MUSIC:
FANFARE
FORMAN:
From Hollywood, the Phil Harris-Alice Faye Show.
MUSIC:
INTO THEME, THEN UNDER
FORMAN:
For your enjoyment, here is the Phil Harris-Alice Faye Show. Written by Ray Singer and Dick Chevillat. With Elliott Lewis, Walter Tetley, Robert North, Jeanine Roose, Anne Whitfield, Walter Scharf and his music, yours truly Bill Forman, and starring Alice Faye and Phil Harris!
MUSIC:
"ROSE ROOM" UP, THEN OUT
FORMAN:
Things are rather hectic in the Harris household this morning. The, uh, Mah-ster is sick. Some of you women may think you have trouble taking care of a sick husband. But girls, you ain't seen nothin' til you've seen a sick Phil Harris.
HARRIS:
(MOANING IN PAIN) Ooooh... Ohhhhh... (A FEW SOBS) Ooooh, the pain! (LITTLE SOB) The agony! (LITTLE SOB) Is it nobler to suffer the slings and arrows of this outrageous fortune? Or perchance take arms against a sea of trouble, and by opposing, end it all? Gadzooks! Nobody has ever suffered like this before. No-body!
WILLIE:
Oh, for heaven's sake. I never saw such a fuss over an ingrown hair!
HARRIS:
It's not an ingrown hair. My whole body's on fire.
FAYE:
Now, just what part of your body hurts, Phil? Is it your head, your shoulders, your chest, your back, your legs?
HARRIS:
Yes. Just pick a spot, and that's it. All I know is, I woke up this morning with--(GROANS) Oooh!--with stabbing pains in my back.
FAYE:
Why don't you let me call the doctor?
HARRIS:
He wouldn't know what's wrong with me.
FAYE:
Why not?
HARRIS:
I got a disease that hasn't been discovered yet.
FAYE:
Phil, you're not THAT sick.
HARRIS:
Don't tell me! I'll be as sick as I want. Oh, Alice, let's face it. I'm a doomed man. And even if I live, which I'm sure I won't, I'll only be a shell o' my former self. And I don't wanna be a burden to ya, honey. Leave me! Go ahead, baby. Leave me. Get out while you're still beautiful, and fairly young. Go ahead. Leave me. Air out!
FAYE:
Now, don't be silly, Phil. Why should I leave you?
WILLIE:
Don't ask questions, sis! This is the best offer he's made you in nine years! I'll go upstairs and pack your bags. Thank you, Philip, for letting us off the hook, and we'll be happy--
FAYE:
Come back here, Willie. I'm tired of this nonsense, Phil. I'm gonna take your temperature right now. Hold still while I put this thermometer in your mouth.
HARRIS:
Now, get that instrument o' torture away from me! You ain't puttin' no thermometer in MY mouth!
FAYE:
Well, why not?
HARRIS:
It ain't sanitary!
FAYE:
But, Phil, I sterilized it. I dipped it in alcohol.
HARRIS:
I don't care WHAT you dipped it-- (TAKE) Alcohol? Well, don't stand there, nurse! Set 'em up! Little touch o' Old Whippin' Post can't hurt nothin'.
FAYE:
Now, now, lie still, and I'll take your temperature. Here, just hold it under your tongue, and keep still.
HARRIS:
But I don't wanna put-- (THERMOMETER UNDER TONGUE) Oh, honey, I don't wanna (UNINTELLIGIBLE MUMBLES)
FAYE:
You know, Willie, he says his back hurts. He was playing with the children, yesterday. You know, I wouldn't be a bit surprised if he threw his sacroiliac out of joint.
HARRIS:
(THERMOMETER UNDER TONGUE) Threw my WHAT outta the joint? What kinda talk is this? I never heard such a ridiculous thing my life (MUMBLES)
FAYE:
Will you keep quiet, Phil! You'll bite the thermometer in two. Willie, if Phil is really in this much pain, he won't be able to get up and do our radio show. That means he won't be on the air tomorrow.
WILLIE:
Oh, sis, you're just being optimistic. However, perhaps we should get somebody to replace Philip on the program.
HARRIS:
(MUMBLES, THEN THEMOMETER UNDER TONGUE) Replace me? (CHUCKLES) That's the silliest thing I ever heard of. You better get some (MUMBLES, UNDER)
WILLIE:
Let's see. Whom could we get to replace Philip? I'm not-- Alice, tell Donald Duck to shut up.
