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Radio-play Transcript 
"Headline Chaser" show:
#3: 'Copra and Robbers'
Transcribed & Edited by E.O.Costello

National Broadcasting Company
Transcription: "The Headline Chaser":
"Copra and Robbers" ('Copra')
Thursday, September 22, 1938
10.00 p.m. Gnu York Time
WEAF feed
 
[Whistled version of "Trouble in Paradise"]
 
Michael Mooney: Headline: "Nut Farmer Suspects Trouble."  Subhead: "Trouble Shows Farmer Ain't Nuts."
 
[Whistled version of "Trouble in Paradise," faded to underscore announcer]
 
Graham McNamee: The Saybrook Brewing Company of Hartford, Connecticut, makers of Blue Diamonds Pilsner since 1843, present "The Headline Chaser," starring Gerald Mohr as newspaper reporter Michael Mooney.
 
[Whistled version of "Trouble in Paradise" brought up, then ends.]
 
Graham:  The finest things in life should never be rushed.  That applies to everything, including one of America's finest Pilsner beers.  Since 1843, the Saybrook Brewing Company of Hartford, Connecticut has brewed Blue Diamonds Pilsner beer.  Open a bottle.  Pour out a draught of sparkling, golden refreshment.  The sparkle of Blue Diamonds comes from the pure water used to brew this fine beer.  And when you taste a glass of Blue Diamonds, you taste the result of using the finest hops and malted barley, slow-brewed and chill-brewed to bring out every bit of flavor that quality ingredients can give.  No bottle, no keg leaves the brewery until the brewers are satisfied that the beer deserves the name for quality since 1843.  So when you go to your favorite tavern or store, remember: ask for Blue Diamonds Pilsner beer, or Blue Diamonds Ale.  Then all you have to do is sit back, and slowly enjoy.
 
[Musical bridge]
 
[GRAMS: Sound of manual typewriter being operated; newsroom sounds soft in background]

Mooney:  It was Friday, and I was kinda looking forward to it.  I mean, beyond the fact that Friday is fish day.  No big deal to a cat.  What was a big deal was that this was my first payday since I'd arrived in the Spontoons.  I owed a bit cuffo for the necessities of life, like coffee and cigarettes, as well some to the landlady who rented me my few square feet of flop.  I hadn't bargained with Mr. Crane, the guy what owned the newspaper I was working for, the Spontoon Mirror.  So I actually didn't know what was going to be in my pay envelope.

[GRAMS: Sound of envelope being opened, rustle of paper and some coins spilling out.]

Mooney: I figured I had to settle up.  Back where I come from, if you don't pay what you owe, people tend to express their displeasure with lengths of lead pipe.  So, after paying off the furs I owed, I took a look at what was left, and decided I had the choice of eating, or indulging in some cigarettes.  A question of priorities, y'understand.

[GRAMS: Sound of lighter being lit, followed by typewriter sounds.]

Mooney: So there I was, smoking my lunch while trying to make an Agriculture Ministry lecture on durian sound interesting.  I was worried.  I was actually succeeding.  If this kept up, I'd never get off the rewrite desk.

Jaguarundi:  Hey, Mooney.  Got somethin' fer ya.

Mooney:  Yeah?  What's up, Chief?

Jaguarundi:  Th' Chief's gotta give a speech t'morra night, an' he wants you should have a look-see at it, y'know, punch it up.

Mooney:  Punch it up.  The speech, you mean?

Jaguarundi:  Jeez.  Week an' half, an' you're already sore?

Mooney: C'mon, Chief, you know what I mean.  Cooped up inside, when...

Jaguarundi: Yeah, yeah, I know, when you could be outside chasin' a story.  Lookit, Mooney, I feels fer ya.  No, really.  But I gots my orders.  Mooney on rewrite until further notice.  Lookit, furs are startin' t'read th' Mirror *before* they uses it fer fishwrap.  Kinda gives an editor hope, y'know.

Mooney (sighs):  Awright, awright.  I get the picture.

Jaguarundi:  Just keep at it, hanh?  Things'll look up.

Mooney: Things will look up.  Yeah, and then you see what's about to fall on your head. 

[GRAMS: Sound of manual typewriter being operated.]

Mooney:  Well, anyway, I spent the next hour untangling my boss' syntax and weeding out a few old jokes.  I tested out some new ones on the fur I shared the desk with, my Arkansas deskmate, Jimmy.

Jimmy Rayzor:  Hee-hee!  Hooo, doggie, that's a good ' un!  Ain't as much fun as th' one ' bout the travelin' salesfur an' the farmer's daughter, when one sez to t'other...

Mooney: Lemme stop ya right there, Jimmy.  This speech is to the Ladies' Institute.

Rayzor: So?  Y'all gotta point?

Mooney: Trust me.  Never get a crowd of middle-aged femmes from the Ladies' Institute mad at you.  Purses leave bruises.  Experience talking.

Rayzor: Y'all don't have t'tell me nothin', I gotta whole lotta sows in my family.  Ev'ry twenny seconds growin' up, Ah'd heah:

Coot Hearn (off-mike):  Jimmy!  Jimmy Rayzor!  Consarn yore hide, where y'all at?!

