Hood had some little legal experience with long-winded commercial witnesses, and he was listening by this time with a cocked eyebrow and an attention much sharper than the dreamy ecstasy with which the poetic Pierce was listening to the millionaire’s monologue, as if to the wordless music of some ever-murmuring brook. “Excuse me,” said Hood earnestly, “but did I understand you to say pigs’ ears?” “That is so, Mr. Hood,” said the American with great patience and politeness. “I don’t know whether I gave you a sufficiently detailed description for you to catch on to the proposition, but----” “Well,” murmured Pierce wistfully, “it sounded to me like a detailed description.” “Pardon me,” said Hood, checking him with a frown. “I really want to understand this proposition of Mr. Oates. Do I understand that you bought pigs’ ears cheap, when the pigs were cut up for other purposes, and that you thought you could use them for some purpose of your own?” “Sure!” said Mr. Enoch Oates, nodding. “And my purpose was about the biggest thing in fancy goods ever done in the States. In the publicity line there’s nothing like saying you can do what folks say can’t be done. Flying in the face of proverbs instead of providence, I reckon. It catches on at once. We got to work, and got out the first advertisement in no time; just a blank space with: ‘We Can Do It’ in the middle. Got folks wondering for a week what it was.” “I hope, sir,” said Pierce in a low voice, “that you will not carry sound commercial principles so far as to keep us wondering for a week what it was.” “Well,” said Oates, “we found we could subject the pigskin and bristles to a new gelat’nous process for making artificial silk, and we figured that publicity would do the rest. We came out with the second set of posters: ‘She Wants it Now.’... ‘The Most Wonderful Woman on Earth is waiting by the Old Fireside, hoping you’ll bring her home a Pig’s Whisper Purse.’” “A purse!” gasped Hilary. “I see you’re on the notion,” proceeded the unmoved American. “We called ’em Pig’s Whisper Purses after the smartest and most popular poster we ever had: ‘There was a Lady Loved a Swine.’ You know the nursery rhyme, I guess; featured a slap-up princess whispering in a pig’s ear. I tell you there isn’t a smart woman in the States now that can do without one of our pig-silk purses, and all because it upsets the proverb. Why, see here----” Hilary Pierce had sprung wildly to his feet with a sort of stagger and clutched at the American’s arm. “Found! Found!” he cried hysterically. “Oh, sir, I implore you to take the chair! Do, do take the chair!” “Take the chair!” repeated the astonished millionaire, who was already almost struggling in his grasp. “Really, gentlemen, I hadn’t supposed the proceedings were so formal as to require a chairman, but in any case----”