The designs or suggestions which Eugene offered his prospective
employer for the advertising of the products of M. Sand et Cie and
the American Crystal Sugar Refining Company, were peculiar. As has
been indicated, Eugene had one of those large, effervescent
intelligences which when he was in good physical condition fairly
bubbled ideas. His imaginings, without any effort on his part,
naturally took all forms and shapes. The call of Mr. Summerfield
was for street car cards, posters and newspaper ads of various
sizes, and what he wanted Eugene specifically to supply was not so
much the lettering or rather wording of the ads as it was their
artistic form and illustrative point: what one particular
suggestion in the form of a drawing or design could be made in each
case which would arrest public attention. Eugene went home and took
the sugar proposition under consideration first. He did not say
anything of what he was really doing to Angela, because he did not
want to disappoint her. He pretended that he was making sketches
which he might offer to some company for a little money and because
it amused him. By the light of his green shaded working lamp at
home he sketched designs of hands holding squares of sugar, either
in the fingers or by silver and gold sugar tongs, urns piled high
with crystalline concoctions, a blue and gold after-dinner cup with
one lump of the new form on the side against a section of snow
white table cloth, and things of that character. He worked rapidly
and with ease until he had some thirty-five suggestions on this one
proposition alone, and then he turned his attention to the matter
of the perfumery.
His first thought was that he did not know all the designs of
the company's bottles, but he originated peculiar and delightful
shapes of his own, some of which were afterwards adopted by the
company. He designed boxes and labels to amuse himself and then
made various still-life compositions such as a box, a bottle, a
dainty handkerchief and a small white hand all showing in a row.
His mind slipped to the manufacture of perfume, the growing of
flowers, the gathering of blossoms, the type of girls and men that
might possibly be employed, and then he hurried to the great public
library the next day to see if he could find a book or magazine
article which would tell him something about it. He found this and
several articles on sugar growing and refining which gave him new
ideas in that direction. He decided that in each case he would put
a beautifully designed bottle of perfume or a handsome package of
sugar, say, in the upper right or lower left-hand corner of the
design, and then for the rest show some scene in the process of its
manufacture. He began to think of men who could carry out his ideas
brilliantly if they were not already on his staff, letterers,
character artists, men with a keen sense of color combination whom
he might possibly hire cheaply. He thought of Jerry Mathews of the
old Chicago
Globe
days—where was he now?—and Philip
Shotmeyer, who would be almost ideal to work under his direction,
for he was a splendid letterer, and Henry Hare, still of the
World
, with whom he had frequently talked on the subject
of ads and posters. Then there was young Morgenbau, who was a most
excellent character man, looking to him for some opportunity, and
eight or ten men whose work he had admired in the magazines—the
best known ones. He decided first to see what could be done with
the staff that he had, and then to eliminate and fill in as rapidly
as possible until he had a capable working group. He had already
caught by contact with Summerfield some of that eager personage's
ruthlessness and began to manifest it in his own attitude. He was
most impressionable to things advantageous to himself, and this
chance to rise to a higher level out of the slough of poverty in
which he had so greatly suffered nerved him to the utmost effort.
In two days he had a most impressive mass of material to show his
prospective employer, and he returned to his presence with
considerable confidence. The latter looked over his ideas carefully
and then began to warm to his attitude of mind.
"I should say!" he said generously, "there's some life to this
stuff. I can see you getting the five thousand a year all right if
you keep on. You're a little new, but you've caught the drift." And
he sat down to show him where some improvements from a practical
point of view could be made.
"Now, professor," he said finally when he was satisfied that
Eugene was the man he wanted, "you and I might as well call this a
deal. It's pretty plain to me that you've got something that I
want. Some of these things are fine. I don't know how you're going
to make out as a master of men, but you might as well take that
desk out there and we'll begin right now. I wish you luck. I really
do. You're a live wire, I think."
