Grave Secret

The Signal Oil Program. Yes, the Signal Oil Program. The Whistler. Whistler is your signal for the Signal Oil Program. The Whistler. 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 shadows. Yes, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak. Yes, friends, it's time for the Signal Oil program, the Whistler, rated tops in popularity for a longer period of time than any other West Coast program in radio history.

And Signal Gasoline is tops too, tops in quality. It takes extra quality, you know, to give you extra mileage, and Signal is the famous Go-Father Gasoline. So look for the signal circle sign in yellow and black that identifies independently operated signal stations from Canada to Mexico.

And now the Whistler Strange Story. Grave Secret. From the parlor window, Harriet Eldridge watched the postman wheel his bicycle down the tree shaded street. So I'm turned into the driveway and approached the house. She stepped out into the hallway and stopped for a moment to rearrange a bowl of dahlias on the table.

Then hurried to the door, a faint smile on her lips. The letters have become very important to Harriet Eldridge. Yes, very important. And she was pleased that they were arriving with such regularity. Morning, Miss Harriet.

Good morning, Henry. Here's another one from Australia. Oh, from Mr. Pettis. How nice. I'm not sure it is having the big vacation for himself, Edie. I wish I could retire, go gallivant and all over the world.

Only I wouldn't go off this in relatives. Mr. Pettis has no living relatives, Henry. He's just visiting friends. I've got relatives back in Sioux City. If I never see him again, it's OK with me.