“There’s no glamor in stationery. I don’t get fan mail. But if something new comes out I’m not thrown into the street. I buy the new merchandise. A shift in public taste doesn’t lay me away in moth-balls. Don’t you see it?”
Joe saw it. But—He stared at the rose-trellis next door.
The telephone rang and Mrs. Carlin answered. She did not come out again. Tom Carlin stood up and walked toward the hall.
Joe thought: “I’m hurting him and I don’t want to.” He felt low and mean. “Dad.”
Tom Carlin stopped.
“I was telling you about an idea....”
“What idea?”
“About books. Mr. Fairchild calls it the magic land of books. Why can’t we sell that? Make people think of books that way.”
“Newspaper advertising?”
“N—no. Tell it to them. Put some feeling into it. Make it live.”