FAYE:
Well, if we wanna replace Phil, we'll have to get someone equally as clever.
WILLIE:
Yes. M-hm. Let's see, whom can we get? Mortimer Snerd is busy with Bergen. Cecil the Seasick Sea Serpent gets too much money.
FAYE:
I wonder what Fink's Mules are doing this weekend.
HARRIS:
(ANGRY MUMBLING, THEN REMOVES THERMOMETER) Whaddayou mean Fink's Mules, Cecil the Seasick Sea Serpent? Here I am, practically breathin' my last, and-- and-- and you two are standin' there makin' fun of me.
FAYE:
Now, we wouldn't make fun of you if we thought you were really sick.
SFX:
DOORBELL RINGS
FAYE:
I'll get it.
SFX:
FOOTSTEPS, UNDER
FAYE:
(TO HERSELF) I had to marry a hypochondriac. He makes a big magilla out of everything. He's the only man I know who insists on ether when he gets his nails cut.
SFX:
FOOTSTEPS OUT ... DOOR OPENS
FAYE:
Oh, hello, Frankie!
FRANKIE:
Hello, Alice! Where's Curly?
SFX:
DOOR CLOSES
FAYE:
He's in the bedroom, dying.
FRANKIE:
What, AGAIN? What's he got this week?
FAYE:
I dunno. He just likes to THINK he's sick. Do me a favour, and go in and sympathize with him. That's the only thing'll cheer him up.
FRANKIE:
Okay.
SFX:
FOOTSTEPS, UNDER
FRANKIE:
(TO HIMSELF) If he likes to be sick, I'll help him along.
SFX:
FOOTSTEPS OUT
FRANKIE:
Hiya, Curly!
HARRIS:
(MAUDLIN) Hello, Frankie.
FRANKIE:
(DELIGHTED) Curly, this is wonderful! I've never seen you look worse in your life!
HARRIS:
(WHIMPERING) I know. I'm a very sick man.
FRANKIE:
Splendid! What's wrong now?
HARRIS:
Everything, Frankie, everything. This time, I hit the jackpot. I'm really sick.
FRANKIE:
Oh, I'm sorry, Curly. I didn't realize. Is there anything I can do to help ya, pal? Can I get ya a specialist? Do you wanna private nurse? Do ya need some o' my blood?
HARRIS:
Aw, gee, Frankie. You're a true friend. You-- you'd really give me some o' your blood?
FRANKIE:
Sure. And for you, chum, I'll let ya have it for only ten dollars a fifth.
HARRIS:
You'd-- you'd charge me for it?
FRANKIE:
Well, I have to. I can't afford to give this stuff away at a loss. Besides, I'm the only one that has the same type blood as you.
HARRIS:
What type?
FRANKIE:
Ninety proof. Of course, there's a lotta cheap stuff floatin' around, but that's not for a big man like you. Now, can I put ya down for half a case?
HARRIS:
Remley... Look, Remley, I don't wanna buy any o' your blood.
FRANKIE:
All right. I don't need your business. I already sold two quarts this morning.
HARRIS:
How can you give two quarts o' your blood in ONE day?
FRANKIE:
(PAUSE) I water it.
HARRIS:
How low can you sink? Cuttin' the stuff. Frankie, all you ever think of is what's in it for you!
FRANKIE:
Aw, I was only kiddin', Curly. You know I'm not that way. I just came over to see if I can help ya. Really, is there anything I can do for ya?
HARRIS:
(MAUDLIN) There's nothin' anybody can do for me any more. I'm beyond help. But-- Frankie, there is something that, well, that-- that you could do for... Alice, after... I'm gone. You see, she'll-- she'll need a man to look after her.
FRANKIE:
(EAGERLY) Keep talkin'. You're startin' to interest me!
HARRIS:
(SERIOUSLY) Well, Frankie, I... I... I want you to marry her.
FRANKIE:
Me? Marry Alice?
HARRIS:
Yeah. She's-- she's a wonderful girl. She's got money; she's young; she's beautiful, and-- and, well, all I want ya to do is to, to love, and-- and cherish her. Whaddaya say?
FRANKIE:
(PAUSE) How much does the job pay?
HARRIS:
You expect to get money for marryin' a girl like Alice?
FRANKIE:
What was good enough for you is good enough for me!
