1941-12-xx (xx) Christmas Present Money

Well, sir, our scene doesn't open at the small house halfway up in the next block today. Instead, we take you to Mr. Victor Cook's modest office at the Consolidated Kitchenware Company, plant number 14. Lake appears to have a visitor.

And the visitor is saying, Since this is business and strictly business, I thought I'd keep it on a business basis. Discuss it at my place of business, sir. Exactly. Well, fire away. I'm not interfering with your work.

There's a lot of these occupations that is known as the children's hour. How you mean? Nothing. Papa waxes with his sword. Oh. Shoot. What's on your mind? Christmas present money. Uh-huh. I had a four-burden just the other day I'd be approached on that matter shortly.

Well, Christmas is getting closed. No doubt about it. I once did you require it. A thumping big sum. $7,000? You consider me a comical fella, huh? Yeah. I am a gay dog. I'm very popular with my friends on account of the funny things I say.

How much do you want to stick me for? Twenty-five dollars. I appreciate it. It's a huge amount. Took my breath the way too when I arrived at that figure. But, Gove, I've shaved it down as close as I could.

See, the point is, I'm getting older every year. People expect regular Christmas presents as if I like it's older. I can't get by with giving little kid stuff anymore. It looks ridiculous from a fellow fourteen years old.

I came to your office this afternoon, Guff, to speak straight from the shoulder and ask your man... One moment, Margaret, my telephone. Go ahead. Yes? Mr. Hudson? Okay, Miss Hammer, sweet, put him on. Don't let me interfere with any business you may be transacting, Doc.