The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

("Hey bud," calls Alice, huffing thru the door of the Cozy Corner Diner in the thriving metropolis of Elmira, New York. The tire looped over her arm grinds into her shoulder as the counterman looks her over and chuckles. "What can I do for ya, babe?" he ventures. "Nuffa t'at," snaps Alice. "Mine ya mannehs. I'm 'eeh t'pick up t'at truck t'at gawt left 'eeh an' drive it backta Brooklyn. An' don' gimme no lip, I'm tiehed an' I'm hungry an' I dunno why I let meself get tawked inta t'is. So whezza truck?" "Over to Eldritt's Garage," snorts the counterman. "I ain't runnin' no parkin' lot." "Look," sighs Alice, "gimme, I dunno, y'got any meat?" "I got Spam," shrugs the counterman. "There's a war on." "Gimme a Spam san'wich, 'na cuppa cawfee," exhales Alice. "I never see no lady truck drivers," comments the counterman as Alice mops her forehead with her bandanna. "I ain' no truck driveh," peeves Alice. "I'm doin'a faveh f'ra friend." The counterman slides the sandwich across the counter, stabbing an olive pierced on a toothpick into the center for garnish, and Alice takes a sip of coffee before chomping a large crescent out of her food. The counterman gives her an appraising gaze as he chews. "Lissen, babe," he begins, but Alice cuts him off. "Me name ain't babe," she fires back thru a mouthful of sandwich. "Well," the counterman smirks, "what is it then?" "Al---um -- " stammers Alice. "Um -- Sally. Sally Petrauskas." She wags her left hand in the counterman's face, while controlling the sandwich with her right. "T'at's MISSES Petrauskas t'you." "Heh,"snickers the counterman. "Ya got spice, Misses Petrauski." "Look," growls Alice, "cut t'gab. I wanna ask ya sump'n. T'guy t'at lef t'at truck 'eeh. Big guy wit'a round head an'na t'ick neck, right? You see 'im? You tawk t'wim?" "Not for long," the counterman admits. "He come in all heated up 'bout somethin', asked which way t' th' bus station. You know where that is." "Yeh, yeh," snaps Alice, tossing back the rest of her coffee. "I jus' come fr'm'neh. Awright, one moeh t'ing. T'is guy. Did'ee have a goil wit'im? 'Bout 22 yeehs ol', brown haieh, 'bout down'na heeh, 'bout five foot five, nose pushed up like t'is 'eeh. Prob'ly chewin' gum." "Nah," nahs the counterman. "Nobody like t'at come in'eeh since we gawt ridda t' juke box." Alice slaps a half-dollar down on the counter and makes for the door. ""Fanybody asks," she calls back, "you neveh seen me." "Nice t'meetcha, Missis Petrauskowitz" the counterman chuckles as she hoists her tire and slams out the door....)

("NO," snaps Sally, as Leonora reaches for the doorknob. "You AIN"T goin' out by yaself. Jus' 'cause a cop give t'at one lit'l goil 'n ice cream cone don' mean YOU gonna get one. You get awla ice cream you need from ya gran'ma." "Ya bein' UNREASONABLE," fumes Leonora. "Look 'eeh," insists Sally, pointing to her hairline. "Y' gawtta stay away f'm cawps. Y'see t'at scawr? T'at's when a cawp slugged me wit' a nightstick! Yeh! When we was awn strike at Woolwoit's!" "Well," scowls Leonora, her face in a petulant pout, "ya shouln'a t'row'd a brick at 'im." "I neveh t'rew no brick," frowns Sally. "B'sides, I missed 'im." "Unnnnnnnnreasonable," nods Leonora....)

("Did you really say it?" frowns Mr. Parrott. "I say many things," pronounces Mr. Rickey. "Like arrows in the quiver of a mighty warrior, so are the words of a man of thought." "They said you said that Basinski," continues Mr. Parrott, "looks like an 'escaped divinity student.' "Did I?" chuckles Mr. Rickey. "An apt turn of phrase, is it not?" "You better be careful," admonishes Mr. Parrott. "He's not just a ballplayer, you know. He's a member of the musicians' union and we don't want any trouble with Petrillo." "Ah," ahs Mr. Rickey. "Perhaps I owe this fine young man an apology. Offer him the chance to play a duet tonight with Miss Goodding." "If she's sober," sighs Mr. Parrott...")

(Oh BOSH!)