HARRIS:
Money had absolutely nothing to do with it! I was very lucky to get a girl--
FAYE:
(APPROACHING) Oh, Phil, darling... (GENTLY) Honey, are you feeling any better?
FRANKIE:
Alice, please. I won't have my future wife worrying about another man.
FAYE:
What are you talking about? I'm not your wife.
FRANKIE:
Yeah, I know. But you can acquire me for a small dowry. Shall we say two hundred thousand? In cash?
FAYE:
Frankie!
FRANKIE:
Of course, with the new credit regulations, you'll have to pay me half down.
FAYE:
Now, will you please stop? Look, Phil, I've been thinking. If you feel as bad as you say you feel, we'll have to get someone to replace you on the show tomorrow.
FRANKIE:
And I got just the guy!
HARRIS:
Who?
FRANKIE:
Me. I'll be glad to take over!
HARRIS:
(QUICKLY) Hold it! I feel better. Get my pants; get my hat; I'm on my way; here I go-- (IN PAIN) Oooooh, oooooh, oooooh! My back. There goes that stabbing pain again.
FRANKIE:
(DELIGHTED) Can't get up, eh, Curly?
HARRIS:
I'll get up. I'll go down to that show if I have to crawl down. You're not takin' my place!
FRANKIE:
But this is my big chance to show what I can do! My chance to show my talent! To prove that I'm something besides a lousy left-handed guitar-player!
HARRIS:
Yeah, it'll give ya a chance to prove you're a lousy left-handed comedian too.
FRANKIE:
Touché. Look, Curly, why don't we leave this up to a doctor? If he says you're well enough to work tomorrow, okay. But if he says you're not, I'll take your place.
FRANKIE:
That's fair enough.
HARRIS:
All right, all right. But I'm feeling much better. I'm sure the doctor will say I can make it.
FAYE:
All right, we'll see. Come on, Frankie.
FRANKIE:
All right.
SFX:
FOOTSTEPS, UNDER
FAYE:
I'll go call my doctor, and ask him to come o--
FRANKIE:
Uh, YOUR doctor, huh? Oh, well, look, Alice, your doctor ain't gonna do me no good. I mean, ain't gonna do Curly no good. What he needs is a-- a specialist. Like MY doctor.
FAYE:
Well, I don't know--
FRANKIE:
You wait here. I'll go get him. He's right around the corner. In the meantime, you stay here, and keep Curly in bed. Sing to him, and keep him sick.
FAYE:
What kind of a crack is that? "Sing to him and keep him sick"?
FRANKIE:
No, I mean... it makes him happy to think he's sick, so sing to him, and keep him happy.
FAYE:
I still don't think I like it, but I'll sing now, and figure it out later.
FAYE'S SONG:
"YOU'RE THE CREAM IN MY COFFEE"
SFX:
FOOTSTEPS, UNDER
FRANKIE:
Now, look, Doctor, before we go in and see Curly, all I want you to do is tell him to stay in bed. Ya understand, Doctor?
CONRIED:
(VERY WORKING-CLASS) Yeah, yeah, I understand, but stop callin' me Doctor. I ain't no doctor! I repair pool tables, for cryin' out loud.
FRANKIE:
Well, for my purposes, that's close enough. Your toolkit looks like a doctor's black bag, and to Curly, anybody that carries a black bag is a doctor. Oh, here's the house. Let's go in.
SFX:
DOOR OPENS
CONRIED:
Frankie, I don't know if I oughtta do this.
FRANKIE:
Doctor! Remember, as a physician, you owe it to humanity to heal the sick and alleviate their suffering. (PAUSE) Besides, if ya don't, I'll tell your parole officer where ya are.
CONRIED:
Stool pigeon. Suppose this guy Harris wants me to examine him?
FRANKIE:
Nah, he won't. Just lay it on thick. Tell him he's sick, and he has to stay in bed for six months. Now, be quiet; here's Curly's room. (SWITCH) Hiya, Curly! I want ya to meet Doctor Corbett.
HARRIS:
(MAUDLIN) How do ya do, Doctor?
CONRIED:
(QUICKLY) After studying this case carefully, I come to conclusion you gonna have to stay in bed six months. That'll be ten dollars please. So long, everybody!
HARRIS:
Wait a minute! Come back here. You can't tell anything by just lookin' at me. I demand a-- a-- an examination.
