(xx) Vic's New Hat

Well sir, it's early evening as we enter the small house halfway up in the next block now. And here in the living room we find our friends abiding quietly at home. Mr. Victor Goodt is established at the library table playing himself a dashing game of solitaire.

Mrs. Victor Goodt occupies her husband's easy chair reading the newspaper and young Mr. Rushgook on the Davenport, stares unseeingly at the pages of his algebra textbook. And now there's conversation. Listen. Want to meet me downtown tomorrow afternoon?

Or for? Something here, stop it. Do you refer into the purchase of the head? Yeah. Won't you leave the office around 330 or so, and we'll meet in at Cleberton's? Oh, he should say that I can buy my own head.

No, you can't. He'll be able to talk to my head. What you do is dash in the store like a house of fire and take the first thing they showed you. Since organized society credits me with sufficient intelligence to permit me to walk the public streets without a straight jacket.

It might be assumed that I am smart enough to purchase an article aware in a pair without guiding ship and supervision. Hey, how'd you like that? It's pretty good. My next address is scheduled for Tuesday at two o'clock.

Shall we do that then? Oh, hey, I'll drop by Cree Burgers tomorrow and my way home from work. Yes, and what would you buy? I'd buy that. Sound great, big old, wide-grim cowboy thing. No sir. I'm going with you.

Let's say three o'clock. We'll meet in at Clee burgers and see what they got, and then step over to the elephants and the silvers. I do want to trace all over town just to buy a dog on a hat.