“And then,” said Mr. Boldero, “there’s our advertising campaign. On that I may say,” he went on with a certain solemnity, “will depend the failure or success of our enterprise. I consider it of the first importance.” “Quite,” said Gumbril, nodding importantly and with intelligence. “We must set to work,” said Mr. Boldero, “sci—en—tifically.” Gumbril nodded again. “We have to appeal,” Mr. Boldero went on so glibly that Gumbril felt sure he must be quoting somebody else’s words, “to the great instincts and feelings of humanity.... They are the sources of action. They spend the money, if I may put it like that.” “That’s all very well,” said Gumbril. “But how do you propose to appeal to the most important of the instincts? I refer, as you may well imagine, to sex.” “I was just going to come to that,” said Mr. Boldero, raising his hand as though to ask for a patient hearing. “Alas! we can’t. I don’t see any way of hanging our Small-Clothes on the sexual peg.” “Then we are undone,” said Gumbril, too dramatically. “No, no.” Mr. Boldero was reassuring. “You make the error of the Viennese. You exaggerate the importance of sex. After all, my dear Mr. Gumbril, there is also the instinct of self-preservation; there is also,” he leaned forward, wagging his finger, “the social instinct, the instinct of the herd.” “True.” “Both of them as powerful as sex. What are the Professor’s famous Censors but forbidding suggestions from the herd without, made powerful and entrenched by the social instinct within?” Gumbril had no answer; Mr. Boldero continued, smiling: “So that we shall be all right if we stick to self-preservation and the herd. Rub in the comfort and the utility, the hygienic virtues of our Small-Clothes; that will catch their self-preservatory feelings. Aim at their dread of public opinion, at their ambition to be one better than their fellows and their terror of being different—at all the ludicrous weaknesses a well-developed social instinct exposes them to. We shall get them, if we set to work scientifically.” Mr. Boldero’s bird-like eyes twinkled very brightly. “We shall get them,” he repeated, and he laughed a happy little laugh, full of such a childlike diabolism, such an innocent gay malignity that it seemed as though a little leprechaun had suddenly taken the financier’s place in Gumbril’s best arm-chair. Gumbril laughed too; for this leprechaunish mirth was infectious. “We shall get them,” he echoed. “Oh, I’m sure we shall, if you set about it, Mr. Boldero.” Mr. Boldero acknowledged the compliment with a smile that expressed no false humility. It was his due, and he knew it. “I’ll give you some of my ideas about the advertising campaign,” he said. “Just to give you a notion. You can think them over, quietly, and make suggestions.” “Yes, yes,” said Gumbril, nodding.