Take My Hand, My Love

Kathy and Elliot Lewis on stage. Kathy Lewis, Elliot Lewis. Two of the most distinguished names in Rio. A hearing each week in their own theatre.

Starring in a repertory of France-cribed stories of their own and your choosing. Radios, formos, players in Radios, formos, players. Ladies and gentlemen, Elliot Lewis. Good evening. May I present my wife, Kathy. Good evening. Tonight on Astalgic Play.

Come back with us to the days before World War I, the days before we girls used to bob our hair, the days of the Model T4. When we fellas wore starched collards and all it cost for two ice cream sodas was 10 cents.

Come back with us to Greenwich Village in New York City and meet all the young homes, the artists and writers and musicians who lived there. Our scene, a converted boarding house deep in the village. Our people, two boys and two girls.

The boys live upstairs, the girls downstairs. Our story, take my hand, my love, by Samuel V. Harrison. Oh, Fred. Ah, I walk. Where you been? I got a haircut. I was drawing down over my collar. You got home early?

Yeah. Hang if I know how you can work on this old rattle trap. I manage. Any mail for me? No, just that. For me. From arborist. Mmm. Rejection? Yep. But I don't get nearly a rejection slips.

I get the nicest letters with my returned manuscripts, read that. Hey, a friend. I'll have to owe you my share of the rent till I get paid for the last batch of pot-boiled. No, that's all right, but...

...golly. Well, I'll have to check in a few days. Well, you know you can't earn a living writing blurb for greeting cards. Yeah, I know, but it keeps me alive until I get- Tell what?