Showing how the firm invented A new shirt.

It has already been said that those four men in armour, on the production of whom Robinson had especially prided himself, were dispensed with after the first fortnight.  This, no doubt, was brought about through the parsimony of Mr. Brown, but in doing so he was aided by a fortuitous circumstance.  One of the horses trampled on a child near the Bank, and then the police and press interfered.  At first the partners were very unhappy about the child, for it was reported to them that the poor little fellow would die.  Mr. Brown went to see it, and ascertained that the mother knew how to make the most of the occurrence; ­and so, after a day or two, did the firm.  The Jupiter daily newspaper took the matter up, and lashed out vigorously at what it was pleased to call the wickedness as well as absurdity of such a system of advertising; but as the little boy was not killed, nor indeed seriously hurt, the firm was able to make capital out of the Jupiter, by sending a daily bulletin from Magenta House as to the state of the child’s health.  For a week the newspapers inserted these, and allowed the firm to explain that they supplied nourishing food, and paid the doctor’s bill; but at the end of the week the editor declined any further correspondence.  Mr. Brown then discontinued his visits; but the child’s fortune had been made by gifts from a generous public, and the whole thing had acted as an excellent unpaid advertisement.  Now, it is well understood by all trades that any unpaid advertisement is worth twenty that have cost money.

In this way the men in armour were put down, but they will be long remembered by the world of Bishopsgate Street.  That they cost money is certain.  “Whatever we do,” said Mr. Brown, “don’t let’s have any more horses.  You see, George, they’re always a-eating!” He could not understand that it was nothing, though the horses had eaten gilded oats, so long as there were golden returns.

The men in armour, however, were put down, as also was the car of Fame.  One horse only was left in the service of the firm, and this was an ancient creature that had for many years belonged to the butter establishment in Smithfield.  By this animal a light but large wooden frame was dragged about, painted Magenta on its four sides, and bearing on its various fronts different notices as to the business of the house.  A boy stood uncomfortably in the centre, driving the slow brute by means of reins which were inserted through the apertures of two of the letters; through another letter above there was a third hole for his eyes, and, shut up in this prison, he was enjoined to keep moving throughout the day.  This he did at the slowest possible pace, and thus he earned five shillings a week.  The arrangement was one made entirely by Mr. Brown, who himself struck the bargain with the boy’s father.  Mr. Robinson was much ashamed of this affair, declaring that it would be better to abstain altogether from advertising in that line than to do it in so ignoble a manner; but Mr. Brown would not give way, and the magenta box was dragged about the streets till it was altogether shattered and in pieces.

Stockings was the article in which, above all others, Mr. Brown was desirous of placing his confidence.  “George,” said he, “all the world wears stockings; but those who require African monkey muffs are in comparison few in number.  I know Legg and Loosefit of the Poultry, and I’ll purchase a stock.”  He went to Legg and Loosefit and did purchase a stock, absolutely laying out a hundred pounds of ready money for hosiery, and getting as much more on credit.  Stockings is an article on which considerable genius might be displayed by any house intending to do stockings, and nothing else; but taken up in this small way by such a firm as that of 81, Bishopsgate Street, it was simply embarrassing.  “Now you can say something true in your advertisements,” said Mr. Brown, with an air of triumph, when the invoice of the goods arrived.

“True!” said Robinson.  He would not, however, sneer at his partner, so he retreated to his own room, and went to work.  “Stockings!” said he to himself.  “There is no room for ambition in it!  But the word ‘Hose’ does not sound amiss.”  And then he prepared that small book, with silk magenta covers and silvery leaves, which he called The New Miracle!

The whole world wants stockings, [he began, not disdaining to take his very words from Mr. Brown] ­and Brown, Jones, and Robinson are prepared to supply the whole world with the stockings which they want.  The following is a list of some of the goods which are at present being removed from the river to the premises at Magenta House, in Bishopsgate Street.  B., J., and R. affix the usual trade price of the article, and the price at which they are able to offer them to the public.

   One hundred and twenty baskets of ladies’ Spanish
   hose, ­usual price, 1_s._ 3_d._; sold by B., J., and R. at
   9-3/4_d._

“Baskets!” said Mr. Brown, when he read the little book.

“It’s all right,” said Robinson.  “I have been at the trouble to learn the trade language.”

   Four hundred dozen white cotton hose, ­usual price, 1_s._
   0-1/2_d._; sold by B., J., and R. at 7-1/4_d._

   Eight stack of China and pearl silk hose, ­usual price,
   3_s._; sold by B., J., and R. for 1_s._ 9-3/4_d._

   Fifteen hundred dozen of Balbriggan, ­usual price, 1_s._
   6_d._; sold by B., J., and R. for 10-1/2_d._

It may not, perhaps, be necessary to continue the whole list here; but as it was read aloud to Mr. Brown, he sat aghast with astonishment.  “George!” said he, at last, “I don’t like it.  It makes me quite afeard.  It does indeed.”

