(xx) Last Day of School

Well sir, it's two forty-five o'clock in the afternoon as our scene opens now, and here in the living room of the small house, halfway up in the next block, we find Mr. and Mrs. Victor Cook.

Vic has seated at the library table about to plunge into a piece of special work he's brought home from the office. Say it hovers near the Davenport and she's saying, I expect you want to be by yourself.

Maybe I could concentrate better, canoe. Alright, I'll take my sewing upstairs. Kind of a rushed job I got here, group of special invoices. They really ought to be in the mail by six o'clock tonight.

I think I can cut it though if I pitch in. You want another window open before I leave? I am quite comfortable, thanks. It's a pretty warm day. Yeah, but with any more windows open, there'd be a draft and my papers would blow around.

Uh-huh. Alright, if you want anything just holler. Hi. Who's on, man? There's a chap who'll have to be muffled. I'll shoot him outdoors. Hi. I'm free to breathe. What's he doing home at this hour?

Last day of school. Now I was let the kids lose early when vacation starts. I'll shoot him outdoors. He won the party. Greetings, uncle Ned. Congratulations, people. I'm free as a horse. Vacation started 10 minutes ago.

No more school for three home months. Bye, George. It's a great feeling. I'm in sympathy with your glee, Rasko. I can remember when I experienced the same jubilant emotion. What was it we used to say when school let out for the summer?

No more studies, no more books, no more teachers' cranky looks. Yeah, it's a great feeling. You've had a long year plugging away its scholarly pursuits and now you're entitled to relaxation. And behalf of my wife and myself, I offer felicitations and cordial best wishes for a grand holiday season.