(xx) Stingyberry Jam

Well sir, it's a few minutes past seven o'clock in the evening as our scene opens now. And here in the living room of a small house halfway up in the next block we find fake young Rossella.

Be down directly, be down directly. Russell take Uncle Fetch's coat and haul away and hang it up. Sure, you bet. Kind of a raw night outside, huh? Yes, very penetrating wind, very penetrating. I run into Ernie Patvers, the Interurban Station ticket agents are on Kelsey Street.

What's the latter, Russell? Give me your mackin' off. I ain't get up in the hallway. What's the whole way? What's the whole way? He's gonna put your coat on the hook for you. Yeah, it'd feel like a game of tug of war, huh, Russell?

No, I'm only attempting to leave all fully, Russell. Honey, we might damage the coat yank in that. I'll play games with you after a bit. After time's action, business is top and bottom. Oh, heck. I'll just fold up my coat and eat and play it here on the chair for the time, B.

Okay. Boys, boys, boys. There are certainly scalloped legs, little bit. Oh, yes, indeed. Well, I had my days of this, you two. So did I? The mics just suffer. You didn't take supper here. The important?

You didn't eat supper here, Uncle Fletcher. I know I didn't. Well, you said delicious supper. I jumped to the conclusion. Oh, no, not Ernie Fatler. Oh. I saw Ernie on Kelsey's street just now. He stopped to tell me about the taste of each.

They're serving in it. They're serving in at the little tiny petite pleasant brother teashop these evening. Mealy potatoes, he says. Fresh homemade bread, preserved peaches, olive run, rutabaga shortcake, scalded cucumber, and bent grass-auks butter.