Rodney. A dollar, and we’ll make it a warm delicate old rose.
Peale. Each cake in a separate box with a paper rose on the lid.
Rodney. Great.
Peale. But what’ll we call it?
Rodney. Old Rose.
Peale. Rotten—doesn’t mean anything.
Rodney. Let’s think.
Peale. I am thinking. I never stop.
Rodney. The Soap that Made Pittsburg Clean.
Peale. Too long, and no good anyway, because Pittsburg isn’t clean. You need something catchy.