THE ADVERTISING DEPARTMENT

The next morning Pee-wee strode forth and made the magnanimous sacrifice heroically. He found Deadwood Gamely in front of Simeon Drowser’s village store, talking with two men who sat in an auto.

The auto was so large and handsome that it looked out of place in front of Simeon Drowser’s store, and the men who occupied it looked like city men. It encouraged Pee-wee (or rather confirmed his assurance of success) to see this sumptuous car in Everdoze, for it proved that people did come to that sequestered village. He pictured these two prosperous looking business men with frankfurters in their hands, their mouths dripping with mustard.

Pee-wee was nothing if not self-possessed, his scout uniform was his protection, and he strode up and spoke quite to the point to the young fellow who leaned against the car with one foot on the running board.

“We decided not to take you in as a partner,” he said, “because we want to have it all to ourselves and I came to tell you.”

Deadwood Gamely seemed rather taken aback, but whether it was because of this refusal of his offer, or because Pee-wee’s loud announcement embarrassed him before the strangers it would be hard to say. Seeing that the diminutive scout no longer held the deadly stencil brush he removed Pee-wee’s hat with a swaggering good humor, ruffled his hair, and said (rather disconcertedly), “All right, kiddo; so long.”

Pee-wee had anticipated an argument with Gamely and he was surprised at the promptness and agreeableness of his dismissal. Two things, one seen and one heard, remained in his memory as he trudged back to the farm. One was a brief case lying on the back seat of the auto on which was printed WALLACE CONSTRUCTION CO. The other was something he heard one of the men say after he had returned a little way along the road.

“I didn’t think you were such a fool,” the man said, evidently to young Gamely. Within a few seconds more the auto was rolling away.

It seemed to Pee-wee that Gamely had told the men of his proposal to join the big enterprise and that they had denounced his wisdom and judgment. But Pee-wee was not the one to be discouraged by that. “Maybe they know all about construction,” he said to himself, “but that’s not saying they know all about refreshment shacks. I bet they don’t know any more about eats than I do.” Which in all probability was the case.

On the way back to the farm, Pee-wee noticed in a field the most outlandish scarecrow he had ever seen. It was sitting on a stone wall, and it must have been a brave crow that would have ventured within a mile of that ridiculous bundle of rags. The face was effectually concealed by a huge hat as is the case with most scarecrows, and all the cast-off clothing of Everdoze for centuries back seemed combined here in incongruous array.

What was Pee-wee’s consternation when he beheld this figure actually descend from the fence and come shambling over toward him. If the legs were not on stilts they were certainly the longest legs he had ever seen, and they must have been suspended by a kind of universal joint for they moved in every direction while bringing their burden forward.

Upon this absurd being’s closer approach, Pee-wee perceived it to be a negro as thin and tall as a clothespole, and so black that the blackness of sin would seem white by comparison and the arctic night like the blazing rays of midsummer. This was Licorice Stick whose home was nowhere in particular, whose profession was everything and chiefly nothing.

“I done seed yer comin’,” he said with a smile a mile long which shone in the surrounding darkness like the midnight sun of Norway. His teeth were as conspicuous as tombstones, and on close inspection Pee-wee saw that his tattered regalia was held together by a system of safety pins placed at strategic points. The terrible responsibility of suspenders was borne by a single strand consisting of a key ring chain connected with a shoe lace and this ran through a harness pin which, if the worst came to the worst, would act as a sort of emergency stop. Licorice Stick was built in the shape of a right angle, his feet being almost as long as his body and they flapped down like carpet beaters when he walked.

“You stayin’ wib Uncle Eb?” he asked. “I seed yer yes’day. I done hear yer start a sto.”

“A what?” Pee-wee asked, as they walked along together.

“A sto—you sell eats, hey?”

“Oh, you mean a store,” Pee-wee said.

“I help you,” said the lanky stranger; “me’n Pepsy, we good friends. She hab to go back to dat workhouse, de bridge it say so. Dat bridge am a sperrit.”

“You’re crazy,” Pee-wee said. “What’s the use of being scared at an old rattly bridge. If you want to help us I’ll tell you how you can do it. I made a lot of signs and you can tack them all up on the trees along the road for us if you want to. I’ll show you just how to do it.”

No one was at the shack when they reached it for Pepsy was about her household duties, so she had no knowledge of this new recruit in their enterprise. Pee-wee’s conscience was clear in this matter, however, for he had enlisted Licorice Stick as an employee, at the staggering salary of twenty-five cents a week; there was no thought of his being a partner. The willing assistance of his new friend would leave his own time free for more important duties, and the advertising work once done, Licorice Stick was to devote his time to catching fish for the “sto” and other incidental duties.

Pee-wee now arranged his advertising masterpieces in order for posting. The imposing type on the cards impressed Licorice Stick deeply. He could not read two words but he seemed to sense the sensational announcements, and the arrow which Pee-wee had made on each card to indicate the direction of the shack was regarded by him as a sort of mystic symbol.

“This is the way you have to do,” Pee-wee said; “now pay attention, because it pays to advertise. There are two cards for each sign, see?”

“Dey’s nice black print,” Licorice Stick said with reverent appreciation. “En dey’s de magic sign, too.”

“That tells them where the place is,” Pee-wee said. “Now, you keep the cards just the way I give them to you and always tack them up with the arrow pointing this way, see? Here’s a hammer and here’s some tacks. When you come to a nice big tree or a wooden fence or an old barn, you’re supposed to tack them up, and be sure to do it the way I tell you. Now, suppose you’re going to tack up the first card—the one on the top of the pile. You tack it up and right close under it you tack up the next one, and it will say:

“Mmm—mm!” exclaimed Licorice Stick, as if a hot frankfurter had actually been produced by this ingenious card trick.

“Then you go along a little way,” said Pee-wee, “till you come to another good place, maybe a fence or something, and you tack up the next one and right underneath it you tack up the next one; always take the next one off the top of the pile, see?

Pee-wee repeated, holding the next two cards up. This palate tickling sleight-of-hand seemed like a miracle to the smiling, astonished messenger.

Pee-wee seemed a kind of magician summoning up luscious concoctions with a magic wand. The fifth and sixth cards were held together for a moment and lo, Licorice Stick listened to the mouth-watering announcement that peanut taffy was sweet and delicious.

No “sperrit” of Licorice Stick’s acquaintance had ever cast a spell like this. They had called in weird voices but they had never contrived a menu before his very eyes.

He went forth armed with the hammer and tacks and a pile of mysterious cards, a little proud but trembling a little, too. There was something uncanny about this; he would see it through but it was a strange, dark business. He shuffled along the road, peering fearfully into the woods now and again when suddenly a terrible apparition appeared before him. He stood stark still, his eyes bulging out of his head, his hands shaking and cold with fear....