Mooney:  I was about to compliment Jimmy on his vocal acting when I saw him jump out of his chair about six inches, and then scramble around, looking for a place to hide.  It wasn't some middle-aged femme with a large hat, a larger purse and an even larger chip on her shoulder looking for him, though.  No, this was a different kind of specimen altogether.  Largish drake, with feathers that might be white if he ever decided baths were a good idea.  From the way his feathers were splayed about, I didn't think personal grooming was all that high a priority.  Yeah, I know, I'm one to talk.

Rayzor (hoarse whisper): Ah ain't in, Mike.  Ah've volunteered fer a sacrifice.

Hearn:  Consarn ye, y'side-widin' rascal.  Ah see yore trotters peekin' out from unner that desk.  Roust outta thar, 'fore I gets sore.

Mooney:  Hey, Jimmy.  I think the desk was built for you sitting at it, not under it.

Rayzor:  Aw, ain't y'all got no feelin', Mike?

Mooney:  Never mind, I'll do the introductions myself.  I'm Mike Mooney, rewrite man.  You are... ?

Hearn:  Eh?  What?  Oh, ah'm Hearn.  'gustus Hearn, folks 'round these parts call me Coot.  That is, when they ain't hidin' unner desks like a bunch of white-feathered rascals.

Mooney:  I take it you know Jimmy here, already.

Hearn: Oooooh, don't yew give me none of that thar ham on th' hoof.  Fat lotta good he's been doin' me.  Getting' so a fella can't earn an honest livin' in these here parts without some sidewindin', bushwhackin' rascal wreckin' yore work.

Mooney: Whoa, whoa, whoa.  I'm new on this beat, Mr. Hearn.

Hearn: Sure enough.  Ah ain't seen yew 'round these here parts before, Mister.

Mooney:  Why don't you tell me...

Rayzor: Y'awl gonna be sorry, Mike.

Mooney: ... what's going on here?

[Musical sting]

Mooney:  You know, for once, there were two voices talking to me.  One was the little voice in my head, the one that usually tells me to eat my vegetables, wash behind my ears and go to bed early.  And now I had Jimmy telling me that this guy, this Coot Hearn, was trouble.  So did I listen to these two voices?  Aw, what do you think?

[Musical bridge]

[GRAMS: Squeak of chair as it is being sat in.]

Mooney:  Hearn sat himself down on Jimmy's seat.  Jimmy remembered, all of the sudden, some assignment that he had, and left like his trotters were on fire.  Funny thing is, most of the other furs in the room left, too.  Least, the ones that were downwind.

Hearn: Now see here, Mister.  You've gotta help me.  That dag-nabbed, no account varmint with tusks ain't no more use than a fifth wheel.

Mooney:  Yeah, but you haven't told me what's going on.

Hearn:  Rustlin', Mr. Mooney.  Some sidewindin' varmint's been rustling on mah property.

Mooney:  Hunh?  Rustling?! 

Mooney:  I got a brief image of my mind of a herd of cattle on a beach.  I hadn't been around here long, but I was around long enough to wonder how you could fit a herd of cattle on one of these islands, let alone graze them.  The drake looked at me, and must have figured what I was thinking.

Hearn: Eeee-heeee-heeee!  Ah know whut yer thinkin', mister.

Mooney: You'd better hope not.  It would depress you.

Hearn:  Heee-heee!  Nooooo, I ain't talkin' 'bout cattle, mister.  Don't hold with cattle, myself.  Never could tell one end from th'other.

Mooney: I let that comment pass.

Hearn:  No, I'm a cocoanut rancher.

Mooney:  That was a new one on me.

Mooney:  You grow cocoanuts?

Hearn:  Ayepp.  Got me a little homestead a few miles from here, over'n Little Top Island.  It ain't much, mind ya, but it's home.

Mooney: Yeah, but cocoanuts?  Can't imagine there's much in that.

Hearn:  Now, see, Mister Mooney, there yer wrong.  I got me some cocoanut palms, they're the best in these parts.  Grow cocoanuts the size of yore head.

Mooney: Before or after a hangover?

Hearn:  Eeee-heeeee!   Sayyyyy, I like you, Mike.  You're a right funny guy.

Mooney: So I've been told.  Anyway, you grow big cocoanuts, right?

Hearn: Ayup.  Big, meaty ones. 

Mooney: To eat?

Hearn:  Nope.  Sell 'em to th' agent fer Buckhorn's here.  Ah reckon they do somethin' or other wit' 'em, but anyhow, they give me good money fer them there cocoanuts.  Pity there ain't no county fairs out here, Ah'd win a blue ribbon for mah cocoanuts.

Mooney:  Well, what do you do while waiting for the cocoanuts to grow?

Hearn:  Oooooooh, little of this, little of that.  Mostly eatin' seaweed.  Ain't much fresh water on Little Top.  A fur can't hardly bathe with what stays there.

Mooney:  Didn't comment on that one, either.

Hearn:  Soooo, anyway, it's like this, Mike.  Ah can call you Mike, right?  Anyhoo, startin' mebbe a few months ago, Ah notice that some of mah cocoanuts have been vanishin'.  Gone!  Vamoosed!  Ain't thar no more!

