“Yes, I’ll just bet you wouldn’t,” Grand would reply with a glittering smile, “and how about a handful of these while you’re at it?” and he would flash a fat roll of ten thousands that he could just get into the catch-all pocket of his big white smock.
Though the exec might suspect that Grand was speaking symbolically, the gambit was always impressive.
“Yes, sir,” would be the earnest reply, “I really would like a crack at the lab!”
But Grand would grimace oddly and wave a finger at the senior staffer; then he would give a thin cackling laugh and fly to his flasks and beakers.
“The old boy’s sharp as a razor,” most of them said. “He’s my kinda guy.”
What happened in the end was the development of a couple of fairly new products. The first was Downy, a combination shampoo and soft-set; and it was heralded by a large-scale promotional campaign. The formula of Downy was supposedly based on a principle used by the Egyptians in the preservation of their dead—though this was but vaguely referred to, being simply the scientific springboard for the product and thereby catching the endorsement of men in various fields, and gaining press coverage beyond mere paid advertisement. The main promotional emphasis though was on the social allure and overall security it seemed to promise. “DOWNY,” according to these releases, “will make your hair ... softer than the hair of YOUR OWN CHILD!”
It was unconditionally guaranteed to do so. These releases went on to present certain inductive proofs that the formula of Downy had been “Cleopatra’s secret,” that in reality she had been a woman of “only average prettiness (which one must never never underestimate)” and that she had won her thrones and her men with “what is now YOUR OWN ... DOWNY.”
The promotional campaign was in progress for quite a while before the product was offered to the general buyer, though it had of course been used with amazing success for a long time by a number of famous beauties, and there were plenty of testimonials to that effect. So that when it was finally offered, the sales ran high indeed.
“I think we’ve hit on something here,” said the smock-stained veteran, Grand Guy Grand, at conference with the staffers as the market tabulations poured in that first morning. “I don’t like to count the chickens so to speak, but I think we’ve hit on something here ... something that may well spell ‘touchdown’ in the hearts of Mr. and Mrs. U.S.A.!”
The others were agreeing wildly, but Grand was quick to show conference acumen, “... not count the chickens, I say”—and he raised a cautionary finger—“nor put all in one basket!”