being effected by means of a steel-wire spinal cord down the dorsal
side of the handle. Over the fist of a hammer spread a jaw of sharp
teeth to take hold of the carpet. The thing could not talk; but it
could do almost anything else, so fearfully and wonderfully was it made.

As for laying carpets with it, any child could do that. But we did n't
have any children then, and I had quite outgrown my childhood. I tried
to be a boy again just for that night. I grasped the handle of the
Perfect Automatic, stretched with our united strength, and pushed down
on the lever. The spring-hammer drew back, a little trap or mouth at
the end of the slotted tin barrel opened for the tack, the tack jumped
out, turned over, landed point downward upon the right spot in the
carpet, the crouching hammer sprang, and--

And then I lifted up the Perfect Automatic to see if the tack went
in,--a simple act that any child could do, but which took automatically
and perfectly all the stretch out of the carpet; for the hammer did not
hit the tack; the tack really did not get through the trap; the trap
did not open the slot; the slot--but no matter. We have no carpets
now. The Perfect Automatic stands in the garret with all its original
varnish on. At its feet sits a half-used can of "Beesene, The Prince
of Floor Pastes."

We have only hard-wood floors now, which we treated, upon the strength
of the label, with this Prince of Pastes, "Beesene"--"guaranteed not to
show wear or dirt or to grow gritty; water-proof, gravel-proof. No rug
will ruck on it, no slipper stick to it. Needs no weighted brush.
Self-shining. The only perfect Floor Wax known. One box will do all
the floors you have."