Mooney: What, were they ripe?

[GRAMS: Flat of paw thumping a desk]

Hearn:  Well, shucks, Mike, that's the dag-nabbed problem!  Ain't no ripe cocoanuts on Little Top, not leastways fore 'nother few weeks yet.  An' an unripe cocoanut ain't no use to nofur, no how.  An' when Ah get mah wings on the varmint that's been takin' mah cocoanuts...

Mooney:  Well, who do you figure is doing it?  I mean, I'd suspect kids, myself.  I'm not ashamed to admit I've raided a few apple orchards in my time.

Hearn:  Don't hardly see how kids done it, Mike.  Little Top is 'bout seven, eight miles east of Eastern Island, y'know, where th' planes come in?  An' it's 'nother few miles beyond that t'where th' folks live.  Hard to see folks crossin' all that water just to rustle a few cocoanuts from ol' Coot Hearn.  Lookin' at an hour round-trip, an' that's goin' by motor.  Furs usin' a sailboat or canoe, gonna be longer.

Mooney:  Hunh.  How long have you lived around here?

Hearn:  Oooooh, now, it's getting' on twenny-five years, Ah reckon.  Keep to myself, mostly.  Ah mind mah business.

Mooney: And you've lived on Little Top Island all this time?

Hearn:  Yup.  Built everything on the island with my own two wings.

Mooney:  Well, listen.  They have me here on the rewrite desk most of the day, Mr. Hearn, but I can do some digging around when I'm not on duty.

Hearn:  Well, now, Ah thank yew kindly, Mike.  Ah said t'myself when Ah saw yew, Ah said: "Coot, that there is a cat who knows his business."  Unlike some consarned boars Ah could name...

Mooney:  Yeah, well, I'll see what I can do, Mr. Hearn...

[Musical bridge]

[GRAMS: Sound of paw hitting the bottom of a ketchup bottle]

Stella Watermaster:  Hot water and ketchup.  The lunch of champions.

Mooney:  The lunch of rewrite men until their next payday, you mean.

Stella:  Look, Mike, it's no trouble for me to get something from the kitchen at L'Etoile...

Mooney: No, no.  Thanks anyway, Stella.  I'd rather not get a taste for the high life.  I might decide I'd like it, and then get all depressed when I have to go back to my ketchup soup.

Mooney:  Stella Watermaster was the femmefur who was with me when I bolted Los Antelopes a few weeks back.  When you're a nineteen year old minkess who's pretty sharp -- and not sharp, in the all the right places --, it isn't all that hard to find a good gig.  In her case, being a hostess at a swanky hotel restaurant on Casino Island.  Whether she hung around with me for the company, or for a warning as to what happens when you've got tattle-tale grey, I dunno.  Least it improved the scenery for me.

Stella: Mike, cigarettes and ketchup soup aren't a recipe for reaching a ripe old age, you know.

Mooney: Yeah, well, it'll do until Mr. Crane decides to let me out of my basket and actually go around and look for stories.

Stella: You keeping your eyes open?

Mooney: As much as I can, chained to the rewrite desk.  Only thing that came through the door today was some crazy old cocoanut rancher.

[GRAMS: Spoon on plate]

Stella:  Cocoanut rancher, eh?  Nice work if you can get it.  You don't have to get up at four in the morning to milk them.

Mooney:  Yeaaaaah, funny.  He's got, I guess, some sort of mini-plantation near here.

Stella:  Where?

Mooney:  Some joint called Little Top Island.  I got out an atlas at work.  It's maybe about 20 acres total, about 10 of that with palms.  Most of the rest is the top of an underwater mountain all worn away at the top.  Guess that's where they get the name.  Beach landing area, not much else.  Some of the guys I talked to at the paper say the only water on the island is rainwater, probably why no one bothered living there until Coot Hearn got there.

Stella:  Coot Hearn?

Mooney:  The guy I was talking with.  His beef is that someone is rustling his cocoanuts.

Stella: I hear they spook easily.

Mooney:  Heh.  Well, listen.  You're around all those heavy hitters, Stella.  Keep your eyes and ears open, just in case.

Stella: You figure there's something to this story?

Mooney:  Maybe not, but I'm not exactly choosy right now, if you know what I mean.  About stories, not company.

Stella:  Nice recovery, sport.  I can see why you're the ladies' man.

Mooney:  And why I dine so heartily.

Stella:  Aw, c'mon Mike.  Cheer up and have a buttered roll, on me.

Mooney:  I let that comment pass.  Oh, brother, I let that comment pass.

[Musical bridge]

[GRAMS: Sound of surf, faint outboard motor sounds, off-mike shouts]

Mooney:  It wasn't quite the right time of day for a boat trip; I mean, the furs that go out to fish are usually coming back by the time I get off work.  So I had a bit of trouble finding a boat.  Plus, of course, none of the guys around here knew me from Adam.  Just another dumb "Euro," I guess.  The fact that my budget was kind of slim didn't help matters.  If I'd had more on the ball, I'd have asked Hearn how he got to and from his place.

