st be wrong. Not the creator, but the
salesman was the modern evangel.

"The Booblewarbler has given away the game," commented Severance with
his slight, ironic smile, the day when this naive effusion appeared.
"He's right, of course. But he thinks he's praising when he's damning."

Banneker was disturbed. But the flood of letters which came in promptly
reassured him. The Reverend editorializer was hailed broadcast as the
Messiah of the holy creed of Salesmanship, of the high cult of getting
rid of something for more than it is worth. He was organized into a
lecture tour; his department in the paper waxed ever greater. Banneker,
with his swift appreciation of a hit, followed the lead with editorials;
hired authors to write short stories glorifying the ennobled figure of
the Salesman, his smartness, his strategy, his ruthless trickery, his
success. And the salesmanhood of the nation, in trains, in hotel
lobbies, at the breakfast table with its Patriot propped up flanking the
egg and coffee, rose up to call him blessed and to add to his income.

Personal experiences in achieving success were a logical sequence to
this; success in any field, from running a city as set forth by His
Honor the Mayor, to becoming a movie star, by all the movie stars or
aspirants whom their press-agents could crowd into the paper. A
distinguished novelist of notably high blood-pressure contributed a
series of thoughtful essays on "How to be Irresistible in Love," and a
sentimental pugilist indulged in reminiscences (per a hired pen from the
cheap magazine field) upon "The Influence of my Mother on my Career." An
imitator of Banneker developed a daily half-column of self-improvement
and inspiration upon moral topics, achieving his effects by capitalizing
all the words which otherwise would have been too feeble or banal to
attract notice, thereby giving an air of sublimated importance to the
mildly incomprehensible. Nine tenths of The Patriot's editorial readers
believed that they were following a great philosopher along the path of
the eternal profundities. To give a touch of science, an amateur
astronomer wrote stirring imaginative articles on interstellar space,
and there were occasional "authoritative" pronouncements by men of
importance in the political, financial, or intellectual worlds, lifted
from public speeches or old publications. The page, if it did not
actually itch, buzzed and clanged. But above the composite clamor rose
ever the