson.

“Why all the rush?” inquired Chuck.

“Fall in behind and you’ll find out,” returned Andy.

Bud had a little studio fixed up back of the pressroom, and it was here that Andy and Chuck found him, bent over his drawing board.

“What’s this? — a delegation?” he grinned, when the two boys tumbled into his room and made seats for themselves by brushing a pile of his drawings from a dry-goods box to the floor.

“I’ve got a regular old bell-ringer of a scheme, Bud,” Andy began ; and then told in detail about the ribbons. Bud was interested immediately, because he, too, was making a study of advertising, though from a different angle. It was his ambition to become a commercial illustrator.

“Why, it ought to be a cinch to sell the ribbons,” he enthused. “You bet I’ll help you fix up the ad.”

“I’d like to help, but I don’t know anything about writing ads,” put in Chuck.

“Oh, I’ve got a dandy job for you,” returned Andy, and explained about the window display.

“Say, this is going to be great!” exclaimed Chuck, his eyes sparkling. “I guess we’ll show up some of the old fogies in town who are trying 22 to do business to-day the same as they did twenty years ago. We’ll show ’em how to put jazz into a sale.”

“What I’d like to do, fellows, is to put on a sale that will cause everybody in town to sit up and take notice. A lot of people think that boys can’t do such things, but I believe we can do it,” said Andy with conviction.

“We sure can,” said Bud confidently.

“The first thing to do is to plan the newspaper ad,” said Andy. “This afternoon I talked with Miss Cummins about the ribbons and she gave me a lot of good stuff. She showed me the difference between silk messaline and silk taffeta and helped me write down a list of things that ribbons are used for. And I fixed it up with Mr. Landers to engage Miss Brown, the seamstress, to make a lot of fancy bags and knick-knacks out of ribbon to exhibit with the ribbons. She’s got women’s magazines that tell all about how to make that kind of truck. W'hen we exhibit the things made of ribbon, the women’ll all want to buy some ribbon to make some, too. I’ve got a list of the things she’s made and the kind of ribbon they’re made of, so we can put it in the ad.”

“Maybe if we put on a few ribbon sales we can all hire out as dressmakers,” put in Bud. A moment later he disappeared in the direction of the office and returned with three scratch pads and a large sheet of white paper which he tacked on his drawing board. “We’ll use this for a layout,” he explained.

Andy produced his notes.

“In the first place, fellows, I figure we’ve got to get a thought into the copy that will make the people feel that the ribbons have been secured as a service to them rather than have them feel that the ribbons were unloaded on Landers and he in turn plans to unload them on the people.”

“That’s clear enough,” said Bud, making a note of the suggestion. “The first fellow who suggests a title for the ad on the order of ‘We are overstocked and must unload at a sacrifice’ will have to buy a round of root beer.”

“Then, too,” continued Andy, “the ribbons are quality goods, and we want to make the people feel that. Otherwise they might think that Landers secured a lot of seconds or something, seeing as a sale is something entirely new in his business.”

“Correct,” from Bud.

“Also, we want to make the people feel that the ribbons are worth the price — and that we have lots of different kinds and colors — ribbons for all kinds of purposes. Women like to read detailed descriptions; so we’ll spread ourselves when it comes to writing about quality, colors and so on. That’s where the dope from Miss Cummins and Miss Brown comes in; and we want to make a display line of the date of the sale.”

“When did you say it’s going to come off?” asked Bud.

“Friday and Saturday. I figure that we will attract the town people Friday and the country people Saturday. The Gazette comes out Thursday — day after to-morrow — so we’ll have to get busy on the ad to-night.”

Chuck scrambled to his feet, waving his pad. “I’ve got a peach of a title, fellows. Just listen to this:

‘A RIOT OF RIBBONS “Oh, oh!” groaned Bud, holding his head as though it pained him. “Quick! Some one call a doctor!”

“Rotten,” said Andy. “Yon poor fish, don’t you realize we’ve got to put ‘class’ into this sale? We’re playing up the quality of the goods. Our appeal will be ‘desire to possess’ rather than ‘money saving.’ ‘A riot of ribbons’ sounds snappy, but it suggests a disorderly mass of stuff.”

“I’ve got it,” cried Bud. “Look, fellows!” With Andy and Chuck at his elbows he lettered on the layout sheet:

THE FIRST RIBBON SHOW IN CRESSFIELD

“Now, we’re getting down to business,” encouraged Andy. “You’ve got the right idea, Bud. What we want to do is to make the women want to see the ribbons. Once they see them they’ll want to buy. I like the sound of a ‘ribbon show.’ When you want to interest people in a proposition you want to make it interesting from their standpoint and keep the ‘we’ out of it.”

“This is getting awfully deep,” put in Chuck, scratching his head, a wry smile on his freckled face.

The boys worked on the advertisement for 26 more than two hours, using the notes about the various ribbons and their uses that Andy had obtained from Miss Cummins and Miss Brown. They were careful in selecting words and shaping their sentences so as to make the advertisement tell exactly what they wanted it to tell. Also they kept away from using big words, realizing that while an unusual word might draw attention it was better by far to use simple words and typographical effects in order to keep the attention of the reader centered on the ribbons.

In making the layout Bud explained its purpose to Chuck, pointing out that, if some sort of a rough sketch, or layout, of the proposed advertisement were not provided, the printer would be unable to set the type properly and otherwise get the advertisement ready for production.

“The layout,” explained Bud, “is intended to give the size of the ad, the kinds and sizes of type desired, the width and general structure of the type lines, the location of illustrations and things like that.”