[GRAMS: Sound of oars being shipped aboard a canoe]

Mooney:  So, no dice there.  At least I did find out about Coot's way of getting on and off Little Top Island.  He had some little covered canoe with a small sail.  Made regular trips to get supplies every so often, you could practically set your watch by it.  My little voice began talking to me again.  This time, I sort of listened to it.  It gave me a tip as to how I might wangle a ride...

[GRAMS: Sound of revving plane motors]

RINS Airman:  Yeah, I don't think that's gonna be any problem.  That is, if you want to kill a few hours tonight.  It's about a four-hour patrol, you know.

Mooney:  Nah, that suits me just fine.  All I need is just the lay of the land, y'see?

Airman:  Yeah, I hear you.  Little Top, eh?  I know that place pretty well.  Good landmark going in and out.

Mooney: Folks visit the place a lot?

Airman:  Heh.  Don't think so.  Just some crazy old duck living out there all by his lonesome.  Most furs 'round here think he's 'round the bend...

Mooney:  I didn't comment on that one.

Airman: ... but far as I can tell, he doesn't harm no one.  How come you're going out there?

Mooney:  Ah, he came into the Mirror, wanted someone to look the place over.

Airman:  Yeah, well, too small for a casino, I guess.  Strap yourself into one of those seats, we'll take off in a few minutes...

[GRAMS: Sound of revving seaplane engine]

Mooney: So we took off about an hour and a half before sunset.  The airman had to do a sweep around some other areas, but eventually his patrol took him down near Little Top Island.  Looking out of the window, I could see the island in the distance.  Yeah, there wasn't much there and all.  I could see some sort of ramshackle hut, I guess that was where Coot hung his hat.  Bunch of cocoanut palms, and not much else.  Sorta gave me an idea why the old boy wasn't exactly playing with a full deck.

[Following dialogue except for v/o is a little louder, over airplane engine noise]

Airman:  Hey, there he is. 

Mooney:  Where?

Airman:  'bout two o'clock, you can see the sail on his boat.

Mooney:  Sure enough, it was easy to spot, once the airman pointed him out.  Little semi-covered canoe, chugging along under a small jury-rigged sail.  I'm sure Coot knew where he was going.

Airman:  Hunh.  That's funny.

Mooney:  What's that?

Airman:  More traffic than you usually see in these here parts, 'specially this time of day.  Somefur coming in.

Mooney:  Wonder where he's been.

Airman:  Well, I dunno, I... hey, that guy ain't showin' his running lights.  Son of a gun, those motorboats know better than that.  'specially the speed he's going...

[GRAMS: Sound of radio being worked]

Airman:  Unidentified craft moving west-northwest of Little Top Island, please respond...

[GRAMS: Radio static]

Airman: Repeat, unidentified craft moving west-northwest of Little Top Island, please respond.  You are not displaying your running lights, repeat, not displaying your running lights.

[GRAMS: Radio static]

Airman:  Unidentified craft, this is the Rain Island Naval Syndicate patrol.  Please identify yourself.

Mooney:  Hey, he's picking up speed... he's turning!

Airman: What the... hey, he's heading right for Hearn's canoe!

[GRAMS: Radio static]

Airman: Unidentified craft, this is the Rain Island Naval Syndicate patrol.  You are ordered to stop your craft at once.

Mooney:  He isn't stopping.  Hey, he's gonna hit... !

Airman: Unidentified craft, please respond... unidentified...

[Musical sting]

Airman:  All R.I.N.S. units, this is Scallop Four.  Please respond to incident in vicinity of Little Top Island, approximately ? mile west-northwest.  Collision between two vessels.  Am touching down to render assistance to stricken vessel.  Second vessel fleeing scene, description follows...

[Musical bridge]

[Jingle sung to the traditional tune "D'ye Ken John Peel?"]
 
Quartet:
 
D'ye ken Blue Diamonds with a coat of gold,
D'ye ken Blue Diamonds with a taste so bold,
D'ye ken Blue Diamonds when it's crisp and cold,
In a glass or a tankard in the evening.

Tenor:

For the speed of its brewing which is O! so slow
And the care of its brewing which is quite thor-ough,
Blue Diamonds cheers with its gleaming glow
In your glass or a tankard in the evening.

Basso:

Yes I ken Blue Diamonds and its barley too
With a kiss of hops and its flavor true,
From our master brewers di-rect to you
In a glass or a tankard in the evening

Quartet:

Then here's to Blue Diamonds with all our care
Try some today, there is none so fair,
No beer to Blue Diamonds can quite com-pare
In your glass or your tankard in the evening!

Graham:  Since 1843, the Saybrook Brewing Company has brewed with pride their Blue Diamonds Ale, and their Blue Diamonds Pilsner Lager.  When you see the three Blue Diamonds on the label, you know that they stand for the three ingredients that go into every bottle: only the purest water, the richest barley, and the finest hops.  And the three Blue Diamonds also stand for the three steps in making these sparkling beers.  Blue Diamonds are never rushed, but slow-brewed.  And not just slow-brewed, but slow-brewed in chilled conditions, to lock in all the flavor that quality ingredients can bring.  And each batch is rigorously tested, to ensure that every batch is pure and wholesome.  All this is done to ensure that every time you open a bottle of Blue Diamonds Ale, or Blue Diamonds Pilsner Lager, you get the most precious result of nearly a century of brewing expertise: that wonderful sparkle in the glass that cheers and refreshes.  So when you're in your favorite tavern or store, ask for sparkle.  Ask for Blue Diamonds!
 
