(xx) Honorary Lodge Member

Well sir, Mr. and Mrs. Victor Gulk and young Russell are gathered cozily in the living room as we enter the small house halfway up on the next block now. And the placid tableau argues that our friends are spending a quiet evening at home.

Vic lounges in his easy chair, deep in reflection, save leaves through the newspaper, and young Russell at the library table reads aloud from a volume of vigorous fiction. Lady Margaret's luxuriant jet black eyelashes were over three inches long and they curtained their great swimming eyes like summer clouds sometimes curtain their soft radiance of the

moon. That's these half-wet mosquitoes suddenly shot their lover sharply slapping his pants leg by darling murmured Lady Margaret reposed flee and she fit the speck of dust from the burlap topping of one of her fashionable friends' fat.

There's no ten attempts to pay me. Pim pom pom carto for ever going home. Bed pardon? Talking to God. Haven't been paying any attention to me, huh? Sick! What? What's wrong? Well, I like that.

I don't know. Your mind must have been a million miles away. I would. Well, I like that. One of you's reading the newspaper and the others are asleep. Don't anybody realize I've been plugging away 20 minutes here?

I'm almost out of breath from talking out loud so long. Nobody heard a lame brain word I said. Oh, whose fault is it? Well, if your mother and myself told you we weren't interested in third lieutenant Clinton's family.

Before you even started, we told you that. But you weren't ahead anyway. You said, hey, people want to hear about how third lieutenant Clinton's family and lady Margaret out with the counterfeit and sick charamurs.