Have Yourself a SCARY Little Christmas With These #RetroRadio Christmas Tales! #WeirdDarkness
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The Black Museum. Affiliated stations present Escape. Dinner Sanctum. The Seal. Presents Suspense. And the Whistler.

Welcome, Weirdos! I'm Darren Marlar and this is Weird Darkness' Retro Radio. Here I have the privilege of bringing you some of the best dark, creepy, and macabre old-time radio shows ever created. If you're new here, welcome to the show! While you're listening, be sure to check out WeirdDarkness.com for merchandise, sign up for my free newsletter, connect with me on social media, listen to free audiobooks I've narrated, visit other podcasts I produce.

You can also visit the Hope in the Darkness page if you're struggling with depression, dark thoughts, or addiction. You can find all of that and more at WeirdDarkness.com. Now, bolt your doors, lock your windows, turn off your lights, and come with me into Weird Darkness' retro radio. The CBS Radio Mystery Theater presents...

Come in. I'm E.G. Marshall. Welcome. Doubly welcome, this special evening, of course. If you look in Webster's dictionary under the word miracle, you can read the definition, an event or effect contrary to the established order of things.

A wonder or a wonderful thing. This is the story of a miracle that took place at Christmastime. The very best of all possible times for miracles. And it begins with an ad which has appeared for ten years in the Dawson City Times and the Thomasville Courier. We'll begin the advertisement with...

If the owner of a Santa Claus suit rented to Jennifer Swallow will present his copy of the receipt to me, Jasper Crown, he will be re... Oh, you'd have to include your address and your phone number, etc. Of course, Jenny, we'll include that. He will be remunerated, to whatever degree he asks, up to a million dollars. Does that seem fair? Oh, it isn't fair. It's silly. The rental was less than a dollar.

Why should it be worth any more than that? Maybe you'll never know, but I will. And everyone else who hears this story will know.

Our mystery drama, A Very Private Miracle... ...was written especially for the Mystery Theater by Ian Martin... ...and stars Howard Da Silva. It is sponsored in part by Sinoff, the sinus medicines. I'll be back shortly with Act One. This is a story of a very special time...

and a very special love affair between a bright and artless ten-year-old and a bitter, soured man who made himself old before his time. But however it ends...

It begins with hate. What was that, Arthur? A rock through the window. That's an ugly mob outside. No goods inadequate ingrates. Because you've taken their livelihood away from them. My livelihood as well. I can't go on losing money with the mill.

Since Robert walked out on me, I don't need any more. But Thomasville does. Good Lord, it's the only real industry we have left to keep the town alive. Are you my lawyer or theirs? You know whose lawyer I am. My friend or theirs? That's a question which gets more and more difficult to answer. Jasper, it's Christmas. And Robert had good ideas for the mill. I don't want to hear any more about the mill or about Robert, my son, or my daughter. Most of all, I don't want to hear about Christmas. What?

That cheap, tawdry, pagan celebration. There, at last. The riot squad. They'll break up that no-good rabble. That's my Christmas present to them. Finally, the police have dispersed them. Cowards all. A mob has no courage. Well, what are you going to do about the window? Close the room off.

Heaven knows there are enough other rooms for me to wander through alone since I've been deserted by my family. Well, that's scarcely fair to Emily. Emily, did I once really have a wife? Was there some warmth in this house? While my sister lived. Well, she's dead. Too many years ago for me to want to count. There's no one left but my housekeeper and me. At least Mrs. Murchison hasn't deserted me, as you want to.

Go then, Arthur, go. It's safe now. The papers are all signed. I won't execute these till after the holiday. The day after Christmas. The day after Christmas is Sunday, so I can't do anything till Monday. Very well, but the execution is signed, sealed, and delivered.

When I sell the mill, I'll be not a millionaire, but a multi-millionaire. Or do you mean that crowd of hicks the police just chased away? You think I'm frightened of them? Oh, I didn't mean physically, and I didn't mean concerned either. I mean terrified for your immortal soul.

Oh, don't trouble. I'll let myself out. Oh, Mrs. Murchison, if I don't see you again before the great day, Merry Christmas. And a Merry Christmas to you, Mr. Daly. Who was on the phone, Mrs. Murchison? Oh, such good news for you, sir. It's little Mary herself. What did she want? Sure, she's still on the phone waiting to tell you herself. I have no wish to talk to my daughter. Ah, but when you hear her news... What news? Well,

Well, she wanted to tell you herself. If she's leaving that damn foreigner and coming home alone, I'll talk to her. Otherwise, go and hang up. Well, don't listen to what she has to say. There's only one thing I want to hear from her. An apology. Oh, you're not going to talk to Miss Mary?

No. I wanted to save the news for her to give you. But now, sure, I have to say it myself. It's a baby she's going to have. She wanted you to know you're going to be a grandfather. Oh, some penniless foreigner. No, thank you. You can tell Mrs. Blumenthal it won't work. She still is completely cut out of my will as her brother.

When you hang up the phone, you can bring me a cup of tea. I'll be in the library. Oh, the good Lord, favor me and put the words in my mouth. Mary, sweetheart, forgive me for being gone this long. That's all right, Mert, honey. Is Dad there? Well, Mother, and to tell you the truth, he's off to have a little bit of a light on. Well, it's all right. I know what he's lying down on.

Any reconciliation with me. I thought maybe the time of year and the baby... Did you tell him about the baby? Well, I... I didn't want to. I wanted it to be your surprise, but... Okay. Forget it. I get the whole picture. Maybe I knew before I tried again. Now I know it's hopeless. Merry Christmas to you, Merch Love, anyway. And a happy new year. Oh, Mary, my darling.

Oh, what's the use? How long can you fight if he just wasn't so stubborn? If only Mr. Crown could forget himself and accept someone else into his heart. Come in. It's your tea, Mr. Crown. No, thanks. Just put it on the table. Yes, sir.

Well, was there something else? Yes, Mr. Crown. This next Christmas would be my 25th that I've served your family. Oh, in heaven's name, spare me the Christmas spirit. It's choking me. Well, it's choking some of the rest of us too, Mr. Crown. Everyone has a limit. You're not alone in that. I've just been talking to Mary. And I've lived through a long, difficult time in your family. I'm giving my notice.

Before dinner? I honestly don't care if you ever eat again. Or live. I just have time to catch the next bus. I'll send someone else to clear out everything that's left of mine in this house. I want no part of it, or you, ever again. Ah!

A little while later, the front doorbell rang. With Mrs. Murchison gone, Jasper was tempted not to answer it. But when it rang again, some secret urgency drew him down the long corridor.

On the walk, he winced. His elbow pained him, and the arthritis in his right leg jumped and sent shivers. Every ache and pain he had ever known seemed to assail him till the magic moment he opened the door and saw, standing on the stoop, her freckles burning bright in her snow-white face, her pigtails stiff in the icy wind, Jennifer. And even though he didn't realize it,

Magic was upon him. Yes? Who are you? Jennifer Swallow. What are you doing on my doorstep? If you please, Mr. Crown, I'm freezing to death. Ah, you came here of your own free will. What do you want?

I have a business proposition to put to you. Not interested. How do you know if you haven't heard it yet? Don't be rude. You're talking to your elders. Excuse me. I didn't mean to be rude. I'm just anxious. Anxious about what? My proposition. What I want to talk to you about. All right. What is it? I'm called to tell you here.

My father says that no gentleman keeps a lady waiting. You're no lady, you're just a child. And you're no gentleman, you're a... A what? You're a kind man who's going to offer me shelter. Very well, before we both freeze to death. Come in, come in. Thank you. You shouldn't have let me in, you know. But you was. Get in.

My father says you should never let a salesman get his foot in the door. Are you a salesman? Oh, no. It's just an expression, you see. In a manner of speaking, so to speak. What is it you want, young woman, young lady? My name's Jennifer. Jennifer. I'm not interested in names. All I want to know is what your business is here. Shouldn't we go into the parlor? No. You're kind of old.

I thought you might want to sit down. Well, maybe I'd better. It would be much cozier. Very well, then. Follow me. Even though it is quite cold, it's very nice weather for this time of year. What?

I'm just making conversation. My father said... I don't believe it. Believe what? I don't believe your father ever gets a word in edgewise with you around. All right, it's warm in here in the library. There's a fire. You can sit over there on the other side of the fireplace. Thank you. So many books. A lot of knowledge in the world. A lot of young folks will take time to pick up some of it. Now, Miss, uh, there's Jennifer. Just what is it you want?

Well, it's at the church, you see. Nobody is working this year on account of you closed the factory down. You blame me for that? Oh, no. I mean, that's your business, of course. But it meant somebody had to do something special. About Christmas, I mean. I might have known it. Sending a child here to blink her innocent eyes at me. Who put you up to this? Who sent you here to ask for money? No one. I just want to... Don't lie!

For a moment, you almost fooled me, young lady. But I might have known there was something behind this. There is, isn't there? Well... What is it? Presents for the church? Oh, no. I already won those from Win the Booty. You... You what? I said I already got those from Win the Booty. You know. No, I don't know. What is Win the Booty?

It's on television. Don't you watch it? I don't have a television set. Oh, it's fun. The man asks you questions, you see, and then you have to answer them. And that's what you did? Of course. Why are you so surprised?

I'm just amazed that you didn't ask him most of the questions. So you won some prizes, eh? Oh, scrumptious ones. So you see, we don't need you for that. You don't say. What do you need me for? Well, see, the presents are to be handed out tomorrow night at Christmas Eve. And we have no Santa Claus to do it. I wanted you for that. Of course. Because I'm rich and you thought that I might bring some extra presents.

That wasn't it at all. Somebody else had an idea you should come here and ask me? No, sir. This was my own idea. Really? Just what's the matter with a guy who knows all the answers? Who? Your all-wise father. Oh, he isn't here this year. What's keeping him so busy? A first-class gun of a gun. A what? His superior officer. My father's in the Navy. Both of them are.

Who? My father and the first class son of a gun. That isn't exactly what he called him, but I promise not to repeat the other. I see. Well, if it can't be your father, what's the matter with your minister? Nothing. I mean a Santa Claus. Oh, too skinny and too serious. He never understands a joke. He's really an old stick. But what on earth would make you think of me, child?

You don't just want me to be Santa Claus. You have an ulterior motive. What's an ulterior motive? You... You want me to do something else, don't you?

Oh, that. Of course. You admit it. Oh, sure. We don't have a budget for the Santa Claus suit. So I thought if you'd be him, you could afford to rent it. Where are you going? I'm opening the door for you to leave, Jezebel. My name isn't Jezebel. That's a matter of opinion. Just keep heading for the front door. Then you

I'm afraid I'm not the type. You could be just perfect if you let yourself go. I wish I could believe that. Oh, couldn't you? Only one way I could. Well, how's that? You get me the Santa Claus suit, and if you still want me, I'll be your Santa Claus. Honest to Pete? Honest to Pete. Well, I'll try. But it's going to take a miracle if I do. You know, I wouldn't put it past you. Ah.

Jasper Crown remained with his hand on the door. One part of him congratulating himself for having resisted that Elton charm. The child was just trying to use him and his wealth, as people always were, egged on by her elders, no doubt. But another part of him, lonely and forgotten and rusty with disuse, cried out for her return for a miracle. I'll return shortly with Act Two.

Never underestimate the power of Jennifer. That night, Jennifer broke open her piggy bank and counted her capital. $2.23. The following morning, she bought a return trip ticket on the bus to Dawson City, which cut into her budget to the tune of $1.62. Once she got there, she set her jaw and started to comb the city.

It was well after lunch when suddenly the freckles were dancing across her nose and her pigtails vibrating with delight. For there, just as she told herself there had to be, was a sign saying, Santa Claus suits for rent, dirt cheap. The proprietor was a wonderful man with a jolly round face and bristling white eyebrows and a shock of snowy white hair.

As Jenny said afterwards, she almost wished he might be persuaded to come and play Santa Claus. Hmm, but that's really a silly idea. Peter's too far away. I beg your pardon, miss. Did I say something? Well, there are only two of us here, and I didn't say anything, so I think it must have been you. There I go again, thinking out loud. You couldn't. Could you? No.

Or didn't I think that part out loud? What part? About wanting you to come and be Santa Claus in Thomasville at our church tomorrow evening. Oh, I'm afraid I couldn't. Some other people are expecting me. But I can rent you a suit, you know. A Santa Claus suit. Do you see one that you like? Well, there are so many.

What's this one made of? Ah, red velvet with ermine trim. You like it? It is nice. How much would it cost to rent it? Well, now, that's a very handsome suit and quite cheap at the normal rental of a hundred dollars. A hundred dollars? Too much? Oh, much too much. Well, now, how much were you thinking of?

Sixty-one cents. Checky. Oh, well, sixty-one cents, eh? Now, isn't that a coincidence? As a matter of fact, right down beneath the counter here, I may have just the thing up. Oh, yes, here we are. Let's see, boots, belt, hat, pants, and a tunic. And, of course, the whiskers to go with it. Here we are.

And the price happens to be just right. On the nose, as the saying goes. Sixty-one cents. It is pretty old and tattered. Yes, it is. Seen a lot of use. I have to admit it isn't in the best of repair. But it's the genuine thing. Well, it is pretty ratty. But I'll take it. After all, the price is right. And

And the kids who are going to see it won't notice the condition. Because to tell you the truth, these days our clothes are pretty ratty, too. Well, righty-o. I'll wrap it all up. And while I'm getting it ready, you can sign your name right here. What's that for? Well, I'd like to get this suit back. You might be surprised, but sometimes I have a little trouble. This way, if you shouldn't return it, any time I want to claim it...

I'll have proof that it's mine.

Oh, now why doesn't Mrs. Murchison answer that bell? Oh, of course, I forgot. She's gone. Oh, rotten tarnation. I'll answer it myself, I suppose. I'm coming, dammit, I'm coming. Well, you don't have to pull it out of its socket. It's so cold, I'm freezing. Oh, it's you again, is it? What is it this time? Look, I got it, I got it. Got what?

The Santa Claus suit. I thought you'd be happy. Why should I be happy? Because you said, you promised, you're not going to Welsh out...

You're going to invite me in? So you tricked me into a promise I should never have given. I didn't either trick you. Oh, no? Well, we'll see. What are you standing out there for, child? Want us both to freeze to death in this drafty hall? Go on to the living room. I've had the window fixed. Yes, sir, Mr. Brown. Well, in you go.

There's a fire here and it's warmer. It certainly is that. Thank you. So you got the suit, huh? Yes, sir. How? That's my business. Didn't take you long to maneuver it once you found out I wouldn't fork out for it, huh? I... That's right, Mr. Crown. Well, sit down. Thank you. That all? Excuse me.

I mean, can't catch your tongue, huh? You certainly had enough to say yesterday. Why so silent now? I'm disappointed. Why? Because you're not happy, too. About the suit, I mean. Why should I be? I don't know, Mr. Crown. But I was just sure, sure you would be. Well, you're wrong. I'm not. I made a bargain. I'll stick to it. You don't have to. If you don't want to. I won't hold you to it.

I mean, an unhappy Santa Claus wouldn't be much good. Do you want to? Want to what? Be unhappy? No, to get out of it. I don't even know if I can get into it yet.

Close your mouth. You look silly with it open. Oh, come on. The suit, I mean. The suit. Come on. Let's see it. I can't open it. It is very difficult, now. Oh, give me that stupid parcel. Stop fiddling. Can't spend all night on this. Good Lord. And what ragtag did you find this flea-bitten outfit? Huh? Huh? I didn't either find it. I rented it. Rented it?

And just what did you pay for this threadbare collection of junk? It cost 61 cents. How much? More, when you count my bus fare from here to Dawson City. $1.62 plus 61 cents. $2.23. My whole capital. And just where'd you get $2.23?

It was my tree money for Christmas. But I'd rather have a Santa Claus than a tree. So I broke my piggy bank and I hate you. Oh, stop it. All right, I'll be your Santa Claus. Oh, I'll even try the suit on now if you like. Oh, if you still want me, that is. I'll be a pretty grump Santa Claus, but... Oh, should I try the damn thing on? Yes, please. After all, I spent the money...

And something is better than nothing, isn't it? Honesty, Jasper. The startling white honesty of a child. It's what you've been looking for, grasping for. Something to believe in again. And yet, too late. Too late. You're so conscious of the age in your body, the bile in your gut, your loneliness, that rheumatic elbow, that gnawing peptic ulcer, the tight place around your heart.

Or is what you fear most your mean and tiny soul? And while Jasper thought these private thoughts, he was slowly putting on the Santa Claus suit, shaking his head at each tattered garment and worn accessory that went with it.

But as he put each piece on, watching through Jenny's eyes, each separate piece seemed to shine suddenly as luxuriously rich and sumptuous as the velvet and ermine suit she had first seen. And the whiskers were pure white and thick and curly. And the boots were like the most expensive Moroccan leather. But the biggest miracle of all was in Jasper.

Gone was the constriction from the heart. The nagging ache was no longer dragging at his stomach. The rheumatic arm was loose as a whip, and a magic sponge had wiped the lines from his face and the meanness from his heart. Oh, super! Gloriosa! It fits! It fits! Like a glove. You look so different. I feel so different.

Do I look like Santa Claus? Not look. You are. You are Santa. It's just perfect. Only... Only what? Do you think you could, you know, just a little, even smile?

Not only could I smile, I even think I could laugh again. Oh, try, Mr. Crown, try. You could call me Jasper, Jennifer. And you can call me Jenny, Jasper. Hello, Jenny, Jasper. Oh, Jasper, this is going to be a good Christmas. Oh, Jenny, this is going to be the best Christmas ever. Oh.

Now, Mrs. Templeton, now do you think? Yes. I was just coming to tell you, my dear child, that my husband said we are just about to commence. Mr. Crown's all dressed and ready. The reverend isn't teed off, is he? Teed off? I mean, his feathers aren't ruffled. The reverend is a saint, my dear. A perfect saint.

Why on earth should he be angry? Well, grandmother said he always played Santa Claus. And if someone else wanted to be it, he'd be mad as a wet hen. And I said, why is a wet hen mad? And she said, because its feathers get ruffled. Your grandmother, I should say your family in general, Jenny, doesn't quite understand a man of God.

The minister, my beloved George, is only too happy to welcome back a sinner and a backslider like Mr. Crown. He would sacrifice any of his little pleasures for that. Oh, which reminds me. Yes, ma'am? For some reason or other, Mr. Crown says he has to see you before he comes in. Oh, dear. I hope nothing's gone wrong. Because if Jasper's feathers are ruffled, this whole party could lay an egg. No.

We'd never get rid of that old stork. I told you he was an old stick. In the mud.

Now what I needed you for was to know if I look all right. Come over to the chair. He has the wig all wrong and the hat not down over your nose, not sort of jaunty to one side. And he didn't put the rouge on your cheeks like this. Oh, and now you really look like something. Oh, Jasper, you look just beautiful. And so do you, Jenny.

Oh, I don't matter. You're the star of this show. Now you go out there and twinkle. Watch my stardust. Just call me Jasper, Jenny, and everything's all right. You just call me Jenny Jasper, and I know it's going to be. Here he comes, everybody. All the way from the North Pole. Merry Christmas, everyone. Merry Christmas. Oh!

So there it is. We have all been witness to the regeneration of Jasper Crown. A child's drive and belief has brought him back to the precious gift of present youth and laughter. But is it a true conversion to the present?

or only a momentary aberration? Is the magic of this moment in the Christmas legend in the suit and in Jenny? What happens if he loses either or both? I'll be back shortly with Act Three. Act Three

The church party was an exceptionally long one that year. And before it was over, Jasper Crown had indeed become Santa's alter ego. Many other gifts beyond those Jenny collected on Win the Booty were distributed. All of them from Jasper's generous purse. $50,000 to the church itself. Another $50,000 to the community chest. And many smaller but not less welcome gifts. ♪

Then, with the party over, Jasper, after a long last hug with Jenny before she went home, returned to his own house. But however cold the empty old mansion might seem, Jasper, in his suit of red, was warm and glowing inside. And his first trip was to the telephone. Christmas greetings, hello? Happy Christmas, my darling daughter. Dad? Daddy? Daddy?

Yes, Mary. You're a miserable, old, wretched, stupid father. I can't believe it. I mean, you don't... Well, you never were stupid. And you certainly don't sound miserable, old, or wretched. Well, I'm none of those. But I was stupid. How can I make up for it to you and Leon? Make up? Oh, Daddy. I wish you could be with us for Christmas. It's a little late for that, but I have another idea.

I want to buy plane tickets for you and Leon to come visit me and ring in the new year with me. What?

A real good New Year. I just called Robert, and he and his wife are coming home with the children. He's going to start up the mill again for me. It could be a real family reunion. Daddy, I don't know what to say. Oh, say yes. Please, just say yes. Of course it's yes. Yes, yes, yes. Daddy, what happened? You sound... Well, not only like yourself again, but like...

But I don't know. It's like the spirit of Christmas, past and present. And future. You'll see, I hope, when you come home.

Mrs. Murchison, come in, come in. God, his angels be with me. I thought, Mr. Crown, for a moment you were the real article. I can't claim that. I wish I could. But I feel as cheerful as him.

What brings you here Christmas morning? Well, now, sir, I felt real bad, particularly this time of year and I'm walking out on you. And here is Christmas Day and you even without a dinner. So I was asked to bring in a little basket here if you'd accept it. I accept it from the heart and with my thanks. But I'd like to to ask you something in return. What is that? Will you come back to work for me, Murch?

I need you. Oh, you called me Merch. Mary's name. She's coming home with her husband and her child-to-be for New Year's. And Robert and his family. They're moving back to open up the mill. I'll need you, Merch. The blessed Mary preserves it, so you will. I'm glad I'll be to come home. Good. But what is it that's come over you, Mr. Crown? A child brought me this suit, Merch.

And putting it on, I went back to the man I was. I don't want to question either because I believe them both to be a miracle. And I thank God to have found happiness and peace again. And pray to him it will not be taken away from me.

But every silver lining has a cloud. Every sky a rift. The worm nestles even in the heart of a rose. Jasper could not buy his happiness this fast, if ever again. As she has been his angel, Jenny now becomes his nemesis.

Good morning, Jenny. Good morning, Jasper. I didn't expect... Me to answer the door? Well, I saw you coming up the walk. I didn't mean that. I meant, I didn't expect to see... I hate to say it, but I've come for the Santa Claus suit. No.

What do you want it for? You'll have to take it off now, Jasper. Why? Because I signed the paper. I only rented it, and I'm responsible. I have to take it back. I have to take it back.

It's funny to see you out of the Santa Claus suit again, Jasper. Oh, Jenny, I feel... I feel naked. It's the way I told you. But that's silly. You aren't the way you were at all. You're nice now. The way I always knew you were underneath. As long as I have the suit. As long as you have you. That's what counts. My father says, Oh, wait a minute. Tell the chauffeur, here's the street. Oh!

Oh, I was sure it was this one. Try the next. You watch one side, and I'll watch the other. You're not watching, Jenny. That's because I've already looked all the way down. It must be the next block. Why are you looking so sad again, Jasper? Because I feel that way. Not even sad. Frightened, Jenny. Why? I like the way I am. I didn't like the way I was. And I'm afraid that if I let go of a suit,

I'll go back to being what I was. Never. Anyway, when we get to the shop, you can always buy it. Oh, tell the chauffeur to turn here, to the right. Take the next right, Edwards. You sure this is it? Yes, I know. Because there's the hat factory and the cigar store and the man who cooks spaghetti in the window of the shop. And right there next to it... What? What, Jenny? Mr. Edwards, stop and back up.

See, Jasper? It's a dead-end street anyway. And there's that big school, and the storage company, and then the Chinese laundry. And right here between it and the man who cooked spaghetti in the window is... was... Stop the car, Edwards. But, Jenny, there's nothing here but an empty lot. But there can't be. Because otherwise, then it would have to be a miracle. Yes, but...

