"Ah!"
"Yes. I can't look in the face of a hungry designer and beat him down to within a dollar of the cost of materials. And—and—my suggestions upon broader lines don't seem to cause much hooray."
"Well—" the junior partner sat up—"since you admit——" He paused for his partner to speak the words of discharge.
But Houghton was looking quizzically at the college man. "What was your idea as to broader lines?"
Brainard hesitated. "Well, it seemed to me that Pepper is trying to do two things that are antagonistic: be 'élite' and sell chewing-gum. The fact is that élite people don't chew gum. I'd like to know how the statement, 'Old Tulu—Best by Test,' will make a kid on the corner with a cent in his fist have an attack of mouth-watering."
Kaufmann roused himself. "It is true. Our gum is the best."
"I'm not disputing that, but still it's gum. If you're trying to increase the vulgar habit of gum-chewing—well—you can't do it by advertising the firm's financial standing, its age, or the purity of its output. That would do for an insurance company or a bank—but gum! Who cares for purity! All they want to know is if it schmeckt gut." This last with a humorous glance at Kaufmann.
The latter was scowling. Brainard was touching a tender spot.
"Well, what would you do?"
Brainard flushed. He felt the tone of sarcasm in the elder man's voice. He tightened his lips. "At least, I'd change the name of the gum!"