Let George Do It

Signal gasoline. Let every traffic signal remind you. You do go farther with signal gasoline. Yes, you do go farther with signal. The Signal Oil Company and your neighborhood signal dealer bring you another curious story by the Whistler.

Tonight, let George do it. I am the Whistler, and I know many things, for I walk by night. I know many strange tales hidden in the hearts of men and women who have stepped into the shadow.

Yes, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak. Kathy was beautiful, there was no denying. A redhead, one of the all too rare variety, with pale white skin and big luminous brown eyes.

delicate, fragile as a Dresden doll. Her beauty was always there for her to depend on when she got into a tight spot. That is until she met an artist named Alan Blair and fell in love with him.

Until then, men were nothing more to Cassie than a source of amusement and endless parade of suckers, ready to jump when she crooked her finger. But Alan didn't jump. He didn't milk when she flashed her irresistible smile.

He didn't come running to comfort her when she touted. Maybe that's why she fell in love with him. And maybe that's why one day she told him about it. What? What did you say? I love you, Alan.

Oh, no, not that. Alan, stop it. Well, after all, Cathy, did you think I'd fall for that? That is the proof. You never loved anyone in your life, darling. Except yourself. You don't know what it feels like.

You're wrong, Alan. I'm mean. Uh-uh-uh. Sit over there. Well, that won't work either. There you are. Yeah. Okay, Miss Booby-trap. You can relax until the next sucker comes along. I'm checking out. You pet. Yummy, you can't just walk out of me.