(Today I Learned -- rabbits will, in fact, eat meat should circumstances require it. But it gives them terrible indigestion. Have a good sleep, Bugs.)

(Trouble again at the Bushmillers'...)

("No nose? How'd she smell? Terrible!" -- Olsen & Johnson.)

(There's only one Chester Gould. Please stop trying to be another.)

("Although precarious, it worked." We'll take your word for it.)

(I knew Leona Stockpool. Leona Stockpool was a friend of mine. You're no Leona Stockpool.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...


"Hmph," hmphs Leonora, fishing a dollar bill out of her mother's purse...

How about the poor soul who has to drive a car in the parade and it's overheating....

Tsk, Wetwash. Rookie mistake.

You know, Jack's not as hot as everybody seems to think he is.

CUT! STOP LOOKING AT THE CAMERA!!

You can't win an argument with a cabbie, so don't even try.

Only $1,500,000? Poor ***** took quite a loss on the deal.

The power of positive thinking.

Well, I guess "Droop" is better than "Pantywaist."

"Kilroy was here."

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Sunday Worker...

Well, at least somebody's still talking about the Langford case.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And finally,

If you'd like to hear Butch reading today's "**** Tracy" over WNYC, you may do so here --

https://www.wnyc.org/story/july-8-1945/

 

[Fading Fast]

I knew Leona Stockpool. Leona Stockpool was a friend of mine. You're no Leona Stockpool.

At least this storyline seems to have more promise than the last one.

*******************************************************************

While Frank isn't part of this mob, it's probably best if he and Inky lay low for a while as the police try to clean up the entire operation. I'm sure Ma, who worries much more than Frank does, will "advise" him to do so.

*******************************************************************

Tsk, Wetwash. Rookie mistake.

Poor Wetwash never understood the strength of his own hand. Now jail will soon await.

*******************************************************************

CUT! STOP LOOKING AT THE CAMERA!!

It's OJ and the glove 1945 style. Also, it's hard to believe any lawyer playing such a winning hand would attempt this pointless stunt that could only go wrong for him... as it did.

*******************************************************************

"Kilroy was here."

He is such an *ss.

*******************************************************************

Well, at least somebody's still talking about the Langford case.

Yes, it was funny to see that pop up in the middle of a Karl Marx Mike Gold op/ed.

It is still stunning how the Langford story has gone completely quiet.

 

[LizzieMaine]

I wonder what Chief Red Wing is going to do for a living now. I can see him teaming up with the Baroness in a burlesque act.

 

[LizzieMaine]

(DL=COLLECT = ROSCOE NY JUL 9 45 = 1146AM = F X LEARY 1749 BEDFORD AVE BKLYN NY

BLEW HEAD GASKET. WIRE THIRTY TWO DOLS FIX IMMEDIATE. NECK TOOK BUS CHICAGO. NO BINK. TELL SIDDY ALL YOUR FAULT.

A.)

("Hawrd t'b'lieve," sighs Solly Pincus, luxuriating in the civilian freedom of a loud sport shirt and a pair of pleated slacks, "t'at I'm neveh gonna hafta weah no brown suit again." "Heeh," injects Joe, sliding an egg cream across the counter. "T'is one's awna house. But don' make a habit out'v it, Ma don' b'lieve in free." "Same ol' jernt," declares Solly, looking around the store. "You like woikin'eeh?" "Eh," ehs Joe. "Sal like ya woikin'eeh?" continues Solly. "Eh," shrugs Joe. "Whatta YOU gonna do, go back'ta pickle woiks?" "I seen a lotta t'ings, Joe," replies Solly. "When I was oveh t'eh. An' -- I mean -- I was oveh t'eh tree yeehs. Y't'ink I remembeh how t'carry a dinneh pail an' punch a time clawk? No, Joe, I gotta say pickles jus' don' grab me int'rest. T'ez gotta be sump'n else." "Uncle Frank says awrmy soiplus is gonna be t'nex' big t'ing," notes Joe. "Yeh," snickers Solly. "Go fr'm weahrin'a brown suit t'sellin'm. I oughta tawk to 'im, t'ough, he usual..." But Solly's future plans are roughly interrupted as Uncle Frank in person skeens wild-eyed thru the screen door and wobbles to a halt. "Is Nora here?" he pants, having just run ten blocks from the plumbing office. "Nah," nahs Joe. "She's doin' - um - errands." "Ahhl roit," huffs Uncle Frank, his face reddening. "Oi'm roonin' oopstairs t'pack me grip an' thin Oi'm grabbin' th' next boos t'Chicago. Tell Nora it's a matter a' loife an' death, an' Oi ain' decoided which an' farr who!" Uncle Frank races up the back stairs, a loud thumping and thudding echoes from the apartment, and he races back downstairs with a bulging overnight bag in hand. "Noice t'see ye, Solly!" he shouts over his shoulder as the door skeens shut behind him. "Yeh," nods Solly, sipping his drink. "Same ol' jernt....")

