RGL e-Book Cover 2018©
RGL e-Book Cover 2018©
Ladbroke (Lionel Day) Black (1877-1940) was an English writer and journalist who also wrote under the pseudonym Paul Urquhart. His life and career are summarised in the following entry in Steve Holland's Bear Alley blog:
Black, born in Burley-in-Wharfdale, Yorkshire, on 21 June 1877, was educated in Ireland and at Cambridge where he earned a B.A. He became assistant editor of The Phoenix in 1897 before moving to London in 1899 where he joined The Morning Herald as assistant editor in 1900. He later became assistant editor of the Echo in 1901, joint editor of Today, 1904-05, and special writer on the Weekly Dispatch, 1905-11. After a forgettable first novel, "A Muddied Oaf" (1902), co-written with Francis Rutter, Black collaborated on the collection "The Mantle of the Emperor" (1906) with Robert Lynd, later literary editor of the News Chronicle. He then produced a series of novels in collaboration with [Thomas] Meech under the name Paul Urquhart, beginning with "The Eagles" (1906). Black also wrote for various magazines and newspapers, sometimes using the pen-name Lionel Day. His books ranged from romances to Sexton Blake detective yarns. His recreations included sports (boxing and rugby), reading and long walks. He lived in Wendover, Bucks, for many years and was Chairman of the Mid-Bucks Liberal Party in 1922-24. He died on 27 July 1940, aged 63, survived by his wife (Margaret, née Ambrose), two sons and two daughters."
"GEE!" exclaimed the American, in the commercial room of the "Malt and Shovel."
"You talk about advertising enterprise in this country; why, it's nothing to what we do in the States. You've heard, of course, of the Panacea Boom? What—never? What do they do with your memories in this country, anyway? Well, drink with me, boys, and I'll tell you."
The waiter having taken our orders, the American began:
"Out West in Bugsville there was a man called Parker who was the proprietor of a patent metal-polisher. Somehow or other, this polisher fell flat—wouldn't sell at all; so that Parker began to think that people had given up polishing metal and that it was high time he gave up trying to sell what they didn't want. One morning, while he was thinking things over, a stranger suddenly entered his office without knocking, and took a seat. Parker was just about to tell him that the Public Information Bureau was round in the next block, when he spoke first.
"'You are the proprietor of Parker's Peerless Polisher, I believe?'
"Parker admitted it without a blush.
"'You want to make a fortune out of the polisher—that so?'
"Parker, whose liver was out of order, said 'No.' He was running his business as a local branch of the New York Charity Organisation Society. The stranger took this question as answered in the affirmative, and began to explain what he'd come for.
"I can't tell you all he said, but it amounted to this:—Parker was to change his polisher into a patent medicine. 'Parker's Priceless Panacea,'--it answered just as well that way, and was to give him, the stranger, a hundred thousand dollars and a quarter of the profits if, before the year was out, Parker made, through his agency, a million dollars.
"Parker saw he didn't stand to lose anything anyway, and as he hadn't ever made more than a few cents out of the polisher, he wasn't particular about losing nothing on the chance of gaining a million or so. Well, he and the stranger fixed up things between them, and when the arrangement was in black and white the stranger explained his idea.
"Parker was to get four intimate friends whom he could trust to promise that when they bought anything, from a drink to a bar of soap, they would mention the name of Parker. Each of these four friends was to get four other friends to do likewise, and they in their turn were to get four other apiece, and so on. It was, in fact, to be a snowball, with Parker's name instead of the usual penny stamp.
"Well, though Parker had no great idea of the scheme, he got the first four friends, swore them to secrecy, and then went home to await the result. After three days there were about a thousand people going about Bugsville dropping in at the stores and bars; and saying that they had been asked to mention the name of Parker when they ordered anything.
"Before the end of the week there wasn't a man in the town who didn't know about Parker. The number increased in geometrical progression, and, of course, it soon got too big for Bugsville. Then the whole state began talking of him, and before a month had elapsed the entire population of the United States had the name of Parker on their lips. After that it got into Europe, and just flashed through the United Kingdom.
"On the Continent it caught on like measles, and at the end of six months the priests were talking about him in Thibet. Then the papers took it up, and it was calculated afterwards by Dr. Dolt Fuoling, the eminent statist, that if the columns of printed matter which dealt with the question 'Who is Parker?' were placed end to end they would encircle the earth at the equator ten times and leave enough paper over to print six editions of all the morning papers in the world. Editors offered prizes for the best solution, and when Mr Hiram P. Buckle, of New Capernaum, told his constituents that if they asked him who was Parker, he would reply that he didn't know and didn't care, they up and threw him out, and he daren't show his face in that district for the rest of his life.
"People got frightened—somehow thought Parker was an anarchist scare. A well-known politician in this country formed a party, on the motto—'Everybody'—meaning the Opposition—'who mention's Parker, is giving a vote to the Wooli-Woolis'—at that time the Wooli-Wooli niggers in West Africa were seeing how near they could get to Maxims without being hurt. In France, the Nationalists made out it was an insult to the Army, and in Russia, they sent people who mentioned Parker to Siberia, and a new sect sprung up called Parker Martyrs. The climax was reached when the Japanese Government, in giving an order for a new battleship to a Glasgow firm, stated that they had been requested to mention the name of Parker.
"When the excitement was at its height, a note appeared one morning in all the principal newspapers in the world to the effect that on such-and-such a day the answer to the question, 'Who is Parker?' would be announced.
"Well, I can tell you, curiosity was at boiling point. People stayed up all night just to hear the news. Just before the newspapers went to press on the day appointed, a telegram reached them, which ran something like this:— 'Who is Parker'— the great mystery—the man whose name is ringing through the world? Parker is the benefactor of the Human Race. Parker is the proprietor of Parker's Priceless Panacea. On sale everywhere.'
"At the same time as this information reached the public, the panacea was on sale in every known city in the world. The first day alone realised five million dollars, for everybody bought a box to see what it was like, or to keep as a souvenir. Before six months were up, Parker and his partner shared up sixty million of dollars between them, and sold out the patent to a company for another ten million. That, gentlemen, was the Panacea Boom—the finest, and cheapest advertisement that was ever known. You've never had anything like it on this side of the ditch."
THERE was a dead silence when the American had finished. Then Smith, who is
in fancy goods, marked time with his feet on the ground.
"What's that?" said the American sharply.
"The feet of the young men," said Smith.
"What young men?"
"The young men who came to fetch Ananias."
Then somebody laughed.