Quartet:
 
It flows, and glows!
Whether it swelters or snows
Give yourself a glass of cheer
With Blue Diamonds Beer!
 
Graham: The Saybrook Brewing Company, Hartford, Connecticut.
 
[Musical bridge]

Hearn:  Well, consarn it, boy, iffen Ah'd *had* a better description, dontcha think Ah'd give ya a description of the bushwhackin' no-account varmint that tried to kill me?!

RINS Officer:  All right, Mr. Hearn, all right, but we don't have much to go on.  What did you see, Mr. Mooney?

Mooney:  About the same as what your pilot saw, sir.  Motorboat moving at a pretty good clip, turned right into the path of Mr. Hearn's boat, split the thing right in half.  Both halves sunk in about two or three minutes.

Hearn:  An' it's a right lucky thing fer me ol' Mikey here wanted t'drop in fer a chat, otherwise Ah'd have done drownded myself.  When Ah get my wings on them...

Nurse: Mr. Hearn, it's time for your medication.

Hearn: Ah don't need no medication, honey, jest give me a slug of whiskey an' let me outta here.  I gotta see what them cocoanut thieves gone an' done t'mah property!

Nurse:  You have to rest, sir.

Hearn: Consarn it, woman, Ah'm gonna rest enough, when th' time comes.  Lemme outta here.

Nurse:  No, you don't.  You're staying here overnight for observation, and that's final.

RINS Officer:  We'll be by first thing in the morning, Mr. Hearn, with a statement for you to sign.

Hearn:  Oooooooh, Ah've got a statement all right, boy, but it'd done burn through that typewriter of yours.  Lousy good-fer-nothin' sidewindin'...

[GRAMS: Footpads, then closing door.]

Hearn: Imagine keepin' a feller away from his property, Mikey.

Mooney:  Yeah, I hear you.  Listen, I had a word with one of the orderlies here.  Want a snort of medicinal whiskey?

Hearn:  Heee-heeeee!  Well, now, that's mighty thoughtful of you, Mikey.  Yore a good sort.  Give it over heah, son.

[GRAMS: Sound of liquid being poured in glass]

Hearn:  Y'awl told yore paper 'bout what happened?

Mooney:  Yeah, 'phoned in a bit.  It'll make the first edition tomorrow.  Doubt I'll get a byline.  Say, you sure you didn't see anything?  Anything at all?  I mean, I'm not trying to be...

Hearn: No, Ah heah you, Mikey.  Shucks, ain't much t'tell.  Just a big ol' high powered boat.  Sliced through mah canoe like a knife through butter.  Dang, Ah hate losin' all mah groceries, but what's a fur gonna do?  Guess it's seaweed fer me.

Mooney (undertone): Try ketchup and hot water?

Hearn: Hmmm?  Y'all say somethin', Mikey?

Mooney:  Naw, naw, just thinking out loud.  Listen, here's the number at the Mirror.  You think of anything else, anything at all, just call and ask for me.  You gotta phone out on Little Top?

Hearn: Shucks, no.  Few furs now'n 'gain tried t'get me t'allow a line or two t'be run out t'where Ah am, but Ah don't hold with none of them fancy gadgets.  Leave all them Euros be, Ah says.  Crazy folk.  Well, present company ' cepted, Ah'm sure.

Mooney:  I'm not sure about that, but we'll let it pass.

[GRAMS: Bottle applied to side of glass, liquid being poured]

Hearn: We-e-e-ellll, a little more medicine never hurt no one, eh Mikey?

Mooney: Yeah, well, go easy on that stuff, Coot.  You've still gotta boat to drive.

Hearn:  Now look here, Mikey.  Ah ain't-a arguin' that yer wrong on that, but you hush and lissen up to a feller that's older'n you.  You only go 'round these here parts oncet, an iffen y'don't stop somewheres along th' way...why...well, y'all gonna regret it.

Mooney:  Whaddya mean?

Hearn: Wellllll, Ah'll tell ya, Mikey.  Furs 'round these here parts say Ah've got cocoanuts on th' brain.  Oh, Ah don't mind the gossip.  Fact is, usually bit o' truth in gossip.  Feller shouldn't shut his ears to it, on account of he ain't likin' what he's hearin'.

Mooney: Uh-huh.

Hearn:  See, Mikey, when Ah came first t'these here parts, Ah was a much younger feller.  Still full of beans.  And...well, the ladies here are right purty, iffen y'know what Ah mean.  'course, this was back 'fore they got all sophisticated-like fer the tourists.

Mooney: Unspoiled, hunh?

Hearn:  Yeaaaah, that's right.  Ah knew one gal, real purty.  Iffen Ah had things t'do all over again...(sighs)

Mooney:  Lost chance?

Hearn:  Thought about it while Ah wuz takin' a swim, Mikey.  Thought about it real hard.  Y'awl hear when furs 'bout to die, they sees their life flash 'fore their eyes?

