Blind Bet

The signal oil program, the Whistler. I am the Whistler, and I know many things before 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. Yes, friends, it's time for the Whistler, rated by independent research, the most popular West Coast radio program. 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 throughout the West from Canada to Mexico. And now the Whistler Strange Story, the Blind Vet. Tom Brayton stood quietly in the darkness, in a corner near one of the caban, hidden from the open courtyard by a screen of shrubbery and palm trees. The luminous dial of his wristwatch

told him it was 1115, but he hadn't long to wait. He looked with satisfaction on the courtyard and fountains down the long line of cabagnas past the huge brilliant casino del ray, rising like a fairy castle in the desert, the finest, the costliest, the most luxurious Gambling resort in the country and all of it the music the glitter the throngs of well-heeled socialites attribute to him a

Monument to the patient calculating gamblers mind that brought this all the past on a baron alkylai flat Suddenly he stiffened to men were coming down the steps of the casino one of them very drunk the other helping Tom held his breath as they moved nearer The old boy don't get me wrong.

You're the best little bartender in the land. It's just that I object to these high-handed. I'm sorry, Mr. Warren. I'm just following Mr. Braden's orders. He said to put you to bed and that's where you're going.