Waldemar reached for the morning’s copy of the Universal and ran his eye down the columns of “classified” matter. “Hark to this,” he said, and read: “Is there any work on God’s green earth for a man who has just _got_ to have it?” “Or this: “WANTED—A venerable looking man with white beard and medical degree. Good pay to right applicant.” “What’s that?” asked Average Jones with awakened interest. “Only a quack medical concern looking for a stall to impress their come-ons,” explained Waldemar. Average Jones leaned over to scan the paper in his turn. “Here’s one,” said he, and read: WANTED—Performer on B-flat trombone. Can use at once. Apply with instrument, after 1 p. m. 300 East 100th Street. “That seems ordinary enough,” said Waldemar. “What’s it doing in a daily paper? There must be—er—technical publications—er—journals, you know, for this sort of demand.” “When Average’s words come slow, you’ve got him interested,” commented Bertram. “Sure sign.” “Nevertheless, he’s right,” said Waldemar. “It is rather misplaced.” “How is this for one that says what it means?” said Bertram. WANTED—At once, a brass howitzer and a man who isn’t afraid to handle it. Mrs. Anne Cullen, Pier 49½ East River. “The woman who is fighting the barge combine,” explained Waldemar. “Not so good as it looks. She’s bluffing.” “Anyway, I’d like a shy at this business,” declared Average Jones with sudden conviction. “It looks to me like something to do.” “Make it a business, then,” advised Waldemar. “If you care really to go in for it, my newspaper would be glad to pay for information such as you might collect. We haven’t time, for example, to trace down fraudulent advertisers. If you could start an enterprise of that sort, you’d certainly find it amusing, and, at times, perhaps, even adventurous.” “I wouldn’t know how to establish it,” objected Average Jones. The newspaper owner drew a rough diagram on a sheet of paper and filled it in with writing, crossing out and revising liberally. Divided, upon his pattern, into lines, the final draft read: HAVE YOU BEEN STUNG? Thousands have. Thousands will be. They’re Laying for You. _WHO?_ The Advertising Crooks. A. JONES Ad-Visor Can Protect You Against Them. Before Spending Your Money Call on Him. Advice on all Subjects Connected with Newspaper, Magazine or Display Advertising. Free Consultation to Persons Unable to Pay. Call or Write, Enclosing Postage. _This Is On The Level_. Jones, Ad-Visor “Ad-Visor! Do you expect me to blight my budding career by a poisonous pun like that?” demanded Average Jones with a wry face. “It may be a poisonous pun, but it’s an arresting catch-word,” said Waldemar, unmoved. “Single column, about fifty lines will do it in nice, open style. Caps and lower case, and black-faced type for the name and title. Insert twice a week in every New York and Brooklyn paper.” “Isn’t it—er—a little blatant?” suggested Bertram, with lifted eyebrows.