Eugene thrilled with satisfaction. This was the result he
wanted. No half-hearted commendation, but enthusiastic praise. He
must have it. He always felt that he could command it. People
naturally ran after him. He was getting used to it by now—taking it
as a matter of course. If he hadn't broken down, curse the luck,
think where he could have been today. He had lost five years and he
was not quite well yet, but thank God he was getting steadily
better, and he would try and hold himself in check from now on. The
world demanded it.
He went out with Summerfield into the art room and was there
introduced by him to the various men employed. "Mr. Davis, Mr.
Witla; Mr. Hart, Mr. Witla; Mr. Clemens, Mr. Witla," so it went,
and the staff was soon aware of who he was. Summerfield then took
him into the next room and introduced him to the various heads of
departments, the business manager who fixed his and his artists'
salaries, the cashier who paid him, the manager of the ad writing
department, the manager of the trade aid department, and the head
of the stenographic department, a woman. Eugene was a little
disgusted with what he considered the crassness of these people.
After the quality of the art atmosphere in which he had moved these
people seemed to him somewhat raw and voracious, like fish. They
had no refinement. Their looks and manners were unduly aggressive.
He resented particularly the fact that one canvasser with whom he
shook hands wore a bright red tie and had on yellow shoes. The
insistence on department store models for suits and floor-walker
manners pained him.
"To hell with such cattle," he thought, but on the surface he
smiled and shook hands and said how glad he would be to work with
them. Finally when all the introductions were over he went back to
his own department, to take up the work which rushed through here
like a living stream, pellmell. His own staff was, of course, much
more agreeable to him. These artists who worked for him interested
him, for they were as he suspected men very much like himself, in
poor health probably, or down on their luck and compelled to do
this. He called for his assistant, Mr. Davis, whom Summerfield had
introduced to him as such, and asked him to let him see how the
work stood.
"Have you a schedule of the work in hand?" he asked easily.
"Yes, sir," said his new attendant.
"Let me see it."
The latter brought what he called his order book and showed him
just how things worked. Each particular piece of work, or order as
it was called, was given a number when it came in, the time of its
entry marked on the slip, the name of the artist to whom it was
assigned, the time taken to execute it, and so forth. If one artist
only put two hours on it and another took it and put four, this was
noted. If the first drawing was a failure and a second begun, the
records would show all, the slips and errors of the office as well
as its speed and capacity. Eugene perceived that he must see to it
that his men did not make many mistakes.
After this order book had been carefully inspected by him, he
rose and strolled about among the men to see how they were getting
on. He wanted to familiarize himself at once with the styles and
methods of his men. Some were working on clothing ads, some on
designs illustrative of the beef industry, some on a railroad
travel series for the street cars, and so forth. Eugene bent over
each one graciously, for he wanted to make friends with these
people and win their confidence. He knew from experience how
sensitive artists were—how they could be bound by feelings of good
fellowship. He had a soft, easy, smiling manner which he hoped
would smooth his way for him. He leaned over this man's shoulder
and that asking what the point was, how long a piece of work of
that character ought to take, suggesting where a man appeared to be
in doubt what he thought would be advisable. He was not at all
certain of himself—this line of work being so new—but he was
hopeful and eager. It was a fine sensation, this being a boss, if
one could only triumph at it. He hoped to help these men to help
themselves; to make them make good in ways which would bring them
and him more money. He wanted more money—that five thousand, no
less.
"I think you have the right idea there," he said to one pale,
anæmic worker who looked as though he might have a lot of
talent.
The man, whose name was Dillon, responded to the soothing,
caressing tone of his voice. He liked Eugene's appearance, though
he was not at all disposed to pass favorable judgment as yet. It
was already rumored that he had had an exceptional career as an
artist. Summerfield had attended to that. He looked up and smiled
and said, "Do you think so?"
"I certainly do," said Eugene cheerfully. "Try a touch of yellow
next to that blue. See if you don't like that."