That's what it would have to be. But that's impossible. Why? Because miracles have to be about holy things, and they have to be very old. Well, what's holier than Christmas? And it's pretty old. I... I must have made a mistake. We'll just have to keep... Little Jenny, listen to me. This is a funny thing to ask, but I ask it with all my heart. Don't let's go looking anymore, because we just might find him. And that's the thing I'm most afraid of.

Why? Because then I'd have to give the suit back, and I might stop believing again. Oh, is that the time? The right time? Yes, what's wrong? I've got to get back to Grandma's fast. I'm catching a plane today. Edwards, Holmes, step on it. A plane? Where to? The Pacific. Japan. Japan.

Back to my father. He's so lonely. I'm all he has. But grandmother was getting old, and we were both going to spend Christmas with her. Only that first class son of a... I almost said it. Anyway, the admiral said he couldn't spare my father because of the general situation. Oh, what am I going to do? About your father? No, about the suit.

Jenny, why don't you let me handle this? I'm here and your father and you are going to be on the other side of the world. How could you handle it? Well, let me tell you and we write it down as soon as we get home. Now, here's the advertisement, Jenny. I'll read it.

If the owner of the Santa Claus suit rented to Jennifer Swallow will present his copy of the receipt to me, Jasper Crown, my address, phone number, and so on, he will be remunerated to whatever degree he deems fair and equitable, up to, but not to exceed, the sum of $1 million. This ad will appear daily till the first of the new year, and for the month of December of each succeeding year until the decease of the aforementioned Jasper Crown. Okay? Okay.

But Jasper, a million dollars for that cruddy old suit? I told you it's worth that to me. Do you have to go, Ginny? You shouldn't have to ask. You know how fathers feel about daughters. Now I do. Your own daughter is coming back to be with you. And your son, too. You'll never miss me. Oh, I will that. Don't ever mistake it. But I'm finally realizing all this fuss about a suit I thought was a key that unlocked my heart

And it wasn't the suit at all. It was you. I... I... I hate goodbyes. They're always sad. Why can't they be laughing goodbyes? Couldn't you laugh? Just a little? You said that to me once before, remember? And you laughed. I don't think anything can make me laugh now. I bet I could. Try it, Mr. Crown. Try what? That's not what you're supposed to say.

What am I supposed to say? You're supposed to say, you can call me... Jasper, Jenny. And you can call me Jenny, Jasper. Hello, Jenny, Jasper. Hello, Jasper, Jenny. Oh, Jasper, it's been such a good Christmas. The best. The best ever. The best ever.

Jenny left as she had to, and Jasper placed the ad in the paper. For ten years, it appeared every December as Jasper lived out a full and happy life, his family, grandchildren, and his mill workers filling every Christmas for him. Until early this December, when he died, peacefully and quietly in his sleep, the great

Grateful and joyful to go join his beloved wife. Hello, Mr. Crown. I've been proud of you these last ten years. I've felt at peace with myself. The suit is in that rosewood box on my bureau. And here is a blank check signed.

Fill in what you want. Oh, no. This is paid in full. I've more than had my rental. But I will take the suit back because it is Christmas again. And who knows? It may be very useful to someone else. Now, excuse me. It's a busy season for me. Now, dancer. Now, dancer. Now, dancer.

Did you kill Jasper? I did. It's been most of it. Such a good life. And the best of it, you made. But I'm tired, Jenny. So tired. Say goodnight to me.

Good night, Jasper. I wish I could wish you Merry Christmas. No, that's my little gift to you. Have as many and more as you brought me. I love you, Jasper. That's what Christmas is all about. Good night, my extra special Santa.

An event or effect contrary to the established order of things. A wonder or a wonderful thing. Webster's definition of a miracle. I'll be back shortly. For this special night of the year, there remains nothing to say in closing but...

God rest you merry gentlemen and ladies, and a merry, merry Christmas to all. Our cast included Howard Da Silva, Jennifer Marlowe, Virginia Payne, E.V. Jester, and Ian Martin. The entire production was under the direction of Hyman Brown.

And now, a preview of our next tale. You will be haunted by three spirits. That is the hope you mentioned? It is. I think I'd rather not. Without their visits, you have no hope but to shun the path I tread.

Expect the first tomorrow, when the bell tolls one. But couldn't I take them all at once and have it over? Expect the second on the next night at the same hour. The third, when the last stroke of twelve has ceased to vibrate on your mantel clock. And for your own sake...

Remember what has passed between us. Passed between us. Jacob, do not leave me yet. This is E.G. Marshall inviting you to return to our mystery theater for another adventure in the macabre. Until next time, pleasant dreams.

♪♪

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Recently, a new client called me and started by saying, Mr. Morgan, I really need your help, but I'm just a nobody. Those words stunned me, and I immediately called him back. And we're now helping him and his family after a terrible accident. I'm John Morgan of Morgan & Morgan. Everybody who comes to our firm at their time of need is a somebody.

I grew up poor, but my grandmother was like a queen to us. At Morgan & Morgan, our goal is to level the playing field for you and your family at your time of need. The insurance company has unlimited money and resources. You need a firm who can fight them toe-to-toe. For right at 30 years, we have fought them in courtrooms throughout America. Our

Our results speak for themselves. And always remember this. Everybody is a somebody and nobody is a nobody. Visit ForThePeople.com to learn about our firm. Morgan & Morgan. For The People. Injured? Visit ForThePeople.com for an office near you.

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Recently, a new client called me and started by saying, "Mr. Morgan, I really need your help, but I'm just a nobody." Those words stunned me and I immediately called him back. And we're now helping him and his family after a terrible accident. I'm John Morgan of Morgan & Morgan. Everybody who comes to our firm at their time of need is a somebody.

We'll be right back.

Our results speak for themselves. And always remember this, everybody is a somebody and nobody is a nobody. Visit ForThePeople.com to learn about our firm. Morgan & Morgan, For The People. Injured? Visit ForThePeople.com for an office near you. For The People.

Presenting The Christmas Eve Ghost, another in the series of radio plays based on stories featured in the American Weekly, the magazine which is distributed with all Hearst's Sunday newspapers from coast to coast. The Christmas Eve Ghost was produced in the New York studios of the General Broadcasting Company.

Men of the sea are superstitious, even more so than landsmen. The sky, the swell of the ocean's surface, birds wheeling and screaming around the ship, all these apparently innocent details have certain ominous interpretations for your sailor man. So it's not surprising that there should be wild tales of haunted ships and shipwrecks which lie fathoms deep or beached on the sandy shores off the New England coast.

In the middle of the last century, no sturdier, smarter, five-masted schooner ever sailed the seas than the Ruth I. Brown. Her skipper, a huge brawny seaman named Cobb, as good a captain as ever ordered a foretack heave down, had one outstanding characteristic: he was deeply religious. Too religious to suit his men, he always carried a parson on board ship to hold services. One blustery Christmas Eve, the skipper was sitting in his cabin reading aloud to himself.

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them, and they were sore afraid. Come in. Come in.

If you please, Captain. Come in, Mr. Willebrand. Come in. I was just reading a bit of the scriptures. Aye, aye, Captain. But if you... Sit down, mate, and listen. But, Captain... Sit down. Aye, aye, Captain. I'm reading from the second chapter of Luke, where the angel appeared to the shepherds.

And the angel said unto them, Fear not, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill toward men.

That's what the good book says, mate. I see. And suddenly there was with the angel the multitude of the heavenly host. You know what that means? No, sir. That means there was a flock of spirits appeared. You believe in spirits, don't you? Yes.

The bottle kind I does, Captain. Damn it, mate. Don't be profane. I mean ghosts. My mistake, Captain. You've heard tell of ghosts appearing, haven't you? Aye, Captain. I've heard tell of them. You ever seen them? Never seen them. Neither have I. But the good book tells us they do appear.

I wonder if a parson has ever seen him. May, just run and give the parson my compliment. And ask him to be good enough to step here a minute. Well, if you please, Captain. I was sent here with a parson's compliment. And to ask if you'd be so good as to step to his cabin. What for? The parson's in a bad way, sir. Sick? Shot, sir. Shot?

When? If you please. If you please, sir. Last night while he was ashore, some tipsy oysterman let him have one while he was holding the services in the back room of the jolly car. Why didn't somebody tell me? Well, the parson would hear tell of it, Captain. Didn't want to upset you. Some of the men got him aboard and into his bunk. But he's in a bad way, you see. Aye, sir.

But the term for the worst just fell back. Well, why didn't you tell me when you first came in? I tried to, Captain. But don't stand there spouting like a humpback whale. Get me my jacket off you on the hook. Aye, aye, sir. Parsons in a bad way, is he? Poor devil, having only one eye and a peg leg was bad enough without getting shot. Your jacket, Captain. All right, come along, Mr. Willoughby, and we'll have a look at the Parsons. Come on.

Captain? Yes, Parson. Oh, thank you, sir, for coming. Oh, that's all right, Parson. No, no, no, no, no, no. Don't you try to get up now. Lie back and rest. Thank you. I'm pretty weak. Mate. Captain? Turn the lantern to the way a little light's right in his face. I...

Better, Parson? Much thank you, Captain. Sorry, sorry to be so much trouble. No trouble, man, no trouble at all. But it won't be for long. Why, of course not. Well, you'll be up and about deck in short order. Pardon me for contradicting, Captain, but I'll never pace the deck again. Oh, being six major morbid, Parson, I'll stop thinking that way. My time's come, Captain.

I know that soon the bullet hit me. Funny, ain't it? What? How we never know how the end will come. I always hope to die in my home port, but it's to be at sea. Oh, stop talking like that, man. It's true, Captain. I'm dying. My race is run. Ah!

Hear that? Hear what? Music. Heavenly music. Where? Here, in this cabin. Do you hear it, Mr. Winnebrand? No. You sure you heard music, Parson? I heard it. I hear it still. Listen. Listen.

Can't you hear it, too? Would you like me to read a bit of scripture, Parson? They're coming to take me home. God sent his angels for me. See them, Captain? Now you lie back and rest, Parson. Captain, you don't believe me. You think I'm delirious. I'm not. I see the angels and hear their music.

Yes, Parson, yes. If you say you do, you do. The good book says God sends his angels, doesn't it? Yes, Parson, it does. Now, what did I tell you, Mr. Willibrand? I was just sending Mr. Willibrand here for you, Parson, when he come for me. I've just been reading about that in the good book.

It's true. It's gospel. The spirit does return. I know that I shall return, too. Yes, Parson. I die strong in the faith that I'll be allowed to return. And then I shall not only preach to men's souls, but I shall heal their bodies. Don't bother, mate. My lantern of life is growing weaker, too.

Yes.

Captain. What is it, Parson? I always preach the truth, ain't I? That's your head. You believe what I've told you, don't you? Aye, but come now, lie back now. Don't lean on your elbow like that. I must. I must make you believe what I'm about to say. I know that I shall return the same night at very hour to preach to men and heal their bodies. Aye, Parson. Remember this, Captain.

I shall come back to preach and heal their bodies. I shall come back.

A week later, the roof I browned caught fire from a galley stove while everybody was ashore and she burned to the water's edge. The whole town was interested in a dying prediction of the saintly old Parsons. Some believed it would come true. Others stopped at it. But everyone impatiently waited for the next Christmas Eve, the first anniversary of the Parsons' death.

One of the most ardent believers in the prophecy was Little Davy, the crippled son of Captain Cobb. He constantly talked to the Parsons' return and hoped that he might be relieved of his crutches. Although he never expressed his opinion of the whole matter, Captain Cobb took his little son down to the wreck of the Ruth I. Brown on the appointed night.

He said he'd come back, didn't he, Father? Aye, son. Did he say what time? The hour of his death, he said, baby, and that was at 8 bell. And he will come, won't he? He said so, baby. I think he will.

Do you think we'll be able to see him? I don't know. Maybe. Where was the cabin he died in, Father? Ah. See the broken charred wheel there? Yes. His cabin was just after that. I'm going up there. Maybe he'll come back for sure if I do.

Evening, Captain Cobb. Evening, Mr. Willibrand. Tonight's the night, ain't it? The night's the night. Folks are starting to gather, I see. Aye. You believe the parcel will come back, don't you? He said he would. Yeah, he said lots of things about this, but I won't believe him. Then what are you here for? Just to see all the folks get fooled. Come to scoff, huh? No, I wouldn't say that. Just come to look on a spell.

Why, the night he died, Captain, how you been reading about spirits coming down from heaven and how he heard them coming after him? And all that eerie music he was raving about? Me and you never heard a note of it, did we? No, mate, we didn't. He was the only one aboard who heard or saw anything. Well then, Captain, how will we ever know if he comes back?

I wish I knew, mate. I wish I knew. Eight bells, Captain. Aye, eight bells, mate.

Here comes the folks. They expect miracles or something. The parson said he'd come back. Said he'd come back to preach and heal this very hour, mate. Do you think he'll come back, Captain? The parson was a very honest man, mate. Captain! Mr. Willebrand! Oh, he meant well enough, Captain. But there's coming back now.

Here I am, just as I said, Captain. Mr. Willebrand, listen to me. He was so certain he'd return. Yes, Captain. I promised to return, and here I am. They say dying men have peculiar visions, Captain. Aye, Mr.

Mr. Willebrand. Don't you hear me? I'm back with you. I've got so much to tell you. That's why I hope I go sudden like when it comes my turn. Don't fear death, Mr. Willebrand. Death is peace. Death is beautiful. Oh, if you could only hear me. Carson died easy. Yes, Captain, I've died easy. You ain't having an easy time getting back, though.

I wonder if he will come tonight. I'm here, Captain. I'm here. Can't you see me? I can see you. Don't you hear the music? The wind's getting round to the north. It'll be a cold night tonight, Captain. I thought the storm formed on us. I haven't much longer to stay with you, Captain. I promise you I'll be back. I want you to know I've kept my promise.

Oh, there's only one way left now to make you believe.

Well, I guess the party's failed you, Captain. Might as well get back to where it's warm. I guess you're right, mate. I guess you're right. Well, Davey left me here just a few minutes ago. He went out for the wheel there. Oh, somebody's coming along the deck now. Is that him? Must be. Nobody else up there. Can't be, Captain. Davey's beyond his crutches. What? What?

It is Davy. And he ain't got his crutches. Captain. You mean... I don't know what I mean. Father! Father! Davy! Be careful!

Where's your crutches, son? I saw them, father. I saw the car from... The child imagines things so easily. I shouldn't have brought him. Careful, baby. I'll come get you, son. You don't have to, father. See? And I'll never need my crutches again. I can walk. Well, I'll be... Baby! Baby, my boy! Oh, thank God! Thank God! Thank God!

Did the old parson keep his promise and reappear? Full details of the story of this strange old character, as well as many other supernatural visitations, will be found under the title, The Haunted Shipwreck Off the Coast of Maine, in next Sunday's issue of the American Weekly, the magazine which is distributed with all Hearst Sunday newspapers from coast to coast.

And now on behalf of the American Weekly and all members of the Hearst Organization, I wish to extend to you and your family our very best wishes for a very Merry Christmas. This is Wentworth announcing. Full details of the other stories appearing in next Sunday's issue of the American Weekly magazine will now be given to you by your own announcer. ♪♪

Oh

When it's PCS time, you know the drill. Pack, research a new base, get the kids in school, because family supports family. At American Public University, we support military families with flexible, affordable online education that moves with you. As a military spouse, your tuition rate is the same as your partner's, just $250 per credit hour. American Public University, education that moves with you.

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Recently, a new client called me and started by saying, Mr. Morgan, I really need your help, but I'm just a nobody. Those words stunned me, and I immediately called him back. And we're now helping him and his family after a terrible accident. I'm John Morgan of Morgan & Morgan. Everybody who comes to our firm at their time of need is a somebody.

I grew up poor, but my grandmother was like a queen to us. At Morgan & Morgan, our goal is to level the playing field for you and your family at your time of need. The insurance company has unlimited money and resources. You need a firm who can fight them toe-to-toe. For right at 30 years, we have fought them in courtrooms throughout America. Our

Our results speak for themselves. And always remember this, everybody is a somebody and nobody is a nobody. Visit ForThePeople.com to learn about our firm. Morgan & Morgan, For The People. Injured? Visit ForThePeople.com for an office near you.

When you're part of a military family, you understand sacrifice and support. At American Public University, we honor your dedication by extending our military tuition savings to your extended family. Parents, spouses, legal partners, siblings, and dependents all qualify for APU's preferred military rate of just $250 per credit hour for undergraduate and master's level programs.

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Recently, a new client called me and started by saying, "Mr. Morgan, I really need your help, but I'm just a nobody." Those words stunned me and I immediately called him back.

And we're now helping him and his family after a terrible accident. I'm John Morgan of Morgan & Morgan. Everybody who comes to our firm at their time of need is a somebody. I grew up poor, but my grandmother was like a queen to us. At Morgan & Morgan, our goal is to level the playing field for you and your family at your time of need. The insurance company has unlimited money and resources. You need a firm who can fight them toe-to-toe.

For right at 30 years, we have fought them in courtrooms throughout America. Our results speak for themselves. And always remember this, everybody is a somebody and nobody is a nobody. Visit ForThePeople.com to learn about our firm. Morgan & Morgan, For The People. Injured? Visit ForThePeople.com for an office near you. Dark fantasy. I am the dweller.

In the House of Bread. I'm Scott Bishop. I create fantasies for the radio. I write weird stories for magazines. I write books on strange subjects. Authors who do these things sometimes attract odd happenings. I don't ask listeners to believe my stories. I do not expect you to believe what I'm going to tell you now. As I was sitting alone at my typewriter one evening, plotting in my mind an outline for a story...

My room was quiet. There was a soft, spicy odor of incense being wafted in from some other portion of the house. An organ was playing softly somewhere in the distance. That was when I fell asleep. And in my dream, I found myself alone high on a precipice, the highest in all creation, where I could observe with a naked eye all the far-flung wonders of the universe, where I could overlook that common clay that mankind calls...

The earth. And as I watched high on that vantage point... Why do you sigh, my son? Oh, I thought I was alone. Are any of us ever alone? No, I suppose we're not. But so desolate up here. So far from anything else. And I seem to be searching for something. Could it be, my son, that the reason is... You are searching for the truth. The truth. The truth.

What is the truth? You ask that? Then asking, you surely must not know. The truth. Is it some vague, inconsequential thing? Some mythical nothingness? Some non-existent wishfulness? Truth, my son, is neither inconsequential, nor vague, nor mythical. If I could only believe that. You can believe it, if you will. Can one believe something he's never seen? Perhaps.

You think me a cynic, don't you, sir? I haven't said I do. Nor have you denied it. My son, look upon me. What do you see? Why, a man like myself. A little older, perhaps. And perhaps wiser. I make no boast of any wisdom I might have. I am the way and the truth and the light. What was that? Merely words spoken by a man who was about to die. I know. I know.

The Bible. The Bible. The way, the truth, and the light. If I could only find them. You will find them if you look far enough. Who are you? I? I am just a man. What's your name? It is a very common name. You'll find it in any city directory or telephone book. Then why do you conceal it? I don't conceal it. My name is Word. I can't agree that it's such a common name. Nor could you agree that it is...

Unusual? No. Names are such temporary things. You can say to me, my name is Bishop, and there is no way for me to know whether you are good or evil, religious or atheistic, learned or ignorant, an emperor or a beggar. But you've told me more about yourself than just your name. Have I? But haven't you? Just a moment ago, you reminded me that your greater age has made you wiser than I. Well? If you're so much wiser...

Perhaps you can tell me where to find what I seek. Where to find the truth? The truth. The light, peace, happiness, contentment. All those things man wants so eagerly, yet seldom finds in sufficiency. He only fails to find them, my son, because he is blind to them. Then they are real? They do exist? I have said that they do. Then I beg of you to help me find them. I beg of you. Let my son...

I cannot do. For it is given no one to help another find those things which you seek. You must search them out in your own way. You must exert your own efforts in discovering them. But can't you tell me anything? Anything at all? I would like nothing better than to disclose everything to you. But this much I can say. Yes? If you are sincere in wishing to find the truth, if you really desire to know the way of light and happiness and peace,

If you would know the road to all these majestic things, then seek you the house of bread. Remember the house, the house of bread. Seek you the house of bread. But wait, wait, I say. Come back. Don't leave me now. Where is that house? Where will I find it? Where will I find the house? Tell me, oh wise one. Where will I find the house of bread?

I've already told you I was dreaming. I make no secret of that. At first, I didn't tell my dream to anyone. Instead, I cherished it. Gave it many hours of deep thought and serious contemplation. I didn't even tell Sonia. Not at first. I gave much thought to the things the man on the mountaintop had said to me. Those lines he quoted from a book almost as old as Christianity itself. And the house of bread. Where was it? Could I find it?

I resolved to try, so I went to my boss. Are you trying to tell me, Bishop, that you're leaving? Regretfully, yes. But your work, your future... I wonder, sir, if there is a future. Bishop, what in tarnation has come over you? You've got a great future. Your books are selling like peanuts at a circus. Here's a wire from Fantastic Periodicals. They want a contract for a series of 12 short stories about the supernatural. That's $3,000. $3,000?

Two hundred and fifty apiece. That's not hay. Oh, good Lord, man. Are you out of your mind? Why, think of the years you've spent building up the reputation you've got. Think of those years you studied Greek and Latin philosophy during the day and wrote cheap sensational nonsense for the pops at night to earn your education. And think, think of the trunk full of rejection slips you got from the slicks before you made the grade.

Think of the money you've spent on travel and research. That's just it, boss. I am thinking of all those things. So what? So I work hard and maybe I'm a success. Who can say? Maybe you're a success. Maybe you're a success. Well, if you do leave, where are you going? I'd be glad to answer that if I possibly could. You mean you won't tell me? I mean I don't know. Bishop, I'll tell you what I'll do. You take a vacation.

Yeah, that's it. A rest. A week. Ten days. Two weeks. Take as much time as you like. And when you come back, boy, you'll feel better. I don't think it's going to be that easy. Bishop, what in the name of heaven's come over you? Don't you think you at least owe me an explanation? Yes, I guess I do. I owe anyone an explanation as you. Well, some satisfaction in that, at least. Well, it's like this.

It all happened about three weeks ago, out of my study. I had a story to write for the radio, the Egyptian mummy thing. While I was trying to come up with a reasonable plot, I drifted off to sleep. Telling Sonia was different. The difference between telling her and the boss was like the difference between saying I love you to an actress on the stage and the same thing to the girl you adore. It was pleasant and soothing because Sonia understood. Sonia understands everything.

She wouldn't be Sonia if she didn't. So that's the way it is, Sonia. Well, my darling, when are we leaving California? Scott, you look so strange. Didn't you think I'd want to go along? But, Sonia, you want to seek it too? What better thing could I do? Yes, I might have known you'd wish to go along. Do you mind so much? Mind? No, of course not.

But the journey may be a long one. I love long journeys. And a difficult one. I've always been used to difficulties. It may take us to far-off places. But I adore far-off places. And it may end only in disappointment. Haven't we shared many a disappointment, Scott? Yes, indeed we have. I can think of no one I'd rather make the journey with. Thank you, darling. When do we leave? Well, whenever the house trailer's been remodeled and the car cylinders have been ground. Where do we go first?

I don't know for certain. Reminds me of Sir Galahad looking for the Holy Grail. Did he know where he was to begin his search? More or less, I suppose. Well, do you know where to start looking for the House of Bread? Darling, I haven't the slightest idea where to begin. Dearest, what do you suppose the man named Word meant by the House of Bread? I've asked myself that time and time again. Surely not a real house. No, I think not.

Sonia, that phrase symbolizes something. But what? Well, perhaps we shall find out someday. That was when we decided to go seeking the house of bread. As I look back on it now, I don't blame the boss for thinking I was bombing. Here we were, Sonia and I, two supposedly sane, sensible people throwing up everything, kit and caboodle...

and taking out to look for something more vague and unknown than Shangri-La or Arcadia or Nirvana, some other synonymous place. And all because of dream. So we had the house trailer remodeled and the automobile repaired and we drew our money from the banks and started off. It was the 21st day of May, my birthday, about 6 o'clock in the morning. I gathered up the morning newspapers on the way out of the house, breathed in some of the fragrant California atmosphere.

