The Washington times., 1936-01-16
The Voice
POkesFun
AtGOrdOn
By FRANK BUCK" o'NEILN

BY FhANA Dunn v NG1bA
The telephone in the suite Of
Max Gordon, playwright, rang
sharply. Reused out of com
munion with his inner self,
Mr.. Gordon answered the
summons.
Hello" he said in the tone
of a man who fears the worst,
Mr.. Gordon?" queried The
Voice.
Eyes, this is Gordon. Who
is this?" demanded the builder
of scenes.
"Mr. Gordon" said The Voice.
as smooth as silk and as alIur.
ing as sin, you have been rec.
commended to me by mutual
friends as a man who might be
interested in some attractive
operations"
Operations? I'm in fine
health" gagged Gordon.
mo, no, Mr.. Gordon, you mis-
understand me. / mean turf
operations" The Voice said
softly but insistently.
mo, I'm not interested. I'm
Just small bettOr. You've got
the wrong man, honest"
1t was easy to see that Mr.. Cor
don was fighting against himself
NOT REALLY BETTING
"TheSe operations are not
really betting, as we understand
the term" pressed The Voice.
"We have taken care of the op-
position at a price, and l am
making a subscription in your
name. GOod-by."
The dropping of the curtain in.
dicates an interlude OF several
hours. Again the phone rang.
Il congratulate you, MIR. Cor.
dOn," purred The Voice. You
are now $500 richer than you
were. Now there is another
horse going and we are dealing
you in :"
But 1 don't want to be dealt
in. i don't want to bet. / don't
know you or anything about
yOu," protested the indignant
Gordon.
"I'H call you tomorrow"
crOOned the honey-toned Voice.
Came the witching hour of 3
o'clock the following afternoon.
"Child Of FOrtunee, our first
promotion rewarded our sub
scribers, you among them. You
now are S1,5OO ahead, and still
no expense" The Voice said.
well, remember, didn't
want to go in on this" protested
Gordon.
1t was late that night when
The Voice again crooned across
the wire.
"Are we going places, or are
we gOing?" he started.
81 hope it isn't to Sing Sing"
was the protesting answer.
SIX G'S TOTAL CREDIT
Gust think, $4,000 at 2 to 1.
You're rich, you're rich. You
have a total credit of G's,
and that amt peanuts in any
mans country"
There was just a touch of the
vernacular in that last statement,
but one must look for those things
in turf circles. If nothing else, it
loaned an air of authority to what
had gone before.
Maybe this thing was all right.
Anyway, there never had been
the slightest acquiesence on the
part of the architect of climaxes.
Well, let nature take its course.
After all, G's!
Gosh. a Teller could do a lot
with 6 G's...
Again the telephone, the ring.
ing, gangling, raucouS telephone
that shattered quiet, destroyed
thought and meditation.
"Mr. Gordon, this is Mr.. Teh-
teringtOn," said The Voice.
"Just one more operation and
we are going to retire for a few
days. will see you later"
mot for me-" protested the
answer, but there was a click
and the phone went dead.
SONG WRITER
Next day Gordon was with a
group of friends. Into the midst
of the group stepped that success.
full song writer. Caesar. =.
Hello, everybody" he said,
and then withdrew.
Paging Mr.. Gordon. Paging
Mr.. Gordon. Right this way,
here's the phone"
Hello, GOrdOn?" asked The
Voice, strangely harsh. II just
wanted to tell you that our last
operation crossed the trail of
the Purple Gang. We're wiped
out and your six G.'S are lost.
You owe me $1,5OO. ="
"Why, you. ="
And if Caesar hadn't burst into
loud outlaws in the next booth,
Mr.. Gordon might still be wonder.
= L