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Radio-play Transcript
"Rosie's Place":
'Show (Christmas 1938): Gift
of the Magpie'
Transcribed & Edited by
E.O.Costello
| Columbia
Broadcasting System transcription "Standard of Rhode Island Show" Rosie's Place: Show (Christmas 1938): Gift of the Magpie Sunday, December 25, 1938 West Coast Repeat Show 7.30 pm Los Antelopes Time [Orchestra flourish] Harlow Wilcox: Standard of Rhode Island, the makers of Fire Cheetah premium gasoline, present "Rosie's Place." [Steel guitar plays "When My Dreams Come True" in Hawai'ian fashion under song] Andrews Sisters: Ever since I met you all that I seem to do is dream Wonderful dreams Heaven's before my eyes, when will I realize my dreams Wonderful dreams? The skies will all be blue When my dreams come true And I'll be smiling through When my dreams come true... Harlow: Starring Georgia Ellis as Rosie, with Mel Blanc, Bea Benadaret, Sara Berner, Bert Gordon, Gerald Mohr and Stanley Adams, with the Andrews Sisters and the Raymond Scott Orchestra. The Orchestra opens with "Siberian Sleighride." [Orchestra plays "Siberian Sleighride"] [Cut into music] Harlow: Well, it's pretty unlikely that this winter you'll be hitching up old Dobbin and going cross-country through the woods to Grandmother's house. But getting there is still important, especially when you want to get there safely. That's why a visit to your local Standard of Rhode Island service station is so important this time of year. Only Standard of Rhode Island sells Fire Cheetah, the premium gasoline that's triple hydrofined, giving your car extra power to start on cold winter mornings, and that necessary extra boost when road and weather conditions aren't at their best. What's more, your Standard of Rhode Island dealer stocks a full line of accessories, such as oil filters, windshield wipers, antifreeze and brake pads that can get your car into peak condition, just when you need to make the most demands on its performance. And you can get these top-quality products, with top-quality service, at any of the more than 3,000 Standard of Rhode Island service stations from coast to coast. Remember, at this time of year, don't be foolish, be SORI: Standard of Rhode Island! [Orchestra finishes song] Harlow: The Spontoon Islands are a sort of cross-roads of the Pacific, where you can meet just about anyfur from anywhere. Sooner or later, you're bound to find some place that reminds you of home. And if you're like some Euros that like their Christmas meals old fashioned and traditional, there's no place on Meeting Island better than... [GRAMS: Sound of telephone ringing twice, then being picked up.] Rosie Baumgartner: Luchow's, this is Rosie Baumgartner speaking. Ah! Yes, I have my list right here...no, we're not open on Christmas Eve, we're closed this year. This is for a private party. A private party. Mr. Widdershins, PLEASE! Not THAT kind of party! Yes, that's right. So you can cancel the order for that cake. Right. I'm going to need a special order of bread, thinly sliced. About ten pounds of Swiss cheese. What? What's that? You don't have any Swiss cheese. You have some cheese the mice have gotten at...I don't think I want to know that, Mr. Widdershins. Look, what about the roasting acorns...yes, I know they're hard to get in the North Pacific. I'm pretty sure, Mr. Widdershins, that acorns do in fact grow on trees. No, not already roasted, I'll admit. Listen, do you have anything in the way of some fruit tarts? Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Mrs. Widdershins is in the way of the fruit tarts. How's her diet coming along? Hmmm. Well, I'm sure you can get the carpenters in after the New Year's to fix that floor. I'll call you back with a revised list, Mr. Widdershins. G'bye. [GRAMS: Sound of phone being hung up.] Rosie: Honestly. The things a fur has to do to have a nice, old fashioned Christmas for her friends. [GRAMS: Door opening, bell ringing, door closing with a bang] Victoria Knox: Honestly! The things a fur has to put up with instead of a nice, old fashioned Christmas with her friends! Rosie: Oh, oh. Let me guess. Tod trouble? Vicky: No. Rosie: Nitwit trouble? Vicky: If you mean that pair what disgraces my species, no. Rosie: Hey, I didn't name names. Vicky: You didn't have to. Whoever did this was bold as brass and smart as a whip. Rosie: Which eliminates B'onss and K'nutt. What happened? Vicky: I was cleaning up my bungalow, you know, getting ready for the holidays. I was oiling and sharpening my old throwing knives. Rosie: Uh...any reason? Vicky: Oh, I keep them on display. Discourages