Perkins of Portland: Perkins The Great Read online

  V. THE ADVENTURE IN AUTOMOBILES

  PERKINS and I sat on the veranda of one of the little road-houses onJerome Avenue, and watched the auto-mobiles go by. There were manyautomobiles, of all sorts and colors, going at various speeds and indivers manners. It was a thrilling sight--the long rows of swiftlymoving auto-vehicles running as smoothly as lines of verse, all neatlypunctuated here and there by an automobile at rest in the middle of theroad, like a period bringing the line to a full stop. And some, drawnto the edge of the road, stood like commas. There were others, too, thatwent snapping by with a noise like a bunch of exclamation-points goingoff in a keg. And not a few left a sulphurous, acrid odor, like theafter-taste of a ripping Kipling ballad. I called Perkins's attention tothis poetical aspect of the thing, but he did not care for it. He seemedsad. The sight of the automobiles aroused an unhappy train of thought inhis mind.

  Perkins is the advertising man. Advertising is not his specialty. It ishis life; it is his science. That is why he is known from Portland, Me.,to Portland, Oreg., as Perkins the Great. There is but one Perkins. Asingle century could never produce two such as he. The job would be toobig.

  "Perky," I said, "you look sad."

  He waved his hand toward the procession of horseless vehicles, andnodded.

  "Sad!" he ejaculated. "Yes! Look at them. You are looking at them.Everybody looks at them. Wherever you go you see them--hear them--smellthem. On every road, in every town--everywhere--nothing but automobiles;nothing but people looking at them--all eyes on them. I'm sad!"

  "They are beautiful," I ventured, "and useful."

  Perkins shook his head.

  "Useless! Wasted! Thrown away! Look at them again. What do you see?" Hestretched out his hand toward the avenue. I knew Perkins wanted me tosee something I could not see, so I looked long enough to be quite sureI could not see it; and then I said, quite positively,--

  "I see automobiles--dozens of them."

  "Ah!" Perkins cried with triumph. "You see automobiles! You see dozensof them! But you don't see an ad.--not a single ad. You see dozens ofmoving things on wheels that people twist their necks to stare at. Yousee things that men, women, and children stand and gaze upon, and not anadvertisement on any of them! Talk about wasted opportunity! Talk aboutgood money thrown away! Just suppose every one of those automobilescarried a placard with 'Use Perkins's Patent Porous Plaster,' upon it!Every man, woman, and child in New York would know of Perkins's PatentPorous Plaster by this evening! It would be worth a million colddollars! Sad? Yes! There goes a million dollars wasted, thrown away, outof reach!"

  "Perkins," I said, "you are right. It would be the greatest advertisingopportunity of the age, but it can't be done. Advertising space on thoseautomobiles is not for sale."

  "No," he admitted, "it's not. That's why Perkins hates the auto. Itgives him no show. It is a fizzle, a twentieth-century abomination--aninvention with no room for an ad. I'm tired. Let's go home."

  We settled our small account with the waiter, and descended to theavenue, just as a large and violent automobile came to a full stopbefore us. There was evidently something wrong with the inwardness ofthat automobile; for the chauffeur began pulling and pushing levers,opening little cubby-holes, and poking into them, turning valves andcocks, and pressing buttons and things. But he did not find the softspot.

  I saw that Perkins smiled gleefully as the chauffeur did things to theautomobile. It pleased Perkins to see automobiles break down. He had nouse for them. They gave him no opportunity to display his talents. Heconsidered them mere interloping monstrosities. As we started homeward,the chauffeur was on his back in the road, with his head and arms underhis automobile, working hard, and swearing softly.

  I did not see Perkins again for about four months, and when I did seehim, I tried to avoid him; for I was seated in my automobile, which Ihad just purchased. I feared that Perkins might think my purchase wasdisloyal to him, knowing, as I did, his dislike for automobiles; but hehailed me with a cheery cry.

  "Ah!" he exclaimed. "The automobile! The greatest product of man'singenious brain! The mechanical triumph of the twentieth century!Useful, ornamental, profitable!"

  "Perky!" I cried, for I could scarcely believe my ears. "Is it possible?Have you so soon changed your idea of the auto? That isn't like you,Perky!"

