Riley's Old Flame, Bertha

When Chester A. Riley was leading the hectic life of a bachelor, he used to look forward with pleasurable anticipation to those quiet, restful evenings he would enjoy at home when he got married. And now, after eighteen years of married life, let's witness a typical evening in the Riley home.

As Riley, supper over, picks up the evening paper with a sigh of relaxation, opens it to the editorial page, and then... But while Riley sleeps blissfully, he is unaware that the door is slowly opening.

The inch by inch, the door creaks open. Suddenly the barrel of the gun appears in the opening. A gloved hand is aiming directly at Riley's head. Into the room seals a sinister masked figure. The gloved hand steadies the gun.

A finger tenses on the trigger, and then... I'll write you a rat I got you covered. BASS! Don't shoot! So I want you to shut me! It's only a cap pistol you're not shot. Oh...

What are you doing with that gun? I'm just playing. I'm Frank Farak the Private Eye and I'm out to get you. Yeah. Who am I? Your bonehead Barney the murderous moron. Quiet junior the neighbors will hear you.

I mean... How dare you! Couldn't you ever hear down the radio? The radio, so that's where you get these crazy ideas. Give me that gun, Junior, I'm confiscating it. No, no, Bob, don't take it.

Let go that gun, Junior. Come on, Link, come here. I said, give me that gun. Yeah. Well, what on earth's going on here? Probably was shooting at me with this gun. Oh, it's only a toy.

Yeah, it's lucky for me it is. But if this had have been a real gun, I'd be a dead moron. I mean... He's got to stop listening for those crazy radio programs of his. What's wrong with him?