the tods with wandering paws. Well, most of 'em. Anyway, I had one of the best on display, a small Italian one, part of a matched set, got 'em back in '17. Rosie: I've lost you. Are we still on tods? Vicky: No, knives. One minute I had it right by the window, I turn my back, and foosh! It isn't there any more. Rosie: The tod? Vicky: No! The knife. Pay attention, Rosie. Rosie: Sorry. Vicky: Well, I'm going to look pretty foolish reporting a stolen knife to Sergeant Brush. Rosie: Meh. He prefers saps, himself. Vicky: With his brothers, I'm not surprised. Anyway, I'm sick of talking about this. How's the party planning coming? Rosie: Ixnay on the urkey-tay and just about everything else from back home. I thought the Brits did a better job of leaving their culture behind when they ran this joint. Vicky: They did the best thing possible, Rosie. Rosie: What's that? Vicky: They left their cookbooks at home. Do you realize the kind of cooks we'd have with that kind of influence? Nicholai Ivanovich Lopanearov (off-mike): Ah-HA! Is the eureka! Rosie: I'm afraid to ask, and too curious not to. Nick? You seem pleased. Nick: Ho-ho-ho. Nicholai Ivanovich, he is wary clever bunny. He has make the meal sen-SA-tional! It make Nick famous. Rosie: You're already well-known in the Islands, Nick. But I haven't gone bankrupt. Yet. Vicky: What is it, Nick? Nick: Is the Christmas dinner. Rosie: Oh? Nick: Ohhhh, yass. Is being the roast goose, the gravy, the potatoes mashie, the cranberry, the stuffing, the squash soup and...the fruitcake. Vicky: Well, there's nothing special about that, Nick. Nick: Serve all together in one bowl? Rosie: Ohhh...errrrrrp. I don't wish to know that. Vicky: Nick, who'd be nuts enough to eat that kind of a meal? Nick: Rosie? The British Embassy make the order for twenty-five of Nicholai Ivanovich's special Christmas dinner. Where are they, the special glass bowl, yes? Rosie: In the basement, Nick. And do me a favor. When the British Embassy gives them back, burn them. [GRAMS: Door opening, bell ringing, door closing with a bang] Kara Karoksdottir: Honestly! The things a fur has to put up with instead of a nice, old fashioned Christmas with her boyfriends! Rosie: Deja vu. Kara: It's getting so a vixen can't even celebrate the season, right in the middle of the park, without being involved in a crime wave. When I get my *paws* on my idiot little brother... Rosie: Which one? Kara: So many choices. In this case, the one that's the alleged detective. Vicky: What happened? Kara: I was thanking my boyfriend for his early presents. One of them was a silver and coral necklace, with 17 coral beads. Vicky: Oooooh, nice. Rosie: "Was?" Kara: Yes, "was." He offered to put it around my neck. Rosie: Did you accept the offer? Kara: Wellll...sort of. We never quite got around to the necklace part. Some other offers interfered. Vicky: Oh, no. Kara: Yup, you guessed it. By the time I...well...by the time I was looking for the necklace, it was gone. Rosie: Just the necklace? Kara: That's the funny thing. *Only* the necklace. Nothing else was touched. Nick: (giggles) Do you meannnit? [GRAMS: Sound of knife hitting wood] Vicky: Hey! Kara, I wish you'd ask before you borrowed one of my knives... Kara: Sorry, had to be done right now. Another thing that has to be done right now is to track down that big dope of a little brother, and get him to get cracking on this case. Rosie: Or you'll call his boss? Kara: No, worse...I'll tell Mom. She made Dad buy a few hundred pounds of durian for the holidays. You're not planning on serving durian at your party, are you Rosie? Rosie: No. I want to keep my friends. Kara: Wise move. Anyway, if you see my genius brother B'onss, tell him that Mom's looking for him. The squirrels have gotten into the garden again. Vicky: Were they burying food? Kara: Sort of. Rosie: Sort of? Kara: As of an hour ago, all you could see was the top of K'nutt's head. Scared the heck out of Dad...he wanted to spray the garden. Well, see you around. [GRAMS: Door opening, bell ringing, door closing] [GRAMS: Sound of door being bumped into.] Hon. A. Cadbury Mouchoir (off-mike): Oooof! Rosie: Hunh? Waitaminnit, I don't think that's the regular deliveryfur...let him in, Vicky. [GRAMS: Door opening, bell ringing, door closing] [GRAMS: Sound of a number of large, heavy round objects being dropped on the floor and rolling everywhere] Rosie: Hey! Hey! Hey! This isn't bowling night. Vicky: OW! My foot! Mooch: Heavens, dear ladies. Pray accept my heartfelt apologies for the slight derangement of ordinary circumstances. My mind is rather elsewhere at the moment. Rosie: