Peale. The Ivory Soap people?
Rodney. Sure, father’s always hated ’em in business. His oldest friend, though, is John Clark, one of the big bugs in Ivory Soap. Clark’s got a son, Ellery, that father dislikes because he’s such a success in business—always held him up to me as a model son to pattern by. It’d make father wild if he thought that old Clark was going to back us; Ivory Soap’s the only bunch he’s never been able to lick. (Rises and goes down R.)
Peale. (Goes down L.) Then that scheme ought to be good for a great rise out of father.
Rodney. Say, by the way, I put over a corker on him this morning: I arranged for a parade of sandwich-men up and down in front of his house. I just sent another bunch to his office.
Peale. Oh, we’re bound to land him sooner or later, keeping after him the way we have.
Rodney. Funny, though, nobody’s tried to buy any soap from us yet.
Peale. Well, it takes time to create a demand. These 200 cakes of pink castile you bought looked swell in our old rose wrappers, didn’t they?
Rodney. Say, where’s Miss Grayson? Have you seen her to-day?
Peale. No, and it’s after eleven.
Rodney. I’ll bet she was here before either of us—she always is. By George, isn’t she a corker?