as though they were dirt beneath his feet. For Mr. Jones, though
he affected the reputation of an admirer of the fair sex, never
forgot himself by being even civil to a female who was his paid
servant. Woman's smile had a charm for him, but no charm equal to the
servility of dependence.

But on the shoulders of Mr. Robinson fell the great burden of the
business. There was a question as to the accounts; these, however, he
undertook to keep in his leisure moments, thinking but little of the
task. But the work of his life was to be the advertising department.
He was to draw up the posters; he was to write those little books
which, printed on magenta-coloured paper, were to be thrown with
reckless prodigality into every vehicle in the town; he was to
arrange new methods of alluring the public into that emporium of
fashion. It was for him to make a credulous multitude believe that
at that shop, number Nine Times Nine in Bishopsgate Street, goods of
all sorts were to be purchased at prices considerably less than the
original cost of their manufacture. This he undertook to do; this for
a time he did do; this for years to come he would have done, had he
not experienced an interference in his own department, by which the
whole firm was ultimately ruined and sent adrift.

"The great thing is to get our bills into the hands of the public,"
said Robinson.

"You can get men for one and nine a day to stand still and hand 'em
out to the passers-by," said Mr. Brown.

"That's stale, sir, quite stale; novelty in advertising is what we
require;--something new and startling."

"Put a chimney-pot on the man's head," said Mr. Brown, "and make it
two and three."

"That's been tried," said Robinson.

"Then put two chimney-pots," said Mr. Brown. Beyond that his
imagination did not carry him.

Chimney-pots and lanterns on men's heads avail nothing. To startle
men and women to any purpose, and drive them into Bishopsgate Street,
you must startle them a great deal. It does not suffice to create a
momentary wonder. Mr. Robinson, therefore, began with eight footmen
in full livery, with powdered hair and gold tags to their shoulders.
They had magenta-coloured plush knee-breeches, and magenta-coloured
silk stockings. It was in May, and the weather was fine, and these
eight excellently got-up London footmen were stationed at different
points in the city, each with a silken bag suspended round his
shoulder by a silken cord. From these bags th