(Two roads diverged in a global wood..)

(Hey Solly, magazine distribution is a definite growth industry...)

.("And then he tripped rounding first base." Of course he did.)

(Leopold and Loeb have nothing on this guy.)

(Point of Order: What does Matt's snarky business partner think of all this? Or did he already skip town with the till?)

(Too much eyeliner today, Janie.)

(Washington Senators pitcher Bert Shepard, who lost his leg in a German POW camp, thinks Don is a whiny punk.)

(Junior better leave a forwarding address.)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"The fog, which quickly rolls away, is not harmful to humans." However....

"Mrs. Pinkey Christians?" All right, that's good. Now let's have an Indian chief and a countess.

Oh, Petrillo will LOVE you guys.

Live and learn.

Do you get the feeling that Mr. Caniff is giving up on this story?

"Plop!" "Glup!"

"And I'll do the crossword puzzles too!"

There's always a loose end.

That's it, kid. Never break kayfabe.

I dunno, maybe you shoulda used a dutch oven.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily Worker...

Worker circulation approaching 45,000.

 

[Fading Fast]

(DL=COLLECT = ROSCOE NY JUL 9 45 = 1146AM = F X LEARY 1749 BEDFORD AVE BKLYN NY

BLEW HEAD GASKET. WIRE THIRTY TWO DOLS FIX IMMEDIATE. NECK TOOK BUS CHICAGO. NO BINK. TELL SIDDY ALL YOUR FAULT.

A.)

Perfect.

************************************************************

"Yeh," nods Solly, sipping his drink. "Same ol' jernt...."

Perfect.

************************************************************

Too much eyeliner today, Janie.

"So I wanted my eyes to pop – everyone's a critic." — JA

************************************************************

"Mrs. Pinkey Christians?" All right, that's good. Now let's have an Indian chief and a countess.

Yes, there are a few comedic possibilities with that name.

Also, regarding the "wasting away" wife, how long has she been in the cell – one week, two? Give me a break.

************************************************************

Do you get the feeling that Mr. Caniff is giving up on this story?

I think he's getting war fatigue too.

************************************************************

Worker circulation approaching 45,000.

Not talking at all about the politics of this strike, but as a 2025 reader, I want it to end so that the papers can return to normal.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Huh," huhs Sally. "Y'know, I remembeh one time awna subway I was sitt'n nexta some guy had a trumpet case, an'nee had awn'nis coat smelt like a fieh in a vacan' lot. I wondeh'r'if t'at was 'em reefehs.' Alice makes no reply, her head sagging against the back of the seat. "Hey," frowns Sally. "Wake up, we'eh awrmos' at t'station." "Mmmmgggrrfph," murmurs Alice, causing Sally to reach over and give her a firm shove. "Whassamattehwi'choo?" Sally demands. "You up awl night again? Y'gotta cuttatout, y'can't boin'na cannle at' bot' ends." Alice looks up, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. "Sal," she groans, "you eveh been t' Elmira?" "Huh?" "Well don't," she sighs as the train rolls into another long day at work...)