Sonia wanted to stop at the used bookshop on Pacific Avenue, so we drove through the spacious Long Beach streets until we came to the place opposite the post office. Sonia bought seven travel books and a back issue of a magazine that contained one of my better stories. She said she wanted to drive around Rainbow Pier once, so we did. Then we scooted over to L.A., picked up Highway 66, and drove to Las Vegas.

We stayed in a tourist cabin at Boulder that night. Bright and early the next day, we drove over to the dam. As we began driving through the mountains out of the place, I noticed Sonia laboriously writing in a small... What's that, dear? A five-year diary. I thought we should log our trip. Perhaps we'll assemble enough material for you to write another book. If we log our trip, my sweet, you'll have to do it. I couldn't write an I.O.U. with a pencil. Oh, I've already started to keep it, Scott. Here, listen. May 21st.

We left Long Beach at 7 a.m. and were out of Los Angeles by 10.30. The trip across the desert was uneventful, but quite pleasant. We arrived at Las Vegas, Nevada. May 22nd, Flagstaff, Gallup, Albuquerque. May 23rd, Amarillo, Oklahoma City, Tulsa. Kansas City, St. Louis, Chicago. Philadelphia, Washington, New York City. May 30th.

We sailed today from Pier 17 for London aboard the SS America. As we stood at the ship's rail together, Sonia and I, we wondered just why we decided to leave the good old United States behind. Did something tell us our goal was far beyond the sea? We have spent the past few days in London. It is now June 27th.

We have seen the River Thames, London Bridge, Trafalgar Square, Downing Street, Westminster Abbey, Buckingham Palace, Piccadilly Circus, many other points of interest. We were especially attracted by a place called the Light of the World. But the people we asked there, and everywhere else, had never heard of the House of Bread. July 16th. We're about to leave Paris for Madrid.

Sonia and I sought diligently in this city of pleasure for the place the man called word name to me. We searched everywhere. The magnificent Bois de Boulogne, boulevards, everywhere we could go. We did Eiffel Tower and the Louvre and Cardinal Richelieu's Palais Royal, the Cathedral of Notre Dame, Grand Opera House, the Arc of Triumph. Then we were attracted to the Place de la Concorde, which is called a place of peace.

and we thrilled for a moment because we thought our search was ended. But when we asked about the house of bread, folks only laughed at us. July 30th, Madrid, where there are two classes of people, those who go to bed after 3 a.m. and those who get up before 4. No Spaniard had ever heard of the house of bread. Morocco, August 20th, mingling with the Moors and Arabs.

wandering up narrow, crooked, dirty streets, through shabby buildings and unkept markets, all with a general aspect of dilapidation and extreme neglect. Tripoli, September 15th. Sponge fisheries, ostrich feathers, gold, ivory, rugs, and the ruins of a triumphal arch erected to Marcus Aurelius. ♪♪

Cairo. Egyptians, Arabs, Nubians, and Turks in a city of mosques. High stone houses, barred windows, stately turrets and domes, rising above the surrounding dirt and squalor. And the temple where tradition has it that God talked with Moses. No encouragement here either. The house the man word spoke of is unknown. It is late October. ♪♪

November 6th. November 16th. November 26th. December 5th. December 15th. December 25th. Jerusalem. The hill of Calvary, not far from the city gates, where once a humble man bearing a cross of misunderstanding and hate, far heavier than mere beams of wood, drank the last drop in the cup of human bitterness.

The city of God, city of David, Solomon, Cyrus, the Persian king. Nebuchadnezzar, the Babylonian, Alexander the Great, Constantine the Great, Pontius Pilate. The storm swoops down. Rain begins to fall. The newborn stars are hidden, all save one. There's one star to the east, quite close by.

scintillates through the gloom, through the downpour. Sends out its rays and engulfs us and pulls us. Becomes almost a part of us. And Sonia writes that we must follow the beam it sends pounding vigorously earthward. Sonia, let's go back. At least find shelter. You've got your tired. We've tried to find shelter.

Strange, the lodgings are completely filled. Then we'd best go back to Jerusalem instead of wandering about here in the darkness. Here? There's some sort of a shelter here, Scott. Let's step inside a moment, shall we? All right, dear. There seems to be a light in here. Yes, and there's someone here beside us. Scott, look. I bid you welcome, good people. We beg your pardon. We thought this place was unoccupied. No, no, do not go. You are welcome here.

I say, haven't we met before? I believe we have. Yes, we have. Now I remember. You're the one in my dream. Your name is Word. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The way and the truth and the light. I am come, a light into the world, that whosoever believeth in me shall not abide in darkness,

and the way, and the truth, and the light. And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord showed round about them, and said unto them, Fear not, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy. For to you is born this day a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. Be not afraid. Have you not been told, Seek ye the Lord, and he will not be scornful unto thee?

Here, here in this humble manger, you were born. Two thousand years ago. Verily I say unto you, I am with you at all times, in all places, even unto the consummation of the world. Then this is our answer. This is what we have been seeking so earnestly. Because you have seen me, you believe. Blessed is he who has not seen me, and still. And that is my story.

We awoke the next morning feeling more refreshed than we'd felt in all time. The sun was bright. The rain had gone. What was the significance of the house of bread? We didn't learn that until later when I consulted the Britannica. I quote as it is written word for word. Bethlehem, a small town in Palestine situated on a limestone ridge five miles south of Jerusalem, a city called by the Hebrews Bethlehem.

The House of Bread. This is the National Broadcasting Company.

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Cutting off your escape. Escape. Produced and directed by William N. Robeson. And carefully contrived to free you from the four walls of today for a half hour of high adventure. Tonight we escape to a university town in England and a household where hate holds sway.

as we listen to John Collier's famous story, Back for Christmas. The bells jingle all the way. Oh, what fun it is. Yes, my dear.

What on earth are you doing down here in the cellar? Why, just a little digging. And why, may I ask, have you chosen this day of all days to dig up the cellar floor? Why, I thought as the weather has been so damp, this would be an excellent time to plant my devil's garden. Devil's garden? Whatever nonsense is that? Oh, that's my little joke about it.

You see, I've managed to secure some of the spores of several unclassified wild orchids. In their natural state, they bloom under damp masses of leaf mold. The Orocanian Indians call them devil flowers because they appear to bloom under the ground. Well, I'm sure the Orocanian Indians will be very interested if you succeed in growing these ridiculous flowers under the cellar floor. Whom else it'll interest, I can't imagine.

What's that terrible smell? Why, that's the leaf mold, my dear. Chemically identical with the earth blanket they grow under in the wild state. I really should line the pit with concrete so as to prevent seepage from this foreign soil. But I don't suppose there'll be time for it now. There certainly will not be time for it.

Do you realize that we're sailing for America a week from today, and you've made no arrangements whatever? Unless you call digging a hole in the cellar making arrangements. I certainly don't. Devil's garden, indeed. Sometimes I think you're going soft in the head, Herbert. I suppose it's inconsiderate of me, but

You see, I've been wanting to try this experiment for a long time. But what with my lectures and seminars at the university, there never seemed to be time. Well, there certainly isn't any time for it now. I suppose you've forgotten I made an appointment for you at the barber's this afternoon. Oh, must I shave off my beard, Hermione? No, we've been all through that.

Of course you must. They don't wear beards in America. Go and get your jacket on and do as I tell you. Yes, Hermione. And don't forget to take your umbrella. It looks like rain. Yes, Hermione. Oh, don't look so put-upon, Herbert. Someone has to plan things in this house, or you'll never even get to the university in time for your lectures, much less make arrangements for a trip to America. I know, but what of my specimens? There'll be plenty of time to plant your precious devil's garden when you get home from America.

not going to be gone forever, you know. We'll be back here for Christmas. Yes, of course. Back for Christmas. I'd forgotten. Well, try to remember it. And if you can't do that, just do as I tell you. I've been making the plans in this house for 20 years, and if there's any digging to be done, I'll manage that as well. You understand, Herbert?

Yes, Hermione. Good. You have just 20 minutes to clean this mess up down here and keep your appointment at the barber's. And when you finish there, I want you to come straight home. Why, I wanted to stop at Miss Markham's and pick up some books I ordered. All right. But don't loiter there the whole afternoon, browsing over those old books the way you usually do. Now hurry and clear up this rubbish. Get rid of that smelly stuff. And no more digging, mind you. Yes, Hermione.

Yes, Hermione. How many years have I been saying that? Ten years? Fifteen? Twenty? Clear up the rubbish. Yes, Hermione. Don't forget your umbrella. Yes, Hermione. Do this, do that. Yes, Hermione. Yes, yes, yes. How much longer can I stand this? Good evening, sir. Good evening, Miss Markham. Why, it's Professor Carpenter, isn't it? You didn't recognize me. Oh, I didn't.

You look ever so much younger without the beard. Twenty years at least. Twenty years. You'll be glad to know those books you ordered have finally arrived. Books? Phytotomy of phalloid gametophytes and coniferous shrubs of North America. Those are the ones you ordered, aren't they? Oh, yes, yes. Thank you. You're very kind, Miss Markham.

Why kind, Professor Carpenter? Well, not many young ladies in bookshops would go out of their way to look up rare books for an old professor of botany. Oh, why, you're not old, Professor Carpenter. Really, you look... Oh, and besides, I adore botany. It's my particular hobby. Oh, really? You never told me that before, Miss Markham. Oh, I was afraid to. You were so... so imposing with the beard and all. Well, I...

You might be interested in some specimens of alpine polyanthes that were sent to me by a friend in Switzerland. Switzerland? I used to go there for my holidays before the war. You like Switzerland? Oh, I love every part of it. The lakes, the mountains, the beautiful spring flowers. Especially the flowers. Oh, yes. It seems we have quite a lot in common, Miss Markham. I'm sorry we haven't talked before. I am too.

It is all the fault of the beard, I suppose. Miss Markham, forgive me if this sounds foolish, but I feel that shaving off my beard is the most important thing I've done for 20 years. Oh, it is. I'm sure it is. I'm ashamed that I've been so distant with you all the time. Oh, there were times when I almost spoke up. Times when you came in here, tired after a day with your students at the university. You seemed so alone. The way I'm alone in the world.

I'd like to have asked you to stay a while and talk with me. But some way or other, I wound up giving you your change and letting you go on your way. You... you say you're all alone in the world? Since my father died. Well, did you never think of marrying? My father was a very remarkable man. I never found anyone who seemed to measure up to what he led me to expect of men. And then the war came and... Miss Markham, I...

It's been so long since anyone called me by my first name. I'd like you to, if you don't mind. It's Marion. Marion. And yours? Herbert. How long have you been alone, Herbert? Alone? Oh, I knew you were a widower, of course, the first time I saw you. A widower? Oh, I can always tell. There's a certain sadness in a man's eyes. A sweet sadness, I think, when he's been married and then... A widower? A widower.

I never thought of it in quite that way. Oh, perhaps I shouldn't be talking like this. But I've often wondered what she must have been like. Your wife, I mean. Hermione? Not an easy woman to forget. Very strong. Always managing things. The house, my wardrobe, my friends. When we dined at a restaurant, she even ordered my food. She was always managing things. You might say she managed herself to death. Oh, poor woman. She must have loved you very much.

But she needn't have put herself out so. It's plain to see you don't need things managed for you. You need companionship, I think. Someone sympathetic with your work. But the last thing on earth you need is a manager. How well you put it. The last thing on earth. That's the first time I thought of it, of course. But suddenly a whole new world opened up before my eyes. Marion and America and...

No more of Hermione's planning my life for me. By the time I got home, my mind was working overtime. Well, at last. You certainly took long enough about it. What are you looking so pleased about? I don't really know. Getting rid of the beard, perhaps. I feel 20 years younger. You look even smaller. Your face looks triangular or something. I'd forgotten your chin was so weak.

Oh, but never mind that. You can grow it back soon enough, after Christmas. Where are you going? Down to the cellar. I just bought this electric lantern and I thought I'd put it away down there. Now, whatever possessed you to buy a thing like that? I don't know. I'd rather like this lantern. Might come in handy.

Who knows? Now, Herbert, don't start digging down there again. I've a hundred things to do putting the house in order before we leave. I want you to carry these boxes upstairs for me. Yes, Hermione. And if you're going down to the cellar, take this along and stuff it into the furnace. But this is my old bathrobe. I may need it. Oh, nonsense. I've bought you a new one. Get rid of it. And don't start puttering down there with that devil's garden or whatever you call it. I'm through digging, my dear. I think the pit is quite deep enough now. If

For my devil's garden. It would all have to be carefully planned, of course. Just as carefully planned as Hermione was planning the trip to America. We both went about our respective engagements as the days passed. I spent all the time I could with Marion, and finally she consented. And then it was the last day, the big day. The day we were to sail for America. Operator! Operator, are you there? I'm still waiting on that call to Salisbury. Oh. Well, put them on quickly.

Hello? Is this Paul Holton Sons? Mrs. Herbert Carpenter here. Did you receive my letter? Oh, good. Now remember, we'll be back for Christmas, and I want the job done without fail. What's that? Oh, no, I'm sure he doesn't suspect anything. Send the bill to me in New York as I instructed you. Oh, thank you. Thank you so much.

Oh, there you are, Herbert. Where have you been? Backstairs. I dismissed the servants. Dismissed the servants? But I've asked some friends in to a farewell tea. Go and tell them it's a mistake. I'm afraid it's too late now.

They've packed and gone. Oh, you have messed up things properly. How many times have I told you to leave things to me? I make the plans around here. Yes, Hermione. You'll have to do better than this when I plan the trip home, or we'll never in the world be back for Christmas. Back for Christmas, back for Christmas. Must you keep saying that? Well,

We are coming back for Christmas, aren't we? Supposing I were offered a professorship in one of those wealthy American universities. Nonsense. Americans care nothing for botany. Luther Burbank was an American. That's different. What have you ever done except muck around in the dirt with a lot of roots and tubers? They've asked me to lecture. That means something. Of course they asked you to lecture. Americans are paid to hear any foreigner deliver a lecture. Once.

Now, there's no use getting yourself an estate about this, Herbert. No doubt this extra money will come in very handy when we arrive back for Christmas. Precisely.

And it's no good you're making a joke of it. Heaven knows where you'd be today if I hadn't got a sense of time. Yes, my dear Hermione. And since you've been so foolish as to dismiss the servants, you may empty the ashtrays and straighten up this room while we're waiting for the guests to arrive. I'm going upstairs to change. Call me when they get here. Yes, Hermione. Yes, Hermione.

Yes, Hermione. Yes, Hermione. For 20 years, Hermione, always so right, thought of everything. Well, not quite everything. She's dressing now. Safe to call Marion. Oh, if Marion were to change her mind now. If she had any idea I was not a widower. Hello? Hello? Marion? Herbert? No. No, my darling. Nothing's wrong. My plans are the same, unless you've changed. Good. We'll meet in New York as we planned.

Yes, yes, I do love you, my darling. I'm sorry, I can't talk any longer. Yes, I'll meet you in New York a week from tomorrow without fail. Goodbye till then. Herbert, were you talking on the phone just now? Yes, Hermione. Whoever was it? Freddie. Freddie Sinclair, of course. Didn't I hear you say something about meeting somebody in New York? Why, yes.

Old Freddy said he might possibly get out to America before we leave, and I said, of course, we'd meet him there if he decides to go. That seems very peculiar. But then all of your friends are peculiar.

Yes, Hermione. And just look at your jacket. Have you been digging in that cellar again? Yes, Hermione. Well, there's no need for it. You can't possibly get that devil's garden thing finished. Go and change your clothes before the guests arrive. Yes, Hermione. Oh, never mind. I see somebody coming up the walk now. Go and let them in. Yes, Hermione. Herbert. Yes, my dear? Look out the window. There's Professor and Mrs. Hewitt. But who's that with them? Why, I... Precisely.

Freddy Sinclair. Peculiar. You should have been talking to him on the phone not three minutes ago. And now here he is. Yes, yes, isn't it? But then, as you say, Hermione, all of my friends are peculiar. Not half so peculiar as you. Digging in the cellar an hour before we leave for America. Just look at yourself. What did I think of it? Yes, Hermione? Oh, never mind. Go and let them in. You were going to ask me something, Hermione. Yes.

But the hole I'm digging in the cellar... Oh, good heavens! Stop rolling your eyes about that way. One would think you were digging a grave down there instead of a storage bin. Yes, Hermione. What's that? I said, yes, Hermione. Oh, bother. Open the door and stop saying, yes, Hermione. I think, my dear, I've said it for the last time. Back for Christmas. Hermione was so positive we would be back for Christmas.

That last afternoon, pouring tea for a few friends who had come in to say last-minute farewells, she kept reiterating... Oh, I promise you, Mrs. Hewitt, remember, we absolutely must have you with us for Christmas. Oh, we'll be back. It's not absolutely certain, of course. Herbert, what do you mean, it's not certain? Of course it's certain. After all, Herbert, old boy, you've contracted to lecture for only three months. Quite right, but then, of course, anything may happen. Oh, I'm sorry.

Herbert adores being unpredictable. Now, what Arthur man would dig a great hole in the cellar on the very day he was leaving for America? A hole in the cellar? Yes. He's going to put some unclassified wild orchids down there. A devil's garden, if you please. Sounds mysterious. That's Herbert, though he's really quite simple once you find out what he's up to. Now, take that telephone call he put through to you a few moments before you arrived, Freddy. Yes.

To me? Yes. Herbert wanted to surprise me about your plan to meet us in New York next month. That's why he called, of course, to ask you not to mention it. But, my dear Hermione, Herbert couldn't possibly have telephoned me within the past hour. I've been walking in the park since three. He didn't telephone you. Well, how could he? And as for my going to America... Oh, now, come, come, Freddy. Come.

You may as well own up. Hermione has found me out again. But Herbert, old chap, I really don't understand. There. You see what a poor liar Herbert makes. He's red as a beetroot. Aren't you ashamed of yourself, Professor? String

Hermione, long like that. And as for you, Freddie, I'm furious you said nothing to us about going to America. But look here, old girl, I've been trying to tell everyone that I have no... Oh, stuff and nonsense. The game's gone on long enough. Perhaps Herbert's merely planning a surprise for me. Yes, let's leave it at that, my dear. Well, we must start getting ready. It was marvellous of you to come in to say goodbye. And don't worry about Herbert's little jokes. I will bring him back for Christmas. You may rely on it. They all believed her.

For years she'd been promising me for dinner parties, garden parties, committees, and the promises had always been kept. This time they wouldn't be. I'd seen to that. The servants were gone for good, the farewells all said. I had timed to the minute how long it would take to fill in the hole in the cellar, in my devil's garden. Upstairs in the bedroom I undressed, folded my clothes over a chair and put on my old bathrobe.

Then I open the door into Hermione's room. Are you ready, Herbert? Hermione, have you a moment to spare? Of course, my dear. I've just finished. Then do come in here for a moment. There's something rather extraordinary here. Good heavens, Herbert. What are you lounging about in that filthy old bathroom for? I told you to put it into the furnace. I shall do it today, yes. I really will. I promise. Well, high time. Now, what is it you want to show me? In the bathroom here. Just look.

Who in the world do you suppose dropped a gold chain down the bathtub drain? Nobody has, of course. Nobody wears such a thing in this house. Then what's it doing there? I don't see anything. Here, I'll hold this flashlight for you. If you lean right over, you can see it shining deep down. Oh, such a lot of nonsense. Just whiz it. I don't see it, Herbert. Go on looking, Hermione. In just a moment. Herbert, I absolutely refuse to waste...

Albert, what are you doing? Take your hands off my neck. I will, Hermione, just as soon as I've finished the arrangements for my trip to America. What are you talking about? You thought you were the only one who could plan things, didn't you, Hermione? Well, I've been making some plans of my own this past week. In exactly two minutes, you'll be dead, Hermione. You see? Two minutes. I've planned it very accurately. You'll never get away with it. Let me go. I thought you'd say that, but I will get away with it.

You won't mind the smell of the leaf mold down in the cellar when I take you there today. Yes. That's where you're going, Hermione. Into my devil's garden that annoyed you so much. The soil is full of clay. It won't settle too much. In a month or so, it won't even look as if it had been dug up. My friends, they all expect me back for Christmas. They don't hear from me, they'll wonder. If I don't come back, they'll start asking questions. Oh, no, they won't.

Because you'll write them letters, Hermione. And the typewriter, as you always do. They'll be signed H in that neat cryptic way you always sign your notes to your friends. No. It won't work, Herbert. You never were any good at planning things. Oh, but I've changed, my dear. I've learned from watching you all these years. The lecture people in America, they'll expect you to be traveling with your wife. I will be traveling with my wife.

But her name will not be Hermione. What? Fortunately, they'd never met you. I'll write a few letters home for you. Then fewer and fewer. Write letters signed with my own name. Always expecting to get back, but never quite able to. I'll keep the house one year, and then another and another. They'll get used to it. I might even come back alone in a year or two and clear it up properly.

Say you died in America. Nobody will ever suspect you're lying under the floor of the cellar in this very house. Herbert, it won't work, I tell you. That pit you dug in the front... I can assure you, my dear Hermione, it will serve its purpose well. Herbert! Sorry, my dear. I've got to get this done on schedule. You have just five seconds to say your prayers. Herbert, you must listen. The cellar. Don't do it. Herbert! Hey!

The water cut off at the main as I knew she would order it. She was so thorough, but so was I. Strangulation. Nothing to wash up. The electric current shut off exactly at one o'clock, just as she ordered it. She thought of everything. So did I. My nice new electric lantern. Plenty of light to work by in the cellar.

I say, Herbert, old thing. Woo!

Half past six. There's still time.

After that, it was easy. Put the finishing touches on the Devil's Garden, dress fast, get out of the house before 6.30, take the boat trade to Southampton and board the ship for America, all according to plan, Hermione's plan.

Oh, I say, Stuart. Right, sir? My wife is indisposed. She'll be taking her meals in our stateroom. Oh, for the old voyage? Yes, for the whole voyage. Well, I trust your wife is feeling better this morning, Professor Carpenter? Yes, a little. Not yet well enough to leave her cabin. Oh, I'm sorry. Oh, by the way, here's a copy of the radiogram you sent for your wife last evening. Oh? Oh, thank you. I'll just check it over. I say, look here.

What is it? Did the typist make a mistake? No, no, nothing important. She can correct it later. For a moment I had the feeling that Hermione had been leaning over my shoulder again, correcting what I'd written, as she always did. I had written a radiogram to Professor Hewitt and his wife. Haven't been out of my cabin the whole beastly trip. Herbert Well. We now doubt we will be back for Christmas. The copy read...

We no doubt will be back for Christmas. Exactly what Hermione would have written. The rest of the voyage was uneventful. And Marian and I met in New York and were married just as we'd planned. Just as we'd planned. Professor and Mrs. Carpenter, we have reservations, I believe. Oh, yes, we've been expecting you, sir. Boy, take Professor and Mrs. Carpenter's luggage up to their suite.

You know, Mrs. Carpenter, you're quite a surprise. Your letter reserving the rooms was so thorough, I was expecting an older, more forbidding sort of person, frankly, ma'am. Oh, no. As a matter of fact, we're just married. But...

My letter reserving the room. I wrote the letter, my dear, and signed it Mrs. Herbert Carpenter. Purely a joke. Oh, what a cunning old fox you are, Herbert. Now that I think of it, I am, rather. Oh, I almost forgot. There's a letter for you, Mrs. Carpenter. A letter for me? I wonder who knows. Well, we shall find out in good time. Come along, my dear. We're keeping the boy waiting. THE END

Nothing like a cold, brisk shower to put a man to rights. Herbert, this letter. Oh, yes, the letter. Dry my hair, will you, dear? It seems to be a bill of some sort from a building contract in Salisbury. Oh, bother, dry your own hair. Oh, thank you, my sweet. Let's see this bill or whatever it is. It's very puzzling.

