"Pretty rotten, eh?" whispered Baker admiringly. "Fixed 'em so they
won't bolt when the show's over and before he works off his dope."
"These Two Silver Dollars, which I want you all to get, are in these
hampers. Six little boys will distribute them. Come up, boys, and get
each a hatful of dollars." The six solemnly marched up on the stage and
busied themselves with the hampers. "While we are waiting," went on the
orator, "I will seize the opportunity to present to you the world-famed
discoverer of that wonderful anaesthetic, Oxodyne, Painless Porter."
At the words a dapper little man in immaculately correct evening dress,
and carrying a crush hat under his arm, stepped briskly from the wings.
He was greeted by wild but presumably manufactured applause. He bowed
rigidly from the hips, and at once began to speak in a high and nasal
but extremely penetrating voice.
"As far as advertising is concerned," he began without preamble, "it is
entirely unnecessary that I give this show. There is no man, woman or
child in this marvellous commonwealth of ours who is not familiar with
the name of Painless Porter, whether from the daily papers, the
advertising boards, the street cars, or the elegant red brougham in
which I traverse your streets.
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