Matson49-12-1025Jack Frost

Hello, Yukon 2809. Yes, this is Candy-Matson. The National Broadcasting Company presents Candy-Matson, Yukon 2809. What?

Why, Myra Fisher. What are you doing here in a department tour with your work clothes on? I work here, dear. I'm a wage slave. Well, I must say on you, it looks good. What do you slay that?

I'm head of advertising and promotion. Well, quite a spot, hey girl. What, hey girl? No, it was until this morning. Oh. Now my neck is in the fire. What'd you do? Forget to proofread one of your head?

Nothing so trivial, dear, believe me. But am I glad to have bumped into you? Maybe you'll change your mind when I tell you I've been shoplifting. No, I'm serious, Candy. Could you spare a moment and come on up to my office?

My sure. And wipe that frown from off your brow. It's wrinkling your makeup. Well, yours would wrinkle too if you had a missing Santa Claus helper on your hands. Well, well, now, there's a situation, and it almost broke Candy-Matson's part when someone told her there was no Santa Claus' helper, one Jack Frost.

Listen, here she is now to tell you about it. That's right, what the man said. I ran into a deal where we had a missing Santa Claus helper, Jack Frost. The jet with the icicles was supposed to talk to the tiny tots at the brownstone, one of San Francisco's larger and classier department tours.

I'd gone down there that afternoon, shopping. I wanted a bow tie from my old pal, Inspector Ray Mallard at the San Francisco Police Department. A bow tie that lit up and spelled coss back when you pressed the button on the battery.