Herbert? Hmm? You were a widower, weren't you? I mean, Hermione isn't still alive. I can assure you she is not. Let's have that letter. Dear Madam, this is to acknowledge your order, together with the key... Together with the keys to your house in Launceston Place. Our men had no difficulty in finding the place where your husband had begun the excavation in the cellar, but apparently changed his mind at the last moment and...

Filled it in again. Oh, no. What is it, Herbert? Our men will begin digging tomorrow, and you may rest assured that it will be a professional job and will be completed in ample time for your surprise Christmas present to your husband. We are happy to be conspirators with you in this thoughtful gesture and hope that Professor Carpenter will be pleased at the results of our work on what he so quaintly calls his devil's garden.

Very truly yours, Paul Holton's son's contractors. What does it mean, Herbert? It means that Hermione was right. I will be back for Christmas.

Escape is produced and directed by William N. Robeson and tonight brought to you Back for Christmas by John Collier. Adapted for radio by Robert Tallman with Paul Freese as Herbert, Eleanor Audley as Hermione and Marta Metrovich as Marion. Music is conceived and conducted by Cy Fuhrer. Next week... You are lost in a London fog, exhausted and frantic, unsure if the figures looming around you are real or creatures of your fear.

And behind you, pursuing you, intent on killing you, lurks a murderer from whom you must escape. Next week, we escape with Elgin and Blackwood's ghostly story, Confession. Good night then until the same time next week when again we offer you Escape. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.

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That whistle is your signal for the signal oil program, The Whistler. I am the whistler, and I know many things, for I walk by night. I know many strange tales hidden in the hearts of men and women who have stepped into the shadows. Yes. Yes.

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It would have been far more logical had it happened in the springtime. In April, perhaps, with the rhododendrons blooming in Golden Gate Park. The kids playing ball on the green lawns and the maple trees coming to life again.

Yes, spring in San Francisco would have helped explain part of it. But the rest would always be beyond logic and common sense. It wasn't springtime, it was November, with Christmas just around the corner. A cold, gray day with the steam sizzling in the radiators as he sat near the window of his office on the 20th floor of the Hamilton building looking at an uninspiring assortment of x-rays of Mrs. Harrison's chest cavity.

Excuse me, Dr. Evans. Oh, yes, Miss Carlton. Mrs. Harrison called again about the x-rays. There's nothing wrong with her heart. All she needs is some fresh air. Shall I tell her that? No, I suppose I'll have to find her a disease with 20 letters. I'll call her. And there was another call from a Mrs. John Cameron. Cameron? Can you see her today? Is it important? She says so. Yes, they all do.

All right, make it 12.30. What about lunch? I'll have to skip it. Mrs. Cameron's heart is undoubtedly more important than my lunch. And you noted it down in the book simply, 12.30, Mrs. John Cameron. Later, when you had a chance to think, you decided if it hadn't happened so suddenly, it might not have happened at all.

Perhaps that was part of it, Paul. The suddenness, the way it threw you off balance. But more than that, it was a black-haired girl with blue eyes, standing by the window when you looked up from your x-rays a half hour later. You remember exactly how she looked. The turquoise dress with a gold belt and clip. The smart little felt hat accenting her dark hair, making you realize in a split second what was wrong with all the girls you ever knew.

She must have come in while you sat at the film illuminator looking at negatives and making notes. Evident mitral insufficiency, minor valvular lesions. You're Dr. Evans? Oh, right. I'll be with you in a moment. Request detailed cardiograph immediately. There we are. I'll just get rid of this stuff. Please sit down. Now, what can I do for... for... Hello, Doctor. I'm...

Carol Cameron. Carol Cameron. The, uh... My nurse said you were rather concerned about yourself. Oh, no, no, it's... It's not about myself. It's about my husband. Oh, I see. John Cameron. Perhaps you've heard of him? Stocks and bonds, isn't it? Yes, yes. A few too many for his own good, I'm afraid. Oh? He's, uh... He's been...

Under a terrible strain recently. And night before last, he had a rather severe attack. His heart? Yes, yes. Dr. Miles, our family physician, suggested that I see you about it. I see. Well, tell me, where is your husband now? At home, in bed. Didn't Dr. Miles recommend a hospital? Well, John's awfully unreasonable. He wouldn't hear of it. He insisted that he'd be up and around in a day or two. Well, that is unreasonable. You'll...

You'll see him, Dr. Evans? Yes, yes, of course. I'll be glad to. I'll do what I can. Just like that, Paul. A minute or so and she's gone. You look up, you see her, and 30 seconds later, she could ask if you'd mind going to the North Pole for her and you'd tell her you'd be glad to.

All afternoon you try to shrug it off, tell yourself it's fantastic, that this is the sort of thing that keeps you away from second-rate movies. But that evening when you call on John Cameron, it's still there. Lucinda Withers, the housekeeper, is waiting outside the door after you finish your examination. Oh, where is Mrs. Cameron, Lucinda? She went out for a moment, sir. Tell me, is it serious? Yes, I'm afraid it is. Oh, I knew it. I could see it coming on.

He's like a son to me, Doctor. I've been with the family for 20 years now.

Since way before she came. Oh, I see. He was never like this before. Oh, what do you mean by that? She's not good for him. She worries him, makes him nervous, keeps him thinking about the 15 years between them. Yes. Well, I'll have a prescription sent over in the morning. I'd better be going now. My taxi's waiting outside. You just keep him as quiet as you can, and I'll check him again tomorrow. Very well, Doctor. Thank you.

Oh, Dr. Evans. Oh. Just a minute. I wondered what happened to you. I was just about to go. I left instructions with the housekeeper. How is he? Angina pectoris. It's quite serious, I'm afraid. Oh. He hasn't been taking very good care of himself. He's got to now. I see.

Well, must you go right away? Yes, I'm afraid I'd better. My taxi's waiting. Well, I thought it was waiting. It doesn't seem to be there now. That's odd. I told him to wait. I didn't even pay him. I'd be glad to take you. I can understand. The car's right down at the curb. Oh, no, no, no, no. I couldn't. I'll only take a minute to call another cab. No, it's really no trouble. All right. I'll get my coat. Thank you.

There you are, Doctor. Right to the door. It was awfully nice of you, Mrs. Cameron. It's all right. Well, I guess the next thing to do is get out. Just a minute. I want to tell you I lied about the taxi. Why? I told him to go. Why? Because I wanted to take you home. I'm very flattered. Why?

That's all. I just wanted to tell you. It's... It's happened to you too, hasn't it? Oh, yes. Look, there's a friend of mine, a Dr. Andrews. He's an awfully good heart man. I'm sure he'll take the case. Please, please don't do that. What else can I do? It's only going to make it worse. I know, but... You just can't throw away what's happened to us, can you?

It'd be wrong to... It'd be wrong to do anything else, Carol. Is that what we're here for? To spend our lives looking for something that isn't there and then to suddenly find it? Throw it away? Oh, please, Carol. Well, shall we forget it? I, uh... I'll be around tomorrow with the prescription.

So that's how it started, Paul. Yes, it was easy to analyze it, to list a million reasons why it was wrong. But the trouble was that when you were all through analyzing, it was still there, stronger than ever. You visit John Cameron the next day and the day after that. And before you know it, the days have grown into weeks. And the damp November night you arranged to meet her secretly at a little French cafe on Washington Street leads to a lot more of them.

The two of you at the little corner table Henry reserves especially, not saying much, hardly realizing how the time has flown, that tomorrow is the day before Christmas. You know, that's one of my favorite Christmas hymns. Beautiful. Yes. Christmas, day after tomorrow. It's hard to realize it. You happy, Carol? Happy and miserable.

Well, did you expect anything else? No, no, no. I knew it was going to be this way, Paul. It's just that I feel so helpless and I... I'm glad you came tonight, Carol, because... because I'm afraid this is going to be the last time. Oh, Paul. Don't you see how impossible it all is? We're both beating our heads against a stone wall. You're absolutely right, Carol. We are helpless. As I see it, the only thing we can do is try to be square with ourselves. Honestly, it just won't work any other way.

No, I suppose not. John will probably hang on like this for years. Yes, he might if he's careful. You know, Paul, it's terrible to feel this way. What way? I just can't help it, Paul. I almost wish he'd... No, no, no, Carol. It's true. It's true. I never loved him, Paul. My family thought he'd be good for me. I didn't want any part of it. I know, I know, my dear. You don't have to tell me. He's unhappy and he's sick and he's miserable and it'll always be that way. Why should he live? Please, Carol. Now, this is going to be the last time I mean it.

I can get Dr. Andrews on the case next week. Oh, no. Look at me. Carol. Oh, it's going to work out somehow. The right way. Will you believe that? All right, Paul. If you say so. Yes, Paul, it was the only thing to do. The honorable thing. Approved 100% by the Medical Association.

But it doesn't help you sleep that night. And it doesn't help the next day when you make your regular call on John Cameron. Examine him, find him the same. Leave his prescription bottle with Carol and go. Yes, it had to end, Paul. Because you were both beginning to think the thing that Carol almost said at the restaurant. That you both wished John would die. And then at ten o'clock that night...

Hello? Dr. Evans. Yes? You must come at once, Doctor. Mr. Cameron's had an attack. I'll be right over, Lucinda. Now listen carefully. There's a bottle of amyl nitrate in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Break up a tablet in a handkerchief and make him inhale it. Is that clear? It's too late for that, Doctor. I'm afraid he's dead. Oh, my God.

With the prologue of Decision, the Signal Oil Company is bringing you another strange story by the Whistler. Just remember these two points if you want to be sure of the tops in gasoline quality. One, in gasoline, it takes extra quality to go farther. And two, Signal is the famous go-farther gasoline. And now, back to the Whistler. Whistling

So it finally happened, Paul. John Cameron is dead. But it hasn't affected you as you thought it would. There was something so sudden about it. It happened so soon after you and Carol had decided to call it off. After she'd almost said what you'd both been thinking. Yes, there's something wrong with it. It just feels wrong.

That's why after you've examined him, you turn to Lucinda. Lucinda. Yes, Doctor. You were here when it happened? Yes. Mrs. Cameron had given him his medicine and gone to bed. I heard him call... Yes. What happened then? He'd been violently sick. Said his throat was burning. Throat was burn... Well, you must be mistaken. No, sir. And he was all doubled up with cramps. You're wrong. You must be. It's the truth, sir. Did you give him anything? No. No.

It was my night out, and I'd only just come in when... Excuse me a minute. Well, Paul? Don't go in there. There's nothing you can do now. I know. Well, it's over. Oh, Carol. Don't say anything, Paul. I don't want to talk about it or think about it anymore, ever. We've got to think about it. I know, I know. You don't have to tell me. He was all right this morning, just as well as could be expected. All right, Carol.

What happens now? I... No, I won't say anymore. But you know what's ahead, I guess. Of course. I'll be all right. It's just that... You better go to bed. You need some rest. I'll take care of everything.

It's almost midnight when you get back to the office and take the prescription bottle out of your pocket. The one you took from Carol's medicine cabinet. You forget to take off your hat and overcoat as you throw a few pieces of laboratory equipment together. Dissolve the powder in water and make a test. A very simple test. Thiocyanin. I knew it. Poison. Well, Paul, it's quite a decision, isn't it?

You look down at the blank death certificate on your desk until the letters burn into your brain and you can see them when you close your eyes. It's the most important decision you'll ever have to make, Paul. Is that what we're here for? To spend our lives looking for something that isn't there and then to suddenly find it? Throw it away? No.

Two o'clock. Three. Four. All you can do is sit and stare at the desk, trying to think it through. Your medical certificates on one wall. The Hippocratic Oath in a neat black frame on the other. Six o'clock. Seven. Eight. And then your nurse arrives.

Why, Doctor, you've been here all night. Yes. It's Cameron. He's dead. Well, it was only a matter of time. Yes. Yes, I guess it was. I'll make out the certificate. Death from natural causes, angina pectoris acute. I... Yes, Doctor? Oh, nothing. Oh, nothing.

Hello? Carol? Yes, Paul? I've just filled out the death certificate. Heart disease? Yes. Do you think they'll investigate? You've got to be careful, awfully careful. I will. Poisoned isn't easy to cover up, Carol. They'll find it in a second if they ever get suspicious. Now listen, I'll send the certificate over this morning. If nobody gets curious during the next week, I think we'll be safe.

All right, Paul. But we mustn't be seen together under any circumstances. I don't want you even to telephone me if you can possibly help it. Okay? Okay. Well, that's all, then. Good luck, darling. Hello, Evans. Well, hello, Miles. How are you? A little puzzled at the moment. Thought I'd drop in for a minute. Why, sit and have a chair. Thanks. It's about Cameron. I've had a rather distressing experience. Oh?

I've been their family doctor for some time, of course. I didn't know Mrs. Cameron before she married John some years ago, but I've always thought her a rather charming person. She seems to be. Yes. You know her pretty well, Paul? Well, naturally, in attending her husband. Of course. Do you think she's a woman of character? Yes, yes, I'd say so. So would I. Miss Lucinda Withers, however, seems to think she's a murderous woman.

Just what does that mean? I don't know. The woman was completely confusing. A lot of rambling, disconnected remarks that seemed to imply that you and Mrs. Cameron were in love. Well, as you said, Miss Withers seems to be confused. Yes. Well, I just think, Paul, that you ought to do something about Miss Withers. You know as well as I that this sort of thing can ruin you. Oh.

Hello. Hello, Carol. Yes, listen, darling. You've got to get with us out of town. Yeah, I know it'll make it look worse, but it's the only thing we can do. Now, where's her family? Idaho. Well, that's good. Tell her she needs a rest, anything. I know it sounds crazy, but it's better than sitting around waiting for the axe to fall. Well, that's it.

Good luck, darling. You're walking on thin ice, Paul. You can almost hear it cracking under your feet, and it seems to be getting thinner. The funeral on Thursday, then Friday, Saturday, and Lucinda's still in town. Carol was right. It only made it worse to try and get her to leave. You're just waiting now. It's only a matter of time.

And then, bright and early Monday morning... Hello, Doctor. I'm Willard Stevens. How do you do? I'm afraid I... I'm John Cameron's cousin. Flew out from New York. I see. I have a rather delicate problem on my hands. I hope you'll understand. I'll try to. About John's death. I had a letter from him indicating he planned to make certain changes in his will. It arrived just a day or two before he died. Does that...

That suggest anything to you? No, I'm afraid it doesn't. You naturally ascribed his death to his heart condition? Yes, naturally. I realize it would be embarrassing for me to contest your diagnosis. I'm hoping you'll work with me in... In what? I had a talk with Miss Withers the night I arrived. She's a meddlesome old fool. Oh? How did you know? Dr. Miles told me. Does that answer your question?

It answers that question. I assume you have others. Indeed, I have. And I'm afraid, Doctor, there's only one way to answer them. What's that? An exhumation and an autopsy. So that's it, Paul. It's all over, isn't it? The autopsy will undoubtedly be tomorrow, and after that, of course, there'll be a trial. The next decision is easy, isn't it?

It would be useless to try and run away. It would never lead to anything. You and Carol could never find happiness with an axe hanging over your heads. So the next day, during the autopsy, you sit at home quietly in the chair by the phone, waiting for it to ring. Hello? Hello, darling. Is the autopsy over? Yes. They're waiting downstairs to take me to the coroner's office for the report now.

Listen to me. Paul, would you do me a favor? Anything, Carol. Will you leave now? Leave? What do you mean? Look, if it's going to happen, there's no reason for it happening to both of us. That's about the most ridiculous thing you ever said. Oh, Paul, please listen to me. Don't go with them, Carol. I'll be down there in an hour. But it's... Carol, there's only one thing in the world right now. And when that's gone, I don't want to be here anymore.

I hoped you'd say that. You keep your chin up, darling. I'll see you in an hour. Yes? I'm Dr. Evans. Oh, yes. This way. All right, Lieutenant. There he is. Just a minute, Miss Willis. Make him admit it. He's in love with her. It's been going on for... I said just a minute.

How about that, Doctor? It's written all over his face. He's in love with her. All right, all right. I am in love with Mrs. Cameron. So what? The Whistler will return in just a moment with a strange ending to tonight's story.

Meantime, all of the people in the Signal Oil Company, as well as Signal dealers, and we of the Whistler cast, wish you a very Merry Christmas and a new year brimful of good health, good cheer, good luck. And now back to the Whistler. The Whistler

So you stand there, Paul, shouting to the high heavens that you're in love with Carol, with all of them clustered around you like vultures. It doesn't seem to matter anymore, does it? In spite of your love for Carol, you know that sooner or later your sense of responsibility would have forced you to tell the whole story. There's a long silence.

And then the police lieutenant slowly walks over to Lucinda Withers. All right, Miss Withers, now that we're all here, maybe you'll tell us why you tried to frame Mrs. Cameron. I... Oh, I... I don't know what you're talking about.

On April 5th, you bought a hundred grains of thiosine at the black and white pharmacy on O'Farrell Street, right? I... I did no such thing. You signed Evelyn Jones on the register. That's a lie! Is this the woman, Mr. Thorson? That's the woman. I make a practice of remembering the faces of people who buy poison. Uh, excuse me. I think I'd like to sit down. Sure, doctor. Take a chair over there. Now, Miss Withers, why did you try to frame Mrs. Cameron?

Why did you put poison in the medicine you knew she had to give him? I didn't. I didn't do it. Don't lie to me. Now, what did you do with the bottle? I didn't do anything with it. I left it in the... Oh, you did have the bottle, huh? Why did you try to frame Mrs. Cameron?

Why did you try to frame her? She killed him. She killed him just as surely as if she... As if she put the poison in the bottle instead of you. That's it, isn't it? She didn't love him. She never did. He was as good as dead. So you thought you'd finish the job and hang it around her neck. Lieutenant, I must see Mrs. Cameron. Where is she? In the next room, lying down.

Go ahead, Dr. Evans. Now, Miss Withers, we're going to take this all down right from the very... Carol, I... You're looking for Mrs. Cameron? Yes, the lieutenant said... Are you Dr. Evans? Yes, I am. Well, Mrs. Cameron's gone, but she asked me to give you a message, and she said she was waiting for you at the French restaurant on Washington Street. She said you'd know the place. Oh, yes, thank you. I know the place. Ha, ha, ha.

Carol. Oh, Paul. Carol. Oh, please sit down, Paul. Here it is, the same table as before. And we said it would never happen again. Yes, the nerve of us saying what will and won't happen. We were fools, Paul. I was the fool.

thinking all the time that you'd killed him. I know, but you had every reason when I think how I acted after it happened, but I thought it was you. You gave me his prescription that morning and an hour after I gave it to him, he was dead. We were both wrong. It was Lucinda who killed him. She thinks she did. They

They say they'll have a better case against her if they let her confess it first before they tell her. Tell her what? Paul, when you brought the new prescription that morning, the old bottle was still half full. And that's the one she put the poison in. What? That's the way it happened, Paul. You see, darling, I used the new bottle the night he died.

That's why I was so sure you did. The prescription was perfectly all right. There was nothing... Of course it was. Of course it was. And I was so sure he was poisoned. Those symptoms... Lucinda was lying, Paul, about the burning in his throat and the cramps. Don't you see? Then the autopsy was okay. There was no murder. No, there was no murder, Paul. You see, darling, your diagnosis was correct. John died of natural causes, just as you said on the certificate. BELL RINGS

Let that whistle be your signal for the Signal Oil program, The Whistler, each Wednesday night at this same time. Brought to you by the Signal Oil Company, marketers of Signal gasoline and motor oil and fine quality automotive accessories. Signal has asked me to remind you to get the most driving pleasure, drive at sensible speeds, be courteous and obey traffic regulations. It may save a life.

Possibly your own.

Featured in tonight's story were Kathy Lewis and Joseph Kearns. The Whistler was produced by George W. Allen, with story by Harold M. Swanton, music by Wilbur Hatch, and was transmitted to our troops overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service. Next Wednesday, for a full hour of mystery over most of these stations, tune in a half hour earlier. Enjoy The Saint as well as The Whistler. This is Marvin Miller speaking. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.

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We'll be right back.

Our results speak for themselves. And always remember this, everybody is a somebody and nobody is a nobody. Visit ForThePeople.com to learn about our firm. Morgan & Morgan, For The People. Injured? Visit ForThePeople.com for an office near you.

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Our results speak for themselves. And always remember this. Everybody is a somebody, and nobody is a nobody. Visit ForThePeople.com to learn about our firm. Morgan & Morgan. For the people. Injured? Visit ForThePeople.com for an office near you. The CBS Radio Mystery Theater presents...

Come in. Welcome. I'm E.G. Marshall. This is a very special occasion for me. I'm to be a little more than your host.

This time, I will not only be introducing the story, but telling it to you. Acting it out. The Mystery Theater's special Christmas story this year, Charles Dickens' immortal classic, A Christmas Carol, with guess who as Scrooge? Humbug. ♪♪

Our mystery drama, A Christmas Carol, was adapted from the Charles Dickens classic, especially for the Mystery Theater, by Ian Martin. It is sponsored in part by Buick Motor Division. I'll be back shortly with Act One. Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol begins like this.

Marley was dead to begin with. There is no doubt about that, whatever. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner, Scrooge, signed it. Old Marley was dead as a doornail. Ebenezer Scrooge?

Oh, he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone. Hard and sharp as flint from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire. Solitary as an oyster, he iced his office in the dog days and didn't thaw it out one degree, even at Christmas.

Merry Christmas, Uncle God Save You. What? Oh, it's you, nephew. What brings you here on a miserable, cold, windy night like tonight? Cold and windy, yes, and the snow falling softly. A perfect Christmas Eve to say Merry Christmas, Uncle. Bah! Humbug. Christmas a humbug? Oh, you don't mean that, I'm sure. I do. Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas.

What right have you to be merry, or the world at large? What reason have you yourself to be merry? You're poor enough. Oh, come then. What reason have you to be dismal? What reason have you to be morose? You're rich enough. Don't you taunt me, Fred. And don't indulge yourself in expectations. Humbug.

Take me as I am, Uncle, and as the season is, and don't be cross. Where else can I be when I live in a world of fools? Christmas. Phooey. What's Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money? Time for finding yourself a year older and not an

An hour richer. If I could work my will, every idiot who goes about with Merry Christmas on his lips should be boiled in his own plum pudding and buried with a stake of holly to his heart. Oh, come along, Uncle. Can you not let down for once and enjoy yourself? Come along, nephew. Keep Christmas in your own way. Let me keep it mine. Yes, but you don't keep it. Leave me alone, then.

Much good it may do you. Much good as it ever done you. Oh, there are a lot of things, Uncle, from which I've never profited. Christmas among the rest. Except that when it comes around, who can resist it? A kind of forgiving time of year when men and women seem by one consent to open up their hearts freely. So then I say, Uncle, though it never put a scrap of silver or gold in my pocket, I believe it has and will do me good. And so I say, God bless it.

Who's that? What's all this after? I'm sorry, Mr. Scrooge. It's just that it is a holiday and my hands were so cold. Let me hear another word from you, Bob Cratchit, and you'll keep your Christmas by losing your employment. Oh, please, sir. I humbly beg your pardon. It was just an action on the spur of the moment. Just apply the spur to goad you into finishing your work, Cratchit. And let me hear another word from you, Bob Cratchit.

And let's hear no more from you. Yes, sir. Well, nephew, why are you here? To ask you to dine with us tomorrow. Dine with you? Never. There's nothing more ridiculous than all the fuss and expense over Christmas dinner. Oh, uncle, I want and ask nothing from you. Why can't we be friends? Good afternoon. Well, with all my heart, I'm sorry to find you so resolute. At least...

I wish you a Merry Christmas. Good afternoon. And a Happy New Year. Good afternoon. And be sure to make the front door fast. No wasting of heat here. No extra logs on the fire. Yes, Uncle. Mr. Cratchit. Yes, sir? May I wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. The first I am sure of, and I thank you. The other... Ah, who knows what the future holds. Be of good hope.