CONRIED:
Examination, huh? Okay. Mr. Remley, I want you to help me.
FRANKIE:
Whaddaya want me to do, Doctor?
CONRIED:
While I open my toolcase, you rack up the patient.
HARRIS:
What does he mean, rack me up?
FRANKIE:
Uh... Well, that's a medical term. It's from the Latin "rickety rackety rook". Uh, go ahead, Doctor. Continue with the examination.
HARRIS:
Yeah, Doctor, and remember, I want a thorough one.
CONRIED:
All right... Frankie, open my bag, and hand me my level.
HARRIS:
Remley... A level. What's that?
FRANKIE:
Uh... Oh, I told the doctor you're flat on your back, and he wants to make sure.
CONRIED:
Yeah. Now, hold still, Harris. Hey, this is worse than I thought.
FRANKIE:
What'sa matter with him, Doctor?
CONRIED:
This guy sags toward the left-hand side pocket.
HARRIS:
Wait a minute, you guys, will ya wait a minute? What kind of an examination is this? Doctor, look at my tongue.
CONRIED:
Okay. I dunno what that's gonna prove, but I'll look at it.
HARRIS:
All right. (TONGUE OUT) Here ya are, Doc.
CONRIED:
(LITTLE SCREAM) Aaah! I've seen better lookin' tongues in a window of a cheap delicatessen.
HARRIS:
Remley... What kind of a doctor have ya brought me here, Remley? What'sa matter with this--
FRANKIE:
He's a little nervous, Curly. Ya see, you're the first patient he's ever lost.
HARRIS:
Whattaya mean, LOST? Gimme a fightin' chance! Doctor, examine me like you're supposed to. Now, take my temperature.
CONRIED:
Well, that, I can do. Hold still. I'll put this thermometer in your mouth. (INSTANTLY) That's long enough. Whattaya know, a hundred and twelve!
HARRIS:
A hundred and twelve?! Oh, I KNEW I was a goner! Doctor, tell me something. How much longer have I got?
CONRIED:
Now, calm down, Harris. With care, lotsa rest, plenty o' sunshine, and a good diet, I guarantee you'll be around for at least another ten minutes.
HARRIS:
Ten minutes? Doctor, you must be mistaken. I don't feel that bad.
FRANKIE:
Nah, he's exaggerating, Curly. Doc's a great kidder. (STERNLY) Doc...
CONRIED:
Hm?
FRANKIE:
Tell him he'll be all right if he just stays in bed.
CONRIED:
Okay. Harris, if you'll just stay in bed for about six months, I guarantee you'll live to the ripe old age of forty. Now, ya feel better?
HARRIS:
Yeah. Except for one thing. I'm forty-three NOW. Uh, how do ya figure that out?
CONRIED:
Simple. You've been dead for three years. (LAUGHS) Ah, he thought he had me, Remley.
HARRIS:
Now, wait a minute, Doctor! I gotta be well by tomorrow so I can do my radio program. Can't you, well-- well, can't you give me some medicine, some-- some-- some pills, or something?
CONRIED:
Pills... Yeah, I guess I got some in my kit. Lemme see-- Yeah, there ya are! Just take this big round pill, swallah it, and--
HARRIS:
Hold it a minute! What kind of a pill is this?
CONRIED:
What's wrong with it?
HARRIS:
Well, it's black with a number eight on it.
CONRIED:
I guess the eight ball would be bad luck. Here, try one o' these blue bouillon cubes.
HARRIS:
That's cube chalk!! Remley, will you get Willie Hoppe outta here? I don't want nothin' to do with a guy like this!
CONRIED:
All right, all right, I'll leave! So long, Harris. And don't worry. We all gotta go SOMETIME.
HARRIS:
Frankie...
FRANKIE:
Hm?
HARRIS:
What kind of a doctor is that, givin' billiard balls for pills?
FRANKIE:
So he's a little eccentric. But ya gotta admit, he diagnosed your case correctly.
HARRIS:
(SARCASTIC) Oh, yeah, yeah. I got a very unusual disease: a sagging side pocket.
FRANKIE:
With a hole in it. I understand it's fatal if ya don't stay in bed for six months.
HARRIS:
I'm not stayin' in-- (IN PAIN) Ooooh... (QUIETLY) Oh, those stabbin' pains again.
FRANKIE:
Hmmm...
