(xx) A Miserable Object of Public Ridicule

Well, sir, it's a few minutes past eight o'clock 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 spending a quiet evening at home.

Vic lounges in the Davenport and Gaze's dreamily at his shoes. Say to seated and her husband's easy to have beneath the floor lamp reading aloud from the newspaper. Listen. The bride leaning heavily upon the arm of her father was radiant in a going-away costume of off-aprocot, with Stockenson pumps to match, with burned caramel accessories and a small

clothes hat. She carried a bouquet of mixed garden flowers. Out of town guests were Cyrus L. Fritche of Kansas City, Missouri, a former employer of the groom. Ed and Will Falper, Lexington, Illinois, Mr. and Mrs. U. O.

Dimp and Sun Wallrab of Red Wing, Minnesota, Harry K. Montgomery of West Pittston, Pennsylvania. Mr. Mrs. Clark, downlap of Cleveland, Ohio. Mr. Mrs. Bill, Lacey, afterando, Ontario. Cad Wallader. The telephone is beginning. One answer.

Probably Ruth is done, but... No, I'm sure not. Then let me hazard a guess. It's good old dependable down at the Hill's Solid Concrete Foundation trustworthy Bluetooth chances. Yes. No. Yes. Yes. Oh, I know he isn't.

What is this? Oh, uh-uh. City. Yeah? Bluetooth Johnson. Oh, really? Good old street is in the flowers and may it matter not who won or lost or how you played the game reliable Bluetooth Johnson.

You've been a talk to me, aren't you? Otherwise you'll hang up. Bluetooth? How are you Bluetooth? Glad to hear it. No, rush ducked out some place right after supper. Any message I can give him? Oh?