“How’s this? ‘Second-class passage in a Third World railroad car, hotter than the Black Hole of Calcutta, gave me a first-class headache. I traded my Swiss Army knife for a couple of Powell’s Headache Tablets. Home or halfway around the globe, Powell’s is my first choice for headache relief.’ It’s not that hot, but that’s how they come, from out of nowhere.”

“H’okay; you are a hausfrau shopping at Christmas und very busy und a bik hurry—Powell’s Tablets. Fifty words.”

“ ‘The day, Christmas Eve; fifteen minutes to midnight; the place, Fox Valley Shopping Center, Aurora, Illinois; the headache, a procrastination special—on a scale of ten, ten. The solution: Powell’s Tablets. The happy ending, gaily wrapped presents under a festive tree, a jolly ho-ho, and a merry Christmas to all.’ ”

“Ad magic. Making money for this?”

“Yes. Making money. I think so. Will the horse live? You see, if the horse lives, then I have my magic. That is God’s promise to me. I can do even better for Powell’s Tablets. I can do much better, and if the horse lives I will have my magic. How old is the horse?”

“At first I am thinking he is older. Maybe he is twenty years—”

“How long can this horse live? Given the best care?”

“With good care, a long life. Thirty-five years.”