Mooch, clean up these cocoanuts, and then explain what you're doing with them. Please tell me you didn't, ahem, "borrow" them from a vendor. Mooch: Heaven forfend, my dear lady. These cocoanuts were acquired well within the spirit of the law, which is more than I can say for my remuneration, which has shamefully been purloined, no doubt with malice aforethought. Rosie: And just how did you acquire the cocoanuts, Mooch, legally or no? Mooch: I beg your pardon, but these are not my cocoanuts. Rather, they are the cocoanuts of my dear friend K'nutt. Vicky: K'nutt?! Mooch: Yes. I am reliably informed that, quote, he likes cocoanuts, endquote. Said with more feeling than grammar, but there you are. Rosie: So what are you doing with all of this hardshell fruit? Mooch: Ah! Well, you see, K'nutt Christmas Cocoanut Club paid off today. Vicky: Christmas Cocoanut Club? Mooch: I am advised that the payment of tuppence a week throughout the year will, come December, result in a large quantity, in this case 17 of the best, of fully paid cocoanuts on the hoof. Vicky: Yeah, on *my* hoof, you clumsy... Mooch: I *did* tender my apologies, did I not? Rosie: So what happened, someone swipe a cocoanut? Mooch: A thousand times worse. K'nutt, you see, could not pick up his cocoanuts today. His father informed me that K'nutt was deep in gardening work. So for the sum of one silver shilling, your humble servant was engaged to collect the cocoanuts and deliver them. Rosie: You mean...work? Mooch: Please, dear lady, my tender ears. Such language ill becomes you. Vicky: So something went wrong? Mooch: Indeed. I was seated in the park not long ago, enjoying the show... Rosie: Show? Mooch: Err...yes...a romantic comedy, featuring two young foxes. Either that, or it was a demonstration of all-in-wrestling. I was not quite sure which. Rarely have I seen such vigour in the acting... Rosie: Mooch, that wasn't acting... Mooch: Hmmm...must be one of those neo-realist plays from Paris one reads about. There was certainly something engagingly French about the production. Be that as it may, I was engrossed in the performance, and at intermission, I set aside my silver shilling in order to visit the concession stand. Vicky: Hang on. There's no concession stand in the park. Mooch: Rather a moot point. There was no silver shilling, either. Some frightful bounder had absconded with same. Honestly! The things a fur has to put up with instead of a traditional solstice season, redolent with good cheer. I have, naturally, advised the constabulary at once. Rosie: Over a shilling? Mooch: It is the principle of the thing, madam. The principle. In any event, might I request your grace and favour to emplace these cocoanuts in K'nutt's shed? Rosie: Oh, sure, go ahead. Say, Mooch, this must seem like an obvious question, but are you going to be at my party tonight? Mooch: I would not dream of missing it for the world. It means something near and dear to my heart. Rosie: The companionship of good friends? Mooch: Errrr... Vicky: The joy of the season? Mooch: Ummm, well... Rosie/Vicky: Free food? Mooch: (happy sigh) Rosie: I might have known. Mooch: Yes, well, I shall see you on time, naturally. There is a function at the British Embassy earlier in the evening, and as a subject of the King, I am naturally an invitee. They have asked me to partake of a bowl of turkey. Rosie: A...bowl...of turkey?! Mooch: Yes, I rather think there's been a miscommunication somewhere. No doubt it will be cleared up in good time. Fare thee well, good ladies! [GRAMS: Door opening, bell ringing, door closing, sound of round objects being dropped] Mooch (off-mike): Oh, DEAR! Sorry, Mrs. Ramsbottom! Mrs. Ramsbottom: (inaudible, but loud) [GRAMS: Opening of door, bell-ringing] Vicky: What happened, Mooch? Mooch: I'm afraid I dropped the load of cocoanuts about Mrs. Ramsbottom's ears. Vicky: Well, what was that she just yelled? Mooch: "Nuts to ewe." Rosie: Mooch? Mooch: Errrr, yes? Rosie: It's Christmas, so I'll refrain from saying just how much I agree with that sentiment. Mooch: Ah! Thank you very much, dear lady. And a Merry Christmas to you both! [GRAMS: Door closing] Rosie: Well, enough of this. Vicky, mind the shop. I'm going upstairs to brush up and change. Vicky: For the party, or for the apres-party with the Inspector? Rosie: I decline to answer on the grounds that the response will tend to incriminate me. [GRAMS: Sound of footpads, stopping] Rosie: Oh, and make sure Nick finishes up those sandwiches for the party. Also make sure that anything he makes for the British Embassy party *doesn't* stay here. I don't want the Ministry of