“And why do you not like it?” said Robinson, quietly laying down the manuscript, and putting his hand upon it.  “Does it want vigour?”

“No; it does not want vigour.”

“Does it fail to be attractive?  Is it commonplace?”

“It is not that I mean,” said Mr. Brown.  “But ­”

“Is it not simple?  The articles are merely named, with their prices.”

“But, George, we haven’t got ’em.  We couldn’t hold such a quantity.  And if we had them, we should be ruined to sell them at such prices as that.  I did want to do a genuine trade in stockings.”

“And so you shall, sir.  But how will you begin unless you attract your customers?”

“You have put your prices altogether too low,” said Jones.  “It stands to reason you can’t sell them for the money.  You shouldn’t have put the prices at all; ­it hampers one dreadful.  You don’t know what it is to stand down there among ’em all, and tell ’em that the cheap things haven’t come.”

“Say that they’ve all been sold,” said Robinson.

“It’s just the same,” argued Jones.  “I declare last Saturday night I didn’t think my life was safe in the crowd.”

“And who brought that crowd to the house?” demanded Robinson.  “Who has filled the shop below with such a throng of anxious purchasers?”

“But, George,” said Mr. Brown, “I should like to have one of these bills true, if only that one might show it as a sample when the people talk to one.”

“True!” said Robinson, again.  “You wish that it should be true!  In the first place, did you ever see an advertisement that contained the truth?  If it were as true as heaven, would any one believe it?  Was it ever supposed that any man believed an advertisement?  Sit down and write the truth, and see what it will be!  The statement will show itself of such a nature that you will not dare to publish it.  There is the paper, and there the pen.  Take them, and see what you can make of it.”

“I do think that somebody should be made to believe it,” said Jones.

“You do!” and Robinson, as he spoke, turned angrily at the other.  “Did you ever believe an advertisement?” Jones, in self-defence, protested that he never had.  “And why should others be more simple than you?  No man, ­no woman believes them.  They are not lies; for it is not intended that they should obtain credit.  I should despise the man who attempted to base his advertisements on a system of facts, as I would the builder who lays his foundation upon the sand.  The groundwork of advertising is romance.  It is poetry in its very essence.  Is Hamlet true?”

“I really do not know,” said Mr. Brown.

“There is no man, to my thinking, so false,” continued Robinson, “as he who in trade professes to be true.  He deceives, or endeavours to do so.  I do not.  No one will believe that we have fifteen hundred dozen of Balbriggan.”

“Nobody will,” said Mr. Brown.

“But yet that statement will have its effect.  It will produce custom, and bring grist to our mill without any dishonesty on our part.  Advertisements are profitable, not because they are believed, but because they are attractive.  Once understand that, and you will cease to ask for truth.”  Then he turned himself again to his work and finished his task without further interruption.

“You shall sell your stockings, Mr. Brown,” he said to the senior member of the firm, about three days after that.

“Indeed, I hope so.”

“Look here, sir!” and then he took Mr. Brown to the window.  There stood eight stalwart porters, divided into two parties of four each, and on their shoulders they bore erect, supported on painted frames, an enormous pair of gilded, embroidered, brocaded, begartered wooden stockings.  On the massive calves of these was set forth a statement of the usual kind, declaring that “Brown, Jones, and Robinson, of 81, Bishopsgate Street, had just received 40,000 pairs of best French silk ladies’ hose direct from Lyons.”

“And now look at the men’s legs,” said Robinson.  Mr. Brown did look, and perceived that they were dressed in magenta-coloured knee-breeches, with magenta-coloured stockings.  They were gorgeous in their attire, and at this moment they were starting from the door in different directions.  “Perhaps you will tell me that that is not true?”

“I will say nothing about it for the future,” said Mr. Brown.

“It is not true,” continued Robinson; “but it is a work of fiction, in which I take leave to think that elegance and originality are combined.”

“We ought to do something special in shirts,” said Jones, a few days after this.  “We could get a few dozen from Hodges, in King Street, and call them Eureka.”

“Couldn’t we have a shirt of our own?” said Mr. Robinson.  “Couldn’t you invent a shirt, Mr. Jones?” Jones, as Robinson looked him full in the face, ran his fingers through his scented hair, and said that he would consult his wife.  Before the day was over, however, the following notice was already in type: ­

   Mankind in A state of bliss!

