1942-03-xx (xx) Mrs. Appelrot's Petition

Well sir, it's late afternoon as our scene opens now, and here in the living room of a small house halfway up to the next block, we find Mr. Victor Gork and his son Mr. Rushgook.

The gentlemen face each other across the library table, competing briskly in a rummy tournament. Listen. I have just toted up the score. It's gonna have been much of a jab, we've only played one game.

I have just toted up the score and I find Victor has won one game and Rush has won no game. V-1, rush nothing. Okay, here comes the ticket. Victor won. Rush nothing. And everything that you fell off her gloating.

Figures don't lie. It's right here in black and white. Victor has won all the games. Oh, all I do. I leave the world to draw its own inferences from this data as to which one of it's the better-remming players.

Shall we start? My turn. Sure, I do. Now for another smashing victory. Victor. Mama, I assume the downtown shopping for wash right. Then what we'll call meeting today? Oh, to be sure. Mrs. Headleshouse, Mrs. Trogothown.

My one of blood gurus. We discarded the jack of hearts and it fits right into my hand perfectly. How is that? No, that's a good rummy player knows such things instinctively. A good rummy player has a sort of unrealist mind. I'm home now. My.

Gee, Dean Craig. I mean, the Gee, Dean, Stade. Hi. Seal joke. I beg your pardon? That's getting to be a seal joke you always twist and what you say around. Well, if this isn't the case, it's sour and great.

You're mad because I'm a superior rummy player, so you resort to inside. Well, I know they're over to out in the middle of the backyard. Welcome home, Dr. Sleech. Made down in the Davenport, and rest your throat, and don't worry about it, Dean.