Hollywood (1938)

to get in the way of a man's thinking. All these things occurred to Bob in due time. Of course he had to have that initial period of trying out things. Overstuffed furniture was easy on the spine. Beds so soft that he fairly disappeared in their luxurious laps were highly tempting. Oh, Bob found it all pleasant enough — until he began realizing that it drugged his priceless common sense. And at that stage it became alarming. Finally he went to the Mrs. about it. She had seen it all coming, of course, but had decided to let Bob find out for himself. So when he finally confessed his confusion, the wise Mrs. Burns merely said, "Well, Robin, you'd better do something about it." You see, she had a hunch that Bob should work it out for himself. ■ So Bob got to thinking, and he remembered that a man's best friend was his dog. Maybe things would seem less complicated if he had a pooch or two around to keep him human. "I knew well enough what I wanted in the line of dogs," Bob confessed one day, "but I thought maybe Bel-Air had some building restrictions in the matter of breed. So I did a little investigatin'. You know, I had an Uncle down in Arkansas who was a detective once, and he always told me that I had the makin's of a first class Sherlock Holmes if I'd develop my intuition a bit. "So this seemed like a pretty good time to take my uncle's advice, and I went prowlin' around the neighborhood. You know, it's surprisin' what I found. Most of them people with imposing brick homes topped with a coat-of-arms went in for the finest blue-bloods of dogdom. Their canines were so doggone snooty that they practically carried their pedigrees around on the end of their noses. "But it's always been my private opinion that the smartest dog is one that can't explain his ancestry at all. If he's a common pooch he has had a chance of pickin' up some sense somewhere along the line. So after sizin' up the neighborhood, it seemed like a good idea to run down to the police station and inquire. I got down there and found the desk sergeant was a pretty square guy. 'Good morning,' I says, and he nods pleasantly. I'd like to ask you just one question, mister sergeant. Is there any buildin' restrictions in the matter of dogs in BelAir?' "The sergeant looked at me kind of funny and said, 'Dog houses have got to be decent lookin' and in accordance with the architecture of your place, Mr. Burns. And Bel-Air frowns on large kennels.' "Mister sergeant, I aint a-talkin' about acquiring a pound,' I explains carefully. 1 aim on building a dog accordin' to my own specifications. And I don't want no blue blood. I'd a heap rather find some almost-cocker spaniel, with some airdale in him. But I was wonderin' if the community is too exclusive for that?' " Bob poured himself a drink of nice cold ice water and prepared to finish his story. "Well, the sergeant promised to keep my secret, and said maybe he'd like a dog of that type, too. So I made arrangements, AUGUST, 1938 and one day two pups were delivered to me. They were cuter than all get out — little black fellows with white chests. Brothers, about six weeks old. "Well, at first we couldn't tell tham apart, but now they're growin' up, there's very little the same in either of them. That's what comes from mixing breeds, and that's what makes them good dogs." ■ Bob paused, and we found an entering wedge. "And did they make life simple for you?" He looked a bit disgusted. Naw, they didn't. I love those dogs like nobody else could, but the little devils just took too much of my time when they were in the house. I couldn't think at all. If I wasn't pettin' them, I was answerin' the phone twelve times a day, or pryin' into household matters that should concern no one but the missus. So finally I struck my solution." Bob was smiling now, and looking pretty pleased with himself. "I told you," he resumed, "that my great grandpappy found everything to his likin' in a little old log cabin that was just barely nailed together." We nodded. "Well, I decided then and there to build my own log cabin." "What— in Bel-Air?" "Yep — in Bel-Air. You see, I figgered that if I could have dogs the way I want them, I might be able to fool the boys some more. But it wasn't no easy job. Not by a long shot. "A mess of building inspectors and other officials came out and tried to reason with me. But I took 'em all to the back end of the property, which is pretty rustic anyhow, and showed them just what I wanted to do. "You know, even a buildin' inspector is human. Those fellows thought it was a pretty nifty idea, and kind of wished they could have one, too. But don't get me wrong — they sure had their ideas on what a Bel-Air log cabin is like. "And friend, my grandpappy would blush with shame to see what resulted. It is positively the most luxurious log cabin, from the outside, that you ever saw. It's a wonder they didn't make me use solid mahogany logs. It's so purty, even so, that it looks like a fake. But only on the outside! "I got the inside of that place fixed to my suitin'. There's no phone in it, and nothin' else that seems too civilized. Sometimes I kin plumb forget myself and think I'm back in Arkansas. If I want to, I can take off my shoes and wiggle my toes comfortable-like. There's no one in there to tell me different, and there's goin' to be no one. "When I settle myself to write for the newspapers or the radio, I just stay there until the thoughts come tumbling out. And if they don't tumble right away, then I sit and think about the old Arkansas River, the one that goes through Van Buren, and how I u§ed to take an old wobbly houseboat down the river when I was a kid. Then suddenly things seem awful clear, and I start to scribblin'. Yes sir — I guess I've found the simple life at last." ■ Bob finished off his long explanation with a pleasant grin. We grinned, too, and said that the solution came pretty easy after all. But Bob didn't agree. He found simplicity, yes — but it wasn't a simple task. He still had a lot of fresh visions about those building inspectors, you see. "Why, those fellows wouldn't let me get by with one single simple thing on the outside," he explained, working himself into a reminiscent frown. "I had to have every log just so — it was against the law to have the place look natural. "In my grandpappy 's day things were easier. He'd just say, 'Son, hustle down to the store and get me a dime's worth of nails. We're agonna build a cabin today.' I'd get the nails and there we were. No more expense a-tall. Grandpappy would chop down a few choice trees, then hand the axe to me while he marked the ground with a stick. I'd trim the logs, notch them so they'd cleave together. Then we'd stack 'em up, build a little fireplace, and you had it. "But here — why, the hardware for the door cost me mor'n a whole cabin down in Arkansas. H Bob's a persistent cuss when he begins something. There was a lot of grief before he finally had that cabin finished, but it's done now, and how Bob uses it! It's confidential — but we'll tell you one more plan of his. He's going to put in a horse shoe pitching ground, and ask Bing to bring a few shoes from his racing stables. Of course Bob hasn't asked the building inspectors about it yet. We don't want to borrow trouble for him, but he's liable to find that indulging in this simple pastime is frowned on in Bel-Air. If you see him tossing gold-plated shoes at shiny spikes in the sod, you'll know they read about his plans and caught up with him. You've got to do things right in Bel-Air! Even though a good deal of finery seems to have gone to his head in Tropic Holiday, Bob Burns remains quite unimpressed with bull, alive stuffed or verbal 25