A nerve of all of them. My nephew, Westrell, and Bob Cratchit on 15 shillings a week with a wife and family talking about a merry Christmas. Enough to make a man retire to Budlam. They're all mad, mad. Begging your pardon, Mr. Scrooge, a gentleman to see you. Yes, yes, yes, yes. Scrooge and Marlies, I believe.

Have I the honor of addressing Mr. Scrooge or Mr. Marley? Mr. Marley has been dead for seven years. He died seven years ago this very night. Ah, sad. Sad indeed. Still, I have no doubt his liberality is well represented by his surviving partner. Liberality? At this festive season, it is more than usually desirable that we all make some slight provision for the poor and destitute. Thank you.

You may make your pledge here. Are there no prisons? We speak of the needy. The union workhouses are not still in operation. They are. I wish I could say they were not. A few of us private citizens are endeavoring to raise a fund to buy the poor some meat and drink and means of warmth.

What shall I put you down for, Mr. Scrooge? Nothing. Now, of course, do you wish to be anonymous? I wish to be left alone. By tax, I hope to support the establishments we have mentioned. They cost enough and more. Let those who are badly off go there. Many can't go there. And many would rather die. They would rather die than let them do so and decrease the surplus population. Good afternoon, sir, whatever your name is.

I find you hard to believe, Mr. Scrooge. Cratchit! Let him out! Close the door, Cratchit! To extinguish what cold remains. Yes, sir. No, sir. Come here. Coming, Mr. Scrooge. You want all day tomorrow, I suppose. It's quite convenient, sir. It's not convenient. And it's not fair.

If I was to stop half a crown for it, you'd think yourself ill-used, I'd be bound. Well, sir, I mean... And yet you don't think me ill-used when I pay a day's wages for no work. I would not presume to have an opinion, but then it is only one day a year. You have a poor excuse for picking a man's pocket every 25th of December.

I suppose I have no choice. You must have the whole day. Just make sure you are here earlier the following morning. I dined my usual melancholy dinner in the usual melancholy tavern. Afterwards, climbed the stairs to my living quarters in the gloom. Something about my door knocker stopped me as I was about to put key in lock. For one strange moment, it looked like Marley.

Ghostly spectacles turned up on its ghostly forehead. To say that I was not startled would not be strictly true. And even after I was entered and locked in and my candle lit, I did pause irresolutely before I dismissed it with humbug. Humbug. Still, I was uneasy. Trimming my candle, I walked through all my rooms to make sure all was well. Sitting room, bedroom, lumber room.

All as it should be. Small fire in the grate. Spoon and basin ready. Little saucepan of gruel, since I had a cold. What's that? The front door. The side door. The bell by my bed. The one on the mantel and on the sideboard. What do they herald? Who rings them? The cellar door. And that noise. What? I won't believe it. There's a sound bug still.

Inspector, what do you want with me? Much. Who are you? Ask me who I was. Who were you then? In life, I was your partner, Jacob Marley. You don't believe in me? I don't.

Why do you doubt your senses? Because a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may be a bit of undigested beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. There's more of gravy about you than the grave, wherever you are. Humbug, I tell you, humbug. Ah! Ah! Unbeliever! So...

I unwrapped the bandages from above my head to reveal the rotting flesh, the jaw fallen slackly to my breast, the muscles eaten long since by worms. Oh, Zork.

Now, do you believe me for who and what I am? Yes, oh, mercy, dread apparition. Why do you trouble me? I must. Why are you fettered and bound in chains? I wear the chain I forged in life. I made it link by link. I girded it on of my own free will.

Is its pattern so strange to you? Or would you learn the weight and length of the coil you wear yourself? It was full and as heavy and as long as mine these seven Christmas eves ago. And you have labored on it since. My once partner in life.

What a ponderous chain you have built to drag you down in death. No, no, Jacob. Oh, Jacob Marley, speak some comfort to me. I have none to give. I cannot stay. I cannot linger anywhere. My spirit never walked beyond our counting house in life. So, in death, weary journeys lie before me.

Seven years dead and traveling all the time? No rest, no peace. The incessant torture of remorse. I am here tonight, Ebenezer, to warn you that you have yet a hope of escaping my fate. Oh, you were always a good friend, Sankey. You will be haunted by three spirits.

That is the hope you mentioned? It is. I think I'd rather not. Without their visits, you have no hope but to shun the path I tread. Expect the first tomorrow, when the bell tolls one. But couldn't I take them all at once and have it over? Expect the second on the next night at the same hour. The third...

When the last stroke of twelve has ceased to vibrate on your mantel clock... And for your own sake, remember what has passed between us. Passed between us. Jacob, do not leave me yet. But he was gone, as if he had never been. And yet...

He had been. And Ebenezer Scrooge would never be the same man again. He fell asleep without undressing upon the instant. A sleep that was destined to be disturbed, as I shall relate when I return with Act Two. When Scrooge awoke, it was dark.

and the chimes of a neighborhood church were striking the four quarters. To his amazement, they were followed by twelve strokes of the bell. Twelve? Impossible. It was two when he went to bed. Why, it isn't possible. I could have slept through a whole day and far into another night.

As I lay, I suddenly remembered that Marley had said a ghost would visit me at one. Who are you? I am the ghost of Christmas past. Long past? Your past. Don't you recognize me? A strange figure, almost like a child. The outline's dimly seen.

It wore a tunic of purest white and a branch of fresh green holly in its hand, in the singular contradiction to the dress which was trimmed with summer flowers. But strangest of all, above its crown sprang a bright, clear jet of light, which illuminated the darkest corner, but obscured the face, and under its arm a cap.

which looked for all the world like a candle snuffer. For some reason I wanted it to put on its cap. The light is blinding. Would you not put on your cap? Would you so soon put out with worldly hands the light I shed? Is it not enough that you are the one who fashioned me this cap?

and forced me to wear it low upon my brow? Aye. What business brings you here? Your welfare. If you would regard my welfare, you would leave my sleep unbroken. Your reclamation, then. Take heed. Rise and walk with me. I cannot resist your command, but I am an old man, lightly clad and nursing a cold to boot.

I was bred in this place.

I was a boy here. Your lip is trembling. What is that upon your cheek? Nothing. Nothing. The wind makes my eyes water. Lead me where you will. Do you not remember the way? Remember it. I could walk it blindfold. Strange to have forgotten it so many years. Let us set our feet on the road.

I will not tell you most of where we wandered as time stood still or raced ahead at a whim. The school where I was a child. The house I grew up in. An orphan. A terrible rush of tears remembering another outcast. A foreigner. An alien who in our mutual loneliness had once befriended me. Poor Ali Baba. I... I... It's too late now. What is too late? Nothing. Nothing.

There was a boy singing a Christmas carol at my door last night. I should like to have given him something. That's all. What might have been. Let us see another Christmas. What's that? Your aunt, who brought you up.

Oh, no. Amen to that. I will not gainsay it, spirit. One child. Yes.

We traveled further, scenes flashing by like slides in a magic lantern. Old Fezziwig in his Welsh wig, my first employer. His Christmas parties with a groaning table and everyone dancing with a light foot and heart to the festive music. His kind wife and the joy of working at a desk one wasn't nailed to. And then...

Someone I had shut away so long ago. What is it, Scrooge? That girl. Whom you shall sit beside. No. Oh, yes. This shadow, most of all. Don't you remember me? I told you the light blinds me. Then remember me as I was before you put my light out. No tears, I beg you. None? None.

If the idol who has replaced me can cheer and comfort you, I must not grieve. What idol? A golden one. Nothing but gain engrosses you. So, if I have grown wiser, I am not changed toward you. Our marriage contract was made when we were both poor. You are changed. When it was made, you were another man. I was a boy. Whatever you were.

I freely offer you your release. Have I ever sought it? In words, never. How then? In a changed nature. In everything that made my love of any worth or value in your sight. And so I release you with a full heart for the love of what once you were.

May you be happy in the life you've chosen. Now I recognize you, spirit, and why you've come back to haunt me. Torture me no more. Some shadow's still to see. No, I can bear it no longer. Haunt me no longer. The light you shine is too bright for my eyes to bear. Give me your cap so I may extinguish it. And you. No!

In a puff of smoke, the figure was gone, and I had barely time to reel to my bed, exhausted from the long night's travels where I fell into a heavy sleep. What's that? The clock ticking away, awake in the night of time.

Almost one. When the second messenger Marley sends me from the grave will arrive. What ghastly shape might he take? What hideous form? What torture might this one plan for me? At least I am prepared for anything. Well, prepared for anything, but... but nothing. Hello there, spirit. Are you invisible to me? What's that?

That great light from beneath my sitting room door. Here's a fearful waste of light. A shocking extravagance. I must go in and douse these candles. Yet I'm afraid to enter. Scrooge. Ebenezer Scrooge. Stop skulking there behind your bedroom door. Enter, ma'am.

Enter. Why, here's a prodigal spending of light. And a great roaring blaze hot enough to set the chimney flue on fire. Look well on me. Have you never seen the like of me before? Never. It is time your eyes were opened to this and other things. Spirit, I will be no trouble. Conduct me where you will.

I went forth last night on compulsion, and I learned a lesson which is working now. Tonight, if you have ought to teach me, let me profit by it. Hold fast to my robe.

In the blink of an eye, we were transported to a mean and shabby little house. Threadbare, but clean as a new washed shirt. And redolent of the mouth-watering smell of goose basking in sage and onion. And aromas of an eating house and pastry cooks next together, which came from the Christmas pudding. Whatever has got your precious father then? And your brother, Tiny Tim?

I never remember him, Martha, as late as this on Christmas Day. What a place is this? The house of your clerk, Bob Cratchit.

See, here he comes now. That child he carries on his shoulder with a little crutch in his hand and his lower limbs bound in an iron cage. The youngest of the Cratchits, tiny Tim. Why, look at him struggle after the others as his father sets him down. Where are they off to? To watch one of the merriest sights of this merriest of seasons. The golden goose turn on the spit. Shh!

Listen. How late you are, my dear. And how old. Oh, come. Come sit you down by the fire and have a warm. Lord bless you. After I've had a look at that goose, too. First, tell me. How did Tiny Tim behave through the service? Oh, as good as gold and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful sitting by himself so much. And thinks the strangest things you ever heard. I know.

What was it this time? He told me coming home he hoped everyone in the church saw him because he was a cripple. Because it might be pleasant to them to remember upon Christmas Day who it was made lame beggars walk and blind men see. Bob, Bob. Oh, I feel so much for you. No, no, no, no. You must not, my dear. Remember the day. Come, let's join the others.

Tell me, spirit, will Tiny Tim live? I see a vacant seat in the poor chimney corner... and a little crutch without an owner. If these shadows remain unaltered by the future...

The child will die. Oh, no, kind spirit. Spare him. That from you recall your own words. If he be like to die, he had better do it and decrease the surplus population. Oh, I am ashamed. And should be, man, if you be man at heart, forbear that wicked cant until you have discovered what the surplus is and where it is.

Listen. A toast before we eat to Mr. Scrooge. To me? I'll give you, Mr. Scrooge, the founder of the feast. The founder of the feast, indeed. Oh, I wish I had him here. I'd give him a piece of my mind to feast upon, and I'd hope he'd have a good appetite for it. Oh, my dear, the children. Christmas Day. Well, I'll bring to his health for your sake and the day's. Not for his.

Long life to him. A merry Christmas and a happy new year. Oh, he'll be very merry and very happy, I've no doubt. And now, a merry Christmas to us all, my dears.

God bless us. God bless us, everyone. My very name cast a pall upon their happiness. But march you on the wealth of spirit among them which thought kindly on a man with as little spirit as yours. In particular, that poor little lad, Tiny Tim. Did you notice how generous he was to end the toast with, God bless us, everyone?

including even me. What a valiant little soul, in spite of all his handicaps. Perhaps your eyes are opening at last. But come, you have more to learn. Where now? Your nephew's house.

He said... He said that Christmas was a humbug. As I live, he believed it, too. More shame for him, Fred, that my uncle-in-law should speak so. Well, he's a comical old fellow, not so pleasant as he might be. Oh, yes. However, his offenses carry their own punishment, and I have nothing to say against him. And I will have no downturned mouths at this season. So here is a glass of mulled wine to our hands. Let's drink to the old man. Well?

Well, he has given us plenty of merriment at that. So, to Uncle Scrooge. A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to the old man, whatever he is. He wouldn't take it from me, but may he have it nevertheless. To Uncle Scrooge. To Uncle Scrooge. No, no, no, wait, wait. Let me go to them. Explain. Too late for me. The hour grows too late. Away. Away.

Where stand we now, this open place? A crossroads where I must leave you. Forgive me what I ask, but I see something strange protruding from the skirt of your robe. That might be a claw for all the flesh there is upon it. Yes. Then see what you must see. From the sanctuary came forth a boy and a girl.

Yellow, meager, ragged, scowling, wolfish, but prostrate too in their humility. I started back appalled. Spirit, are these yours? They are, man.

The boy is ignorance, the girl is want. Beware of them both and all of their degree. But most of all, beware this boy. For on his brow I see written doom. Unless the writing can be erased, my time is sounding. Wait.

Have these pitiful creatures no refuge or resource? I answer in your own words. Are there no prisons? Are there no workhouses? Hold for one moment. Help me. Where should I turn? Turn and face your future. The black phantom that approaches you now. Face your future.

Your future. As the last stroke of the bell struck twelve, Scrooge turned to face a dread figure, a solemn phantom, draped and hooded in blacks and deep grays, coming, creeping like the mist about it towards him. I'll return with Act Three very shortly.

The last phantom silently, slowly, gravely approached. It was shrouded in a deep black garment, which concealed its head, its face, its form, and left nothing of it visible save one outstretched hand, which served as its only voice.

for the spirit neither spoke nor moved. I am in the presence of the ghost of Christmas yet to come. You answer not, but point where we are to go. Lead on, spirit, and I will follow.

A great black cloud gathered me and carried me willy-nilly to the streets. Its shroud, like the figure that stood by me, hung about me as I listened to two gentlemen talking in the street.

So, Mr. Grimes, old Scratch has got his own at last. I have been so informed, Mr. Goodfellow. When did he die? Last night, I believe. What on earth could he have caught? I thought he'd never die. God knows. Why should I care? What has he done with his money? Heaven knows. Not left to charity, and certainly not to me.

Left to his company, perhaps. God knows he appears not to have had any sort of personal tie. By which token, it's like to be a very cheap funeral. For upon my life, I cannot think of anybody to go to it. How dismal and awful to dismiss another human being in such terms. It will give me dread ghost anxiety.

I did not mean to diverge. You wish to reveal something to me? You have my full attention. Fred, the news is bad. Bad? We are quite ruined. Oh, no, there's hope for us yet. If he relents. If he forgives or forgave, there might have been. Ah, but it is too late for the miracle. Poor old miserable boy. He's past relenting. He's dead.

No, wait, spirit, wait. I'm not ready to leave. What else would you have me look on? Tell me again about today. About little Tim and the grave. It would have done you good to see how green a place it is. But you'll see it often. I promised him I would walk there every other Sunday, my last born.

My poor little broken child. Pop, please. I shall break down with you. Oh, my darling. We can all try to be brave, but how can we hide our sorrow? What is more final and dreadful than death? I want to help, Spectre. But something informs me that our parting moment is at hand. Tell me.

What man was it I saw lying dead? Very well. You point. Where to this time? A churchyard. And here we are. A headstone. You would have me read it? Tell me, are these the shadows of things that will be or may be only? Oh, my own name, Ebenezer Scrooge.

Spirit, hear me. I am not the man I was. I will not be the man I must have been from all this intercourse. Why show me this if I am past all hope? For once...

You make no motion. Your nature intercedes for me and pities me. Good spirit, I will honor Christmas in my heart and try to keep it all the year. The three spirits shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach. Oh, tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone. Give me your hand, I beg you. Give me your hand.

I hold you to me. You cannot disappear. You cannot disappear. You... Oh, bless my soul. What I cling to is my own bedpost. And wait, wait.

Perhaps my time is my own to make amends in. Yes, I will live in the past, in the present, and the future. The spirits of all three shall strive within me. Oh, Jacob Marley, heaven and Christmas time be praised for this. I say it on my knees, oh, Jacob, on my knees.

I don't know what to do. I'm as light as a feather. And I am as happy as an angel. I'm as merry as a schoolboy. I'm as giddy as a drunken man. A Merry Christmas to everyone. A Happy New Year to all the world. Hello there. Oh, hello. Oh, there's the saucepan the ghoul was in. There's the door by which the ghost of Jacob Marley entered. There's the corner where I saw the wandering spirits. It's all right. It's true. It all happened. Oh, ho, ho, ho.

Oh, my God, I don't know how long I've been among the spirits. I'm a baby. I don't know what month it is. Throw open the window and rejoin the world. Hey, Mr. Grimes, what's today? Why, uh, uh, uh, Christmas Day. Christmas Day.

I haven't missed it. The spirits have done it all in one night. They can do what they like. Of course they can. Hello, my fine fellow. Uh, hello. Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas to you.

Do you still run the poultry shop in the next street but one at the corner? I should hope I did on my way to open up. Oh, pray then, Mr. Grimes. Do I dare hope you have not yet sold the prize turkey that was hanging up there? Not the little prize turkey, the big prize turkey. Ha, ha, ha.

The one as big as an ostrich? Oh, a delightful man. A pleasure to talk to him. Yes, Mr. Grimes. It is hanging there now. Well, what are we waiting for? I want to buy it. Bring it here that I may give directions where to take it. Send back your boy and I'll give him a shilling. Have him bring it back in less than five minutes and I'll give him half a crown. Better still, here's a five-pound note. Send him to deliver the turkey to Mr. Cratchit.

by cab at the address I give you and what's left shall be your Christmas present and his. Shaving was not an easy task for my hand was shaking and shaving demands attention. At last it was finished and I dressed myself in all my best and issued forth to the streets.

The first person I met was a portly gentleman who had walked into my accounting house the day before saying, Scrooge and Marley's, I believe. I hastened to intercept him. My dear sir, how do you do? I beg your pardon? I hope you succeeded yesterday. A merry Christmas to you, sir. Mr. Scrooge? That is my name. I fear not pleasant to you.

Allow me to ask your pardon, and will you have the goodness to allow me to contribute? May I have your ear, sir? Lord bless me so much. My dear Mr. Scrooge, are you really serious? If you please. Not a farthing less. Will you do me that favor? Oh, my dear sir...

I don't know what to say to such a munificence. Well, don't say anything. Come and see me. Will you come and see me? I will indeed. Thank you. I thank you. Fifty times. Bless you. Merry Christmas. I... By all that's holy, is it you, Uncle? Me, Fred. You did ask me to dinner, huh?

Am I too late to take up the invitation? Too late? Will you let me in? Will I let you in? Why, here's the merriest turn a Christmas can take, darling wife. Here's Uncle Scrooge to share our Christmas. Isn't that a present for this day? You couldn't have brought Fred a better one. Welcome to our home, Uncle. For only the first of many times, I hope.

It's a whole new year. Yes, and you may spend it all with us, if you will. Only today, for I must be in the office as early as can be. Yes.

No, no, no, no. Don't steal glances at each other. It isn't business on my mind, but recompense. And since at last I have learned to laugh, I want to have my first joke with the man I have perhaps wronged most all of these years. My faithful Bob Cratchit. Bob Cratchit.

A wonderful day. An evening with my nephew. A deep sleep that might have lasted for days, except that I was bound and determined to be earlier than my clerk at the counting house that Monday morning. I was as pleased as a child when I beat him there. Even more pleased to find that for once he was late.

When the door opened and he came in, he was a full 18 and one half minutes behind his time. His hat and scarf were off before he opened the door. In terror of the man I had been, he was on his stool in a jiffy, writing his pen as if he were trying to overtake the lost minutes. Morning, Mr. Scrooge. Morning. A little late for that.

What do you mean by coming here at this time of day? I am very sorry, sir. I am behind time. You are, yes, yes. I think you are. Now, step this way, sir, if you please. It's only once a year, sir. It shall not be repeated. I was making rather merry yesterday, sir. Now, now, I'll tell you what, my friend. I'm not going to stand by this sort of thing any longer. And therefore, I feel myself forced...

who raise your salary. Why, Mr. Scrooge, sir, do you feel all right? A merry Christmas, Bob. A merrier Christmas than I have given you for many a year. Not only raise your salary, but discuss your affairs and endeavor to help your struggling family over a Christmas bowl of smoking bishop.

So, make up the fires till they hot us right out of the county house before you dot another I, Bob Cratchit. It's not only a new year, but a whole new world for both of us.

As we all know, Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all. And to Tiny Tim, who did not die, he was a second father. And he made a good new will for his nephew and his future partner, Bob Cratchit. One thing after a long life, he took to his grave.

that he knew how to keep Christmas well. May it be truly said of all of us, and as Tiny Tim observed, God bless us, everyone. What more is there to say after Dickens' Christmas Carol? Except the eternal message it brings, a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Our cast included Marion Seldes, Ian Martin, E.V. Juster, Robert Dryden, and William Redfield. The entire production was under the direction of Hyman Brown. And now, a preview of our next tale. You want me to do something else, don't you? Oh, that. Of course. You admit it. Oh, sure. We don't have a budget for the Santa Claus suit.

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This is a tale they tell of another Christmas. A Christmas 19 years ago. The Great War was over. War-weary soldiers and officers were at last being allowed to rest, to enjoy such recreation as soldiers might find. Leave areas were established in various parts of France. And at intervals, individuals were sent from the stations of their organizations to these areas, there to rest and refresh themselves for a brief period.

The story properly begins on Christmas night, 1918. Nineteen years ago, a leave train was just coming to a halt in the station at Via France. ♪♪

I'm not English, you know, chap. Australian. Anzac.

Ah, oui, oui, oui, oui. Vous êtes Australien, n'est-ce pas? Roger. And Merry Christmas, old chap. Un joyeux Noël, Monsieur l'Australien. Allons, les enfants, on est au revoir. Bonne avance.

Oh, excusez-moi, monsieur, but I, uh, s'il vous plaît, I would like to, uh, uh, venir ici. Oh, blasted, I can't talk the ruddy language. It is not necessary to speak the blasted language, monsieur, since I speak yours, after impression. Oh, thank pardon, old chap. The stationmaster told me you wouldn't mind if I stowed myself in here, would you? I hope. I should be very glad indeed of your company. I am Captain Esme Rochefort de Gascoigne.

at the 212th Regiment Artillery, GPF. I'm Lieutenant Horace Ballantyne of the Australian Light Horse, sir. You are welcome, monsieur. May I help you with your baggage? I'll have it stowed and have a talk. Thank you. There. Going on leave, Captain? Oui. I am not sure where yet, but c'est la guerre. One never knows where he goes in this world. You're right, Bigger.

It's jolly good of you to share your compartment, old chap. I am only too glad. It has been rather a lonely journey so far. I am delighted of someone to talk to. First-class compartments are not too easy to copper, either. A bit cushy, this, isn't it? Not too bad, indeed.

You'll pardon me, I know, but I am a bit curious to know how an Australian officer should find his way to Via France. I don't quite know myself, Captain. Gascon, is it? Yes. Yes.

And your name is Ballinpan? Right. I must remember. Well, I was at Dylipoli in the infantry with the Execoke. The third officer division, you know. Got a bit of a crack in the head, and the first thing I knew, I found myself transferred as town major of a village a few miles east of here. Nothing but Americans in it. Ah, the Americans.

They are good soldiers, eh? They're dinkum. And now you find yourself bound for leave on Christmas night. Right-o, and jolly glad of it. Where are you going, do you know? I'll report to the RTO at Isle of Bain. That's all I know. You have the same difficulties in your army, I see. One never knows where one goes. You are a long way from home, my friend. Right-o, a bloody long way. Halfway around the world, you know. And you have come to fight for France.

