“You get a dollar extra if this reaches the advertising desk of the Register office within half an hour,” he advised the uniformed urchin who answered the call. The modern mercury seized the paper and fled forthwith.
Punctuality was a virtue which Average Jones had cultivated to the point of a fad. Hence it was with some discountenance that his clerk was obliged to apologize for his lateness, first, at 4 P. M. Of July 23, to a very dapper and spruce young gentleman in pale mauve spats, who wouldn’t give his name; then at 4:05 P. m. of the same day to Professor Gehren, of the Metropolitan University; and finally at 4:30 P. m. to Mr. Robert Bertram. When, only a moment before five, the Ad-Visor entered, the manner of his apology was more absent than fervent.
Bertram held out a newspaper to him.
“Cast your eye on that,” said he. “The Register fairly reeks with freaks lately.”
Average Jones read aloud.
SMITH-PERKINS, formerly 74 Bellair—Send map present location H. C. Turkish Triumph about smoked out. MERCY—Box 34, Office.
“Oh, I don’t know about its being so freakish,” said Average Jones.
“Nonsense! Look at it! Turkish Triumph—that’s a cigarette, isn’t it? H. C.—what’s that? And signed Mercy. Why, it’s the work of a lunatic!”
“It’s my work,” observed Average Jones blandly.
The three visitors stared a him in silence.