Health coming around in protective gear. [GRAMS: Sound of footpads on floor, internal door closing.] Vicky: Let's see. One, two, three O'Leary... [GRAMS: Whooshing sound, sound of knife hitting wood.] Vicky: Four, five, six O'Leary... [GRAMS: Whooshing sound, sound of knife hitting wood.] Vicky: Seven, eight, nine O'Leary... [GRAMS: Sound of door opening, bell ringing] [GRAMS: Whooshing sound] Det. Sgt. Brush: 'EY! Vicky: Hey! Aw, now look what you've done. You spoiled my aim. Brush: (growls) Ya wanna carve th' Chrissmas turkey, ya leave dem knives on th' table, hear? Vicky: Well, what is you want? Brush: Just gimme a cuppa java. Crazy furs got me 'n th' Inspect'r runnin' offen our footpads. Whole buncha little thefts, an' two foxes behavin' indecent-like in th' park. Vicky: Errrr... Brush: I'd like t'see me smart-gal sister defend dem two when I get th' paws onnem. Vicky: Did you get a description? Brush: Oh, boy, did we ever. Gonna have t'turn it inta court in a plain brown wrapper. Vicky: Errr....um...well, here's your coffee, Sergeant. Brush: T'anks, I... [GRAMS: Internal door slamming, footpads stomping hard.] Rosie: Honestly! The things a fur has to put up with instead of a nice, old fashioned Christmas with her buck! I...oh. Hello, Sergeant. Brush: Heya, Rosie. Somethin' up? Rosie: Ummm...errrr...I...well. Something's been swiped from my room upstairs. It's...umm...well... Brush: What? It ain't somethin'...y'know...? Rosie: It's...well...all right, it's a little silver pencil holder for the Inspector. Brush: Hey, nice. He oughta like that... Rosie: Yes, well, IF YOU FIND IT. That's what's been stolen. It was on the desk right next to the window. Brush: Two stories up? Rosie: Yes. It happened probably within the last hour or so. Brush: Sheesh. Anudder one. Necklaces, knives, coins, a car key, a kitten's jack. Sheesh, whatta Solstice. Awright, come down wit' me t'HQ, and fillout a form. We'll see what we can make of dis... Rosie: Sorry, Vicky. You have to watch the shop again. Vicky: No problem, Rosie. [Musical bridge] [GRAMS: Door opening, bell ringing, door closing] Rosie: Grrrrrr...I hate paperwork. I'm telling you, I hope Franne...I mean, the Inspector catches this thief before I do. Seventeen reports today. A whole hour to do that meshugas. Well, anyway, I'm going back upstairs to change for the party, Vicky. Vicky: Ummm... Rosie: Oh, NO. Now what?! Vicky: You've got some messages, Rosie. Rosie: R.S.V.P.? Vicky: They ain't L.S./M.F.T. Let's see...the British Embassy called, and Nick and Mooch are a scratch for tonight. So is Dr. Meffit. He's going to be busy all night over there. Rosie: Don't tell me... Vicky: You'd think the British Embassy would develop cast-iron stomachs, wouldn't you? Rosie: Ugh. All right, anyone else? Vicky: Kara called just before you got here. She had to go home with a sore right paw. Rosie: How'd she hurt it? Vicky: Hitting something hard and dense. Namely, Sergeant Brush's head. Apparently, he was asking what she was doing in the park this afternoon. The good Sarge and Kara have been sent by their mother to bed with their supper. Rosie: Wait...*with* their supper? Vicky: Well, it's... Rosie: Don't tell me. Durian, right? I'll bet B'onss and K'nutt are happy. Vicky: You lose that bet, Rosie. Rosie: (sighs) *Now* what? Vicky: B'onss tried to dig his brother out of the garden with some sort of mechanical hoe he invented. Rosie: How's it going? Vicky: If he keeps up at this pace, tourists from London will be able to get here the direct way. Rosie: (sighs) Vicky: Harlow is having dinner at the Standard of Rhode Island depot...oh, and...ummmm... Rosie: No. No. Please don't tell me the Inspector cancelled because of all these thefts. Vicky: All right. I won't tell you. Rosie: Oh, this is awful. All those sandwiches, and just the two of us...right? Vicky: Umm... Rosie: (sighs) All right, Vicky. Vicky: Well, Stella Watermaster over at L'Etoile d'Argent called. Chef Joseph is having an absinthe crepe party. It should be lots of fun once Andre the maitre d' is under the table after his gin rickey... Rosie: (sadly) No. No. Go on and have fun, Vicky. I'll stay and lock up. Vicky: But what about all the sandwiches, Rosie? Nick stacked them up in the warmer before he left... Rosie: I'll take care of them, Vicky. Go on. Shoo. Don't worry about me. Vicky: Gee, Rosie. I'm awfully sorry. I mean, this being you and the Inspector's well...sort-of anniversary. Rosie: (sadly) Can't be helped, maideleh. Good night, Vicky. Merry Christmas. Vicky: All right, Rosie. [GRAMS: Door opening, bell ringing, door closing] [GRAMS: Door being locked.] [GRAMS: Sound of double door, sound of footpads, sound of warmer being opened, and tray being removed] Rosie: Yup. Here they are. Just like me, all dressed up and no place to go. Well, we can all go upstairs, eh? [Brief musical bridge] Rosie: Hmm. 17 cheese sandwiches, and 17 sandwiches with some kind of meat...wonder if Nick made them right... [GRAMS: Sound of eating] Rosie: Hmmm. He did a good job on that one, at least...I wonder about this one... [GRAMS: Sound of eating] Rosie: Not bad. Two-for-two there, Nick...