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Er, well, you know. Because not so deep down, I would like to have a butler. And worse, the right sort of butler. And so on.
By the way, any danger in my reading out of order? Am twenty pages into Murder Must Advertise, which I really love having been in advertising myself. No one hardly gets advertising right, but here it is:
"Your story is, of course, that Dairyfields 'Green Pastures' Margarine is everything that the best butter ought to be and only costs ninepence a pound. And they like a cow in the picture."
"Why? Is it made of cow-fat?"
"Well, I daresay it is, but you mustn't say so. People wouldn't like the idea. The picture of the cow suggests the taste of butter, that's all. And the name --Green Pastures-- suggests cows, you see."
"It suggests Negroes to me," said Mr. Bredon. "The play, you know."
"You mustn't put Negroes in the copy," retorted Mr. Ingleby. "Nor, of course, religion. Keep Psalm 23 out of it. Blasphemous."
"I see. Just something about 'Better than Butter and half the price.' Simple appeal to the pocket."
"Yes, but you mustn't knock butter. They sell butter as well."
"Oh!"
"You can say it's as good as butter."
"But in that case," objected Mr. Bredon, "what does one find to say in favour of butter? I mean, if the other stuff's as good and doesn't cost so much, what's the argument for buying butter?"
"You don't need an argument for buying butter. It's a natural, human instinct." |
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