Well, sir, it's about the middle of the morning as we enter the small house halfway up in
the next block now, and here in the living room we find Mr. Fletcher Rush all by himself.
Uncle Fletcher stopped past a few moments ago, shouted without receiving an answer, wandered
into the front part of the house, shouted some more, and is now persuaded that no one
is home.
However, just for luck, he calls one more time.
Hello?
Anybody upstairs, are they?
Yes.
Hello, who is it?
Well, Sadie, honey.
Uncle Fletcher?
I was about to throw in the sponge.
I was in the kitchen and hollered, then in the dining room and hollered, never got any
numbskull reply.
I was in the attic.
Yes, I know.
I never actually heard you holler.
Just had a feeling somebody was hollering.
I was in the attic.
I was in the attic.
I was in the attic.
I was in the attic.
I was in the attic.
I was in the attic with the stairway door closed and couldn't have heard you holler.
That's right.
Well, I was riding up the alley with gumpox on the garbage box, and that half-wit horse
hollered, broke his heart and didn't move.
Could you get that Uncle Fletcher?
And gumpox figured it'd take him a lot.
Telephones ringing, Sadie, honey.
Telephones ringing.
Yes, it's Miss Trouble.
Will you answer, please?
Sure.
I'm on my way down.
Why?
Tell Miss Trouble to hold the wire just 815 for the second.
I've got to get her to stop off on the stairway.
I'll be right there.
I'll be right there.
I'll be right there.
I'll be right there.
I'll be right there.
I'll be right there.
I'll be right there.
I'll be right there.
I'll be right there.
I'll be right there.
I'll be right there.
I'll be right there.
I'll be right there.
I'll be right there.
I'll be right there.
I'll be right there.
I'll be right there.
I'll be right there.
I'll be right there.
I'm a substitute ticket taker down at the Bijo moving picture show.
I'm a substitute milk wagon driver for Snow and Palmer's Dairy.
Occasionally I hold a red flag for the street gang when they're tearing up the street.
I often operate Cully Landis' gasoline station while Cully goes home to lunch.
I have those and many other irons in the fire.
Now, Sadie Honey, I believe the profession is a good thing.
I believe the professions I have named over are all honorable professions.
Oh, yes, sure.
Because, Sadie Honey, I want your approval in all the various enterprises I turn my hand to.
Well, thanks. I appreciate that.
I take it then that there are no complaints so far.
Why, no.
Sadie Honey, I received a new proposition yesterday afternoon.
Oh?
I received a new proposition yesterday afternoon and I'd like to get your opinion on it.
Well.
This new proposition comes from Hank Gutstop.
Oh, well, look, Uncle Fletcher, this sounds like man business.
Hank Gutstop is a friend of Vic's. Hank Gutstop isn't any friend of mine.
I am your niece, Sadie Honey. I am not Vic's niece.
How do you mean?
Any enterprise in which I might get interested in.
Oh, I see. I am your niece.
Vic is not your niece.
That's what I said.
You said you were my niece and not Vic's niece.
Exactly, exactly.
Any enterprise in which I might get interested is between you and me.
I still think Vic is better than me to discuss stuff concerning Hank Gutstop.
This, Sadie Honey, is why I stopped past.
Oh, all right.
Shall I proceed?
Yes. What's Hank's proposition?
Hank Gutstop, Sadie Honey, as you may know or may not know, is the detective down at the Butterhouse Hotel.
He occupies the bridal suit there.
Yes, I know all about that, Uncle Fletcher. What's he wants you to do?
Hank wants me to take the part of crooks, criminals, scallywags, and rascals.
Oh?
Here's the explanation on it.
Oh, let's hear that.
Hank has been the detective at the Butterhouse Hotel for several weeks now.
Yes, I know he has.
And so far, he hasn't apprehended a single crook, criminal, scallywag, or rascal.
No.
Not one single crook, criminal, scallywag, or rascal.
It's beginning to look bad for Hank.
The mighty show down there at the hotel is beginning to wonder if they really need any detective.
Oh, I see. And Hank wants you...
Hank is getting desperate.
He don't want to give up that fancy souray and them fancy clothes he wears.
He don't want to give up the bridal suit in the aristocratic butler house and go back to that ramshackle Bright Kentucky Hotel there in the railroad yards.
Well, at least that needn't concern...
Hank has to turn in a worksheet to the management every day.
A worksheet showing what he's accomplished.
What is there to write down?
Nothing.
He hasn't apprehended any crook, criminal, scallywag, or rascal.
He hasn't apprehended anybody.
The management looks over that empty worksheet and they think, hey, what is this?
Well, tell me what Hank wants you to do.
Hank is desperate.
Yesterday morning, just to have something to put down on his worksheet, he threw William S. MacFelters out of the lobby.
Who's that?
William S. MacFelters has been a resident of the butler house hotel for 35 years.
Really?
William S. MacFelters moved into the butler house hotel in the year 1909.
Good.
He's got four rooms on the fifth floor and he's lived in them same four rooms for 35 years.
And Hank threw him out of the lobby?
Just to have something to put down on his worksheet.
Well, didn't this gentleman raise the dickens?
William S. MacFelters hit the ceiling.
Took the management an hour and a half to calm him down.
It was gay times down there yesterday morning.
Well, has Hank still got his job?
Just barely hanging on to it by his shoestring.
And that's why he's particularly desperate.
He needs to show how valuable he is.
He needs a crook, criminal, scallywag, or rascal.
And you're the party. He's the last...
Guts Stop wants me to appear in the lobby of the butler house hotel at least twice a day every day in the week.
So he can throw you out?
So he can throw me out.
And he'll pay you for that, huh?
He'll pay me for that.
But won't you look like the same crook, criminal, scallywag, and rascal?
Disguises.
Oh, now really.
Disguises. False whiskers, fake mustache, derby hat, Homburg hat, eyeglasses, wigs.
Oh, no, now.
No, criminal, scallywag, or rascal.
Uncle Fletcher, this is entirely your own business, and I wouldn't even pretend to have any say so.
But...
But you don't care for the idea, huh?
No, I don't.
You don't care for the idea. Is that right, Sadie, honey?
I don't care for it, at least a little bit.
Right, right. No, sad. No, sad. All I want to know. All I want to know.
Well, you have lots of lovely things to do without being part of a thick, winded dishonest...
Agreed. Agreed. Agreed. Agreed.
You're not enthusiastic over the notion yourself, are you?
I just thought I'd stop past and get your opinion on it, that's all.
I don't think you've got a very high opinion of it.
I'm your niece, you know.
I feel like I ought to consult you before entering into any enterprise in which the family may...
All right, Uncle Fletcher, let her go with that.
Fine.
Well, I expect Gum Fox has got his garbage wagon harness spliced together, but now...
If I want to catch a ride, I'd better saunter on out to the alley.
And I have to trot back and wrestle with that attic.
Glorious morning, Sadie, honey.
Yes, it seems to be. I wish I could go out and enjoy it.
Well, I'll stroll on out and catch a ride home with Gum Fox on the garbage wagon.
I want to screw up a new batch of hyena grease to spare on my shoes before noon.
Uh-huh.
Well, good-bye, Sadie, honey.
Good-bye, Uncle Fletcher.