(hiccups) whoops, three for four.. hmm, I wonder...nah... Sandwich/Mooch (masked mike): Forsooth! Thou must surely eat me, or thee shall surely perish! Rosie: Hunh? Who said that? Sandwich/Mooch (masked mike): Cast your eyes down upon the plate, O cheetah! Rosie: You? A sandwich is speaking to me? Sandwich/Mooch (masked mike): To be a common toasted cheese sandwich is not my fate, dear lady. A thousand times, no! Rosie: Oh? what are you? Sandwich/Mooch (masked mike): I am...a ham sandwich! Rosie: You sound remarkably like Mooch. Sandwich/Mooch (masked mike): It is not a coincidence, fair one. I figure often in his dreams. Now, are you going to dine upon my form? Rosie: Oh, twist my arm...here goes...is this seven or eight? Sandwich/Mooch: Ah, who is counting? [GRAMS: Sound of eating] Rosie: Not me, anyway. Hey, where'd he go? (loud hiccup) Ooooooh....erfffffffff. I need to...(loud hiccup)...lie down for a minute...errffff, that's better. Maybe this will stop the room spinning around this fast...wonder if it...wonder if it...wonder iffit...wunnner...(hiccup, then snoring sound] [Musical bridge of dream-type music] Rosie: Hunh. Stupid alarm clock. Boy, this is weird. It's bright and sunny in the seventies. That wasn't in the weather report. And since when have they grassed over Court Street? I'm not complaining, but... [GRAMS: Scuttling and ruslting sounds] Rosie: What the...oy, Rosie, what were you *drinking* last night?! An albino squirrel with horns? And three...what the...a red squirrel, a black squirrel, and a blonde squirrel. Hunh? [Orchestra starts in on "A Little Bungalow"] Squirrel/Stagg (parlando-style): If you told me that I'm the lucky young man From that moment I'd know my future began I'd get busy attending to the happy ending Let me tell you about my wonderful plan Rosie (parlando-style) If you're anxious to make me part of your plan I'm quite ready to tell the world that you can If the plan that you're laying just needs my okaying Don't let anyone try to stop you, young man Squirrels/Andrews Sisters (sung): A little bungalow, an hour or so from anywhere A little cozy nest, the kind that's best for two Among the shady trees with birds and bees and lots of air And just enough o'ground to fool around with you Away from all the crowds we'll watch the clouds go drifting by And when the moon above presents a lovely view There'll be a room in blue, the one that you would occupy It's understood that I would occupy it too [Orchestra plays out] [Pause for applause] [GRAMS: Sound of scuttling away and rustling] Rosie: Wha...hey, no! Wait! I want to...ooooohhhhhhh. No, wait a minute. I must be nuts. Groucho: You say that like it's a bad thing. Rosie: What? Who? Groucho: A better question would be where, which is down here. Frankly, I rather like the view from where I am. Rosie: Eeeeek! Fresh! Groucho: Don't say that so loud. Some of the butchers around this joint may start getting ideas. I don't want to be on a plate with a tomato in my mouth. I've got better uses for a tomato. Rosie: Who...who are you? Groucho: Call me Ishmael. But not collect. Rosie: Ishmael? You mean the little squirrel that hangs around my restaurant? Groucho: That's right. And the one who gets handouts from Inspector Stagg. I like him. We see eye to eye on acorns. That is, if he bends over enough. You should try it some time. By the way, I want to ask you about your handyfoxes. Do you collect idiots as a hobby, or did you lose a bet? Rosie: How come you haven't spoken before? Groucho: Well, I haven't had much to say. I mean, the Esqimaux have a thousand words for snow, but I've only one word for acorns. Rosie: Hmm. You're a little small to be smoking cigars. Groucho: And you're a little big to be waiting up Christmas Eve, hoping to sit on Santa's lap. Not that I think Santa would object... Rosie: Hrmph. I'll bet he left some coal in *your* stocking. Groucho: I hope not. Keeping my fur this colour is an issue. The bleach isn't so bad, but the starch can be murder. I used too much one day, and folks thought I was a porcupine that had been reading Edgar Wallace. It isn't