The artist did as requested and squinted at it narrowly. "It
helps it a lot, don't it," he observed, as though it were his
own.
"It certainly does," said Eugene, "that's a good idea," and
somehow Dillon felt as though he had thought of it. Inside of
twenty minutes the whole staff was agreeing with itself that he was
a nice man to all outward appearances and that he might make good.
He appeared to be so sure. They little knew how perturbed he was
inwardly, how anxious he was to get all the threads of this in his
hand and to see that everything came to an ideal fruition. He
dreaded the hour when he might have something to contend with which
was not quite right.
Days passed at this new work and then weeks, and by degrees he
grew moderately sure of himself and comparatively easy in his seat,
though he realized that he had not stepped into a bed of roses. He
found this a most tempestuous office to work in, for Summerfield
was, as he expressed it, "on the job" early and late, and tireless
in his insistence and enthusiasm. He came down from his residence
in the upper portion of the city at eight-fifty in the morning and
remained almost invariably until six-thirty and seven and not
infrequently until eight and nine in the evening. He had the
inconsiderate habit of keeping such of his staff as happened to be
working upon the thing in which he was interested until all hours
of the night; sometimes transferring his deliberations to his own
home and that without dinner or the proffer of it to those whom he
made to work. He would talk advertising with one big merchant or
another until it was time to go home, and would then call in the
weary members of his staff before they had time to escape and begin
a long and important discussion of something he wanted done. At
times, when anything went wrong, he would fly into an insane fury,
rave and curse and finally, perhaps, discharge the one who was
really not to blame. There were no end of labored and irritating
conferences in which hard words and sarcastic references would fly
about, for he had no respect for the ability or personality of
anyone who worked for him. They were all more or less machines in
his estimation and rather poorly constructed ones at that. Their
ideas were not good enough unless for the time being they happened
to be new, or as in Eugene's case displaying pronounced talent.
He could not fathom Eugene so readily, for he had never met
anyone of his kind. He was looking closely in his case, as he was
in that of all the others, to see if he could not find some
weakness in his ideas. He had a gleaming, insistent, almost
demoniac eye, a habit of chewing incessantly and even violently the
stub end of a cigar, the habit of twitching, getting up and walking
about, stirring things on his desk, doing anything and everything
to give his restless, generative energy a chance to escape.
"Now, professor," he would say when Eugene came in and seated
himself quietly and unobtrusively in some corner, "we have a very
difficult thing here to solve today. I want to know what you think
could be done in such and such a case," describing a particular
condition.
Eugene would brace himself up and begin to consider, but
rumination was not what Summerfield wanted from anyone.
"Well, professor! well! well!" he would exclaim.
Eugene would stir irritably. This was so embarrassing—in a way
so degrading to him.
"Come to life, professor," Summerfield would go on. He seemed to
have concluded long before that the gad was the most effective
commercial weapon.
Eugene would then make some polite suggestion, wishing instead
that he could tell him to go to the devil, but that was not the end
of it. Before all the old writers, canvassers, trade aid
men—sometimes one or two of his own artists who might be working
upon the particular task in question, he would exclaim: "Lord! what
a poor suggestion!" or "can't you do any better than that,
professor?" or "good heavens, I have three or four ideas better
than that myself." The best he would ever say in conference was,
"Well, there may be something in that," though privately,
afterwards, he might possibly express great pleasure. Past
achievements counted for nothing; that was so plain. One might
bring in gold and silver all day long; the next day there must be
more gold and silver and in larger quantities. There was no end to
the man's appetite. There was no limit to the speed at which he
wished to drive his men. There was no limit to the venomous
commercial idea as an idea. Summerfield set an example of nagging
and irritating insistence, and he urged all his employees to the
same policy. The result was a bear-garden, a den of prize-fighters,
liars, cutthroats and thieves in which every man was for himself
openly and avowedly and the devil take the hindmost.