Little Things

And now stay tuned for the program that has rated tops in popularity for a longer period of time than any other West Coast program in radio history. The Signal Oil Program, the Whistler. Signal the famous Go Father gasoline invites you to sit back and enjoy another strange story by the Whistler.

I am the Whistler, and I know many things, or I walk by night. I know many strange tales hidden in the hearts of men and women who have stepped into the shadows. Yes, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak.

And now for the signal oil company, the Whistler's strange story. The little things. It was night in the small northern California town. The weak old-fashioned street lamps were almost obscured by the heavy blanket of fog that rolled aimlessly in from the sea.

The misty quiet of the town was disturbed only by the muffled arrival and departure of an occasional automobile. Nian signs of the local honky-tonks and bars weakly portrayed their identification and merchandise. Beneath one of these signs stood Johnny Larson.

From his pocket he drew a wrinkled piece of paper, held it nearer the dim light to study the pencil to dress, then striking a match to the dry paper. He watched it burn quickly into meaning with ashes. Yes, from now on, Johnny Larson was going to take good care of all the little things and let the big things take care of themselves. He ground the ashes

to a fine powder under one heel, then moved toward the street to hail a cab that he saw emerging from the fog. Hey, taxi! Where to, Chief? For... A four hundred block on Olive Street.