easy having pink eyes, either. After the last New Year's Party I was at, I saw grey elephants for two days. Rosie: Grey? Groucho: Which reminds me of my no-good cousin in America, the lousy stoolie. I don't speak to him. Rosie: Who is he? Groucho: Surely you've heard of Tattle-Tale Grey? (waits for audience reaction) Don't worry, the writer for this show got a necktie for Christmas, and the lynching party to go with it. Say, where's that bouncer of yours, Vicky I think her name is? Rosie: She's not here. And she's not a bouncer. Groucho: Well, someone hasn't been paying attention. Rosie: Yeah. Well, that's our problem. No one's been paying attention. We've had a whole lot of thefts lately. Groucho: Hmmm. Yes, I can believe that. Someone was trying to steal a kiss from that lawyer friend of yours yesterday afternoon. Rosie: What?! Hey, now, you shouldn't be watching that. Groucho: I'd like to write an opinion on some of the motions she was making. Rosie: Did you see who took Kara's necklace? Groucho: The what, now? Rosie: The necklace, the necklace! The thing her boyfriend was going to put around her neck. Groucho: Oh, so *that's* what they call it. Who says radio isn't educational? Rosie: I'll never get to the end of this. Groucho: I think that's what the boyfriend thought, too. Rosie: All right, enough. What a dream. Urrrgh. What a night. Gluttony. Groucho: One down, six to go. Rosie: Ugggghhh...I see spots before my eyes, Ishmael. Groucho: Well, you're a cheetah, Rosie. This is strange? Rosie: Cheetahs don't have pink and green spots. Groucho: Didn't you ever play New Orleans? Or vice versa? Rosie: Do you hear any hot jazz right now? Groucho: No, but I'll bet you're feeling a drum solo in your stomach, right now. Rosie: Oooohhh, why did I eat all those sandwiches? This is the worst party I've had since that time in Pittsburgh. Groucho: What happened? Rosie: I got my addresses mixed up, and we had the shindig at the local YWCA. Groucho: I'll bet the lemonade flowed like water. Rosie: The only thing that made me smile was trying to picture what the visiting church group from Memphis did with ten gallons of bathtub gin. Groucho: It'd be more interesting to know what the gin did with them. Listen, I'm a sport. I'll tell you what. You cross my paw with a little silver, I'll tell you who took all those things. Deal? Rosie: Have I got a choice? Groucho: It's your dream, good-looking, not mine. Say, why aren't you having one of those dreams they talk about in Vienna? You should have been eating some of Frau Nerzmann's pastries, instead of those rarebit sandwiches, you fiend. 17 in one sitting. Aren't you ashamed? Rosie: (loud hiccup) Groucho: I'll take that as a yes. Anyway, the casino is right over there, you can try your luck. But don't bet on red, or the Dies Committee will be after you. Go up to the door, knock three times fast, one time slow, and tell 'em Ishmael sent you. [GRAMS: Scuttling and rustling sound] Rosie: What a screwy squirrel. Well, when in Dreamland... [GRAMS: Three fast knocks, one slow knock, followed by sliding panel, faint sound of music] Bouncer/Brush: Yeah? Rosie: Ishmael sent me. [GRAMS: Panel sliding back, heavy door opening, louder sound of crowd, chips clicking, and such] Rosie: What the -- oh, so *this* is where the albino squirrels hang out when they're not cadging handouts from the tourists. I had no idea the Islands were so organized. Croupier/Harlow: Mesdames et messieurs, les jeux sont faits. [GRAMS: Sound of spinning roulette wheel?] Rosie: Harlow?!? What on earth are you doing in a casino? And what are you doing in that silly squirrel costume? Chorus of squirrels: CHIT-chit-IRRRRRRRRR!! Croupier/Harlow: Not the most tactful opening, Rosie. And don't look at me, I didn't script this dream. Not that I mind being a squirrel. It's being in a casino that I mind. Rosie: Why? Croupier/Harlow: I never gamble, Rosie. Not once. Rosie: You don't? Croupier/Harlow: No, that's because I always bring my car to my local Standard of Rhode Island service station for a checkup once per quarter. Each SORI service station has a trained staff of experts that goes over your car's most vulnerable points, and if necessary, applies SORI's patented Anchorite lubricating fluid. And when you bring your car in, ask your SORI attendant to also perform a check on your tires. If your tires are not properly inflated, not only is it a safety hazard, but it can affect the performance of your car, making it run less efficiently. Sometimes, a little air and a rotation of your tires can save you significant money down the road in wear and tear on your car. And