I salute you, monsieur. Ah, it's been fun. Oui. And now it is over. And our young men lie dead under the stars out there. Ah, we lost a few too. Our young men, monsieur. French, British, Australian, American. Not to mention a few German chappies. Quite. Eh bien.

One cannot make the omelette without breaking the eggs. A bloody lot of good eggs, friend Gascon. Oui. I wish the blasted train would start. It is always a mystery how they control these trains. Particularly when one wishes to go somewhere in a hurry. American chap out there, looking for a place, I fancy. Perhaps we could invite him in here, if you do not mind. Why not? If it's all right with you. He's a comrade and there is little room on the train. Roger. Oh, Yank. Yank there.

This way, Yank. He comes? But it's slightly pink now. The blighter's black. And an officer, too. So? I have heard that the Americans have two divisions of Negroes, and they have many officers who are, as the Americans say, colored also. But I have never seen one. You don't mind if I ask him, then? My dear Valentine, why should one mind? Is he not a man, an ally, an officer? Do we dislike one another because I am French and you Australian? Good chance.

We've lots of blacks in our units. What the devil's the difference? What difference does it make what color the blighter's skin is? Oh, yes. Room here. Do you mind awfully, Lieutenant? Not much room anywhere else, old chap. Oh, come in, come in. We've room for one. Thank you.

I was afraid I was going to be left behind. My name is Valentine, Lieutenant Australian Lighthouse. I'm Captain Melvin, 370th American Infantry. Delighted, Captain. And this is Captain... I have to help the chap out, Captain. I am Captain Esmeralda Gascoigne of the French Artillery, Captain. Welcome. Gentlemen, thank you. Here, give me your musette. I'll shove it up from the rack. Thank you, Lieutenant.

Feels good to get that thing off my shoulder. Sit down, Captain Melvin. Thanks. Been standing around there all day long on one foot and then on the other waiting. Finally when the train did pull in, but I was still going to stand there. Good of you to take me in. We are delighted. Right, sir. You're an Australian, eh, Lieutenant? Right, sir. From Adelaide. I just think of that.

Where are you from, Captain Melvin? Oh, I'm from Chicago. And you, Captain Gascon? My home is in Bayonne, as one might infer from my name. Your name, Captain? Gascon. Bayonne is in Gascony, you see. Oh, I see. It's odd, isn't it? Here we are, three of us in one railway coach, bound for somewhere...

We've come from all over the world to meet on Christmas night in France. We don't even know where we're going, do you? I haven't the slightest idea. Libre, that's all I know. Well, may as well have a spot of Christmas cheer, eh? A bottle of rather good wine in my music. And so have I. Not to be outdone in this matter, mes amis. I also have a bottle of Lacrimae Christi. Tears of crash. A very precious wine in these days, mes amis.

I do not remember how I came by it, but suffice it to say, I have it. Attention! Attention! Ah, we are about to start, eh? Attention! We are starting. Attention!

Oh, a ruddy happy crowd after a festation. Christmas. Oui, still Christmas, despite the fact that most of them all want to get out of the town and go somewhere. The rest of Christmas are down in Texas, people open. I was in the hospital at Marseille. And I, mes amis, had dinner with a German general.

German general. Captured on Christmas Eve. Oh, yes. Jasmine, will you drink with me? With pleasure, oui. If you will drink with me. And with me. Well then, to Christmas, eh? Ah, yeah. To Christmas. To Christmas. Ah. Ah.

You know, my musette's so bloody full of junk of all sorts, I was afraid I might have lost the bottle. Souvenirs, huh? Oh, yes. Silly toys and things that I picked up. Gave them to some kid somewhere. Lord knows they have few enough. I have gifts, too, in my musette. There is no one left of my people to give them to, but it is a sentiment. Sentiment for Christmas. Suppose we all do, then.

Mine's packed with odds and ends. I didn't know if I'd ever get back to that outfit after this leave, so I got some souvenirs together. You know that drink, messer me? Oh, not now, thanks, Captain. I'll wait a while. I think I shall, too. Why? This is a beautiful night, eh? Yeah, clear.

If the war was still on, I'd expect to hear someone shout, lights out, jerrys up. Have a lot of bombs landed our laps. I hope we are done with that, monsieur. Amen. No moon, though. Yeah. But look at them stars. Oh, see that one over there? You might imagine it to be the star of Bethlehem. Very bright, isn't it? Oui. Nearly 2,000 years ago.

I wonder if that same star still shines upon the earth. If it does, we wouldn't know it. Not us. Fight wars and deny the name of the man that was born under it. A religious chap? No. Not at all, Lieutenant. A long way from it. I'm not a religious chap either.

Ah, but you should have some jolly times as a kid at Christmas time, though. Church things and all that. Candles, whatnot. Oui. One is not religious, save when one sees the star shining down on him. A wonder of that could be the star. And why not, my friend? Our Earth changes, but the everlasting stars change not. Yeah. Be funny if it is, wouldn't it? Yeah, won't they? Oui.

But our journey is long, gentlemen. If you wish to sleep... You're sleepy, Captain? That little drink of wine has affected me. I fear I cannot keep my eyes open. I'm a little tired myself. Standing around all day in that station with no place to sit down. I can always sleep myself. I propose then that we do sleep for a little while, my friends. Talking to sleep made me sleepy. I'm all for it. Shall I turn down the lights? If you will, monsieur.

Pleasant dreams. Merry Christmas. And Merry Christmas to you both, gentlemen. And to you, Lieutenant Valentine. Captain Cascliffe. Yonder star shall watch over us. Nispa? The star that shone on Bethlehem. Good night. Are you asleep?

I'm not. Nor I. Almost, though, I must say. I... I was thinking. It seems that I have met you both before. Somewhere. That's really odd. Why, my friend? I was thinking the same thing. I was too. But it couldn't be. One from France, one from Australia...

One from America. Oui. It is, sir. Good night, my friends. Good night. Good night. Ah!

Eh, eh, friend Gaspar. We have journeyed far, and the sign that thou didst promise to us is not yet. Peace, Balthasar. We have not yet come to the end of our journey. Behold, Melchior crieth not out. Canst thou not study his patience to be like unto him? Yet thou art tired, Melchior. Aye, I am tired and weary. Yet must we go on.

No man knoweth what the end of his far journeying shall bring him. Dost thou see, Balthasar? Thou must needs have faith. I have faith, friend Gaspar. Yet my burden upon my shoulder is cruel heavy, and I would fain rest. Have faith, O Balthasar. Have faith, I conjure thee. Faith. Aye, I lead on, O Gaspar. Whither thou goest, there will I follow thee. And also I, Gaspar.

For I know that thou art inspired of God, that his hand doth lead thee. Yet not even I know what miracle he will do before our eyes. No matter. We will follow when thy road lead to death. Now, which road takest thou? That to the right hand or to the left? I know not. Wilt thou not call upon God, Gaspar? Ay, kneel down, brethren. O Lord...

Father God, lead us, thy servants, in the way thou didst set out for us. For know, Lord Father God, that we are poor, and our eyes know not the right, and we would follow the way that thou wilt have us follow. Therefore we pray thee humbly, dear Father. A miracle! A miracle? What sayest thou, Balthasar? Behold, Gaspar, a sign from the Lord Father God. There is no sign. Behold! Behold!

In the sky. A sign. A star that burneth brighter than all the stars of the heavens. Oh, Lord God, we thank thee. The way is before us.

We follow thy will. Behold, Gaspar. The star shineth upon the pathway to the left. Forward. Forward, brethren. For the end of our far journeying is at hand. Certes, this is a sign from God. Behold, Gaspar. Beyond the hill, the lights of a village. Tis so. Now we are come to our destination indeed. Haste, friends, haste. Tell us thou, what town is that, O Gaspar? Nay, I know not.

save that it be the end of our long journey. Oh, travellers, have you seen the star? Who calls? Who art thou? It is a shepherd. See the flocks of sheep beyond the road? Seest thou the star, travellers? Knowest thou its meaning? Aye, we have seen it, O shepherd, yet we know not its meaning.

Say that a miracle of the Lord Father God is nigh unto us. From the blackness of the sky it sprang into blaze, traveler. Dost thou think it portends the end of earth? Nay, friend, not the end of earth. Say rather its beginning. What sayest thou? Behold, shepherd, the mantle of the Lord is upon him. He speaketh of miracles. Aye, and a miracle will come to pass.

Haste, friends, haste, for this night we'll hear the voices of angels chanting and the sound of many great wings. Peace on earth.

Peace, goodwill to men. Glory, glory to God. Glory to God in the highest. Verily, ye speak as men that understand the workings of the will of God. Say now, shepherd, how is yonder village named? Surely, if ye know what shall come to pass because of the star... how is it ye know not the name of the town? We have come from far land, shepherd. Aye, what matters it if we know not such trifles as the name of a little hidden village...

when we know of a miracle to be wrought in the name of Almighty God. Aye, it is so. What miracle shall come to pass? It is hidden from our ken, O shepherd, yet it shall come to pass. Fear not. Aye, and such a miracle as shall set all the world to singing praises, lifting up their voices unto the heavens, crying in a loud voice, Mighty, mighty is the Lord God of hosts.

Ye be not of Israel? Nay, I am from the land of the Greeks, and these my companions be also from far lands. Melchior from Ethiopia, Balthazar a wise man of Egypt, a soothsayer unto the king. Ye have come far. Aye, so. Since many days our feet have trod the pathways of hidden unknown places. Yet always have we set our faces unto the east, obeying the bidding of a voice unheard.

The guidance of a hand, unfelt. And ye go now unto the town? Thou hast not told us its name, shepherd? Certes. All men know that yonder town is called the town of the house of bread. Even Bethlehem. Know ye that I, even I am of Bethlehem, where was born a thousand years agone, David, son of Jesse, that was king of Israel. Tis well.

For now I speak with the tongue of the Lord, the wisdom he hath put into my mouth. Behold, yonder Bethlehem whence came David, king of Israel. Now this night shall be born Bethlehem, that Messiah, that very Son of God, which the ancient prophets have foretold. And this is the miracle that shall come to pass, for he shall be born of a virgin immaculate, and his name shall be Jesus, called Christ. O thou Lord Godfather,

I give thanks unto thee that thou hast appointed me and my companions, that we shall be witnesses before all the world that the Son of God is born.

Haste, my friends. We must on, for the miracle is at hand. The Spirit of God is upon him. Speak through the tongue of the Lord. Haste. O holy man, may I not go with thee, seeing thou knowest not the village, and I with my brethren was born there? Ay, thou mayest come with us, but haste, friends, haste. Behold the star.

Oh, it seemeth to beckon us on. No, it cometh down from the heavens... and standeth above the rooftops of the town. It is the doing of God. I praise God. Praise God. Praise God. Slaying my burdens from my shoulders, friends. Haste, haste. I marvel also that there should be lights abroad in the town. The hour is passing late... yet there is a light in every house. Perchance the men of Bethlehem rejoice that the Messiah is born. Nay, not so. For he is hidden from men...

and they of Bethlehem know him not. Then what? The feast of Hanukkah is but lately over, my masters. The feast of the lights in memory of the Maccabee. And many remain. Also are there others in the town who have come to deal with the men of Herod, the Tetrarch of Galilee, even the tax collectors. And thus is the city full, even all the inns. Dost thou know where we shall find him, O Gaspar? Hath it been revealed unto thee? All in good time, my friend.

We follow the star. Perchance he shall be born in a family of high repute. Aye, it is not fitting that the Son of God shall come from an humble home. The will of God shall be done. The child Jesus be born in the wide fields under the star, my friends. Haste. Behold, these be the walls of Bethlehem, O wise man. Yonder lieth the gate. Perchance the soldiers of the Tetrarch may refuse his admission into the city, Gaspar. Nay, they are gone away, Melchior.

Aye, they are Lyonians and public houses and carouse of the people of the town. Gaspar, art thou sure indeed that we shall find him in Bethlehem? Dost thou doubt the word of God, Balthasar? On, on. Now, whither do we go, O Lord Gaspar? Nay, me not, Lord Shepherd, for we are all humble men in the sight of God. Praise God. Praise God. Behold how the rays of the stars shine down upon this certain street...

It is the way, friends. Follow. Lo, one comes, Gaspar. In haste. Aye, but so. A chance he knoweth. Hold thou, men. With a ghost thou. Who art thou? Stand aside, that I may pass. Who art thou? Know that I am citizen, even as thou art.

Indeed thou art a citizen and not a strolling player, a hawker of false jewels. Oh, speakest thou thus to me, who am the great physician? Know, man, that I am Balthus, the leech, the lurid, the clever, skilled in cupping and the art of the curmudgeon, the saver of lives, the bringer of babes into the world. Peace! That tongue clacketh like a... Sayest thou art curmudgeon, no man of Bethlehem? Aye, I am that. I am Balthus, wrestler with the angel of death. Stand

Sometime physician under great Antipater himself. I am... Hold, I pray thee. Hast thou attended woman this night that was brought of child? And how didst thou know that, stranger? Wilt thou say aye or nay? Aye, I have done so. And look ye now...

This night have I come upon a miracle, a very marvel, a prodigy of nature. Never before in all my time have I... Well, cease thy clacking and speak, Leach. And who art thou thus to speak of the marvel that thou hast witnessed, man? Behold, not two hours have passed since one came post haste, crying before my door, O Balthus, O most noble surgeon, O saver of lives, come down in haste.

And I, setting down the goblet of sackposset wherefrom I did drink, throng open the window and look down. To thy story, Leach, to thy story. Behold, crieth the man in the street. Behold, Balthus, a woman hath need of thee in the stable, nigh unto the inn of the two oxen. In the stable? Aye, the stable.

Now, I am a man of charity and always ready to answer the call when sickness stalketh abroad. In the plague that came upon Bethlehem nine years ago... I thought always ready when I would smell the smell of gold, Leach. Say on and quickly. If thou wilt but be still and let me.

I spoke of a marvel. Say on, say on. I flung my cloak about me, and I came in haste, as ill becometh a man of my age and girth, and yet I am charitable, I say. And behold, in yonder stable was a woman couched in the straw of a manger, brought to bed of a child. Surely women have been brought to bed of a child in stables before, Corrigan. Aye, so. But mark me well now.

This woman was a virgin. Nay. I swear it by the holy phylactery. By my father's beard, I swear it. Verily was a child born unto her, and she a virgin. Thou hast drunk too much of thy sackposset, neighbor. Thou a physician. I swear by... Hold. Thou said enough, Leach. Verily hast thou stood before a miracle this night. A miracle? Insolent. Then a prodigy... Where lieth the woman thou didst attend? In yonder stable.

The man did say that they had come from Nazareth in Galilee to give his testimony unto the tax collectors. And though they beseeched the innkeepers, yet would none of them give them room, saving only this one, who having pity upon a woman with child, did say unto them that they might find bed amongst the kine in his stable, and did charge them not. May all the blessings of God be on this innkeeper, that he hath offered shelter this night unto the Son of God. Amen.

What sayest? And on thee, physician, for that thou didst lend thy hand unto her, who is the very mother of him who shall be the saviour of the world. Beverly, I know not who thou art, old man, yet I perceive that thou hast the gift of prophecy. If I have served, then I am glad, for I took naught from them. And the babe did look upon me with a look that I shall never forget.

though I live to be the last on the earth. Now I crave thy blessing. If thou dost speak, Zuth, I am most blessed among men. Verily shalt thou stand at the right hand of him... who hath come to the earth, physician. Thine was the hand that first touched him. Verily art thou blessed. I thank thee for thy grace, friend. Go now inside the stable. I go to the temple to render thanks unto God...

For verily I believe thee. Now, my friends, tis the end of our long journey before us. Come with me, I pray each of you. Come and fall down and worship the infant Jesus, son of God, which shall be called the Christ. Praise unto him. Praise unto the son of God. I will not go in. I am not worthy. Nay, shepherd, there be none of us worthy to touch his hand. Yet there be none too humble to do him reverence.

Come. Aye, come, shepherd. The star. The star waineth a little. Shadows fall upon us. The star paleth before his glory. Nay. Nay, Gaspar. Behold. Behold in the sky a sign. A sign. Oh, Father. Lord God. A sign. The shape of a man crucified upon a cross.

Balfast, Valentine, Gershkorn. Gets cry out unto... Oh, I say, what's the matter? I was dreaming, I guess. What?

Where... where are we? I... It was a dream, but I saw you too. You saw us? Hard to remember, but I... Did you... did you dream of free men, Melvin? Yes. I... I did too. Gaspar and Melchior and Balthasar. Gaspar...

And Melvin? And Valentine. Good heavens! Look! Look at our shoes! All of us! What? Straw. Where did... Straw! From a stable. And that... That smell! What? Gentlemen, I have been in the East. I know what that smell is. It is myrrh and frankincense. The End

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It was the night before Christmas, and in Santa Claus' sleigh, the electrical system was plenty okay. The ignition was perfect, worked like a dream, and the sleigh ran so smooth it made Santa beam. Well, what was Santa's secret, Arnold? I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight, it's no secret at all. It's just auto light. Now,

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You know, I'm also appreciate those jingle bells. Wilfred? Yes, my dear? What on earth are you doing down here in the cellar? Why, just doing a little digging. Why, may I ask, have you chosen this day of all days to dig up the cellar floor? Well, I thought as the weather's been so damp, this would be a good time to plant that little devil's garden I told you about. Devil's garden? What sort of nonsense is that? Oh, the...

That was my little joke about it. You see, I've managed to get hold of the spores of several unclassified wild orchids. Oh! In their wild state, they bloom under damp masses of leaf mold. The Orucanian Indians call them devil flowers because they appear to bloom under the ground. Well, I'm sure the Orucanian Indians will be very interested if you succeed in growing these ridiculous flowers under the cellar floor. Whom else it will interest, I can't imagine. Ooh, what's that terrible smell? That's the leaf mold.

chemically identical with the earth blanket they grow under in the wild state. I suppose I should line the pit with concrete so as to prevent seepage from this foreign soil, but I don't suppose there'll be much time for it now, and I do want to get these started before we close the house. There certainly will not be time for it. Do you realize that we're sailing for America a week from today? And you've made no arrangements whatever, unless you call digging a hole in the cellar making arrangements. I certainly don't. Devil's garden indeed.

sometimes I think you're going soft in the head, Wilfred. I suppose it is inconsiderate of me. You see, I've been wanting to try this experiment for a long, long time, but what with my lectures and seminars at the university, there never seemed a time. Well, there certainly isn't any time for it now. I suppose you've forgotten I made an appointment for you at the barber's this afternoon. Oh, no, no, no, no. But must I shave off my beard, Hermione? I thought we'd been through all that. Of course you must. They don't wear beards in America. Go get your jacket on and do as I tell you.

Yes, Hermione. And don't forget to take your umbrella. It looks like rain. Yes, Hermione. Oh, don't look so put-upon, Wilfred. No, I... Someone has to plan things in this house or you'll never even get to the university in time for your lectures, much less make arrangements for a trip to America. Oh, I know, I know. But what about my specimens? There'll be plenty of time to plant your precious devil's garden when we get home from America. We're not going to be gone forever, you know. We'll be back here for the holidays. Yes.

Yes, of course. Back for the holidays. I'd forgotten. Well, try to remember it. And if you can't do that, just do as I tell you. I've been making the plans in this house for 20 years. And if there's any digging to be done, I'll manage that as well. You understand, Wilfred? Yes, Hermione. Good.

You have just 20 minutes to clean up this mess down here and keep your appointment at the barber's. And when you finish there, I want you to come straight home. Oh, I wanted to stop and pick up some books I ordered. Well, all right. But don't loiter the whole afternoon browsing over those old books the way you usually do. Now hurry and clear up this rubbish. Get rid of that smelly stuff. And no more digging, mind you. Yes, Hermione. Yes, Hermione. Yes, Hermione.

How many years has it been since I've been saying that? Ten years? Fifteen? Twenty? Clear up the rubbish. Yes, Hermione. Don't forget your umbrella. Yes, Hermione. Do this. Do that. Yes, Hermione. Yes, yes. How much longer can I stand this? Good evening, sir. Good evening, Miss Malcolm. Why, it is Professor Carpenter, isn't it? Oh, you were...

You like me better this way? Oh, you look ever so much younger without the beard. Twenty years at least. Twenty years. You'll be glad to know those books you ordered have finally arrived. Books? Phytotomy of phthaloid gametophytes and coniferous shrubs of North America. Those are the ones you ordered, aren't they? Yes, thank you.

You're very kind, Miss Markham. Why kind, Professor Carpenter? Not many young ladies in bookshops would go out of their way to look up rare books for an old professor of botany. Why, you're not old, Professor Carpenter. Really, you look... And besides, I adore botany. It's my particular hobby. Oh, really? Yes. You never told me that before, Miss Markham. I was afraid to. You were so imposing with the beard and all. Miss Markham. Yes? Yes?

Forgive me if this sounds foolish, but I feel that shaving off my beard is the most important thing I've done for...

For 20 years. Oh, it is. I'm sure it is. I'm ashamed that I've been so distant with you all this time. Oh, there were times when I almost spoke up. Times when you came in here tired after a day with your students at the university. You seemed so alone, the way I'm alone in the world. I'd like to have asked you to stay a while and talk with me. But some way or other, I wound up by giving you your change and letting you go on your way. You say...

You're all alone in the world? Since my father died. Did you never think of marrying? My father was a very remarkable man. I never found anyone who seemed to measure up to what he led me to expect of men. Miss Markham. It's been so long since anyone called me by my first name. I'd like you to, if you want to. It's Marion. Marion. And yours? Wilfred. How long have you been alone, Wilfred?

Alone? Oh, I knew you were a widower, of course, the first time I saw you. A widower? I can always tell. There's a certain sadness in a man's eyes. A sweet sadness, I think, when he's been married and then... A widower. I never thought of it in quite that way. But perhaps I shouldn't be talking like this. But I've often wondered what she must have been like. Your wife, I mean. Hermione? Was that her name? Yes, Hermione.

Not an easy woman to forget. Very strong, always managing things. The house, my wardrobe, my friends. When we dined at the restaurant, she even ordered my food. She was always managing things. You might say she... Yes, she managed herself to death.

Poor woman. She must have loved you very much. But she needn't have put herself out so. It's plain to see you don't need things managed for you. Is that so? You need companionship, I think. Someone sympathetic with your work. But the last thing on earth you need is a manager. How well you put it. The last thing on earth.

Well, at last. You certainly took long enough about it. What do you look so pleased about? I don't know, Hermione. Getting rid of the beard, perhaps. I feel 20 years younger. Oh, you look even smaller. Your face looks triangular or something. I'd forgotten your chin was so weak. But never mind that. You can grow it back soon enough after the holidays...

Where are you going? Down in the cellar. Oh. I just bought this electric lantern and I thought I'd put it away down there. Now, whatever possessed you to buy a thing like that? I don't know. I rather like this lantern. Might come in handy. Who knows? Now, Wilfred, don't start digging down there again. I've a hundred...

I have a hundred things to do putting the house in order before we leave. I want you to carry these boxes upstairs for me. Yes, Hermione. And if you are going down to the cellar, take this along and stuff it into the furnace. Oh, this is my old bathrobe. I may need it. Nonsense. I bought you a new one. Get rid of it. And don't start pottering down there with that devil's garden or whatever you call it. I'm through digging, my dear. I think the pit is quite deep enough now for my devil's garden. I'm through digging.

It would all have to be carefully planned, of course. Just as carefully planned as Hermione was planning the trip to America. We both went about our arrangements as the days passed. I spent all the time I could with Marion, and finally she consented. And then it was the last day, the big day. The day we were to sail for America. Operator? Operator, are you there? I'm still waiting on that call to Salisbury. Well, put them on quickly. Hello? Is this Paul Houlton, sons? It's Mrs. Wilfred Carpenter.

