1941-04-xx (xx) Forty Pounds of Golf Clubs

Well, sir, Mr. Victor Gook has just arrived home from the office as we enter the small house halfway up in the next block now. It's late afternoon and he's in the living room with his wife and young son.

We judge that complete happiness does not prevail. Listen. But that sounds dangerous. Dangerous? Can't desire how to get killed. Would you have to do it? Well, Buller is my superior in the company. when he issues an order it behooves me to carry it out.

Here's not the reason why. Here's what to do and die. What the size of it? He's going to throw a bag of golf clubs at you. From a train going 60 miles an hour at midnight.

And you're supposed to catch him? I'm supposed to catch him. Ridiculous. Yeah. I tell him to go jump in the creek. Uh-huh. Let's see the telegram once. It's in my coat pocket. Where's your coat?

I threw it over a kitchen chair when I come in just now. Wanna try it out and get it with you? The quarter of the telegram. Telegram? Okay. I think I stopped it in my inside pocket.

Uh... I don't really get the idea this yet, eh? Oh, it's simple enough. Yesterday I talked to Bolin Chicago long distance. We discussed some business and then he told me he was leaving tonight for St. Louis and would be back through here day after tomorrow.

Suggested he gave him a call. I said fine. He said he'd bring his call clubs. Is that much clear? Yes. Alright, this afternoon I got this telegram. Bullowires me, he figures it'd be silly to log his golf course, uh, clubs clear to St. Louis and back. He suggested I stand on a depot platform and he'll toss him to me as the train goes past.