finally, don't forget to fill your car's tank with Fire Cheetah, the triple-hydrofined gasoline that can deliver extra punch to your engine's performance when you need it. So that's why millions of motorists each year think safety. They'd rather be SORI than unsafe. Standard of Rhode Island! (pause) Of course, it would work better if I could drive. Rosie: You don't drive? Croupier/Harlow: Well, it's a little hard for me to see over the steering wheel. Anyway, Rosie, you going to place any bets? Rosie: Well, errr...hummmm. I don't have any chips, Harlow. Croupier/Harlow: Oh, that's okeh. Just use your spots. Rosie: My what, now? Croupier/Harlow: Your spots. Pick that one up off your paw, for example. [GRAMS: Slight ripping sound] Rosie: Eeeep! It came right off. And...what the...? It's a silver dollar? Gambler/Mooch: Ooooh, such a fortunate dream. Croupier/Harlow: Give your head a good, hard tap Rosie. [GRAMS: Wood-on-wood sound, sound of cash register, sound of spilling coins] Rosie: I'm beginning to think I'd have been better off with some Ovaltine. Croupier/Harlow: Place your bets, ladies and gentlefurs, place your bets... Rosie: Hmmm... [Orchestra plays a few bars of "Mysterious Mose"] Chorus: Seventeen...seventeen...seventeen...seventeen... Rosie: You know, I'm getting the strangest feeling about a certain number... Chorus: Seventeen...seventeen...seventeen...seventeen... Rosie: What they hey. It's only a dream. Put the whole works on number 17. [GRAMS: Sound of pile of coins being shoved] Croupier/Harlow: Mesdames et messieurs, les jeux sont faits... [GRAMS: Sound of spinning roulette wheel] Rosie: C'mon, 17! [GRAMS: Sound of clacking marble] Rosie: C'mon, 17! [GRAMS: Sound of marble clacking into place] Croupier/Harlow: And it is... Rosie: Yes...?!? Croupier/Harlow: Number 9. Rosie: Yeeeearrrrrrrrrgh! Croupier/Harlow: I can't understand it. That's the seventeeth time in a row that number came up. Rosie: Yearrrrrrgggggh! Croupier/Harlow: Hmmmm. No more chips, Rosie? Rosie: But I bet all my spots... Croupier/Harlow: Hmmmm, that's trouble. Oh, Bouncer! Bouncer/Brush: Yeah? Croupier/Harlow: The lady has run out of spots. Take her to the back room and put her in...the Machine. [Orchestra plays some "tension" music] Rosie: The WHAT, now?!? Bouncer/Brush: Don't worry none. Y'ell like bein' a skirrel. We'll even give yez a nice floofy tail... [Tension music gets faster] Rosie: I don't want a nice, floofy tail! I want the tail I've got. Give me my spots back! Give me my spots back!!! Bouncer/Brush: Don't worry, dis won't hoit me a bit... [Tension music gets faster] Rosie: No! NO! You can't do this, I tell you. Bouncer/Brush: Hold still, now... [Tension music reaches a crescendo] Rosie: No, wait! What's that bright light? No! Take it away! NOOOOO!!! [GRAMS: Sound of window-shade being drawn up] Rosie: Ahhhh! Ahhhhh! Yeeearrrrrghhhh! Stagg: And Merry Christmas to you, Rosie. Rosie: Who? Wha? Where? When...? Stagg: You left out "why," Rosie. Allow me to answer. It's Christmas morning, and you're owed a few presents. Happy anniversary, in a manner of speaking. Rosie: Huh? Wha? Ohhh. Oh! (purrrs) Good morning...Santa brought me what I wanted, after all... Stagg: (soft chuckle) Well, I...OW! Rosie, I am not a toy! Rosie: (growling purr) Speak for yourself, Franneleh. Wait a minute. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be out solving that rash of thefts, yesterday? Oh, NO! And one of them was your present...(snifs a bit) Stagg: You mean the small silver pencil with the engraved "FJS"? The one that you can see is clipped inside my jacket? Rosie: What? What? Let me see! Stagg: Rosie...dear...that's not my jacket pocket. Rosie: I'll get around to it. Eventually. Stagg: There's time for that later. Especially since you've asked a question that I'm trying to answer. Now be good and settle back, and I'll explain. Rosie: All right, what happened? Stagg: Not too complicated, really. Once Sergeant Brush collected all the reports for me, I plotted where the thefts had all taken place. All of them were a short distance from the park here on Meeting Island. Not in any one area, but scattered all around. When I sorted them out by the time of the theft, I found they were scattered around that way, too. It didn't seem, at first, like there was any rhyme or reason to the thefts. Rosie: Uh-hunh... Stagg: There was also the matter of what was stolen. Many of the objects were of small value, like Mr. Mouchoir's silver shilling or that toy jack, or relatively modest value, like my silver pencil, Miss Knox's knife, or Miss Karoksdottir's necklace... Rosie: Oh! That reminds