033- Misfortunes Isle -national broadcast- -2

You were aboard a Chinese junk run aground off the coast of Borneo, and paddling toward you are the canoes of the deadly dyac headhunters. Your powder is wet, your throat is dry, because for you there is no escape.

Escape, produced and directed by William N. Robson, and designed to free you from the four walls of today, for a half hour of high adventure. Tonight we escaped to the Orient of 150 years ago, to the Manila of 1790, in Richard Matthew's Hallowed Story of a Wooden Ship and an Iron Man.

Miss Fortune's Isle. The water which was lying at anchor so close up against the jetty I could have leaned over and spit on the wheels of the elegant Spanish carriages clattering along the promenade. Ah, and that's exactly what I felt like doing.

I'd been away from Salem for three years now. Three years of sailing, a trade-or-break through the China Seas and south into the Spice Islands. Hm? All for what? The whole thing had grown stale, suddenly.

I was plainly and simply bored. Young Post stood beside me there at the Taff Rail and tried to console me with philosophy. He ranked his sailing junk alongside earlier in the day and come aboard to renew a friendship that started two years before a tin scene when I hauled him out from under an executioner's

axe. He was under it because he just sold me six fine fat pigs without remembering they happened to be the sacred property of the tin scene temple. Oh, yank, poor was a real philosopher, all right.

Anyway, my friend, I reserved my sympathies for the poor. You have gained much wealth and trade. Ah, in a few measly gold pieces. But the trouble is out here, a man can't go it on his own.