Mooney:  Yeah.  Legend.

Hearn:  Don't you believe it, son.  Ah say, don't you believe it.  Lyin' thar in th' water, Ah seen a whole lotta things.  Th' bad an' th' good.  Most of th' good wuz her.  Purtiest gal Ah ever seen, an' right gentle, too.  Ain't seen feather o' her in twenny-three years.  Y'know, Ah'd give up Little Top Island just t'hold her oncet 'gain, an' tell her Ah'm sorry.  (sighs)


[GRAMS: Sound of drinking]

Hearn:  Y'awl still young.  You gotta girl?

Mooney:  Uhhhh, well...

Hearn:  Aw, shucks.  There Ah go 'gain.  Dang whiskey, makes me flap mah beak, an' fergit mah manners.  Ah'm right sorry, Mikey, Ah didn't mean t'put y'all on th'spot like that.  Ain't right fer a feller t'ask somethin' real personal like that.  Here...

[GRAMS: Sound of two glasses being filled]

Hearn:  Raise it, Mikey.  Th' toast is "sweethearts, may we ne'er ferget 'em."

Mooney:  I drank up.  The old boy drank a lot more slowly, and as I left the hospital room, I could see him stare out the window, looking toward the Main Island.  He seemed to be far away, both in time and in place.  And he wasn't the only one doing some quiet thinking.

[Musical bridge]

Mooney: Sure enough, the next morning, the Mirror carried the story.  Page seven, no byline, but it was an honest-to-Pete story.  Made me feel sorta good.

[GRAMS: Sound of manual typewriter being worked]

Mooney:  That is, until I got a look at my in-basket.  So, being the good little kitten I was, I took blue pencil in paw and turned back into a rewrite pumpkin.

Rayzor:  Shucks.  Ah'd figger a duck could swim, know whut Ah mean?

Mooney: Problem was, Jimmy, someone was figuring him for the long swim.  Say, you hear anything from the Rain Island boys this morning?

Rayzor:  Nope.  Ain't no word on that boat.  Figger they've got a dragnet out, tho.  Ah'll bet that thar boat's all banged an' scratched up.

Mooney: Yeah, well there's gotta be something more to this.  Hey, we gotta morgue here?

Rayzor:  Well, doggone it Mike, ya didn't tell me Hearn snuffed it.

Mooney: No, no, Jimmy, I mean a file of old articles.

Rayzor:  Oh.  Shoot, don't hardly know.  Basement, I guess.  All sortsa stuff stashed down thar.

[Musical bridge]

[GRAMS: Sounds of paper being riffled through by paw]

Mooney: I had to hand it to Mr. Crane.  At least in some ways, he was trying to do things the way they did it in the States.  The Mirror had a morgue in the basement of the building, like Jimmy guessed.  Presided over by an old lady rat, who seemed surprised to see someone down there.  The way she was eyeing me, and offering me cups of tea, I wouldn't be surprised if she was trying to keep me down there.  Anyway, the files didn't tell me much, at least as far as Coot Hearn went.  A few minor lawsuits to stop kids joy riding around his island, a dispute on his tax assessment, and a bit about selling copra to Buckhorn's, and that was about it for his file.  Good way to spend my lunch hour, though.  Kept me from eating more ketchup soup.

Archivist: Come back soon, dear!

Mooney:  Uhhh... yeah, sure.

[GRAMS: Door closing]

Mooney: I figured there was something more to this than I was getting, but I couldn't figure out what.  I got back to my desk, to find some old buck reading over my morning's work.

Det. Inspector Stagg:  I take it you are the gentlefur Mr. Crane hired to clean up his paper.

Mooney:  I'd need a bigger broom, and a bigger paycheck, to do that.  You are... ?

Stagg:  I am Inspector Stagg of the Constabulary.

Mooney:  Oh, yeah, the head gumhoof.  I've heard of you.  Hey, siddown.  What can I do for you?

Stagg: I just have a statement for you to sign regarding the incident last night.  It's a copy of the statement you gave to the Rain Island furs.

Mooney:  Figuring it wasn't no accident, hanh?

Stagg: It's an open file, Mr. Mooney.  I find it interesting that you took the initiative to seek out Mr. Hearn at his residence.

Mooney:  Listen, if you've ever been in the newspaper game...

Stagg:  My sire and his sires before him were newspaper publishers, Mr. Mooney.

Mooney:  Yeah?  What paper?

Stagg:  The New Haven Evening Mail.

Mooney:  New Haven Eve... Oh.  Oh.  Yeah.

Stagg:  Moving back to the present, Mr. Mooney.  You have some suspicions in the matter?

Mooney:  That's about all I've got, Inspector.

Mooney:  I took out my notebook, and such as it was, I laid out for him what I knew.  He thanked me politely, I signed my statement, and he limped off.  I sat there smoking for a bit, trying to puzzle things out.  Well, it beat trying to do a writeup on the school board meeting.

[Musical bridge]

[GRAMS: Telephone ringing, twice, then picked up.]

Mooney:  Rewrite desk, Mooney here.

Stella (masked mike):  Mike?  Stella here.