("So what's she like?" queries Solly Pincus. "Who?" replies Joe, wiping a soda glass and realizing the scratches won't buff out. "T'is gal ya got woikin'eeh," continues Solly. "T'is Bink Slocum awr whateveh." "Scanlan," corrects Joe. "An'na on'y t'ing I'll say is ya betteh keep ya coat button't when she's aroun'." "Huh," huhs Solly, tipping his glass to drain the last drop. "Hey!" heys Joe as the door skeens open. "Moze!!" "Hiya Joe," greets Mozelewski, shambling up to the counter. "Solly, you met Moze, dincha? When you was home awn leave?" "Did I?" stumbles Solly. "Well, hey, Solly Pincus," he introduces, extending the hand not holding the glass. "Emil Mozelewski," comes the reply. "Me'n Joe useta woik t'get'eh at Sperry's." "Hey," repeats Joe. "How's -- whassehname, wit' t' teet' an'na haieh." "Stiill eat'n too much cheesecake t'be my model," snickers Mozelewski. "Anyways, I come oveh heeh t'see Frank. He aroun'?" "Nah," nahs Joe. "He lef' town yestehday. Business trip a' sump'n." "Well," wells Mozelewski, "t'at's what I wanned t'see 'im about. See, t'eh gonna be layin' people awff at t' plant, an' I wanna be ready wit' t'is dress shawp him an' me gonna..." "Dress shawp?" interrupts Solly. "Frank??" "Mozelewski's a' Brooklyn," grins Moze, with not a little pride. "Awl original designs." "And *you*--" marvels Solly. "See, I made t'is dress Frank rented f'r, y'know, 'is wife t'eh t' weah t' go out nightclubbin' at Leon 'n Eddie's a' sump'n an' I give 'im a deal, 'cause 'ee promises t'help me open me own shawp afteh t' wawr." "Ah," nods Solly. "Yeh," nods Joe. "Well, anyways, Joe," sighs Mozelewski, "tell 'im I come by." "Yeh," grins Joe. "Give me regawrds t' Miss Koplitz, an' ol' man Gillmoeh, an' awla rest'vm." "Y'know Joe," exhales Solly, as the door skeens closed, "you even stop t't'ink about you married int'a a crazy fam'ly?" "Eh," ehs Joe. "Y'get use'twit.")

(Slap yourself with a shoe and then rub yourself with witch hazel. Don't try to tell me Doc Brady isn't running the women's page.)

(Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick...)

(Third base? Hey, shouldn't Coooooooooooooookie be coming home?)

(Ever notice how circuses get a real bad rap in the comics?)

(You have no idea, hon.)

(HEY! Aren't you that fake weight-loss swami in a cheesy wig???)

(The "City Blue Sox?" Well, that'll make it easier when they move to Sacramento.)

(Wait, didn't we have this story two or three years ago, and Trix ends up saving them by accident??)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

The jail uniforms in Portland, Ore. have a nice sporty look.


No matter how hard you hammer on "don't look directly at the eclipse," there's gonna be people who look directly at the eclipse.

When did Tennessee Williams start writing this strip?

HOLD ELDERLY CANDY STORE MAN, PANTYWAIST IN COVINA REEFER PROBE

Lost Hotshot? FINALLY.

No good deed goes unpunished.

Why aren't you digging potatoes, kid?

Bim's face in panel two will haunt your dreams.

The mask is a great look for Mamie. She ought to give up on all these losers and become a superheroine.

Your destiny awaits....

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Well, at least somebody got around to discussing what the strike is about.

There's quite a roiling going on in the Communist Political Association right now between Earl Browder's faction and Willam Z. Foster's faction, and Pinky, alas, is a Browderite...

Awwwwwww.......

 

[Fading Fast]

Fantastic picture.

We don't talk about the war specifically a lot since we all know what happened, but it really is amazing the Japanese didn't surrender at this point as they knew the beatdown that was coming - and that was just from conventional weapons.

********************************************************************

"Y'know Joe," exhales Solly, as the door skeens closed, "you even stop t't'ink about you married int'a a crazy fam'ly?" "Eh," ehs Joe. "Y'get use'twit."

The nice thing is the crazy family – and they are nuts – have come to like, respect, and even protect Joe – both because Joe is just that good a guy and they are all grateful he's married to Sally and, maybe, calms her down a bit.

*******************************************************************

Slap yourself with a shoe and then rub yourself with witch hazel. Don't try to tell me Doc Brady isn't running the women's page.)

"Slap away the bulge."

*******************************************************************

Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick...

This was one of Lichty's funnier ones.

*******************************************************************

The jail uniforms in Portland, Ore. have a nice sporty look.

Yes, very marinière influenced, but still, these girls sound not only guilty, but on the very wrong side of public opinion.

