The Tomahawk., 1916-04-06

the older man, his beady eyes twin
king. But why, in the name OF all
that's unheard of, should collectors
come bothering me about luna
moths ?"
because of an announcement to
this effect which will appear in the
next number of the National Science
! Weekly, and in coming issues OF the
| New York Evening Register
He handed out rough draft of this
advertisement:
| FOR SALE-TWO LARGEST KNOWN
| specimens of Tropaea luna, unmounted;
respectively 10 and 111@ inches spread.
| Also various other specimens from collec-
ton of late Gerald Moseley of Bridgeport,
Conn. Write for particulars. Jones, Room
222, Astor Court Temple New York.
What about further danger here?"
inquired Mr.. Fleming, as Average
Jones babe him good-by. "Would we
better run that warning of poor Nose
ley's, after ALP
For reply Jones pointed out the win
dow. A late-season whirl of snow en-
| veloped the street.
81 see," said the old man. "The
frost. Well, Mr.. Mysterious Jones, I
don't know what you're up to, but
you've given me an interesting day.
Let me know what comes of it."
Collectors of lepidoptera rose in
shoals to the printed offer of luna
moths measuring ten and eleven
inches across the wings. Letters
came in by every mail. All of these
he put aside, except such as bore a
New York postmark. And each day he
compared the new names signed to the
! New York letters with the directory
of occupants of the Stengel building.
Less than week after the luna moth
advertisement appeared, Average
Jones walked into Malcolm DORIS Of
fee with twinkling eye.
do you know man named Marcus
L. Ross?" he asked the chemist.
''Never heard of him."
Marcus L. Ross is interested, not
only in luna moths, but in the rest of
the Moseley collection. He writes
he lives, to tell me so. Also he has
an Office in this building. Likewise
he works frequently at night. Final
ly, he is one of the confidential lobby
lists of the Paragon Pressed Meat COM
pany. Do you see?"
II begin" replied young Mr.. Dorr.
1T would be very easy for Mr.. Ross,
whose Office is on the floor above, to
stop at this door on his way down.
stairs after quitting work late at night
when the elevator had stopped run
ming and-let us say-peep through
the keyhole."
Malcolm Dorr got up and stretched
himself slowly. The sharp, clean lines
of his face suddenly stood out again
under the Greasy flesh.
Il don't know what you're going to
do to Mr. Ross" he said, "but 1 want
to see him first"
I'm not going to do anything to
him." returned Average Jones, "be-
cause, in the first place, suspect that
doubtless, the plugged keyhole and
suffered a crisis of the nerves. It's
strange how nervous your scientific
murderer is. Anyway, Ross is only
an agent. I'm going to aim higher"
New York, that afternoon, saw
something new in advertising. That
it really was advertising was shown
by the adv" sign, large and plain,
in both the papers which carried it.
On the front page of each, stretching
narrowly across three columns, was a
device showing tiny mapped outline
in black marked Bridgeport, Conn,
and large skeleton draft of Manhat-
tan island showing the principal
streets. From the Connecticut city
downward ran line of dots in red.
The dots entered New York from the
north, passed down Fourth avenue to
the south side of Union square, turned
west and terminated. Beneath this
map was the legend, also in red:
WATCH THE LINE ADVANCE IN
LATER EDITIONS.
It was the first time in the records
of journalism that the fudge" device
had been used in advertising.
Great was the rejoicing of the
news" when public curiosity made
run" upon these papers. Greater it
grew when the afternoon edition" ap
peared. This edition carried the same
fudge" advertisement, but now the
red dots crossed over to Fifth avenue
and turned northward as far as Twen-
ty-third street. The inscription was:
UPWARD AND ONWARD SEE NEXT
EXTRA.
For the might Extra" people paid
five, ten, even fifteen cents. Rumor
ran wild Other papers, even, took
the matter up as news, and comment
ed upon the meaning of the extraordi-
nary advertisement. This time, the
red-dotted line went as far up Fifth
avenue as Fiftieth street. And the le-
gend was ominous:
WHEN TURN, I STRIKE.
That was all that evening. The dot