Mooney: Hey, Stella.

Stella (masked mike):  Listen, Mike.  I was keeping my ears open like you asked me to.  A few of the expense-account boys were talking about the "accident" last night.

Mooney: Yeah?

Stella (masked mike): Can't talk now.  Meet me at Luchow's over on Meeting Island at six.  I'll fill you in.

[GRAMS: Sound of telephone being hung up.]

Stella: C'mon, Mike, eat your ketchup soup.  Don't you want to grow up to be big and strong?

Mooney:  I'd prefer growing up to be old and grey.  I've got a better shot at it.  So what's this you heard?

Stella: One or two furs who are big in real estate around here were at lunch today.

Mooney:  Wait a minute.  I thought most of the stuff around here was leases, especially for the "Euros" like us.  At least, that's what my landlady tells me.

Stella:  Yeah.  But these guys had an angle, they were talking about it.  The outer islands, the ones away from the main group here, they aren't covered by the same laws the local government has here.

Mooney: You mean, finders keepers?

Stella: More or less.  How long did you say Hearn had been on Little Top?

Mooney: He told me twenty five years

Stella: He's probably got a lock on that island, then.

Mooney:  Yeah.  Yeah, I getcha.  With ten acres...

Stella: Don't have to build houses there, you know.  They can always stick some business there that furs don't want.  You know, like fish oil rending or such.

Mooney:  Fish oil rending?  Hey, I'm not fussy.

Stella: This old boy got any little ducklings at home?

Mooney: Didn't look like it.  Geez, you aren't saying...

Stella:  All I can say is, you get rid of him one way or the other...

Mooney:  Yeah, I getcha.  Stealing the cocoanuts was one thing.  But he's a stubborn old guy.  Yeah, probably didn't get the message.

Stella: Betcha it wasn't a message sent by Western Union, neither.

Mooney: No kidding.

[Musical bridge]

Mooney: Walking after dinner, I got a funny feeling in the back of my head.  Yeah, you guessed it, it was the little voice again.  Only it wasn't speaking, it was yelling.  It told me not to go home, but to get my tailfur over to the Rain Island boys' base again...

[Musical sting]

Mooney:  Turns out I wasn't the only fur with this kind of an idea.  I'd seen the other one of the local Spontoon detectives, a fox, before.  He was making some preparations.

Det. Sergeant Orrin Brush:  What, ya gettin' dat funny feelin' in yer gut like me?

Mooney:  Yeah, and it ain't my diet.  You find out anything about that island?

Brush:  Dat crazy ol' duck's been gettin' lotsa offers, all right.  Two, t'ree dis past year.

Mooney:  Good ones?

Brush: I ain't in real estate, iffen ya falla me.  I can't tells iffen it's a good one or not.  Lemme tellya, though, an' I'm a fox what grew up ' round these parts.  Ain't too many spots ' round here where a Euro can slap somethin' up wit'out th' boys from th' Ministries sayin' nix.

Mooney: So, you figure someone's about to use some bargaining chips, by making Hearn cash his in?

Brush:  Looks dat way, don't it?

Mooney:  You going out there tonight?

Brush: Who wants t'know?

Mooney:  Three furs, me, myself and I. 

Brush: Crane know yer doin' a little extra-credit werk on th' side?

Mooney: A fur's gotta get ahead in this world.  Grass growing under the footpads and all.

Brush:  Okeh.  One, two of th' boys here vouched fer ya.  Just stay outta th' way if th' fun starts, hanh?  I ain't gonna like havin' t'tell Crane why his rewrite boy is lyin' on a slab, geddit?

[Musical bridge]

[GRAMS: Seaplane engine noise]

[Voices, except for v/o, elevated over noise]

Brush: Stubborn ol' cuss checked hisself outta hospital, headed right back t'his lil' bolt-hole.

Mooney: Can you blame him?

Brush: Well, yeah, I can blame 'im, iffen he's walkin' right back inta an ambush.

Mooney: You got information on that?

Brush: I don't need no infermation.  I gotta hunch.  Same as youse got.

Mooney: He had me there.  Yeah, I was worried about the old guy.  This whole thing seemed bigger than a bunch of stolen cocoanuts.  Much bigger.

[GRAMS: Seaplane engine noise]

Mooney: We were flying low over the water, low enough to disturb whatever it was that was lurking just below the surface.  You could see something diving, fast, breaking up the glowing plankton on the water, going down to the dark ocean below, where a fur can't see things.

[GRAMS: Seaplane engine noise]

Mooney:  I could see Sergeant Brush was fiddling with his .38.  Seemed to me that he had more than a hunch playing in this game.

Brush: Put 'er down at the beach, Mac.  An' when ya does dat, gimme a bit a cover from th' MGs

Mooney: Geez, that heavy?

Brush: I ain't spoilin' no ship fer a few pennies a' tar, kid.

[GRAMS: Seaplane engine noise, followed by touchdown on the water, followed by propeller noise]

Mooney:  The pilot knew his job, and beached the plane at an angle.  Sergeant Brush, his .38 out of its holster, swung out the door, crouched low and scampered along the wing, and dropped onto the beach just where it met the surf.

