(xx) Mr. Sludge to Sleep Overnight

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 Mr. and Mrs. Victor Gook and their son, Mr. Rush Gook. This last named individual is established at the library table reading aloud from a volume of vigorous fiction. His father and mother, seated side by side on the Davenport,

listened without enthusiasm. Through the tenant's dandelier, winked, smirt, and adjusted his cravat. One of those couple kisses you promised me, he cried. Lady Margaret Pinken, she dug the toe of one fashionable French food in the sand and lowered her heavy eyelashes so that the handsome young officer could not see the misty loveliness

beneath. Suddenly, a hair-splitting scream was heard, and a Comanche handy in chief emerged from the shrubbery. Thir Luton and Stanley produced his automatic revolver, fired twice, and the red scoundrel toppled to the ground. Margaret swooned away.

Oh, hey. Vic, I was supposed to call Mr. Sludge. Hey? Yes, and completely forgot. Darn it, he'll think I'm a fine one. What series for me? Well, Miss Harris has been in the night with her sister in Karlach, and both her other rumors are in Chicago, and that leaves Mr. Sludge in the house all by himself.

I promise I'd invite him here to sleep. Why? Because he's scared to be alone. Oh, sad man. Well, he's so timid. Ms. Harris told me he wouldn't anymore stay in a house alone all night in a horse.

I said I'd get in touch with him and see if he wanted to sleep on our Davenport. I better do it right now. What kind of a molly cuddly is this lunch? He's timid. Scared to stay alone in that big house all night.