The story
“Bings was a clever book agent—but he ran up against a snag in trying to dispose of ‘Cousin Clara’s Cook Book.’ A pretty girl, who sat in the office, raised to Bings a face eloquent with sympathy. Then she gazed appealingly at the manager, who promptly introduced Bings. ‘I am so sorry, Mr. Bings,’ murmured she, ‘so very very sorry. You see, I wrote the book. Father is an invalid, and so poor. We have a tiny, tiny farm, with a big, big mortgage. First, I wrote a play for Mr. Belasco, but he was too busy to produce it. So I decided to compose a cook book. When our kind manager said you were to handle the book, I rejoiced, for I had heard what a wonder you are. It discourages me deeply to learn that you have failed.’ A desperate plan came to him. Calling up the editor of the local paper, and introducing himself as ‘Dr. Hupple,’ proprietor of a private sanitarium for the insane, he imparted an exciting piece of information. ‘One of my patients has escaped,’ he explained. ‘He is a sufferer from a disease with a long Latin name, which scarcely could be understood over the phone. The unfortunate man used to be a book agent, and I fear that his weak mind may return to his old avocation. Warn your readers that if he calls to solicit patronage, that they must immediately subscribe, no matter what the book may be.’ The paper printed the warning. All the neighborhood read it, and shuddered. The maniac book agent soon appeared. He was armed with ‘Cousin Clara’s Cook Book’—and no one dared refuse to subscribe for a copy. After one busy day, however, he ceased to call. That night, ready to drop, Bings staggered into the office, his pockets bulging. He turned the pockets inside out. But did Cousin Clara fall into his arms? She did not. She marshaled forward a hulking youth, and thanking Bings sweetly for his exertions, explained that now she could marry Tommy Banks.”
Summary from Reel Life · 9 October 1915
