Hollywood Heartache

promise and fulfillment. Both and death. The whole drama of life is written in the sales of time. We present the new series of radio programs, the clock. Family quarrel is not unusual, and I suppose the best of us have them every once in a while.

My family is no exception. Once a year we have a battle royal. It all started in 1918 when something called daylight saving time was adopted in New York. My city cousins pushed themselves ahead an hour of all the rest of the families throughout the country remained on standard time.

Well, progress is no crime, but ambition might be. It all depends. I'm thinking now of young George Finney and his pretty wife, Arlene. Ambition there was made of with greed and the offspring was a monster.

The police aligned, I mean, God. That's all in spite of everything. What's the story, Mrs. Finney? Well, it started a couple of months ago in Santa Monica.

I was a cashier in a barbecue when I first met George. He was tall and clean, cut with a handsome smile. He had a cute line and a fast delivery, and I liked him right away.

He was Hollywood, and Hollywood was just where I wanted to be. And pictures, Mr. Penny. You bet. You're not an actor. Actor? No, not a chance. I work inside the production end. I always wanted to get into pictures, But I never had much luck.

Oh, the oil shape, you don't eat much luck. You think I'm pretty? Oh, a knockout. I don't know. I've seen the best in pictures. Turn your face to the left for a minute. Mm-hmm. Photogenic, just like I thought.