  He caught his thumbs in the armholes of his vest, and waved his fingersslowly back and forth. "My boy," he said, "Perkins of Portland conquersall things! Else why is he known as Perkins the Great? Genius, my boy,wins out. Before genius the automobile bows down like the camel, andtakes aboard the advertisement. Perkins has conquered the automobile!"

  I looked over my auto carefully. I had no desire to be a travellingadvertisement even to please my friend Perkins. But I could noticenothing in the promotion and publicity line about my automobile. I heldout my hand. "Perkins," I said heartily, "I congratulate you. Is theremoney in it?" He glowed with pleasure. "Money?" he cried. "Loads of it.Thousands for Perkins--thousands for the automobile-makers--huge boomfor the advertiser! Perkins put it to the auto-makers like this: 'Youmake automobiles. All right. I'll pay you for space on them. Just wantroom for four words, but must be on every automobile sent out.Perkins will pay well.' Result--contract with every maker. Then to theadvertiser: 'Mr. Advertiser, I have space on every automobile to be madeby leading American factories for next five years. Price, $100,000!'Advertiser jumped at it! And there you are!"

  I do not know whether Perkins meant his last sentence as a finale tohis explanation or as a scoff at my automobile. In either case I wascertainly "there," for my auto took one of those unaccountable fits,and would not move. I dismounted and walked around the machine witha critical, inquiring eye. I poked gingerly into its ribs and exposedvitals; lifted up lids; turned thumb-screws, and shook everythingthat looked as if its working qualities would be improved by a littleshaking, but my automobile continued to balk.

  A few small boys suggested that I try coaxing it with a lump of sugaror building a fire under it, or some of the other remedies for balkinganimals; but Perkins stood by with his hands in his pockets and smiled.He seemed to be expecting something.

  I am not proud, and I have but little fear of ridicule, but a man isonly human. Fifth Avenue is not exactly the place where a man wishes tolie on the fiat of his back. To be explicit, I may say that when I wantto lie on my back in the open air, I prefer to lie on a grassy hillside,with nothing above me but the blue sky, rather than on the asphaltpavement of Fifth Avenue, with the engine-room of an automobile half afoot above my face.

  Perkins smiled encouragingly. The crowd seemed to be waiting for me todo it. I felt, myself, that I should have to do it. So I assumed thebusy, intense, oblivious, hardened expression that is part of the game,and lay down on the top of the street. Personally, I did not feel that Iwas doing it as gracefully as I might after more practice; but the crowdwere not exacting. They even cheered me, which was kind of them; but itdid not relieve me of the idiotic sensation of going to bed in publicwith my clothes on.

  If I had not been such an amateur I should doubtless have done itbetter; but it was disconcerting, after getting safely on my back, tofind that I was several feet away from my automobile. I think it wasthen that I swore, but I am not sure. I know I swore about that time;but whether it was just then, or while edging over to the automobile, Icannot positively say.

  I remember making up my mind to swear again as soon as I got my headand chest under the automobile, not because I am a swearing man, but toimpress the crowd with the fact that I was not there because I likedit. I wanted them to think I detested it. I did detest it. But I did notswear. As my eyes looked upward for the first time at the underneath ofmy automobile, I saw this legend painted upon it: "Don't swear. DrinkGlenguzzle."

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  Peering out from under my automobile, I caught Perkins's eye. It wasbright and triumphant. I looked about and across the avenue I sawanother automobile standing.

  As I look back, I think the crowd may have be
en justified in thinking meinsane. At any rate, they crossed the avenue with me, and applauded mewhen I lay down under the other man's automobile. When I emerged, theycalled my attention to several other automobiles that were standingnear, and were really disappointed when I refused to lie down underthem.

  I did refuse, however, for I had seen enough.

  This automobile also bore on its underside the words: "Don't swear.Drink Glenguzzle." And I was willing to believe that they were on allthe automobiles.

  I walked across the avenue again and shook hands with Perkins. "It'sgreat!" I said, enthusiastically.

  Perkins nodded. He knew what I meant. He knew I appreciated his genius.In my mind's eye I saw thousands and thousands of automobiles, in allparts of our great land, and all of them standing patiently while menlay on their backs under them, looking upward and wanting to swear. Itwas a glorious vision. I squeezed Perkins's hand.

  "It's glorious!" I exclaimed.