HARRIS:
Look, I guess I'm gonna have to get somebody to take my place on the show tomorrow. But who?
FRANKIE:
Curly, aren't you forgetting me?
HARRIS:
Yes. Now, uh, let's see... There's Bob Hope or Red Skelton or Jackson or Dennis Day...
FRANKIE:
How 'bout Fibber McGee and Remley?
HARRIS:
No.
FRANKIE:
Heavenly days, he doesn't like it.
HARRIS:
All right, Frankie. Look, go call Hope, Skelton, or one o' those guys, and see if they'll do the show for me tomorrow.
FRANKIE:
All right, if you'd rather settle for a stooge instead of a big name like me.
HARRIS:
All right! Go ahead! (TO HIMSELF) Gee, I wish I could do the show tomorrow. I got such a wonderful song all ready.
HARRIS' SONG:
"POSSIBILITIES"
FRANKIE:
(VERY HAPPY) Well, Curly, I got wonderful news! I called Benny, Hope, Skelton, and Dennis Day, and asked if they'd fill in for ya, and they all said the same thing!
HARRIS:
What?
FRANKIE:
(DISPARAGING) They won't touch your show with a fork.
HARRIS:
Well, why not?
FRANKIE:
They said they wouldn't be found dead on a sustaining show. Looks bad for a star. Looks bad for a star to appear on a show that hasn't got a sponsor.
HARRIS:
I HAVE got a sponsor! He just won't let me mention his name, that's all.
FAYE:
Phil, we haven't called everybody yet. I'll phone Groucho Marx, and see if he'll do it.
SFX:
FADING FOOTSTEPS, UNDER
HARRIS:
Yeah, and tell him it's very, very important, honey!
FAYE:
(FADING OFF-MIKE) Don't worry dear. Just leave everything to me. (TO HERSELF) Gee, I hope Groucho isn't too busy to talk--
SFX:
FOOTSTEPS OUT
JULIUS:
Hiya, Miss Faye! I brung the groceries.
FAYE:
(DOWNCAST) Oh, hello, Julius.
JULIUS:
Why, Miss Faye, you look distoibed. What's up?
FAYE:
I'm looking for somebody to replace Mr. Harris.
JULIUS:
A very smart move. It's about time ya got rid o' that old man.
FAYE:
Julius, please.
JULIUS:
That's what comes from these May and December weddin's.
FAYE:
You don't understand. Mr. Harris is sick, and I'm trying to replace him--
JULIUS:
You don't need no excuse. Sick or healthy, get rid o' the ol' hambone!
FAYE:
Julius, I have no intention of getting rid of Mr. Harris. He's sick, and I'm trying to get someone to take his place on the show tomorrow.
JULIUS:
Oh. Well, if he's sick, I better go in and see him.
FAYE:
I wish you would. Excuse me, I've got a phone call to make.
SFX:
FOOTSTEPS, FADING OUT
JULIUS:
Okay. I'll just go in and cheer him up.
SFX:
FOOTSTEPS, UNDER
JULIUS:
(SINGS "DEATH MARCH" TO HIMSELF)
SFX:
FOOTSTEPS OUT
JULIUS:
Hiya, Mr. Harris!
HARRIS:
(PAUSE, MAUDLIN) Hello, Julius.
JULIUS:
How ya feelin'?
HARRIS:
(TEARFUL) I'm a very sick man.
JULIUS:
Oh, that's a shame. Ya have much pain?
HARRIS:
Yes.
JULIUS:
(LAUGHS)
FRANKIE:
Julius, you oughtta be ashamed o' yourself, laughin' on a sad occasion like this!
JULIUS:
I'm sorry, Mr. Remley. I shouldn't laugh at him. Mr. Harris was a pretty nice guy when he was with us.
FRANKIE:
He certainly was. You wanna look at him once more, son?
JULIUS:
No... (SADLY) I'd rather remember him the way he was.
HARRIS:
Whaddaya mean, WAS?! I'm still around! Instead o' kibbitzin', why don't you guys try to do somethin' to help me get better?
FRANKIE:
He's right, kid.
JULIUS:
Yeah. Mr. Harris, if you can think of any way that I can do somethin' to help ya get back on your feet, I want ya to feel free to KEEP IT TO YOURSELF.
FRANKIE:
And, Curly, I want ya to know that that kid speaks for me too!
