Chapter XIV: Al's Ad

Mr. Marcus' words haunted Al for some time after their parting.

"I don't know but there is something in that," the boy said to himself: "I'll look out for the lucky accidents after this."

But the full-page advertisement had to be prepared in less than an hour, and Al had to turn his attention to its preparation.

When he went to his room he had not the slightest idea what sort of an advertisement he was going to write; he only knew that it must be something taking and brief.

"Brevity is the soul of wit, anyhow," he reflected, "so I don't believe I shall make any mistake on that point. But what shall I say in the ad.? I wonder if I haven't bitten off a little more than I can chew?"

In half an hour he had the advertisement ready, and a few minutes later he presented himself with it at the office of the _Bugle_.

Here everything was in confusion, but he found the foreman of the composing room ready and waiting for him.

"Have you got your copy all ready?" asked the man, nervously. "There is no time to spare."

"Here it is," said Al, producing a slip of paper from his vest pocket.

"I thought you were to have a full page?" said the foreman.

"So I am, according to contract," smiled the boy.

"But there are only half a dozen lines here."

"That's all."

"Oh, you want a display ad.?"

"No--at least not the kind you mean. I want those few lines repeated over and over again until the entire space contracted for is filled."

"You want it printed solid?" gasped the foreman.

"That's it."

"But I could give you a much more attractive ad. We can get up a full-page display ad. that would be simply out of sight."

"I don't doubt it, but I want another kind."

"All right," said the foreman, with a pitying sigh; "you pay your money and you take your choice."

"That's the idea."

The foreman carefully perused the advertisement. This is what he read:

"See the New York Comedy Company, Augustus Wattles, Manager.

"See this great company in 'Loved and Lost.'

"See the real locomotive, under a full head of steam.

"See the real steam yacht.

"See all this.

"But----

"Please don't look at the queer old man in the third row of the orchestra."

The foreman stared at Al as if he thought him an escaped lunatic.

"That's a strange ad.," he said.

"Is it?" laughed the boy.

"I never saw anything like it before."

"Well?"

"Well, do you want it to go in just as you have written it?"

"I do."

"Without any attempt at display?"

"Without the slightest attempt at display."

"That goes, then. Good-night; I must get the men at work on this at once."

"I've done all this on my own responsibility," reflected Al, as he left the place. "If it turns out a fizzle, Mr. Wattles won't have so much confidence in me in the future. Well, there's no use fretting now; the thing is done. If it doesn't work I shall know enough not to repeat the experiment."

Still Al did fret a little after he got to his room. The apartment that had been assigned to him was a large, gloomy room on one of the upper floors of the building. It was about half filled with paintings not hung, but standing against the wall. These, the hotel clerk had explained, were the property of an impecunious artist who had formerly boarded in the house, and were being held until his bill was paid.

"We left them right there," explained the clerk, "not thinking that we would need to put anyone in the room for some time. But on account of the rush to the circus the house is full, and we must put you there."

It made very little difference to Al where he slept, and he said so. He was only going to spend one night in the house, and the room was comfortable, if it was rather gloomy.

Entering it after his visit to the _Bugle_ office, he threw himself into a chair and fixed his eyes on a full-length picture of a man in modern dress. He did not even take the trouble to light the gas.

The rays of the moon dimly illumined the room and lighted up the picture. The boy sat for nearly half an hour staring absently at the portrait, thinking nothing about it, but trying to plan his work for the next day or two.

But soon he began to realize that he was very tired. He found himself yawning, and his eyelids drooped in spite of himself.

"It's no use," he said to himself, "I'll have to leave business until to-morrow. I'll go to bed."

But just as he rose from his chair--could he believe the evidence of his senses?--the figure of the man stepped from the canvas and approached him.

It was no dream, for in an instant the boy was as wide awake as he had ever been.

Apparently the picture had come to life!