Decision

The signal oil program? The Whistler. That Whistler is your signal for the signal oil program? 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.

Yes friends, it's time for the Whistler. And remember that every traffic signal remind you, with new signal gasoline you do go farther than ever. Look for the familiar big yellow and black circle sign that identifies those popular signal service stations in seven western states from Canada to Mexico.

And now the Whistler's strange story. decision. Months later, when he finally got a chance to think about it clearly, he decided that if it hadn't happened so suddenly, it might not have happened at all. It was April, of course. That might have had something to do with it. The roaded entrance were blooming

in Golden Gate Park. The kids playing ball in the green lawns and spring sifting in the open window of his office on the 20th floor of the Hamilton building as Dr. Paul Evans sat looking at an uninspiring assortment of X-rays of Mrs.

Harrison's chest cavity. Excuse me Dr. Evans. Well what is it? There's a phone call from Mrs. John Cameron. Can you see her today? Is it important? She says so. They all do. One of my free. Well there's 1230. All right I'll see her then. But What about lunch?

I'll have to skip it, Mrs. Cameron's heart is undoubtedly more important than my lunch. Yes, it could have been the way that it happened. It's startling, sudden, throwing you off balance. Or maybe it was just spring in San Francisco.