“No, unfortunately,” replied Haynerd, assuming a dejected mien, “but with that Rincón fellow––and he a priest! He’s got a son down in Cartagena somewhere, and he doesn’t write to her either. She’s told Sid the whole story, and he’s working it up into a book during his odd moments. But, say,” turning the conversation again into its original channel, “how much of her report are we going to run? You know, she tried to head us off. Doesn’t want to attack Ames. Ha! ha! As if she hadn’t already attacked him and strewn him all over the field!”
“We’ll have to be careful in our allusions to the President,” replied Hitt. “I’ll rewrite it myself, so as not to offend her or him. And I––but, by George! her reports are the truth, and they rightfully belong to the people! The Express is the 174 avowed servant of the public! What she finds out belongs to all. I see no reason for concealing a thing. Did I tell you that I had two inquiries from Italian and German papers, asking permission to translate her reports into their own columns?”
“No? Jerusalem! We’re becoming famous! Did you wire her to see Gossitch and Mall?”
“Yes, and Logue, as well as others. And I’ve put dozens of senators and congressmen on our mailing list, including the President himself. I’ve prepared letters for each one of them, calling attention to the girl and her unique reports. She certainly writes in a fascinating vein, doesn’t she? Meanwhile, she’s circulating around down there and advertising us in the best possible manner. We’re a success, old man!” he finished, slapping the city editor roundly upon the back.
“Humph!” growled the latter. “Confine your enthusiasm to words, my friend. Say, what did you do about that liquid food advertisement?”
“Discovered that it was beer,” replied Hitt, “and turned it firmly down.”
“Well, isn’t beer a food? Not that we care to advertise it, but––”
Hitt laughed. “When that fellow Claus smoothly tried to convince me that beer was a food, I sent a sample of his stuff to the Iles chemical laboratory for analysis. They reported ninety-four per cent water, four per cent alcohol––defined now as a poisonous drug––and about two per cent of possible food substance. If the beer had been of the first grade there wouldn’t have been even the two per cent of solids. You know, I couldn’t help thinking of what Carmen said about the beer that is advertised in brown bottles to preserve it from the deleterious effects of light. Light, you know, starts decay in beer. Well, light, according to Fuller, is ‘God’s eldest daughter.’ Emerson says it is the first of painters, and that there is nothing so foul that intense light will not make it beautiful. Light destroys fermentation. Thus the light of truth destroys the fermentation which is supposed to constitute the human mind and body. So light tries to purify beer by breaking it up. The brewers have to put it into brown bottles to preserve its poisonous qualities. As Carmen says, beer simply can’t stand the light. No evil can stand the light. Remarkable, isn’t it?”
“Humph! It’s astonishing that so many so-called reputable papers will take their advertising stuff. It’s just as bad as patent medicine ads.”
“Yes. And I note that the American public still spend their annual hundred million dollars for patent medicine dope. Most of this is spent by women, who are largely caught by the mail-order 175 trade. I learned of one exposure recently made where it was found that a widely advertised eye wash was composed of borax and water. The cost was somewhere about five cents a gallon, and it sold for a dollar an ounce. Nice little profit of some two hundred and fifty thousand per cent, and all done by the mesmerism of suggestive advertising. Shrewd business, eh? Nice example in morality. Speaking of parasites on society, Ames is not the only one!”