Then they separated. In this gay and careless fashion the plot was laid for pouring half a million a year into the Sulfur King’s great Idea.
III
The new secretary had some difficulty in convincing Brainard of the importance of what he called “publicity.” His own varied experience as a newspaper and magazine writer had given him a deep faith in this modern method of propaganda. He constituted himself at once the publicity agent of the new undertaking.
“It’s the only way to do things in this country. You must scatter your idea about in the newspapers and magazines, get people to talk about it and read about it, or it is dead before you start.”
Rather against Brainard’s inclination, Farson set off the first of a series of journalistic squibs concerning the “Sulfur King,” his spectacular fortune, and the novel manner in which he purposed to spend it, in a profusely illustrated article in the new Bunker’s Magazine. Brainard submitted to this indignity because of his desire to advertise the Melody mine and in this way possibly attract the attention of its unknown mistress. But of all the letters that came to him after the publication of his spectacular biography, not one was from “Melody.”
The People’s National Drama Society had not been incorporated before the sputter in the daily press began, with long-winded remarks by theatrical experts—actors, managers, and critics—predicting failure and ridiculing “the new uplifter of the stage from Arizona.” The public yawned and skipped. There was nothing new in this “uplift” talk about the drama; but the “Sulfur King” was new, and the public was much more interested in him and his golden stream of wealth than in his dream of creating a popular drama.
All sorts of mythical tales began to appear in print concerning his personality. The story that obtained the widest vogue was that Brainard, having in his younger and penniless days sighed in vain for the favor of a theatrical lady, had gone off to Arizona with despair in his heart, “struck sulfur,” and now had returned to build a palatial theater on Broadway for his old flame. A rather obscure young actress was named as the heroine of the tale, and the lady, when asked about the story by reporters, failed to deny it. Instead, she coyly led the newspaper men to embroider further details on the theme.
“See what you’ve got me into with your publicity business!” Brainard exclaimed ruefully, holding out the morning newspaper to Farson, when the latter came for the day’s work to the little house on Gramercy Park into which Brainard had moved.
The secretary, who had already seen the article, merely grinned and admitted:
“She has the cheek! They are all like that—anything to get themselves talked about. But it’s all right—it helps to spread the great idea.”