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our prospects of a full house. I spent over an hour in my dressing room busily engaged with my make-up and rehearsing before the mirror in an ardent endeavor to acquire professional ease, with a bow and a smile that would bring immediate applause. My "cartconist costume" consisted of a new shirt, carefully rolled at the sleeves, and displaying a dark tie caught with a modish abandon by an attractive pin. My trousers were pressed to such perfection that I never sat down during the whole evening, while I preserved the brilliant polish of my shoes by wearing slippers until a few moments before my act. Beneath the weight of countless applications of cold cream my face became almost rigid. Every time I blew my nose I was obliged to hurry back to the dressing room and repair any possible damage with a fresh layer of powder.

Then the curtain went up, and a two reel drama began on the screen, accompanied by an outburst from the orchestral regions. The orchestra consisted of a pretty girl and a piano. Having lost its tone in in the early eighties, the instrument had recently become paralyzed in several keys, and the player was one of those typical motion picture accompanists, whose repertoire is chiefly composed of a continuous farrago of ragtime, lachrymose popular airs of the Mother's-sadgrey-eyes calibre and tragic selections from the operas.

The picture soon came to an end, and down came the curtain. In five minutes the vaudeville was due to commence; the stage was suddenly suffused with light, and everything was excitement. Through a hole in the curtain I eagerly scanned the audience. On account of the frost there was a very poor house, but I was satisfied-in fact, rather glad. Almost in the front row, in the most expensive seats, sat two elderly ladies engaged in the most animated conversation. They would talk excitedly, study the program with great concern, and then relapse into a pensive stare at the stage. For a moment I trembled with the

thought that they might be critics from the local paper, and attracted by my name had come to "write me up."

I was in the middle of this horrible contemplation when Mr. M suddenly grabbed me by the arm and informed me that Miss S-wanted to see me at once. I hurried to her dressing room and found her in a dilemma. The nurse girl had disappeared and left Miss S alone with her child, and so I was given the ponderous task of keeping the child amused while her mother was doing her act.

Mr. M- -was the first on the program, then Miss S― and Mr. Mtogether, after whom came my act, followed by a toe dance by Miss S—. Mr. M- opened the vaudeville with a few songs in which he was later joined by Miss S in a popular song with the usual patter between verses. In the meantime, I was being initiated into the awful art (or artful awfulness), of nursing. I had refused to sit on the floor and disturb the perfect crease of my trousers. The child apparently noted this and decided to make the best of me at all events; so she quietly sucked her fingers for a while, contemplating me with wide-eyed innocence, and then deliberately smeared them over my brilliantly polished shoes. Ye Gods! . . . I had had at least seven shoeshines that day, and now . . . ! Well, the language I used was most unnurse like, though it greatly amused the child. Fortunately, Mr. M————— and Miss S -were encored, and I just had time to regain a polish.

At last my "turn" came. "It's a poor house," said Mr. M-, as he ushered me into the wings. "But do your best," and then the curtain arose and I found myself facing the audience.

Hardly had I made my bow when the two elderly ladies in the front seats leaned forward and deliberately began scrutinizing me, one with lorgnettes and the other with opera glasses. For a moment I felt like a microbe under a microscope, but quickly regaining my equilibrium, bowed with all the grace I could sum

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"Then followed days of the most lab orious rehearsing."

mon, and with a studied smile at my persistent critics, began with the usual "Ladies and Gentlemen." My first "effort" would consist of three caricatures depicting the feminine styles of three centuries. The first, entitled "1814," featured the picturesque hoop skirt and bonnet, the second "A 1914 Languid Type," followed by a forecast of styles for "2014," with sprightly damsel in masculine attire. I had hardly made the announcement when the two elderly ladies started an

enthusiastic applause, which was as unexpected as it was encouraging.

Now the funny part about the whole act was the fact that in my ecstatic enthusiasm I drew so fast that my sketches were ambiguous beyond recognition. In fact, when looking them over after the show, I could not for the life of me recognize some of them at all. The "1814" sketch, most difficult of the series, was so grotesque a contortion that it looked very much like a medical color plate of an inflamed lung.

Whether the audience had taken me for a futurist exponent or an eccentric prodigy far beyond their understanding I shall never know; but whatever their impression, the situation was entirely controlled by the two mysterious ladies, whose zealous response kept the audience in a continuous applause.

Imagine my consternation when at the second performance I found myself again confronted by those two ladies, sitting in the same seats, and still as appreciative as ever. I began to feel dreadfully concerned about their identity; an uncanny mystery surrounded them. Did they really admire my act, or was it my make-up that had captured them? . . . Great Scott -had I become a matinee idol in ten minutes? Whoever they were, and whatever their intentions, I owe them a debt, for the second house was worse than the first, and again they saved the situation.

After the second performance was over and the theatre had closed, we gathered in a cafe and enjoyed a wellearned meal. Mr. M warmingly assured us that the intense cold had been the cause of a poor house and that the morrow would surely bring better results. I begged of Providence that it would, for my funds were gradually diminishing into very very small

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embrace me on both cheeks.

And the most remarkable thing about the whole adventure was that they did embrace me on both cheeks. But let me continue the story.

When I got down to breakfast the next morning the office clerk handed me a note and said that it had been left by a lady in black. I gasped. Another woman in the case? . . . A woman in black . . . A widow! Really, this theatrical cartoonist business was beginning to get on my nerves with its mysterious romances. If I could enrapture three women in St. Augustine what fate inconceivable would await me in New York!

