“What you want,” continued the Boss, rising in temperature, “is a snappy little envelope insert like this—” And he grabbed up a small piece of paper and folded it angrily and shook it before the surprised eyes of the new Adv. Mgr. Whereupon, without waiting for further reasoning or retort, Captain Boss withdrew, leaving the puzzled Adv. Mgr. to ponder over the punk suggestion. “Perhaps he’s right after all,” he reflected. A few days later Colonel Boss wandered into the Advertising Manager’s office again. “What’s this dinky little thing?” he inquired, picking up a dummy that the Adv. Mgr. had on his desk. “Why that’s just a little insert I’m getting ready to send out to the Dealer Trade on our new No. 7’s.” “Holy Smoke!” ejaculated Commodore Boss, “how do you expect us to get by with our No. 7’s on that measley little thing. What you want is a smashing broadside—something big enough for a fellow to see without impairing his eyesight—something that will command attention—something that will—” “Hold on!” broke in the Adv. Mgr., rising from his warm chair and looking kind of doggone determined. “Last week I had a broadside underway and you came in here and ordered it off, and said you wanted an insert. You now come in and rap the insert and say you want a broadside.” “Oh, hell,” cut in Premier Boss, “don’t pay any attention to what I say.” “I’m not going to,” flashed back the now thoroughly aroused Adv. Mgr., “but YOU are going to pay attention to what I say, and you’re going to remember it the longest day you live.” “When I came here,” he continued, sticking his fist right up close to the Boss’s olfactory knob, “you told me that your old organization was a bunch of dummies and said you wanted initiative. You SAID it, but you did not MEAN it. _You_ don’t want initiative and independent thinking. You want weakness and sycophancy. “You could not stand a strong mind in your establishment six months. There would be a constant clash for mental supremacy. THE OLD MEN THAT YOU CANNED ALL HAD WILL POWER OF THEIR OWN ONCE. But you sapped their wills to feed your own rotten gourmand Will. And when they had no more mental pap to give you, you despised them. You despised them for lack of the very thing you robbed them of. “You are a Mental Leech—the most dangerous class of citizen in the world. And when it so happens that your stripe is an employer, your sin is doubly damnable because the mental resistance of the average employe is weakened against your onslaught through the fear he has of losing his job. “I’ll concede that you have never before been CONSCIOUS of what you were doing,” roared the Adv. Mgr, “but from this moment you _shall_ be conscious of it, and of your responsibility if you dare ever again to use it—you big blustering mental bully you!” “You’re fired,” interrupted the Boss in a flannel voice and plainly whipped. “I decline to quit!” thundered the Advertising Manager.