Abstract
Your autobiography! he said them, standing gilded in the morning sun like a sparkling tournament trophy. We will write your very own Take it from me. My company. His company, a back-Eastern somewhere wholesale publisher making books inexpensive like fine wines in the cellar. more who buy, the cheaper they come! hailing them from the wagon all circus curlicue red yellow and golden with a steed stamping and whinnying on the dusty streets. The children first saw him arrive, an edge of town voyager in the dawn with leather straps, champing horse, all silver buckles, spokes and copper rims, pulling into the townsquare at day break and throwing the side open for everyone gaze upon leather and goldtrim books. Your own biography, your own life story! printed on qual ity paper, inexpensive labor of speciality house can afford it because ... because of pot-boilers which allow the philanthropist owner (everyone knows how crazy philanthropist millionaires are) take huge trash-novel profits and send wagonmen through green little midwest towns offer books, books, . everyone loves books! books about your very own life. Bound and goldtrimmed, don't forget that, printed and sent you and see these here on display now, from Bainbridge over in Ohio, and Star City back in Indiana. Anyone have relatives in Star City? The crowd pushing closer the wagon now like leaves blown against autumn trees, staring up at the traveling salesman, possible snake-oil man for the suspicious sheriff run out of town. Up closer now, necks like marionettes, twisting see the books. Step up! Browse! Thumb through the life stories of your cousins! Children dashing under the quiet nibbling horse's legs, chasing with gunsticks, and parents hollering be quiet. The leading citizens, the mayor and city coun cilmen, all pinstripe and tophat and smile-vote formality, standing one side on the way the office for coffee and business. Only ten dollars! he shouts, to leave a legacy for your children, your grandchildren, your great grandchildren! This last striking that golden note in the hearts of all men who sire children, as every man wants be immortal, every man has his pride. Now perking up, husbands turning and smiling and nodding at wives, a twinkle in their eyes, this sounds nice doesn't it now, a life story give 1
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