As for subscribers, they were hereditary. Just as red hair ran in certain families, subscribing to the paper ran in others. It is doubtful if anybody took in the paper because he wanted it; but it was tradition for some to have the _Free Press_, and therefore they subscribed. It was useful for shelf covering. Red hair is the exception rather than the rule; so were subscribing families. Carmel pondered deeply over these facts. If, she said to herself, all the merchants advertised as they should advertise, and if all the inhabitants who should subscribe did subscribe, then the _Free Press_ could be made a satisfactorily profitable enterprise. How might these desirable results be obtained? She was certain subscribers might be gotten by making the paper so interesting that nobody could endure to wait and borrow his neighbor’s copy; but how to induce merchants to advertise she had not the remotest idea. There was the bazaar, for instance, which did not advertise at all; the bank did not advertise; the two photographers did not advertise; the bakery did not advertise. She discussed the matter with Tubal and Simmy, who were not of the least assistance, though very eager. She did not discuss it with Prof. Evan Bartholomew Pell because that member of the staff was engaged in writing a snappy, heart-gripping article on the subject of “Myths and Fables Common to Peoples of Aryan Derivation.” It was his idea of up-to-date journalism, and because Carmel could think of nothing else to set him to work at, she permitted him to continue. “Advertising pays,” she said to Tubal. “How can I prove it to these people?” “Gawd knows, Lady. Jest go tell ’em. Mebby they’ll believe you.” “They won’t b’lieve nothin’ that _costs_,” said Simmy, with finality. “I’m going out to solicit advertising,” she said, “and I’m not coming back until I get something.” “Um!... G’-by, Lady. Hope we see you ag’in.” In front of the office Carmel hesitated, then turned to the left. The first place of business in that direction was identified by a small black-and-gold sign protruding over the sidewalk, making it known that here one might obtain the handiwork of Lancelot Bangs, Photographer. In glass cases about the doors were numerous specimens of Lancelot’s art, mostly of cabinet size, mounted on gilt-edged cards. Mr. Bangs, it would appear, had few ideas as to the posturing of his patrons. Gentlemen, photographed alone, were invariably seated in a huge chair, the left hand gripping the arm, inexorably, the right elbow leaning upon the other arm, and the head turned slightly to one side as if the sitter were thinking deep thoughts of a solemn nature. Ladies stood, one foot advanced, hands clasped upon the stomach in order that the wedding ring might show plainly; with chins dipped a trifle downward and eyes lifted coyly, which, in dowagers of sixty, with embonpoints and steel-rimmed spectacles, gave a highly desirable effect.