Turnabout

Another tale well calculated to keep you in. The story is Turnabout, written for suspense by J Bennett. The thing was done, consummated. Sleep was now dead. And nothing had marked the transitional. Not a scream, not a gasp, nothing.

Nothing but the dull thought the gunbot had made when it came down once, twice, three times. And then Walter Carlton went out of the night-field room, decided to lazy come in and went home. Oh, which user?

Yes, Robert. You enjoy the concert, huh? Very much, Robert. Make me a cocktail like a good fellow. Bring me a magazine. Yes, Mr. Carlton. He stepped his cocktail and lazily turned the pages of Esquire.

He said, stop the the Hemingway story, read it, and liked it. Turned a few more pages, then looked up and said, Oh Robert, yes Mr. Carlton, pack my bags for me will ya? I'm going on a trip in the morning.

Oh, you'll be away long sir. That all depends Robert. That all depends. In the morning he said goodbye to Robert at Grand Central Station, then boarded the train, and got off at the very first stop.

back to Grand Central Station, got into a phone booth and called up Martin Ross, the district attorney. Been rather busy, Martin. You know how the stock market's been lately? How about you? Yes. It's too bad.

Martin, I feel that I've been neglecting my friends. So I'm inviting myself over for dinner tonight. And have Emily trot out that roast duck and wine sauce recipes of hers, huh? Otherwise I don't come.

You'll have your ro- That's 7 Martin. Walter, you certainly can't spin yarn. Just look at Billy, his eyes are popping out. Now Billy, it's time you went to bed dear. But, Mother, it's just- Oh, we let you stay up two extra hours, 7.