me. Is she...? Stagg: I understand both Miss Karoksdottir has been grounded by her mother, and her nice clothes locked up for a week. One of her boyfriends rather gallantly attempted to "rescue" her early this morning. Rosie: Chivalry lives. Stagg: As do dragons, in the form of said mother. The boyfriend, as of a half-hour ago, was hiding in a tree. Rosie: I didn't think foxes could climb trees. Stagg: He developed the talent rather suddenly. Anyway, to resume my explanation... Rosie: Oh, please! Do go on! Stagg: I had been pondering a few things. I was trying to sort out the common elements in the thefts, other than the fact that the incidents all occurred near the park, and were objects of relatively small value, when something suggested itself. Rosie: How? Stagg: I was feeding Ishmael an acorn early this morning, outside St. Anthony's... Rosie: You were feeding Ishmael? Stagg: Well, yes. Surely you've seen me do that before. Rosie: Did he say anything to you? Stagg: Um. Squirrels can't talk, Rosie. Rosie: Maybe they don't have anything to say. Stagg: I'll take your word for it. Anyway, Ishmael went scuttling back up a tree with an acorn, when it occurred to me that all of the objects stolen were both relatively small and shiny. In combination with the tree, suggested by Ishmael, it occured to me that one of the local species of bird, maybe a magpie, might have been responsible. Nest construction, you see. Rosie: Oh! Stagg: So I went around and fetched your first aid kit. Rosie: He was up at this hour of the morning? Stagg: Yes, and already at the chocolate, and thus full of energy. We each took a pair of binoculars, and scanned the trees in the park. After a few minutes, he spotted the tree that had a branch shining merrily in the early morning sun. From there, it was only a matter of sending the first aid kit up the tree to retreive the nest. I'll see about getting a replacement nest from one of the Wise Ones later this morning. Rosie (growling purr): Hopefully, much later... Stagg (soft chuckle): Well, now that that is all settled, Rosie, I'd look to do something for you now. Rosie: (long, rolling growling purr) Stagg: I brought everything in this small bag, here... Rosie: (long, rolling growling purr) [GRAMS: bag being unzipped] Stagg: Let's see...one rose in a holder... Rosie: (loud growling purr) Stagg: ...two napkins... Rosie: (inquisitive purr) Stagg: ...a quarter-pound of gruyere... Rosie: (puzzled purr) Stagg: ...some fresh bread from the bakery... Rosie: (alarmed purr) Stagg: ...and a toasting fork. I thought I'd build a fire in my fireplace, and... Rosie: Ooohhhhh....errrrrgh... [GRAMS: Whooshing sound] Stagg: Rosie? Rosie? Where did you go? [GRAMS: Slamming of door, off-mike sound of faucet] Stagg: Oh, dear. I wonder where Rosie put the broom and dustpan... [Musical flourish] [Full orchestra plays "When My Dreams Come True"] [cut into music] Harlow: Ladies and gentlefurs, we'd like to remind you at this time of year to be very careful on the roads. If you're out celebrating, make sure that you have someone who can drive you home, or arrange for a taxi to bring you home. If you're driving in snowy or icy conditions, remember to go slow, and use your chains. Standard of Rhode Island, in cooperation with the highway patrols in the states it serves, will be keeping its service stations open for extended hours until New Year's Day, in order to assist any travelers in distress. This is being done as a public service by SORI, which wants each and every one of you to be back as a good customer for 1939. [Brief cut back into music] Harlow: Featured in the cast tonight were Georgia Ellis as Rosie, Bert Gordon as Nick, Bea Benadaret as Kara Karoksdottir, Sara Berner as Victoria Knox, Stanley Adams as A. Cadbury Mouchoir, Gerald Mohr as Inspector Stagg, and Groucho Marx as Ishmael. The show "The Gift of the Magpie" was written by E.O. Costello. "When My Dreams Come True" and "A Little Bungalow" are copyright Irving Berlin Music Company, and "Siberian Sleighride" was composed by Raymond Scott. Tune in again this same time next week over most of these CBS stations for another visit to "Rosie's Place." On behalf of the cast and crew of "Rosie's Place," and the Standard Oil Company of Rhode Island, we wish each and all of you a Merry Christmas. This broadcast came to you from the studios at Columbia Square, and this is the Columbia Broadcasting System. [Fade back into music] Station announcer: This is K-N-X, Los Antelopes, the Voice of Hollywood. [Tone] Five seconds until 8 P.M., B-U-L-O-V-A, Bulova Watch time. Transcribed and edited by E.O.Costello |