(xx) Cherry Phosphates

And now get ready to smile again with radios, home folks, Vic and Safe. Written by Paul Rimer and brought to you each weekday by the makers of Christo. Well, sir, it's a few minutes past ten 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 go combining quietly at home. Vic has spent the evening immersed in volume seven of his Lodge Library and he's reading absorbently in his easy chair. Say, deceded on the Devonport making some flint and sea felon and garment or other.

And it last alone silence is broken. My stars are the bad blade. Fire murder receives what's the trouble. Clock says five past ten. It does, does it? How about that clock? Tick, cock, tick, cock.

Oh, so you say tick, cock, tick, cock, do you? I'm liable to go fetch this pledge hammer and render you a Sunday. I didn't think it was any more than 8.30 or 4 to 9. Where did the time go to?

Well, we ate later usual. Well, you suppose that boy of ours is. Well, you see, what's in the fat men play handball? Not this late. They started at 7 o'clock. That men had been worn to a frazzle by now. Goodness, it's a fat park. I hear the patter of tiny feet. Who is that, Robert? Yeah. Come on in, Robert. We're just about to

I'm going to bed directly. I'm not. I'm fresh as a daisy. It's ready for any wild excapades. I'm no lazy bone. Fine. Talk from a fella that took a two-hour nap on the damport before supper.