*******************************************************************

Bim's face in panel two will haunt your dreams.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Awl I'm sayin' is," argues Sally, "y'otta weahr'it." "Moze don' weah one," counters Joe, "an' nobody give HIM any lip." "He's six feet tawl," replies Sally. "An'nee's built like Bruiseh Kinawrd." She stops and reflects on this a moment. "An' how come again 'e was foeh-F?" "Six toes awn each foot," reminds Joe. "Oh yeh," nods Sally. "Anyways, y'otta weah ya dischawrge button." "Ahhhhhhh," growls Joe, "anybody c'n weah one'a t'em t'ings. Comin' up t'street 'eeh fr'm t' subway I seen Lottie Schriebstein playin' potsy out'na street -- she had one pinned on'eh haieh ribbon! T'em buttons don' mean nut'n. B'sides, I don' even know weh mine is." A light flashes on in Sally's brain. "Le-o-norrrrehhhh" she calls. "What?" comes a yell from the other room. "Whe'd you get t'at ice cream cone ya had?" demands Sally. Leonora steps into the kitchen,, with blobs of chocolate evident on her dress. "Bawt it," she declares. "Awffa Lottie." "How'ja pay f'rit?" eyerolls Sally. "A nickel I had," submits Leonora. "What kinda nickel?" frowns Sally. "Funny lookin' nickel," shrugs Leonora, scuffling her feet. "Hadda big boid awna front." "Wheh'dja get it?" demands Sally. "Um," ums Leonora. "I foun' it?" "Wheh was ya lookin' when ya foun' it?" "Ummmm," repeats Leonora, for emphasis. "Pa's draweh." "An' why was ya," glares Sally, "lookin' in ya Pa's draweh?" "Wasn' no nickel," shrugs Leonora, "innis pants." Sally sinks down in her chair, palm to forehead. "You stay away," she exhales "fr'm Bink Scanlan." "She ain' aroun," retorts Leonora. "She run awf t'fin' Unca Mickey." Joe and Sally exchange looks. "She could do betteh," adds Leonora, as she exits....)

("Nivver ye moind inny'a ye cliver remarrks," scowls Ma. "Oi haaard ye gaaht meat, an' Oi'm 'eeh f'me share." "Nowwwww Mrs. Leary," exhales Shaughnessy the Butcher. "Ye caaan't b'lieve ivvry thing ye read in th' papaars, if ye HAD a papaaar." His eyes flick around the shop. "Ye ain't," he whispers "GAAAHT a papaaar, have ye?" Ma's eyes narrow, as she reaches into her shopping basket and reveals fresh copies of the Eagle and the News. "As Oi was sayin'," glares Ma. "Oi've haaard'jee gaaaht meat, an' Oi'm 'eere far me share. That is -- if ye haven't given it aaahl t' Mavis Doyle." "Will ye look at that," declares Shaughnessy with as much false jollity as he can muster. "Oi farrrgaaaht aaaahl aboot this foine brisket..." Ma slides the Eagle across the counter. "Sausages?" she demands, holding back the Daily News. "Haffa ****d," offers the butcher. Ma nods, and prepares to tear the paper in half. "AAAHL ROIT!" yelps Shaughnessy. "A ****D!" Ma smiles triumphantly, and places the tabloid gently on the counter. "Whaaar's Frank," sweats Shaughnessy as he wraps the meat, knowing he's met his match. "Oota toown," snaps Ma. "Aaaahn business." "He'll nevaaaar foind'arr,' snickers Shaughnessy. "Keep ye moind aaahn ye warrrk," slashes Ma. "An' ye thoomb ooffa th' scale." "Yes'm," mutters Shaughnessy, acknowledging defeat...)

(Besides, fly season is here.)

("Stand closer to the ***, Senator Bilbo. No, the other end.")

(NICE RUG, LEO! Did you get that just for court???)

(Whenever somebody tells you they're a genius, it's positive proof that they aren't.)

(Come now, Mary, we've been down this road before...)

(Well, I suppose, if you've got nothing better to do.)

(I bet this guy doesn't go around beating up fans with brass knuckles.)

(I mean, we HAVE seen this story before. AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG doesn't deserve reruns!)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

There are worse ways to go down in history than as a "******* of Germany's WWII-era leaderships."

Come now, Rosie -- Hotshot Charlie??? You need better taste in friends.

That's the way, Nina. Set 'em up and mow 'em down!

You need to reckon your costs before you implement your plan.

Marines.

The wheels of justice require realignment.

"And she's got him reading books! I'll put a stop to that!"

Feast or famine.

How do you think it got that way?

And I'm sure the farmer's wife will love to help you out.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in Adele Matthewson's favorite paper...

Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick....

 

[Fading Fast]

"She could do betteh," adds Leonora, as she exits....

Perfect.

*****************************************************************

The woman's parent's names are "Lawton" (okay, I guess, never met one myself, though) and "Various" (really, who names his/her kid "Various?"). Oh, and my guess is everyone's charge and countercharge are true – every single one – and all of them on both sides belong in the clink.