HARRIS:
(ANGRY) All right! Fine couple o' pals! I'm not worried about myself. (WORRIED) I'm-- I-- I-- I'm worried about the show. I won't be able to be on the air tomorrow!
JULIUS:
You won't be on the air? Oh, I better run along and prepare my uncle for the shock! He'll be SO disappointed!
HARRIS:
Oh? Does he like me that much?
JULIUS:
He thinks you're the funniest comedian on the air. He listens to ya every Sunday, and he laughs so hard, he keeps bangin' his head up against the wall.
HARRIS:
Well, doesn't that hurt his head?
JULIUS:
Nah, his cell is padded.
HARRIS:
I can't understand it. Everybody around's a funny man. You'd think that somebody'd try to do somethin' FOR me.
FRANKIE:
I offered to do somethin' for ya.
HARRIS:
Aw, ya did--
FRANKIE:
Lemme take your place on the show tomorrow. I promise not to be too funny. I'll keep it right down to YOUR level. Nice and dull.
HARRIS:
Remley, I'd let ya do it, but-- but, frankly, I don't think Radio is ready for you yet. Sorry, I can't use you right now.
FRANKIE:
But, Curly--
HARRIS:
Just leave your name with the receptionist, Sir, and don't call me, I'll call YOU. Let's face it, Remley, you're not big enough to be--
FAYE:
(APPROACHING) Phil... Phil, I just spoke to Groucho.
HARRIS:
Wha'd he say; wha'd he say; wha'd he say?
FAYE:
He won't do it; he won't do it; he won't do it.
FRANKIE:
(DELIGHTED) What a pity; what a pity; what a pity.
HARRIS:
All right.
FRANKIE:
Now, I'll have to take over, Curly!
HARRIS:
All right. I guess I'm stuck. Well... Remley... You can take over tomorrow.
FRANKIE:
Curly, I appreciate this, and I won't forget you! (PAUSE) If you ever get back on your feet, come around and see me, and I'll find a place for ya on the show!
HARRIS:
Oh, you will, huh?
FRANKIE:
Yeah. I'll let you read the commercials we're not allowed to do. So long! And don't forget to listen to the new Frank Remley Show! (SINGS, TO TUNE OF "LUCKY STRIKE" JINGLE) Be happy, go Remley! The cutest lad in Radio! (FADING OFF MIKE) Boo boo boo boo boo boo...
HARRIS:
Oh, that guy. If I could only get back on my feet, I-- (MOANS IN PAIN) Ooooh, ooooh! My back! (MOANS IN PAIN)
FAYE:
Oh, now, now, now, take it easy, honey, and relax. I'll sit here and knit, and you finish reading your book. Here. Here it is.
HARRIS:
Oh, Alice, I'm tired o' readin' "Uncle Wiggly".
FAYE:
Phil? Phil, did you see my knitting anywhere?
HARRIS:
No.
FAYE:
Lemme see, now... When we went to bed last night, you were reading, and I was knitting, and I fell asleep, and-- and-- (TAKE) Phil, sit up a minute!
HARRIS:
(IN GREAT PAIN) Oh-oooh-ohh!
FAYE:
Oh, you big clown! You're always kidding around! I found my knitting.
HARRIS:
Where?
FAYE:
Right here. The needles are sticking in your back! Oh, Phil... (LAUGHS, UNDER)
HARRIS:
YOUR needles caused my--? I wonder if I could talk Rudy Vallee into takin' her back?
MUSIC:
BIG FINISH ... SEGUE INTO "ROSE ROOM", THEN OUT
FORMAN:
Ladies and gentlemen, here is Mr. Robert A. Riddle, of the National Safety Council, with a message for Phil and Alice.
RIDDLE:
Phil and Alice, I take pleasure in making this Public Service Award to you for the National Safety Council. For the second consecutive year, and the only time in Council history that anybody has received the award more than once. For taking time out from your very busy schedule to contribute your talent to this most worthwhile cause, the National Safety Council presents you this Award for Exceptional Service for the Cause of Safety in 1949-50.
HARRIS:
Thank you, Mr. Riddle!
FAYE:
Thank you, and goodnight everybody!
HARRIS:
Goodnight, everybody! Thanks a lot!
MUSIC:
CLOSING THEME UP, THEN OUT
HARRIS:
Listen now to "The Tales of the Texas Rangers" with Joel McCrae!
NBC CHIMES