"...
There was a just-perceptible listening hang in the work about us.
"Come downstairs," I interrupted, "we can talk better there."
"I can talk better here," he answered.
He was just going on, but fortunately the implacable face of Mrs.
Hampton Diggs appeared down the aisle of bottling machines.
"All right," he said, "I'll come."
In the little sanctum below, my uncle was taking a digestive pause after
his lunch and by no means alert. His presence sent Ewart back to the
theme of modern commerce, over the excellent cigar my uncle gave him. He
behaved with the elaborate deference due to a business magnate from an
unknown man.
"What I was pointing out to your nephew, sir," said Ewart, putting both
elbows on the table, "was the poetry of commerce. He doesn't, you know,
seem to see it at all."
My uncle nodded brightly. "Whad I tell 'im," he said round his cigar.
"We are artists. You and I, sir, can talk, if you will permit me, as one
artist to another. It's advertisement has--done it. Advertisement has
revolutionised trade and industry; it is going to revolutionise the
world.
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