The confectioner rightly thought that, in order to sell wares, they must be known; and in order for them to be known, they must be made known. Relying on this judicious reasoning, Talon soon compelled the Aberdonians to eat his sugar-plums, and, better still, to pay for them.
At this period, there was a company of actors at Aberdeen much in the same condition as Talon’s “goodies;” they were neglected, and no one cared to try them. In vain had the manager prepared a pantomime full of tricks and blue-fire, the public remained deaf to his repeated appeals.
One fine day, Talon called on the Scotch impresario: “I have a proposal to make to you, sir,” he said, without further preface, “which, if accepted, will fill your theatre, I am convinced.”
“Pray explain yourself, sir,” the manager said, nibbling at the bait, but putting little faith in a promise which he had good reasons for believing difficult of realization.
“It is simply,” Talon continued, “to join to the attraction of your performance a lottery, for which I will pay all the cost. This shall be the arrangement: each spectator, on entering, must pay, in addition, the sum of sixpence, giving him a claim—
“1. To a paper of mixed sugar-plums.
“2. To a lottery-ticket, by which he may gain the first prize, of the value of five pounds.”
Talon also promised a new performance, the secret of which he confided to the manager under the seal of discretion.
These proposals being accepted, the bargain was soon completed, and the intelligent Talon had not deceived himself. The public attracted by the bonbons, the pantomime, and the promised surprise, filled the theatre.
The lottery was drawn; the prize made one person happy, and the other twelve or fifteen hundred spectators, provided with their papers of sugar-plums, consoled their disappointment by exchanging their “goodies.” Under such favorable circumstances the pantomime was found charming.