The Diary of Sophronia Winters

of suspense and the producer of radios outstanding theater of thrills the master of mystery and adventure William N. Robeson. One of the axioms of drama might be summed up in the words don't cheat the audience.

Yet one of the most famous short stories of the century the lady of the tiger does just that. No, we are not about to bring you that famous masterpiece but the story we are going to tell, in addition to being well-calculated to keep you in suspense, is also guaranteed to start a lot of arguments, none of which we hope will become too serious.

Frankly, we don't know whether Saphonia Winters or Hiram Johnson is telling the truth, and whether one or both of them are crazy. Of this one point of which we can all agree, Saphonia's diary makes mighty thrilling reading.

Listen then, as Miss Mercedes-Ricabridge stars in the Diarrhea's Saphronia Winters, which begins in just a moment. Another visit with Joe and Daphne Forsyth. Hey, honey, I'm home. Daphne, drop dead. Uh-oh, what's the matter, honey?

Don't you speak to me. You've done one. Done one. Daphne, I'm not done one. I don't have a last plan. Very funny, ha ha ha. Follow was no prize, whatever. Neither are you. You, you, you, Lathario.

I've often wondered, what's Lathario? I don't know, but that's what the wives on TV always call their husbands. I guess it applies. You want me to go out and commillate him? As far as I'm concerned, you can go for a long walk, preferably on a short period.

Well, ah, come on, Kathy, what's wrong? You're a good friend Harry called and he's still the beans. Which beans? He said, quote, tell Joe he was right about those blondes. They're great, unquote. Blans. That's what he said.