A Quiet Evening by the Fireside

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At 1313 Blue View Terrace in Los Angeles, California, there stands a small bungalow, sagging slightly, sadly in need of paint, and with a front door that sticks in wet weather. Among the neighbors, this rather grim specimen of California architecture is known as early Spanish omelette.

But to the occupant, his residence is more charming than a French chateau, more sumptuous than an English castle, cozier than a Swiss chalet. For this is the house of Chester A. Riley, and be it ever so humble to him it spells home.

Be it ever so humble there's no place like home. Mmm hmm. Yeah, it looks like a good place to hang it. Yeah. Ah, dumpling. What is it there? Peg, is this a good place to hang this?

Riley, what on earth are you doing with that thing? Thing. This is a mile. I just bought it. It's for the wall. Read it. Home sweet home. And it's pretty. It was made by a fella in the hobby department at Alcatraz.

All framed and ready to hang. The fella in Alcatraz? No, this motto. Stop being so jocular. Oh, Riley, you're not hanging it in this house, but that's the corneiest thing I've ever seen. Hank, there's nothing corny about my home. To me, my home is everything.

I know, dear, but this is so old-fashioned. Just a little fashion. Oh, go on. I've seen him in plenty of homes. Only most people hang him up just to cover up a hole in the plaster.