i did.
i'm sorry, father. it's necessary research.
miss stellwagon has assigned each of us to take a want ad and write a human interest theme about it. i found one typical of the disintegration of our present society.
i didn't expect you to be, father. miss stellwagon says that middle- class people like us are all too prone to overlook the pressures and tensions which befall the less fortunate members of our community.
it's just twenty-four words. but in simple eloquence it mirrors a minor tragedy of our times.
"forced to sell. farm dwelling, oak grove, apple orchard, trout stream, hay fields, four barns, seclusion, superb view, original beams, paved highway, acreage.  will sacrifice"
that's all.
you don't see it, do you, father?
certainly, mother. what some people don't see is the whole sordid picture. a poor, honest farmer, pushed to the wall by hardship, soil erosion, mortgages, everybody gobbling, gobbling, gobbling, until finally, in desperation, he is "forced to sell," and stoops to the crass commercialism of newspaper advertising.
yes.
personally, i'd like a crane mobile home. it comes all folded up and all you do is plug it in for electricity and water and --
oh, look, we're in the lansdale paper! "historical society blasts vandalism!"
"censure vote passed re destruction of famed hackett edifice."
read on, father.
read on, father.
and what did we pay, father?
it's the other way around, father.
good night, mr. simms. uncle bill.
i think it's awful. smelling up the house with those horrible chemicals.
well, that's something!
where's uncle bill? i just checked the timetable -- he's going to miss his train.
you're going to miss your train, uncle bill! it leaves lansdale in twenty-five minutes.
not till the commuter's special tomorrow morning at six-fifteen.
no, dad, six-fifteen.
there's a little asterisk. the seven- fifteen only runs saturdays, sundays and holidays.
uncle bill, you're going to miss your train!
you'd better hurry!
we'll get in a lot of doubles.
no, he's not. i heard him and mother talking. he's going to move his vacation up and take a place in lansdale.
father, the first principle of lighting a fire is to see if the flue is open. a three-year-old child knows that.
mother's diary when she was in college. it's slightly torrid.
i'd say mother and uncle bill were somewhat of an item!
what about --?
'morning, everybody!
good! i'm starving! what are we having, gussie?