Sleep My Pretty One

The signal oil program? The Whistler. That whistle is your signal for the signal oil program? The Whistler. I am the Whistler. And I know many things before I walk by night.

I know many strains tailed, hidden in the hearts of men and women who have stepped into the shadow. Yeah, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak. Yes friends, it's time for the Signal Oil program, the Whistler.

But first, an important announcement. Beginning next Wednesday, the Whistler will come to you at a new time, one half hour earlier, seven thirty Pacific Coast time. Same station, same day, only the time will change.

Remember beginning next Wednesday, tune in the Whistler one half hour earlier. And now the Whistler's strange story. Sweet, my pretty one. A few months before, Jean would have dismissed the whole idea of having her fortune told is ridiculous.

But there was a difference now. Yeah. Three months ago, the smart little ring on the third finger of her left hand wasn't there, and the future was something she could take or leave alone. But she had to admit now that she was pretty much like any other girl in love.

But same scientific thing somehow seemed a little unimportant, that with marriage just around the corner things like tearoom fortune tellers suddenly seemed important and exciting. So she gave in without argument when her friend Betty suggested they leave their table and visit Madame Dorga in her alcove behind the fringe red curtain in the corner.

And the old woman gazed into her crystal and rambled on. Jean found somehow she was taking it all seriously. A little too seriously. The country was a great- Max has been terribly shocked to renew how he's doing this.