He lay dark, almost in penury, awaiting the first shower, at which, as upon a signal, the main thoroughfares became dotted with his agents, vendors of advertisements; and the whole world of San Francisco, from the businessman fleeing for the ferry-boat, to the lady waiting at the corner for her car, sheltered itself under umbrellas with this strange device: Are you wet?
Try Thirteen Star.

"It was a mammoth boom," said Pinkerton, with a sigh of delighted recollection.

"There wasn't another umbrella to be seen.

I stood at this window, Loudon, feasting my eyes; and I declare, I felt like Vanderbilt." And it was to this neat application of the local climate that he owed, not only much of the sale of Thirteen Star, but the whole business of his advertising agency.
The large desk (to resume our survey of the office) stood about the middle, knee-deep in stacks of handbills and posters, of _Why Drink French Brandy ?_ and _The Advertiser's Vade-Mecum._ It was flanked upon the one hand by two female type-writers, who rested not between the hours of nine and four, and upon the other by a model of the agricultural machine.

The walls, where they were not broken by telephone boxes and a couple of photographs--one representing the wreck of the James L.Moody on a bold and broken coast, the other the Saturday tug alive with amateur fishers--almost disappeared under oil-paintings gaudily framed.