[GRAMS: Loud noise of the surf crashing against the beach]

Mooney:  I strained my ears for a sound.  Any sound, except for the crashing and the roaring of the surf.  Didn't hear a thing.  Couldn't see much, either, what with how little moonlight there was.

Pilot:  Hey, there's something...

Mooney:  I looked up, and a little streak of green was shooting up into the night sky.  After a few seconds, it popped, and you could see a faint green haze start to spread over the island.  Hearn's shack could be seen in the sickly light, which made everything seem like it was underwater, in a dream...

[Musical bridge]

Mooney:  It took me a few minutes to get to the shack, right behind the constable with the rifle.  Brush was kneeling on the floor, looking down at something through the light from his trench flashlight.  It was Coot Hearn.  He was face up on the floor of the shack.  He was dead.

[Musical sting]

Mooney: So what did the M.E. say?

Brush:  Natch'l causes.  Ticker gave out.  I ain't surprised, I mean, he wuz an old guy, an' dat swim he took didn't do no good fer his con'stustion, get me?

Mooney:  That's pretty convenient.

Brush: Ain't it just.

Mooney:  Any sign of a break-in, a struggle?

Brush: Dunno.  Hearn wudn't exackly whatcha call a neat housekeeper.  Lotta junk in th' joint.  Gonna put out a circ'lar t'all th' usual joints, th' pawnshops an' such, plus few o' th' banks.

Mooney: No kin?

Brush: We're checkin' up.  Way I figger it, he ain't one fer th' formalities, get me?

Mooney: Yeah, I get it.  Kinda hoping there is someone out there.

Brush: How ya figger?

Mooney:  Someone shows up to claim the old guy's land, that'll flush out any fur who's interested.

Mooney:  I could see Sergeant Brush stop at this, and give me a long, slow look.

Brush:  Yeah.  Sure.  I can see dat.

Mooney: And with that, he turned around and headed back to the Constabulary HQ.

[Musical bridge]

Mooney: They buried Coot Hearn at the foot of a few cocoanut palms.  The cocoanut palms his life had revolved around.  The funeral wasn't all that well attended.  Aside from the bull that conducted the service, there was just me and Stella.  And, somewhat to my surprise, my boss, Mr. Crane.

Crane:  Good afternoon, Mr. Mooney. 

Mooney:  Hey, I've got an excuse to be away from rewrite, Mr. Crane...

Crane:  I'm aware of that.  Mr. Jaguarundi thought it was appropriate that you be here.

Mooney: You don't mind my asking, what are *you* doing here?

Crane:  I take a wide interest in all things that go on in the Spontoons, Mr. Mooney.  Both the seen and unseen.

Mooney: Seen and unseen... ? 

Crane:  There is, of course, far more to this story than meets the eye.  Which is why it's being spiked for the nonce.

Mooney:  What the... ?!?  Oh, no.

Crane: It is out of my wings, Mr. Mooney.  A request from the Althing.  It seems that there is a lively interest in the fate of Little Top Island.  Developments are expected.  I, naturally, am being kept apprised of all impending events, in return for my cooperation in keeping certain details confidential.

Mooney:  So where does that leave me?

Crane: At the rewrite desk, Mr. Mooney.  At least for the moment.

Mooney: Swell.

Crane: Cheer up.  Nothing lasts forever.

Mooney (undertone): Yeah, ask poor old Coot.

Crane: Here.  This will make up, I hope, in some small way for losing a byline.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a paper to run.

[GRAMS: Sound of footpads walking away.]

[GRAMS: Sound of envelope being opened.]

Stella: A little bonus, Mike?

Mooney: Heh.  Sorta.  It's a voucher.  Dinner for two at the Marleybone.

Stella:  For two?  Crane knows more than he's letting on.

Mooney:  Maybe.  What are you in the mood for?

Stella:  Hmmm... I think a good hearty ketchup soup.

[Musical sting]

Mooney:  And that's a thirty... I think.  We'll just have to see.

[Musical flourish]

Graham:  The brewers of Blue Diamonds Ale and Blue Diamonds Pilsner Lager hope you have enjoyed this program.  They also hope that when you visit your favorite tavern or favorite store, you'll remember things in threes: the three ingredients, hops, barley and pure water; slow-brewing, chill-brewing and pure-brewing; and the three Blue Diamonds on the label, which is your assurance that the beer inside will sparkle in the glass, and provide a refreshing and pleasing addition to any meal, or any period of relaxation.  Since 1843, that's a promise, the promise made each and every day by the Saybrook Brewing Company of Hartford, Connecticut.

[Musical flourish]

Graham: You have been listening to "Copra and Robbers," written by E.O. Costello, and starring Gerald Mohr as Michael Mooney, and Alice White as Stella Watermaster.  Also heard in the cast were Alan Reed as Charles Foster Crane, Gabby Hayes as Coot Hearn and Norris Goff as Jimmy Rayzor.  On behalf of the Saybrook Brewing Company, this is Graham MacNamee speaking.  Goodnight, all.

[Musical flourish]

Network announcer: This is the Red Network, N-B-C, the National Broadcasting Company.

[G-E-C]

 

Transcribed and edited by E.O.Costello
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