Chapter 1

He handed a slip to the clerk, which the clerk read, counting the words
from sheer force of habit:

Wanted-A Man With St. Vitus's Dance and an Introspective Turn of Mind.
High Wages to Right Party. Apply Saturday Morning, Room 888, St. Iago
Building.

“Four-sixty-four,” said the clerk.

The man raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

“Four dollars and sixty-four cents,” repeated Carroll.

The man took out a wallet and tried to pull out a bank-note, but could
not because of his gloved hands. He took off the right glove, fished
out one five-dollar bill and gave it to the clerk, who handed him
back thirty-six cents. As the man took the change the clerk distinctly
noticed that he had a big ivory-colored scar which ran from the knuckles
to the wrist and disappeared under the cuff. He remembered it by reason
of the freak ad and the man's voice.

The advertisement appeared in the _Herald_ on the next day. Being
Christmas, the one day of nonreading in America, few people saw it.
Nevertheless, at nine on Saturday morning, ten men with spasmodically
twitching necks or limbs waited for the advertiser to open the door of
Room 888, on which they saw in gilt letters:

ACME VIBRATOR COMPANY

W. W. LOVELL, MANAGER

The elevator man was heard to tell an inquirer, “Here's Lovell!” And
presently the voiceless man, dressed as usual in black, with black
gloves, stepped from the elevator, nodded to the waiting men in the
hall, and opened the door of 888. At first they thought he was a mute,
but realized later that he was merely saving his bronchial tubes, just
as asking men to come Saturday forenoon--pay-day and pay-hours--would
save effort by bringing only men without employment.

Lovell and the afflicted entered. The outer office had half a dozen
chairs, and a table, on which were some medical magazines. Lovell
scrutinized the ten applicants keenly, and finally beckoned to a tall,
well-built chap with a blond mustache, whose unfortunate ailment was not
so extreme as the others, to follow him into the inner office. The
man did so. There were a desk, three chairs, a table, and a dozen
polished-oak boxes that looked as though they might contain vibrators.
Lovell closed the door, sat down at the desk, motioned to the blond man
to approach, and whispered:

“What's your name?”

“Lewis J. Wright.”

“Age?”

“Thirty-six.”

“Working?”

“Not steadily.”

“Profession?”

“Cabinet-maker.”

“Family?”

“No.”

“Do you object to traveling?”

“No; like it.”

“We pay sixty dollars a week, all traveling and living expenses. Will
you go to London, England?”

“To do what?”

“Nothing!”

“What?”

“Nothing!” again whispered the manager, very earnestly. He seemed
anxious to convince Mr. Wright of his good intentions. “Nothing at all!
Sixty a week and expenses!”

“I don't understand,” said Mr. Lewis J. Wright, with an uneasy smile.
His excitement aggravated the malady and his neck jerked and twitched
almost constantly.

“I want a man with St. Vitus's dance.”

“That's me,” said L. J. Wright, and proved it.

“And with an introspective turn of mind. Understand?”

“Not quite,” confessed the cabinet-maker.

“A man who likes to think about himself.”

“I guess I can fill the bill all right,” asserted L. J. Wright,
confidently. Sixty a week, all expenses, and a trip to London began to
look very attractive.

“Then you're engaged.” The manager nodded.

“I don't know yet what I'm to do,” ventured Wright.

“Nothing, I tell you.”

“Well, I'll do it, then!” And L. J. Wright smiled tentatively; but the
manager of the Acme Vibrator Company looked at him seriously--almost
reprovingly--and whispered so hoarsely that Wright felt like going after
cough-lozenges for him:

“Listen, Wright. You will go to London with a letter to Dr. Cephas W.
Atterbury, 23, Abbey Road, St. John's Wood, N. W. Every day you will sit
down in a comfortable chair in the doctor's anteroom, where the patients
wait, from nine to eleven a.m. and five to seven p.m. You will think of
your St. Vitus's dance. For doing this you will get sixty dollars a week
from us and your hotel bill will be paid by the doctor. You may not have
to sail for a month, but your salary begins on Monday. Come here every
Saturday and get twenty-five dollars on account. When you sail you will
get all that's owing to you besides four weeks' salary in advance, and a
round-trip ticket, first-class.”

“But if I get stranded in London--”

“How can you, with three or four hundred dollars in your pocket, a
return-trip ticket, and no need to spend except for clothes, which are
very cheap there? Come next Saturday, but leave your name and address in
case we need you. Can we depend on you?” He looked searchingly into the
grayish-blue eyes of Lewis J. Wright, and seemed comforted when Lewis J.
Wright answered:

“Yes. I'll go on a minute's notice.” He wrote his name and address on a
slip, gave it to the manager, and went out. Lovell followed him to
the outer office and, beckoning to the afflicted nine to draw near,
whispered:

“I've hired a man, but I shall need more soon. Write your names and
addresses and leave them here. Don't come unless I send for you,” and he
distributed printed blanks on which each applicant wrote out his name,
address, and answers to the questions:

1--Do you object to traveling alone?

2--Do you object to sitting in comfortable chairs?

3--Do you object to people making remarks about you?

4--Do you object to minding your own business or earning your wages?

One of the applicants spoke:

“Mr. Lovell, I'd like to know--”

Lovell, however, cut him short with a hoarse but peremptory “Don't
talk! Can't answer!” pointed to his throat, and disappeared in the inner
office, the door of which he closed.

Whereupon the disappointed applicants, expressing their feelings in a
series of heartrending jerks, twitches, tremors, and grimaces, trooped
out into the hall. There they cross-examined Wright and arrived at the
conclusion that they were to be used as living advertisements for the
Acme Vibrator. Doctors were employed to boom it and the company supplied
dummies or “property” patients.