“Blackie, you’re handier than a hollow cane in Drytown,” exulted Wallingford. “Here’s where I clean up. I own over one third of this stock. I have invested only one cheap thousand dollars over and above my expenses since I got here, and I’ll get a third of this seventeen thousand right back again, so the company, up to date—and I own it all—stands me just a little less than what’s left of my winnings on that noble little horse, Whipsaw. Just wait a minute till I send this off to the advertising company,” and he wrote rapidly a lengthy telegram.
After he sent away the telegram he remained at his desk a few moments, sketching on one of the proofs of a newspaper “ad” and filling in the lower part.
“Here,” said he to Blackie, “is the complete advertisement.”
Blackie picked up the proof sheet and glanced over it in evident approval. Taken altogether, it read:
LAUGH AT
THAT WOOZY FEELING
DRINK GINGEREE!
IT PUTS THE GINGER IN YOU
TEN CENTS AT ALL SODA FOUNTAINS
“Within a week,” exulted Wallingford, “everybody in the middle states will know all about Gingeree. Before that time I’ll have Gingeree invented, and the Gingeree Company organized for half a million dollars. I’ll put in the plant and the advertising at one hundred and fifty thousand, sell about twenty-five thousand dollars of treasury stock to start the business, then sell my hundred and fifty thousand and get out.”
“You’ll have to go out of town to sell your stock,” observed Blackie.