029- How Love Came to Professor Guildea -national broadcast

Worried about income tax, wonder if spring will overcome, want to get away from it all, we offer you escape. You were alone in your book line study, listening to the idiot gibberings of a parrot, and beside you, caressing you is an invisible thing, a loathsome thing from which you must escape.

Escape. Reduced and directed by William N. Robeson. And carefully contrived to free you from the four walls of today for a half hour of high adventure. Tonight we escape to the west end of London, to a little house just off Hyde Park, where lived a man who didn't like people.

Tonight we escape in the remarkable tale of Robert Hitchens. Our love came to Professor Gilia. It has been said that no night ever passes over London town that sees not some strange, incurious event. Some occurrence too incredible to bear repeating in the light of day.

How horribly true are those words. It's been over a year now since the night I first met the amazing Professor Gilia. I had delivered a sermon at the rectory of St. Swithen in the East End and was passing through the foyer in departure, when I was accosted brush-clay by an odd little man.

Remarkably sharp-peach'd, his face adorned by a pointed black goatee. Hold me a moment, please. I believe your father, Murchison. Yes, that's right. But I don't think I've had the pleasure. Perhaps you've heard of me.

My name's Gildia, Professor Gildia. Gildia, why, yes, you're the famous psychologist. Yes, a psychologist, biologist, anthropologist, philosopher, and that takes care of that. Sir, I never attend religious services. It appears you've done so tonight.

I came for one reason to hear you. Find out why another wise normal colleague of mine thinks you're the most convincing speaker he's ever listened to. And did you find out? No. Your talk was intelligent, logical.