The note was more mysterious than ever. It was a request, in fact almost a command, that I call as soon as possible at a certain house in Charlotte Street, and bore the signature of a "Mrs. Florence F." Then it was a widow!

Determined to solve the mystery, I scrambled through breakfast and hurried out in search of Charlotte Street. I found the house; it was very small and modest, and surrounded by pretty little garden. For a moment I stood outside to gain my breath and prepare myself for the next chapter of this brilliant adventure.

But hardly had I knocked at the door when I found myself face to face with the two elderly ladies who had so enthusiastically welcomed my theatrical debut. Then, behold, the great mystery came to an end, and it turned out that the ladies, God bless 'em, were my own cousins!

(To be continued.)

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National Advertising

By N. C. Kingsbury

Vice-President American Telegraph and Telephone Company

Tthe

HE growth, the development and the necessity of national advertising depend primarily upon the number of things which are of national importance. In a primitive state of society it made little difference to an individual or to a community what was happening to some other individual or in another community; but with the advance of civilization came co-operation between individuals and communities, and cooperation developed the necessity for a more extended knowledge. Civilization to-day might be very well estimated and measured by the degree of co-operation, and the number of things which are of national importance depends entirely upon the degree of cooperation

There is co-operation between the producer of manufactured products in Philadelphia and the consumer of those products in Kansas, and there is likewise a similar co-operation between the producer of farm products in Kansas and the consumer in Philadelphia. There is co-operation wherever there is more produced of a commodity by an individual, by a corporation, or by a community than can be consumed by the producer. This over-production makes distribution necessary, our wonderful systems of transportation and of merchandising make it possible, but in order to effect distribution there must be a widespread knowledge of the product, and advertising is the only method for enlightening the consumer as to the nature and value of the proȧuct.

From the above it logically follows that advertising is a system of educa

tion, and it is a very important branch of education. Its importance is measured by our needs. Until within a comparatively short time, the real necessities of the people on this earth were limited to a very few things. In so recent a period as medieval times there were comparatively few commodities which people actually needed. The complexity of our modern life makes education through advertising an absoltue necessity. We need a tremendous amount of information concerning things which we must have, because of the requirements of our present civilization. Our lives touch so many and so varied interests at so many points of contact that without this form of education we cannot have the knowledge necessary for existence on the plane on which we now live. Every day we must have greater knowledge in order to keep up with the times. We may all start in on the system of education brought to us by advertising; none of us may ever hope to finish the course. It is easy to matriculate, but impossible to graduate.

If we are to consider advertising as a system of education-and this we must do in the very nature of the case -then there is an immense responsibility upon all who are connected with advertising. He who buys the advertising, as well as he who sells it, should consider himself as a member of a great faculty, as a real leader and instructor of the people. If the textbooks studied in this great university of advertising are calculated to mislead the students, if promises are made which cannot be fulfilled, if courses are offered and pursued which

unfit the student for the the practical things of life, the entire institution will be brought into discredit and disfavor and the business of educating through advertising will decrease rather than increase.

In a general way, perhaps, we may consider that the schools and colleges and universities are educating the young, and that the education derived through advertising is directed more especially to those who are older. This classification, of course, is far from exact, but as a broad generalization it is correct; and when we come to compare the cost of the two systems of education, one for our youth and one for our adults, we may note some rather striking things. For instance, magazine advertising in the United States costs almost exactly as much as private elementary schools, and all the public high schools of this great country do not cost as much by $10,000,000 as that classification of advertising best described as farm and mail order advertising. The billboard advertising of the country costs twice as much as the amount spent in all the normal schools of the United States. There is nearly as much spent each year in the United States on theatre advertising as is spent on schools for the feeble-minded-although I draw no other comparison between the two. The reform schools of all the United States cost only about one-third of the amount spent on electric signs. And when we come to foot up the entire bill for educating the youth in the United States we find, according to the report of the Commissioner of Education for the year ending June 30, 1914, that it costs $748,736,864. I am not going to pretend to say how much was spent during that year in the United States for educating the grown-ups by means of advertising, but I think you will agree with me that it cost quite as much to teach the old idea how to shoot as it did to teach the young idea how to shoot.

Following our analogy a little further, there are many courses of study which our young students do not need

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to pursue. Latin and Greek are being forced out of the curricula of many important educational institutions, on the theory that they will not be required in the life work of the student. And so in national advertising, there are many things which are not national importance. The grocery store on the corner in Philadelphia would waste money in advertising outside of its immediate environment. A railroad running between two points a hundred miles apart has no need for national publicity. A telephone company doing business in one city or in several cities would be foolish indeed to invest in national advertising. These are, of course, very obvious examples, but there are many lines of business where it is more difficult to determine the extent of interest in a particular line, and it is with respect to such things that the mistakes are made, and the history of national advertising records many instances where large sums of money have been thrown away in attempting to gain national recognition for something which had no national importance.

That national advertising requires large sums of money goes without saying. The publications employed must have national circulation, and in order

support such circulation their charges must seem high. But there are other elements which must be observed in order to accomplish results. in national advertising.

It takes time to be known all over a country as large as the United States; it takes persistence, determination, tremendous force behind an advertising campaign, and it also takes a willingness on the part of the producer and the advertiser to be known for just exactly what he is. As Lincoln well said: "You can't fool all the people all the time."

I sometimes regret the necessity of what may seem almost boastful statements in advertising. I do not refer to statements which are untrue, but to statements which are true, and which we national advertisers must continually put out if our advertising is to be

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