***************************************************************

"Haffa ****d," offers the butcher. Ma nods, and prepares to tear the paper in half. "AAAHL ROIT!" yelps Shaughnessy. "A ****D!" Ma smiles triumphantly, and places the tabloid gently on the counter. "Whaaar's Frank," sweats Shaughnessy as he wraps the meat, knowing he's met his match. "Oota toown," snaps Ma. "Aaaahn business." "He'll nevaaaar foind'arr,' snickers Shaughnessy. "Keep ye moind aaahn ye warrrk," slashes Ma. "An' ye thoomb ooffa th' scale." "Yes'm," mutters Shaughnessy, acknowledging defeat...

All perfect.

BTW, if Bink ran off with my fat ne're-do-well son, I wouldn't lift a finger to find either one of them. They'll be back anyway when they need money.

****************************************************************

"This can't be right, it looks like some woman in Maine – Maine! – is going to win."

"She's probably some kook. I didn't know people even lived in Maine."

"That what she put down as her address."

"Live and learn."

******************************************************************

I mean, we HAVE seen this story before. AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG doesn't deserve reruns!

Unless he has a big twist planned, it's kinda nuts that he's all but running the same storyline.

******************************************************************

There are worse ways to go down in history than as a "******* of Germany's WWII-era leaderships."

Tis true, but it says a lot of good things about the US Army that it charged and sentenced him for it.

Oh, and I bet the Cary part of "Cash and Cary" is regretting having "renounced any claim."

*******************************************************************

 

[LizzieMaine]

"Ayuh, they know theh baseball in Maine, yessah." -- Sukey.

Incidentally, even though it does contain spoilers for our "integration of baseball" storyline, here is an excellent piece on Sukey that originally ran in the NY Times magazine. Really captures the modesty and decency of a man I'm proud to have met.

https://www.nytimes.com/athletic/17...scouted-jackie-robinson-and-roberto-clemente/

 

[LizzieMaine]

(QR70 = DL= CHICAGO IL =332 PM = JUL 12 45

MRS NORA LEARY = 503 ROGERS AVE = BKLYN NY

LOWREY NOT SEEN MICKEY SINCE MONDAY. NO SIGN YET BINK OR JIMMY. WIRE TWENTY DOLS RETURN TICKET. LEFT GRIP ON BUS

FRANK)

("A waaaard with ye, Solomon," whispers Ma, beckoning Solly Pincus aside as Joe glugs a jug of syrup into the Coca-Cola dispenser. "Moind th' rooches," reminds Ma, calling out over her shoulder. "Bleh," blehs Joe. "Whas' buzzin'?" queries Solly as he and Ma take a position by the magazine rack. "Oi'm a bit sharrrrt handed," explains Ma, "with Francis an' Barbara an' James -- ah -- oota tooown, an' Daniel -- ah -- indisposed. Oi gaaaaht soom errands Oi need doon." "I getcha," winks Solly. "Little bitta policy, take a few onna ponies." "P'raps," nods Ma. "Boot what Oi moost need is soomone t'roon ovaaar th' City an' get me boondles a' th' Daily News. Oi caaan't ask Joseph t'craaass a picket loine, an' 'eed nivvar do it anyway. An' if'ee did an' me daughtarr foond oot.." "Yeh," nods Solly. "I ain't real big on it meself, y'know. I was shop stewehd at Crown Pickle." "Ten daaaalaars in it farr ye..." offers Ma. Solly considers the offer. "S'lawng as Joe don' find out," he sighs. "An' SPECIALLY as lawng as SALLY don' find out." He exhales nervously an looks over at Joe, dribbling the last of the syrup out of the jug. "Make it twenny," he whispers. "I wanna take t'two of'm out to t' Dragon's Den, get some chop suey, have a few laughs. I t'ink t'ey could bot' use some laughs." Ma looks over at Joe, nods, reaches into her apron pocket, and slips a folded bill into Solly's palm. They exchange winks, as Joe reaches into the syrup tank to extract an interloper.....)

(Coming events...)

(Tomorrow in Suburbia...)

(The dreaded Twi-Night Doubleheader...)

(Patches is a sturdy well-built fellow, isn't he? Just happened to notice that.)

(I'm sorry, but, I mean -- "Flame??")

(Is there a single honest business in this town??)

(*Ahem* Bert Shepard. *ahem.")

(Well, if we're gonna do this, let's do it and get it over with.)