Did you receive my letter? Good. Now, remember, we'll be back for the holidays, and I want the job done without fail. What's that? Oh, no, I'm sure he doesn't suspect anything. Send the bill to me in New York as I instructed you, addressed in my name, of course. Oh, yes, I've already put them in the mail. You'll get them tomorrow. Thank you. Thank you so much. Oh, here you are, Wilfred. Where have you been? Backstairs. I dismissed the servants. Dismissed the servants? Yes.

But I've asked some friends of mine into a farewell tea. Go and tell them it's a mistake. I'm afraid it's too late now. They've packed and gone. You have messed things up properly. How many times have I told you to leave things to me? I make the plans around here. Yes, Hermione. You'll have to do better than this when I plan the trip home or we'll never in the world be back here for the holidays. Back here for the holidays, back here for the holidays. Must you keep saying that? Why not?

We are coming back for the holidays, aren't we? I'm supposing I were offered a professorship in one of those wealthy American universities. Nonsense. Americans care nothing for botany. Luther Burbank was an American. That's different. What have you ever done except muck around in the dirt with a lot of roots and tubas? They asked me to lecture. That means something. Of course they ask you to lecture. Americans will pay to hear any foreigner deliver a lecture. Once.

Now, there's no use getting yourself in a state about this, Wilfred. No doubt this extra money will come in very handy when we arrive back for the... Back for the holidays. Precisely. And it's no good you're making a joke of it. Heaven knows where you'd be today if I hadn't got a sense of time. Yes, my dear Hermione. And as you've been so foolish as to dismiss the servants, you may empty the ashtrays and straighten up this room while we're waiting for the guests to arrive. I'm going upstairs to change. Call me when they get here. Yes, Hermione.

Marion, it's Wilfred. No, my darling, nothing's wrong. My plans are the same, and... Yes, you've changed. No, we'll meet in New York and be married there. I'll explain why later. You'll have to trust me. Yes, my darling. Wilfred? Sorry, I can't talk no longer. Yes, I'll meet you in New York without fail. Until then, my darling. We were talking on the phone just now. Yes, Hermione. Whoever was it?

Freddie. Freddie Sinclair. Didn't I hear you say something about meeting somebody in New York? Oh, yes. Old Freddie said he might possibly get over there before we leave. I said, of course, we'd meet him there if he did decide to go. Seems very peculiar. But then all of your friends are peculiar. Yes, Hermione. And just look at your jacket. Have you been digging in that cellar again? Yes, Hermione. Well, there's no need for it.

You can't possibly get that devil's garden thing finished. Go and change your clothes before the guests arrive. Yes, sir. Oh, never mind. I see somebody coming up the walk now. Go and let them in. Yes, Hermione. Wilfred? Yes, my dear? Look out the window. There's Professor and Mrs. Goodenough, but who's that with them? Huh? Why, it's... Precisely. Freddy Sinclair. You should have been talking to him on the phone not three minutes ago, and now here he is. Yes, isn't it? But then as you say, Hermione...

All my friends are peculiar. Not half so peculiar as you. Digging in the cellar an hour before we leave for America. Just look at yourself. And now that I think of it... Yes, Hermione? Oh, never mind. Go and let them in. You were going to ask me something. The hole I'm digging in the cellar. Oh, good heavens. Stop rolling your eyes about that way. One would think you were digging a grave down there instead of a storage bin. Yes, Hermione. What's that? I said yes, Hermione. Oh, bother. Open the door and stop saying yes, Hermione. Yes, Hermione.

I think, my dear, I've said it for the last time. For suspense, Autolight is bringing you Mr. Herbert Marshall in radio's outstanding theater of thrills, Suspense. Suspense.

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And now, Autolite brings back to our Hollywood soundstage, Mr. Herbert Marshall, starring in a gripping tale well calculated to keep you in suspense. Back for the holidays. Hermione was so positive we'd be back for the holidays.

That last afternoon, pouring tea for a few friends who had come in to say last-minute farewells, she kept reiterating it. Now, mind you, Hermione, don't let those Americans lure your husband with one of their fat university jobs. We absolutely must have you with us for the holidays. He will be back, I promise. It's not absolutely certain, of course. Wilfred, what do you mean it's not certain? Of course it's certain. After all, Wilfred, old boy, you've contracted to lecture for only two months. That's right, but then, of course, anything may happen. Oh, Wilfred adores being unpredictable.

Now, what other man would decide the day... the very day, mind you, before leaving for America... to dig a great hole in the floor of the cellar? In the cellar? Yes. He's going to put some unclassified wild orchids down there. A devil's garden, if you please. Oh, my dear. Sounds so mysterious. That's Wilfred, though. It's really quite simple once you find out what he's up to. Now, take that telephone call he put through to you a few minutes before you arrived, Freddy. To me? Of course.

Wilfred wanted to surprise me about your plan to meet us in New York next month. Wasn't that why he called? To ask you not to mention it? But my dear Hermione, Wilfred couldn't possibly have telephoned me within the past hour. I've been walking in the park since three. He didn't telephone you. How could he? And as for my going to America... No, no, no, come, Ferry, you may as well own up.

Hermione's found me out again. But, Wilfred, old chap, I really don't... You see what a poor liar Wilfred makes. He's as red as a beetroot. Aren't you ashamed of yourself, Professor, stringing poor Hermione along like that? And as for you, Freddy, I'm furious. You said nothing to us about going to America. But look here, old girl. I've been trying to tell everyone here... Oh, stuff and nonsense. The game's gone on long enough.

Besides, we must start getting ready. It was marvelous of all of you to come in to say goodbye. And don't worry about Wilfred's little jokes. I will bring him back for the holidays. You may rely on it. They all believed her. For years she'd been promising me for dinner parties, garden parties, committees. And the promises had always been kept. This time they wouldn't be. I'd seen to that. The servants were gone for good. The farewells all said...

I had time to the minute how long it would take to fill in the hole in the cellar. My devil's garden. Upstairs in the bedroom, I undressed, folded my clothes over a chair, put on my old bathrobe. Then I opened the door into Hermione's room. Hermione, have you a moment to spare?

Of course, dear. I'm just finished. Then come in here for a moment. There's something rather extraordinary here. Oh, good heavens, Wilfred. What are you lounging about in that filthy old bathroom for? I told you to put it into the furnace. I'll do it today. Yes, I very well. I promise. Well, high time. Now, what is it you want to show me? It is in the bathroom here. Just look. Who in the world is supposed to drop a gold chain down the bathtub drain? Nobody has, of course. Nobody wears such a thing. Then what's it doing there? Well, I don't see anything. Here. Here.

I'll hold this flashlight for you. If you lean right over, you can see it shining deep down. Such a lot of nonsense, just as we're... Well, I don't see it, Wilfred. Go on looking, Hermione. In just a moment... Wilfred, I absolutely refuse... Wilfred, what are you doing? Take your hands off my neck! I will, Hermione, just as soon as I've finished the arrangements for my trip to America. What are you talking about? You thought you were the only one who could plan things, didn't you, Hermione? Well, I've been making some plans of my own this past week. In exactly one minute and 45 seconds, you'll be dead. What?

You see, I've planned it very accurately. You'll never get away with it. I thought you'd say that, Hermione, but I will get away with it. You won't mind the smell of the leaf mold down in the cellar when I take you down there today. Yes, that's where you're going, Hermione. Into my devil's garden that annoyed you so much. My friends, they all expect me back for the holidays. And if I don't come back, they'll start asking questions. No, they won't. No, because you write them letters, Hermione, and the typewriters you always do.

They'll be signed H in that neat cryptic way you always sign your notes to your friends. Oh, let me up now. No. It won't work, Wilfred. You were never any good at planning things. Ah, but I've changed. I've learned from watching you all these years. The lecture people in America. They'll be expecting you to travel with your wife. I will be traveling with my wife, but not my present wife, Hermione. What? Fortunately, they've never met you. I'll write a few letters home for you, then fewer and fewer.

I might even come back alone in a year or two and sell the place. Say you died in America. Nobody will ever suspect that you're lying under the floor of the cellar in this very house. Wilfred, it won't work, I tell you. That pit you dug in the cellar... I can assure you, my dear Hermione, it will serve its purpose well. Wilfred, you must... Sorry, my dear, I've got to get this done according to plan. You have just five seconds to say your prayers. Wilfred, you must listen. Wilfred, what? What?

Oh, Stuart. Ah, yes, sir? My wife is indisposed. She'll be taking her meals in our stateroom. For the whole voyage? Yes, for the whole voyage. Well, I trust your wife is feeling better this morning, Professor Carpenter? A little, yes, thank you. Not yet well enough to leave her cabin. Oh, I'm sorry. Oh, by the way, here's a copy of the radiogram you sent for your wife last evening. Oh, you think? Well, I'll just check it over. But look here. What is it? Did the typist make a mistake? No.

No, nothing important. She can correct it later. For a moment, I had a feeling that Hermione had been leaning over my shoulder again, correcting what I had written she always did. I had written a radiogram to Professor Goodenough and his wife. Have not been out of cabin the whole beastly trip. Wilfred Well, doubt will be back for the holidays. The copy read, no doubt will be back for the holidays. Exactly what Hermione would have written. Well, the rest of the voyage was uneventful.

And Marion and I met in New York just as I had planned. Just as I had planned. Professor and Mrs. Carpenter, we have reservations, I believe. Oh, yes, we've been expecting you, sir. Boy? Yes, sir? Take Professor and Mrs. Carpenter's luggage up to their suite. You know, Mrs. Carpenter, you're quite a surprise. Oh? The letter reserving the rooms was so thorough...

I was expecting an older, more forbidding sort of person, frankly, ma'am. Oh, no. As a matter of fact, we are just married. But my letter reserving the room. I wrote the letter, my dear, and signed it. Mrs. Wilfred Carpenter, just as a joke. What a cunning old fox you are, Wilfred. Rather, I think, but I am rather. Oh, I almost forgot. A letter for you, Mrs. Carpenter. That's peculiar. I wonder who on earth... Well, we'll find out in good time, darling. Come along. We're keeping the boy waiting. Hello.

Ah, like a cold, brisk shower to put a man to rights. Wilfred, this letter... Oh, yes, yes, the letter.

Darling, dry my hair, will you? Yes, dear. It seems to be a bill of some sort from a building contractor in Salisbury. Oh, that's wonderful. Oh, bother, dry your own hair. Thank you, Miss. Let's see this bill or whatever it is. It's very puzzling, Wilfred. You were a widower, weren't you? I mean, Hermione isn't still alive. Oh, good heavens, no. Let's have that. Yeah. Mm-hmm.

Dear madam, that's a good one. This is to acknowledge your order together with the keys to your house in Launceston Place. Our men had no difficulty in finding the place where your husband had begun the excavation in the cellar

But apparently he changed his mind at the last moment and filled it in again. What is it, Wilfred? Our men will begin digging tomorrow. You may rest assured that it will be a professional job and will be completed in ample time for your surprise Christmas present to your husband. We are happy to be conspirators with you in this thoughtful gesture and hope that Professor Carpenter will be pleased at the results of our work that he so quaintly calls his devil's garden very truly yours, Paul Houghton's son's contractors.

What does it mean, Wilfred? It means that Hermione was right. I will be back for the holidays. Back for the holidays. Back for the holidays! Back for the holidays! Back for the holidays! Back for the holidays!

Thank you, Herbert Marshall, for a splendid performance. Mr. Marshall will return in just a moment. Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle through the snow. Your car's all hap, it's full of pep. With Autolite, you know. Right you are. And by Cornelius, electrical problems won't keep your car down when you stop at the shop that features Autolite parts and service. Sure as Kris Kringle means Christmas, Autolite original factory parts and service top the town.

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And now, here again is Mr. Herbert Marshall. It has been a pleasure to appear tonight on Suspense, and it is my pleasure to extend to all of you, for Autolite, Tony Leder, and his Suspense cast and crew, and myself, best wishes for the holiday season. Next week, on radio's outstanding theater of thrills, you will hear William Bendix in another gripping study in... Suspense. Suspense.

Herbert Marshall will soon be seen with Margaret O'Brien in the Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer production of The Secret Garden. Tonight's suspense play was dramatized by Robert Tallman from a story by John Collier. Music was conducted, composed by Lucian Morawieck and conducted by Lud Bluskin. The entire production was under the direction of Anton M. Leder.

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Our results speak for themselves. And always remember this, everybody is a somebody and nobody is a nobody. Visit ForThePeople.com to learn about our firm. Morgan & Morgan, For The People. Injured? Visit ForThePeople.com for an office near you. The Signal Oil Program, the whistler. That whistle is your signal for the Signal Oil Program,

The Whistler. I am the Whistler, and I know many things, for I walk by night. I know many strange tales, hidden in the hearts of men and women who have stepped into the shadows. Yes, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak.

Yes, friends, it's now time for the Signal Oil program, The Whistler, rated tops in popularity for a longer period of time than any other West Coast program in radio history. And here's an important announcement for Whistler fans in California only. Beginning next Sunday, January 2nd, due to California's going-off daylight saving time, The Whistler will be heard in California only one hour earlier, from 8.30 until 9.00.

Remember the change in time. In California only, the whistler will be heard at a new time, from 8.30 till 9. In other states, the whistler will be heard at the same time as always. And now, the whistler's strange story, Delayed Christmas Present. Christmas was really over.

For it was one o'clock in the morning at Pete's Cantina, a tough little night spot on the outskirts of Panama City. But the melody lingered on. You could hear the chimes of the big church a block away playing a death day for daylight. There was practically no business. Four hostesses, all Americans, were sitting drearily at the far end of the ballroom near the bar. One of them, Mary Winslow, billed as Candy Porter, just sat gazing drearily into space.

thinking bitterly of a past from which for a while there had seen no escape. But for five months now, she'd been relatively safe. No one had been around asking any questions. As Candy Porter, blues singer, Mary Winslow had found a kind of security, not a happy security, for she was far away from home. And as the chimes became silent, Mary wondered if it was worthwhile.

A reverie was broken up as she looked up and saw Spanish Pete, a fat, greedy owner of the cantina, approaching her table. Candy, Candy, look, there's an American gentleman just came in. He wants to buy you some champagne. Champagne, you hear that? Oh, please, Pete, not tonight. It's Christmas. I'd rather be alone if you don't mind. I don't mind. Look, I... All right, all right.

Let him spend his money on champagne. Now you're smart, baby. Here he comes. You turn and see the tall, heavy-set American approach. Suddenly you become tense. You recognize the type, don't you? After a year of running away, you've learned to spot his kind in a moment. You fight to remain calm as he reaches your table.

Sit down, Mr. Fontaine. Sit down. Sure you don't mind, Miss Boyer? Of course not. Thanks. In that case, I guess I will. I'll go get the champagne. I keep him on ice. Eleven years old, fool. Cigarette, Mr. Fontaine? No, thanks. You don't mind if I do? Of course not. Light? Thanks. Strange, spending Christmas so far away from home. Mm-hmm. How come? Business. Important business.

Couldn't it wait? No. This business means a lot to the people I work for. Well, here's what you say, Bubblewater. For Marseille, 13 years old. You said 11. That was from La Havre. This is even better. Now I put him back in the ice. You want some more? You just call Pete. I got another one on ice, just like you. Well, I guess it's kind of late to wish you a Merry Christmas, Miss Porter.

So, I guess I'd better just say, uh, season's greeting. Anyway, here's luck. Here's hoping you find whatever you came here after. I've already found what I came after. I'm glad. I hope you will, dear. Why shouldn't I be? Because I came after you, Mary Winslow. Mary Winslow

With the prologue of Delayed Christmas Present, the Signal Oil Company brings you another strange story by the Whistler. But now since this is Christmas weekend, I want to thank you for inviting us of the Whistler cast into your home on this special occasion. During the six consecutive years that the Whistler has been broadcast by Signal Oil Company, many of us have had the pleasure of celebrating Christmas with many of you a number of times.

And believe me, we feel it a real honor that you consider us a part of your entertainment family. Tonight, on behalf of Signal Oil Company and the independent signal dealers who serve the states of California, Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Nevada, and Arizona, I want to say, we hope that your Christmas has been a merry one. May your new year be filled with peace, prosperity, and the good health with which to enjoy these blessings.

And now back to the whistler. After a year, it doesn't seem fair, does it, Mary Winslow? After a year of hiding, using one name and then another. After five bitter months of singing at Pete's Cantina as Candy Porter, blues singer. This man Fontaine has come to take you back to the States to face the consequences of one horrible night.

You're sure he's a detective. He couldn't be anything else. You can't run again. There's no place you could go. You've only one card left. And as you face the man across the table and listen to his even, level voice, you decide to play it. If you play it carefully, it might be an ace. I think you know why I'm here. We're leaving in the morning for Los Angeles, Miss Winslow. Like the billing says, my name is Candy Porter. I know what the billing says.

I know what it said in Brooklyn when you were billed as Doris Trent, in Denver when you were billed as Gladys James. But when you first took a powder out of Los Angeles, you were Mary Winslow. You know, it's almost funny you should call me Mary Winslow. We used to work together, her and me, in the same floor show. We could have been billed as twin sisters. The customers used to mistake us for each other, too. Now look, Miss Winslow, let's quit kidding. I'm not kidding. A lot of other people made the same mistake you have.

And like I said, I knew Mary Winslow intimately. I think I could help you solve your case if you let me tell you about her. Sure, sure. Go ahead. It'll make you feel any better. Thanks. You see, Mary Winslow was really just a good kid that got a bad break. In love with this swell guy and scared to death of a hoodlum. She told me all about it at...

It's quite a story. I'll bet it is. Yes, it was quite a story, wasn't it, Mary? And it all began a year ago Christmas Eve at the Christmas party given by your employers in the pink room of the Slank Wilchester Hotel.

You really enjoyed yourself that night, didn't you? And you were quite the hit of the evening. You sang three numbers and went over big. Your fellow workers didn't know your many talents. Everyone told you what a fine singer you were. And when you left, you were feeling good. So good, you decided to drop into the cocktail lounge, make a phone call, and have a nightcap before going home. Scotch and soda, mix it. Make mine the same, Bill. Got you.

I heard you sing tonight. You were terrific. Thanks. What's the matter? Did he stand you up? Who? The guy you were just talking to on the phone. No, I guess he didn't stand you up. Didn't he? And he's on his way here right now. Yep, that's the answer. Lucky guy. Hey, I'll take it out of here, Bill. Now, look here, Mr. Take it easy. It's practically Christmas. What's the harm in my buying you one drink?

Like I said, I like your voice, Mr. Nislaw. Here's your change. Oh, thanks, Phil. You must be a detective. You know my name and everything. No, no, not everything. But it wasn't any trick to find out your name. I just asked one of the boys who I was dancing with. My name's Joe Clark.

Oh, I see you've never heard of me. Should I have? A lot of people have. Most of the boys and girls are on the night spots, Norman. Well, then that accounts for my ignorance. You see, I seldom halt the night spots. Well, you should. With a voice like yours, you could be packing them in on a good nightclub. Oh, now I get it. You're a professional talent scout and you want to get me into the movies. No, no. I'm a gambler. Shocking. Well, I should have. Live and let live is my motto.

And that's exactly what I'm going to do right now. What? Live my life and let you live yours. Good night, Mr. Clark. My, my, my. Just think, tomorrow I can tell all the girls at the office I met a real live gambler. You could tell them all a lot more than that if you believed in your voice as much as I do. Really? Mm-hmm.

You've heard of Dominguez on Sunset, out near the ocean? It's an undercover gambling club, isn't it? It's more than a gambling club. It's a swole floor show. A lot of big people go out there, people that count. And they're all intimate friends of yours, I'm sure. Not all, but I know quite a few. Could push you right to the top with that voice. Oh, that's the oldest line I've ever heard. It's not a line. Eh, but skip it. Go on home. Listen to the radio. Eat candy. You can have a terrific time.

You go to Domingo's with me, you can't tell what might happen. You might have to meet a couple of show producers. So play it safe and go home. It may be dull, but we'll always get to work on that. Is that all you have to say? That's all. Nighty-night. Wait a minute. Yeah? Could we, uh... Could we be back fairly early? Leave any time you say. Well, what are we waiting for? Oh, now you're making sense. I'll call the cab. Never mind. I have a car. It's parked right around the corner. Well...

Clark used just the right approach, didn't he, Mary? You realize you're being a fool, but as the hours pass, you tell yourself your fears are groundless. Joe treats you with perfect courtesy. You watch the gambling for a while, then proceed to the silver room and enjoy the floor show. Afterwards, you have a little food and watch the dancing. ♪♪

Suddenly, you've had enough. Joe, do you mind if we leave now? I said we'd leave any time you said. What hit you? The music? Yeah, I guess that's it. Another guy? Another guy. My, uh, my fiancé. What happened to him? He's in the Philippines. Research. Oh. Chemist? Doctor.

Dr. Frank Wilson, M.D. That was his car we drove out here in. He told me to keep it warm for him. Well, too bad. We could have had a lot of fun. Well, shall we go? Let's go.

Was it just the song, Mary? Or was it that uneasy feeling you have about Joe that made you want to leave so suddenly? It must have been the song. Or as you're ready to leave the club grounds, Joe is still a considerate escort. And hop in. Oh, unless you want me to drive. I'll drive unless you mind too much. No, I don't mind. Probably would be safer, too. Oh.

For several miles, Joe says little. Seems preoccupied. And you feel relieved when he breaks his rather strange silence. Oh, uh, say, Mary, would you mind stopping for a minute at that drive-in? All of a sudden, I have an awful headache. Maybe I can get some aspirin. I doubt it, but we'll give it a try. Uh, you can keep the motor running while I'm gone. I'll be gone in a few seconds. Okay. I'm an angel Christmas.

Joe! Get going. Joe, you shot him. I can't get going fast. There's a gun in your ribs, baby. You just saw what happened to one guy that crossed me. Is... Is he dead? I don't know. Oh, you. You. Oh, why was I such a fool? I'm right at the next corner. The car's been tailing us for the last five minutes. I'm glad. I hope it's a proud car to take me to trouble. I'm calling the police. Joe!

He didn't turn, baby. You shouldn't have said what you did about phoning the cops. You better pull over and park. We got a couple of things to talk over. I said pull over! That's better.

Please, please, Joe, don't kill me. I know you can do it easy, but I'll never talk about tonight. That's the way you feel now. An hour from now, you'll feel better. No, I won't. I'm making a deal with you, Joe. I'm trading you my silence for my life. I swear I won't talk about it ever. Okay, I'll take a chance. You drove the getaway car, so we're partners now anyway. We're going to have a lot of fun together, you and me. Now, how about dropping me off at my place?

Tell me where to go. I live about six... After you drop Joe and you reach your apartment, you're so weak you can hardly stand. Your senses are reeling, your brain is spinning. You practically fall into bed. You try to snatch a little sleep, but sleep is impossible. Finally, at six o'clock in the morning, the newspaper is shoved under your apartment door.

The headlines sicken you. Drive-in operator shot and holed up dies. The subheadings are even worse. Unidentified man and woman seen fleeing from scene of crime in dark green 47 model Chevrolet. Pedestrians believe you can identify both car and woman. There it is, Mary. Hopeless, isn't it?

Even if you called the police, your story would sound phony now. It's closing in on you, isn't it, Mary? Yet frightened as you are, you're certain of two things. That you're not going to become further involved with Joe Clark. And you won't allow any unfavorable publicity to fall on your absent fiancé, Dr. Frank Wilson. You were foolish to risk a life of happiness with him, weren't you? For a few moments of excitement with a gambler, a murderer like Joe Clark,

But you decide there's only one thing you can do, Mary. Leave town, disappear, and never see Clark again. You dress hurriedly, packing only a few belongings, and then spend Christmas Day and night at the home of a girlfriend. The next morning, you're on an eastbound plane. Three months later, you're singing in the Golden Lion, a prosperous little nightclub in Brooklyn, New York, where you become a featured performer under the name of Doris Trent. You're a great success under your new name.

And then one night you have a visitor. You're sure it's Mr. Vern Shields, London musical comedy producer. Come in. I'm... Well, well, what do you know? Long time no see, Miss Trant. Doris Trant, it says on the program.

