But when the hogs are feeling gay, and everything serene, and all the oats and corn and hay present a healthy green, he hitches up old Kate and Dick and journeys off to town, and then comes homeward pretty quick, with lumber loaded down. And when I see the wagons drill along the country road, each one a-creaking, loud and shrill, beneath its lumber load, I know the country’s on the boom, and things will hum once more; and any man who talks of gloom is just a misfit bore. Some people read the Wall Street news to see which way we head, and some keep tab on Henry Clews, to see if we are dead; some follow up what Congress does, and think therein they’ll find the signs that business will buzz, or maybe fall behind. And some are making frequent notes upon the tariff law, to see if it will get our goats, and dislocate our jaw. But when I want to know the truth, about our future fate, I pass up all such things, forsooth, and sit on my front gate, and watch the farmers going by, upon their way from town, and if with lumber piled up high, their carts are loaded down, I know prosperity’s on top, good times are here, you bet; and I go forth and whip a cop and chase a suffragette. Oh, when the farmers spend their hoards for lumber, we enthuse; the granger’s wagonload of boards tells more than Henry Clews. ADVERTISING Tell me not in mournful numbers, with the air of critics wise, that the retail lumber dealer’s not the one to advertise. “Let the shoe and grindstone dealers fill the papers with their ads, let the pharmacists be spielers for their pills and liver pads; let the dry goods merchant merry sing in print his cheerful tunes, let the boatman boom his wherry, let the grocer boost his prunes. But when men are buying shingles they will seek you in your lair, and will need no prose or jingles to induce their going there.” Thus I heard the mossback speaking as he sadly wagged his ears, and his jaws and lungs were squeaking with the rust of many years. But I knew his talk was twaddle that would fool no modern guys; for it’s true that all men waddle to the stores that advertise. Why should men who deal in lumber make no bid for larger trade? Why should they sit ’round and slumber, slumber sweetly in the shade? If an ad will bring new patrons to the gas works or the bank, if it sells new gowns to matrons, why won’t it sell a plank? If an ad will bring new buyers to the corner ginseng store, to the man who deals in plyers, why won’t it sell a door? In our town there is a dealer, selling lumber all the year, and he is the boss appealer to the public’s grateful ear. Every day his little sermon in the paper shows its face; when on building folks determine, they go chasing to his place. Keep your name before the public, keep your business house in view, and when men would build a steeple, they will surely think of you. Advertising pays, you bet you! They who say “No” are absurd. Never let your town forget you--make your name a household word.