Brown, Jones, and Robinson have sincere pleasure in presenting to the Fashionable World their new Katakairion shirt, in which they have thoroughly overcome the difficulties, hitherto found to be insurmountable, of adjusting the bodies of the Nobility and Gentry to an article which shall be at the same time elegant, comfortable, lasting, and cheap.

   B., J., and R.’s Katakairion shirt, and their Katakairion
   Shirt alone, is acknowledged to unite these qualities.

   Six Shirts for 39_s._ 9_d._

   The Katakairion Shirt is specially recommended to Officers
   going to India and elsewhere, while it is at the same time
   eminently adapted for the Home Consumption.

“I think I would have considered it a little more, before I committed myself,” said Jones.

“Ah, yes; you would have consulted your wife; as I have not got one, I must depend on my own wits.”

“And are not likely to have one either,” said Jones.

“Young men, young men,” said Mr. Brown, raising his hands impressively, “if as Christians you cannot agree, at any rate you are bound to do so as partners.  What is it that the Psalmist says, ’Let dogs delight, to bark and bite .’”

The notice as to the Katakairion shirt was printed on that day, as originally drawn out by Robinson, and very widely circulated on the two or three following mornings.  A brisk demand ensued, and it was found that Hodges, the wholesale manufacturer, of King Street, was able to supply the firm with an article which, when sold at 39_s._ 6_d._, left a comfortable profit.

“I told you that we ought to do something special in shirts,” said Jones, as though the whole merit of the transaction were his own.

Gloves was another article to which considerable attention was given; ­

Brown, Jones, and Robinson have made special arrangements with the glove manufacturers of Worcestershire, and are now enabled to offer to the public English-sewn Worcester gloves, made of French kid, at a price altogether out of the reach of any other house in the trade.

   B., J., and R. boldly defy competition.

When that notice was put up in front of the house, none of the firm expected that any one would believe in their arrangement with the Worcestershire glove-makers.  They had no such hope, and no such wish.  What gloves they sold, they got from the wholesale houses in St. Paul’s Churchyard, quite indifferent as to the county in which they were sewn, or the kingdom from which they came.  Nevertheless, the plan answered, and a trade in gloves was created.

But perhaps the pretty little dialogues which were circulated about the town, did more than anything else to make the house generally known to mothers and their families.

   “Mamma, mamma, I have seen such a beautiful sight!”

one of them began.

   “My dearest daughter, what was it?”

“I was walking home through the City, with my kind cousin Augustus, and he took me to that wonderfully handsome and extraordinarily large new shop, just opened by those enterprising men, Brown, Jones, and Robinson, at N, Bishopsgate Street.  They call it ’Nine Times Nine, or Magenta House.’”

“My dearest daughter, you may well call it wonderful.  It is the wonder of the age.  Brown, Jones, and Robinson sell everything; but not only that, ­they sell everything good; and not only that ­they sell everything cheap.  Whenever your wants induce you to make purchases, you may always be sure of receiving full value for your money at the house of Brown, Jones, and Robinson.”

In this way, by efforts such as these, which were never allowed to flag for a single hour, ­by a continued series of original composition which, as regards variety and striking incidents, was, perhaps, never surpassed, ­a great and stirring trade was established within six months of the opening day.  By this time Mr. Brown had learned to be silent on the subject of advertising, and had been brought to confess, more than once, that the subject was beyond his comprehension.

“I am an old man, George,” he said once, “and all this seems to be new.”

“If it be not new, it is nothing,” answered Robinson.

“I don’t understand it,” continued the old man; “I don’t pretend to understand it; I only hope that it’s right.”

The conduct which Jones was disposed to pursue gave much more trouble.  He was willing enough to allow Robinson to have his own way, and to advertise in any shape or manner, but he was desirous of himself doing the same thing.  It need hardly be pointed out here that this was a branch of trade for which he was peculiarly unsuited, and that his productions would be stale, inadequate, and unattractive.  Nevertheless, he persevered, and it was only by direct interference at the printer’s, that the publication of documents was prevented which would have been fatal to the interests of the firm.

“Do I meddle with you in the shop?” Robinson would say to him.

“You haven’t the personal advantages which are required for meeting the public,” Jones would answer.

“Nor have you the mental advantages without which original composition is impossible.”

In spite of all these difficulties a considerable trade was established within six months, and the shop was usually crowded.  As a drawback to this, the bills at the printer’s and at the stationer’s had become very heavy, and Robinson was afraid to disclose their amount to his senior partner.  But nevertheless he persevered.  “Faint heart never won fair lady,” he repeated to himself, over and over again, ­the fair lady for whom his heart sighed being at this time Commercial Success.

Vestigia Nulla Retrorsum. That should be the motto of the house.  He failed, however, altogether in making it intelligible to Mr. Brown.