Riley's Southern Female Neighbor

Every Sunday morning Chester Riley, like millions of his fellow Californians, makes a beeline for the backyard, Natalie attired in shorts and t-shirts. He stretches out comfortably on a deck chair, looks up at the blue California sky, sighs and takes a deep breath of Los Angeles' mild, balmy air.

It's a mess! Mother! Oh, that's small. It's getting so bad a guy won't be able to sit out in his backyard unless he's in an oxygen tent. It's not that small today. The sky's clear.

Well, there's no haze. No haze. Are you kidding? I can't see my nose in front of my face. It's not small. Somebody's burning leaves. Oh, well, that's that gilless next door. He's got no business.

It's not gilless this time. It's from the yard right in back of us. Where those new people moved in yesterday? Well, they got their nerve. they know it's against the Lord of Burn leaves on Sunday. Somebody ought to tell them off. Go on, Peg, tell them. Well, suppose this new guy is one of them

tough nasty characters. One word lead to another and he'll take a poke at me and knock me flat and there's nothing I can do about it. But if he hits a woman I can sue him for plenty. My hero, well if you won't go I will.

That's your job. She'll think you're yellow. She's only a woman. Be a man. Don't hide behind a woman, skirts. Go on. Peg, Peg, wait, wait, Peg. Huh? Well, what is it now? You stay here also. After all, I'm a man and you're a woman in skirts and I don't want to hide behind a ridiculous figure.