All right, Joe, now that you've found me, what's on your mind? You double-crossed me, baby. You're crazy. That's why I left town, so I wouldn't have to talk to anybody. But you could still write, couldn't you? I don't get you. That anonymous note to the police, written just after you left, telling all about that driving job. Gave the exact time, my name, where I lived, what I had on, everything. But not a word about the girl with me. Funny, huh?

You're the only one that knew all of that, baby. Oh, no, Joe, you're wrong. Believe me, I didn't write any notes. Couldn't have been anyone else. Two days after you left, they picked me up for questions. Anybody could have written a note like that. One of your enemies might have wanted you out of circulation and tried to frame you. Maybe, but I don't. Joe, I didn't write it. I've kept my bargain with you 100%. There's one way you can convince me. How? Marry me tonight. Marry you? Yeah. That way I'll be sure of you. Wives don't testify against their husbands.

Besides, I'll know what you're doing all the time. Joe, I've got to go do my show. Let's talk this over in the morning. Tonight or else. You can run up to Connecticut. But go ahead, do your show. If you've got any ideas about calling in the cops, don't forget you drove the getaway car. And in case anything serious should happen to me, there's a written confession in my pocket telling exactly how you helped me pull the job. How you used your boyfriend's car. How you kept the motor on waiting for me.

Your doctor would love reading about that, wouldn't he? No. No, he wouldn't. Then don't get funny. Go ahead and on to your show. I'll wait for you here.

You start down the hallway toward the powder room offstage. Suddenly you realize what a fool you've been. But you're not going to keep on being a fool, are you, Mary? Not with that wall telephone just five steps ahead of you. Operator? Oh, operator. Get me police headquarters, quick. But I hang up quick, babe, and I mean quick. Oh.

You should have looked around before you called. I had a hunch you'd try to double-cross me. Now I know for sure who wrote that note to the cop. I didn't, Joe. You tried to call him, didn't you? All of a sudden, I've lost interest in getting married. We're just going for a little ride. Come on, babe, start walking. No, Joe. I'm not moving a foot, not an inch. If I have to be shot, I'll take it right here. Let go of my arm. What's going on here? Something wrong, Doris?

This guy bothering you? Yes, he is. He wants to date me. Tell him to leave, will you, Eddie? Maybe I'd better take him into the office and call the cops. No. No. Thanks, Eddie. There's no need for that. He's just another wolf. Tell him to leave. That's good enough. You heard what the lady said, bud. Start traveling. Okay, chum. Anything you say.

I'll see the lady later. He parked right across the street. Miss Trenton. You should have let me call the cops. I would have if he hadn't had you covered with his gun. Oh? Thanks, kid. Eddie, I got to get out of town fast. After what you just did for me, that's a cinch. Grab some clothes while I phone my wife on bringing you home. We'll go out the rear entrance. My car's on the lot next door. Tomorrow I'll call a friend of mine in Denver. It'll put you to work right away.

You better change your name, though. That'll be easy. I'm getting used to it. So, Mr. Fontaine, that's where I met Mary Winslow, in Denver at the Hi-Hat Club. Builders Gladys James. She... She roomed with me about two months, and then she...

She left. Just like that one night when a waiter told her some guy wanted to interview her for a magazine. That's the last I ever saw of her. That's the end of the story? That's the end. And Mary Winslow told you all this? We were very close friends. Well, so you were. You expect me to believe that? It's true. Every word of it. You know something? You ought to be writing stories for the movie. The End

The Whistler will return in just a moment with a strange ending to tonight's story. Now that Christmas shopping is out of the way for another year, most of us are figuring ways to get our badly stretched budgets back into shape, which makes now a mighty appropriate time to talk about Signal, the famous go-farther gasoline. Mileage, of course, is only one of the reasons that folks who insist on getting the most from each gasoline dollar choose Signal.

In addition, they like the superior performance that goes hand in hand with mileage. You see, the only way today's signal gasoline can give you such good mileage is by helping your motor run more efficiently. And when your motor runs more efficiently, you also enjoy quicker starting, faster pickups, smoother power. The things that make driving more pleasure.

So, among your resolutions for the new year, how about resolving to put Signal Gasoline to the test in your car? See for yourself why drivers who insist on quality, as well as those with an eye for economy, are both switching to Signal, the famous go-farther gasoline. And now, back to the whistler. ♪

Well, Mary, it looks as though you've lost, doesn't it? That your one card wasn't enough. The man across the table, the man you're sure is a detective, who has come to take you back to Los Angeles to stand trial for a holdup and murder you had nothing to do with, doesn't believe you, does he? And the jury in Los Angeles won't believe you either. Yes, Mary, it looks as though you've lost.

But you're going to play the game to the end anyway. And as the piano player across the floor plays the tune he's played a thousand times in the last two weeks, you quietly watch Fontaine and await his next word. How long did you say you've been here? I didn't say. I got here about five months ago. Like it here? No. Well, I figured. Look, Miss. Cigarette. There. Thanks.

Right? Mm-hmm. Thanks again, Miss Porter. Did you say Miss Porter? That's what you said your name was, didn't you? That's what the billing says, too, isn't it? Oh, thanks, Mr. Fontaine. Thanks for believing me. There's just one thing I'd like to ask you, Miss. Ask me anything. Knowing that the wind's low, as well as you do, do you think she might come back to Los Angeles sometime and sort of clear things up?

I think she might. Someday. You see, a girl like Mary Winslow gets to feel quite a soil after working around in joints like this. She'd probably want to spend a little time maybe out in the desert in the sunshine. Sort of freshening up before anybody she cared about. Yeah. I guess she would. Well, this was a pretty long trip for nothing, you know, sir.

Just one more bum stare, but I'm glad I came. I always figured that confession we found on Joe Clark was a phony. Clark? Is Joe Clark in jail? He's dead. The Brooklyn police got him one night about five months ago. Anyhow, they got the tip.

A woman called the police one night from a little nightclub, the Golden Lion Club. She hung up before they answered the phone, but the Brooklyn boys decided to investigate anyway. One of them spotted Clark parking the car across the street, and he got trigger happy. That was that. Joe Clark. Finished.

Well, Miss Porter, if you ever run into Mary Winslow... I'll tell her all about the Christmas present I got from a swell cop named Fontaine. I'm not a cop, Miss Porter. You're not? Then who are you? I'm a private investigator working for a guy named Wilson. Dr. Frank Wilson. Frank Wilson? That's right. He's in love with Mary Winslow. Doesn't care where she's been.

Just wants her to come back and marry him. Well, so long, Miss Porter, and happy New Year. Mr. Fontaine. Yes? Do you... Do you think you could arrange for me to go back to the States with you? I guess I could, and I was figuring on taking one lady back. Are you going on tour to Los Angeles? Not for a while. I'd kind of like to spend a little time in the country somewhere. But I think maybe before next Christmas...

Well, I think I'll find Mary Winslow again.

Let that whistle be your signal for the Signal Oil program, The Whistler. Now let me repeat an important announcement for Whistler fans in California only. Beginning next Sunday, January 2nd, due to California's going off daylight saving time, The Whistler will be heard in California only one hour earlier from 8.30 until 9. Remember the change in time in California only. The Whistler will be heard at a new time from 8.30 till 9. In other states, The Whistler will be heard at the same time as always.

Featured in tonight's story were Joan Banks and Jack Petruzzi. The Whistler was produced by George W. Allen and directed by Gordon Hughes, with story by Edward Bloodworth and music by Wilbur Hatch, and was transmitted to our troops overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service. This is Marvin Miller speaking. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System. ♪

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Our results speak for themselves. And always remember this. Everybody is a somebody and nobody is a nobody. Visit ForThePeople.com to learn about our firm. Morgan & Morgan. For The People. Injured? Visit ForThePeople.com for an office near you.

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Recently, a new client called me and started by saying, Mr. Morgan, I really need your help, but I'm just a nobody. Those words stunned me, and I immediately called him back. And we're now helping him and his family after a terrible accident. I'm John Morgan of Morgan & Morgan. Everybody who comes to our firm at their time of need is a somebody.

We'll be right back.

Our results speak for themselves. And always remember this. Everybody is a somebody and nobody is a nobody. Visit ForThePeople.com to learn about our firm. Morgan & Morgan. For The People. Injured? Visit ForThePeople.com for an office near you. Finding life rather dull? Dreaming again of exotic places? Wishing you were somewhere else?

We offer you... Escape. Escape.

In the spirit of the Christmas season and its magic effect on all men, Escape brings you a charming fantasy about a small boy who discovered a delightful new world and lived forever after in its enchantment. As Anthony Ellis tells it in The Cave. The Cave

It's on days like this that I remember how it used to be before I found the cave. This day in particular. Of course, it's hard to see everything as it really was. Time has a habit of distorting the memories. Memories. Christmas. Christmas Day. Oh, what a long time ago that was.

I was ten, and an unpopular uncle had distinguished himself by giving me a flashlight. It was enormous, four batteries and the most incredible gleam to its metal case. I couldn't wait to try it out, and because it was still early afternoon, I could think of only one place that was dark enough for the exciting test: the cave. The big cave whose mouth was near the sand dunes and whose recess was rumored to be mile deep.

George Fennell and I had never ventured more than 200 yards or so inside, but on that Christmas afternoon, I knew that the cold darkness of the quay would have no fears for George and me. We met near the dunes as arranged to compare notes on our respective Christmas presents. It was quite warm, and the snow was beginning to melt in patches. A few gulls were weaving about nearby. It was as I have remembered it all my life.

That's Tina. Listen, I bet it'll work like a searchlight tonight. I guess it would, all right. Maybe they'll let us stay up tonight. If it doesn't get cold, we could play pirates. I used my new gun. I thought we might go in the cave this afternoon. Hey, that's Tina.

Oh, maybe they'll get sore. I had to get all dressed up today. Don't get dirty. I thought we could go a real long way inside of this. I wouldn't want to go in too far. They say the cave goes off in a lot of tunnels. You can get lost. Maybe. Haven't got a flashlight. Sure, that's right. And with my gun...

Sure, we can explore. Come on, I'll race you to the cave. I won the race and we stood at the entrance of the big cave. The arch had a span of about 25 feet, but just inside it widened until the walls were 70 feet apart and the ceiling was over 50. As we passed from sunlight to shadow,

I turned for a moment and looked down to the sea. At the water's edge, a gull stood, motionless, looking up at us. And then, solemnly, though with disapproval, it too turned about and gazed out over the water.

The opening of the cave receded and became small, and we went deeper and deeper. Shine it up there, Dan. Way up. Okay. Gee, I bet that's high. A mile, I guess. You're dearly a mile. Maybe a hundred feet. Bang, bang. Boy, that's keen. Just like a real gun.

Come on, let's look. Let's look the cave down here. It looks like a turn, see? Okay, but we better not go too far. My, are you scared? Heck no, but... Well, I gotta get back for dinner. They'll get awful so if I'm late. Oh, you won't be late. Come on. I wanna see what's around here. Okay. Hold the light on my gun. I gotta reload. Come on.

Who ever heard of fish in a stream like this? Where'd they come from, huh? Where? I don't know. You see, there are fish in caves sometimes. Blind fish. That's dilly. You stop them, fool. We've got to go back now. Why? Because it's late. Guys, how do you know which tunnel we took? How?

Maybe we could get lost. Listen, maybe if we keep on going, we'll find treasure in here. Treasure? Sure stands to reason. Maybe like in the pirate book. Somebody came here and buried treasure here in Oregon or somebody. No. Sure stands to reason. Everybody's like you. They say no, but just suppose. If no one's looking, how'd they know? I think we'd better get back. Maybe tomorrow we can look.

The cave's getting awful narrow. We might even find old pirate bones and swords. Aw, you've got too much imagination. I heard them saying so at home. I don't want to go any farther. I'm going to. Okay, give me the flashlight. No. You want to go back? You go back in the dark. Aw, they'll be mad. It's late. Just for a little while. If we don't find anything, then we'll go back.

All right. But only a little while. Oh, Kirsty. You better not think about that water. It's probably poisonous. Why? Hold the light. I'm going to have a drink.

There you are. See, I told you. Now you'll probably die of poison. It's like the ocean. Hey. What? There, coming down the stream, that white thing. Yeah. Looks like a piece of paper. I'm going to get it. Hold on my hand. You'll fall in. Oh, I... Got it. What is it? I don't know. It looks like a handkerchief. Silly. It's too small. Who gives a handkerchief like that?

My mother does. Gee, I need to blow my nose on that. You can almost see through it. How'd it get down here? Who cares? Maybe it's a message. Like from someone in distress. I'm going home. Like a damsel in distress in the pirate book. We gotta find out. Give me my flashlight. We'll follow the stream. We followed the stream...

We walked by it as the cave twisted and curved. We didn't notice the passageway, which had been getting smaller all the time, suddenly widened out in the stream, which was becoming a river. And the river... The river! Hey! What? Where's the other side of the water? There isn't any. It keeps going. It's like a lake. Or maybe a sea. There's no waves.

Dan. Huh? Turn the light around. The walls, oh God. There's no walls. There's got to be. It's a cave. There's no top to it either. It's not too high to see, that's all. Let's go home. Let's go home right now. What are you afraid of? I'm not, but I'm hungry and it's Christmas. Well, I got things to play with. Come on, Dan. Come on, I want to get outside. What'd you do that for? Turn on the lights.

Turn it on. Don't you notice something? You turn that on. Give it to me. Oh, wait a minute. I want you to do something. I'll turn it on. You get in. I'm not going to play with you anymore. You get in. What you've done. It's all your fault. I didn't want to come in here anyway. How are we going to get back? It's dark. No, no, I isn't. That's what I wanted you to see. Look up there. I don't see anything. You will. Oh, it's like stars.

Way, way up. That's what it is. It's stars. We stood there, George and I, ten years old. And for a moment, no longer afraid because of the wonder of the thing that was like from the sky. A sky that I knew I'd never seen before. Yet I knew I was still in the big cave because when I spoke, the echo of my voice returned.

It's beautiful. I can't find it. The water's too deep. Dan? Dan? That's funny. You're always saying that. It's not going to be funny when we can't get home. Dan! Dan! Dan! What are you doing? What for? It's such an old echo. Go on. John!

There. How come there'd be an echo in this little cave anymore? They're trying to scare me. Well, I'm going. You can come too if you want. Dan, please. I'll bet nobody's ever been in here, ever. I'll bet we're the first. Except for pirates, maybe.

If we could see more. If my mother hadn't taken away my matches, we could find our way out okay. Oh, please. It's night. Come on. Please. I'm hungry. Somebody's here. Somebody help. Sounds like it's over there. No. Don't go there. Dad. I'm scared. I don't like this place. Go home if you want to. I can see someone.

Look. He's digging in the sand. Don't let's go any closer, Dan. Let go on me. I want to see what he's doing. Look. Look. Some other people. They could soar. You namby, you scurvy wretch. Look on him, Woody. Don't hit me, Captain. I just wanted to see if the treasure was still there.

I'll show you what's there, you pot-bellied toad! I won't touch you, you traitor! Don't kill me! I haven't started to kill you yet, Nebeth. Come

Come on, bullies! Lay on! We'll exercise our appetite for the feast!

Escape under the direction of Norman MacDonald returns in just a moment. There's nothing quite as depressing as being hungry. Hunger is the hand which crushes the will to work. Hunger is the enemy of hope. And there are many, many hungry people today in the war-anguished lands of Europe and the Far East.

You can restore that will to work. You can restore hope by combating hunger. And your weapon of combat is a care package. For $10, you can send a care package today. Keep sending them until those people can take care of themselves.

And now, back to Escape. In that faint light from the stars of another world, the world of the big cave, George and I watched. We could only see shadows until someone lit a lantern. And then, I knew that I'd been right.

Pirates! Pirates! I want to go home. Pirates they were. The most glorious, the gaudiest pirates to sail under the Jolly Rogers. The leader was a huge man with a fine, bushy beard and a voice like the trombone in the village band. How shall we cook him for this?

Nothing like Roost and Ambie, I will

We'll cut out his heart first and feed it in the dark. And then, may you live in aggravation, say your prayers. I'm going to kill him. I don't want to watch my heart. Who was that?

I don't know, Captain. Sounded like a boy. A boy? A boy? My apt was the Lady Alicia. Bill, she's in the dungeon, Gonzalo. Aye, that's true. It came from over there. Hold the lantern high, shield. They'll get us, Dad. We've got to run. Don't be afraid. If you're not afraid...

Nothing can happen. Do you see anything, Comparison? You know it, but... Save us all. It is a boy. It is two of them. Well, stop me. Boys. How are you, Stephen? That's it. Boys. Two small boys.

What are we to do with them, Captain? Hang them, I say. Hang them. They're out of the treasure. You. Were it not Christmas, Nemby, I should have turned you inside out. How the bliss of blethering jewel. Aye, Captain. Aye, aye. Boy, what's your name? Dan Embry, sir. Oh, that one. George. George.

George. He's my friend. George. George Finnell. His father's a policeman. Where'd you come from, boy? Greenfield. That's outside the cave. Cave? What cave? What do you do here? Who spies on you? I'm Sarah. Just exploring. We got here, that's all. Exploring?

Where's your ship? Why don't you come on a ship? What, no ship? They're boys, Captain. What harm can they do? Come, it's Christmas. I say feed them and send them on their way. What's Christmas got to do with it? If they're spies, it's the plan for them. What are spies? Honest. We'll look into this further. Meantime, the ghost and sapling pig should be ready. I say it's time for the feast.

How are you? Are you hungry, boy? Yes, sir. And him? He's hungry, too. Then join us, and Merry Christmas. For no man can say Captain Blackton lacks the Christian spirit. Am I right, Namby? You're right, Captain. Right is right. I'd have slit your gullet had you said me nine. Merry Christmas.

And break out the run, then. I remember that day, that long ago. The great dining board set upon trestles. The fruit and the wine, roast goose and pig. The pirates puffed in their colorful patched clothing. They were strong, drinking and storing.

Stories of home, sea. Such Christmases are dreamt of, and I had dreamed it to come true. George sat next to me, eyes wide and unbelieving. And after the plum pudding, we were called on to sing a carol. And as we sang, they became quiet, and each sat lost with his own thoughts of sweetness and sadness.

Little man Namby, bird-like and asleep. Don Fallon, thin as a twig. A patch over one eye and the other kindly and wise. Jill and the captain, tears coursing down their cheeks. These were my pirates, my own. Well done.

Well done, I say. And don't run for the boy. Captain, this be an happy day with us. Let's share with those less fortunate. Less fortunate? Oh, we all well met. The lady Alicia. Nay, she is our prisoner.

Until ransom is paid, so she will remain. What matter if she graces our table for the evening? It has been long since a woman's been with us. Very well. Send the prisoner here. Bring her from the dungeon. The End

Then I thought of the fine lace handkerchief we had found in the stream. Would this prisoner, the Lady Alicia, would she have sent the message of distress? Now! They brought her in. And to me, she looked as she should have looked. The most beautiful lady in the world. Gowned in silks, with a pale but proud face.

I fell in love with her, and I was ten. As the night wore on, pirates grew drowsy. One after another, their heads drooped, and soon all were asleep. Even George, sitting small in his great chair, nodded. I went to the Lady Alicia's side.

It was your handkerchief we found in the stream, wasn't it? Yes. I had not dared to hope. But they have you locked in a dungeon. Beyond my window is a running brook. I prayed that when I dropped the kerchief, it would by some happy chance be discovered. I found it all right. You are very brave to have come here. How long have they kept you in prison? Six months now.

We were sailing to the Indies. Our ship was taken. And I, I alone survived. Now they hold me for ransom. That's terrible. Gosh. I wish I could do something to save you. There is nothing.

i know i'm not very big but maybe i could fight them too many for you they're all asleep come on we can get away now let's go home home sure our folks are gonna be mad george we gotta save her if you could but escape and deliver a message to my father sure okay where did he live london lord bathing stoke he will reward you well sure

But we've got to go now. I don't want to leave you. They'll be angry when they wake up. My hope will rest in you. I shall pray for your safety and return. Steve, where's Dan? Come on. Go ahead. I'll be right along. Okay, but hurry up. I'll wait by the water. Will... Will you be all right? Yes. Of course, I come back and you're not here. I shall try to leave a message.

I'm Dan. I know. When I get older, I'll marry you. You're beautiful. I'll wait for you. You must go before they're awake. I don't want to go. You will come back to me. Here.

I love you. Hurry up, Dan. Gee whiz, I want to get home. They'll be mad. Mother said not to be late for dinner. We've got to save Lady Alicia. Don't forget. Okay, but hurry up. It's dark. Do you know which way to go? I know. I don't want to fall in the stream and get all wet.

I got my good cause on it. You won't. I'm sorry I dropped your flashlight in. I'll save up, get you another. I don't mind. I bet it's awful late. I'm glad it's Christmas. Maybe they won't mind. We followed the tunnels one to the other. The stream flowed with us, urging us on. It was dark, but I knew the way.

We felt along the damp walls of the cave. And at every step, we moved further away from my world. Suddenly, from a great distance, we saw a tiny circle of light. A dot which grew and grew until it was the size of a gold sovereign. There it is, Dan. It's the entrance. And it's still light up. I won't be late for dinner. And I was afraid. I was afraid because...

I knew that if I stepped out into that sunlight, I should never be able to find my way back again. Never. Hey, what are you stopping for? Why? George. If we run, we can be home before the sun goes down. For Pete's sake, Dan, what's the matter with you? I'm not coming with you. Oh, gee, what's the... I gotta go back. Go back? What do you want to do that for? I got to. I don't want to leave her. The pirates...

I want to go back. Pirate? Lady Alicia. Gee whiz, Dan. Come on, it was only a game. Come on. You've forgotten. I knew you would. I'm not going with you. You better. I'm going to tell your mother you'll get it. Goodbye, George. Dan? Dan! Come back! Dan, what's the matter with you? Dan? Dan?

You'll get lost. Dan. Dan. Don't go in there again. We played long enough. Come back. Come back. Dan. Dan. Dan. Dan.

I turned away from George and the speck of light that was outside. His voice followed me, plaintive and lonely. And then as I found the stream again, there was no sound but that of gentle water and my own steps. And the stream became a river, and the river broadened, and the walls of the cave fell away, and I'd found my pirates again. ♪♪

It's on days like this that I remember how it used to be before I found the cave. This day in particular. Sometimes I wonder what happened to George and what it's like outside the cave. But I don't really mind. After all, the Lady Alicia kept her promise and waited for me until I grew up. Now, everything is as I'd always dreamed it in the books. Oh!

Captain Blackton? Now, he's still here. A little less ferocious, perhaps, than 20 years ago. Captain? Yes, Blackton? If you and milady are ready, sir, the turkeys are cooked and the men are waiting your pleasure. Very well, Blackton. Thank you, and a Merry Christmas. Thank you, Captain. Thank you, sir. And a Merry Christmas to you, sir.

*music*

Under the direction of Norman MacDonald, Escape has brought you The Cave by Anthony Ellis. Featured in the cast were John Daner, Georgia Ellis, Peggy Weber, Jane Avello, Charlie Lung, Lou Krugman, Wilms Herbert, and Eileen Erskine. The special music for Escape was composed and conducted by Ivan Detmars. Next week, escape with us to a placid English village and the company of an equally placid little old man.

who one day shook the world as H.G. Wells told it in his delightful story, The Man Who Could Work Miracles.

Where does the world stand? Where is it heading as 1951 approaches? Next Sunday, CBS will bring you an exciting, timely appraisal of the world situation and some of the answers when ten top CBS news correspondents are heard in a special broadcast entitled The Challenge of the Fifties, Years of Crises. Remember, that's next Sunday afternoon on most of these same CBS stations.

Now stay tuned for Make Believe Town, which follows immediately on most of these same CBS stations.

Roy Rowan speaking. ♪♪ This is CBS, where you spend an hour with Frank Sinatra every Sunday afternoon on the Columbia Broadcasting System. ♪♪

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