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“flYSTERS,” ordered the honey-eolored II blonde of the superior waiter at a swank Strip restaurant.
“Make it three,” said one of her two male companions.
When the waiter placed the oysters on the table, the blonde pierced the first one laid before her — and gave a smothered shriek.
“Look — a pearl!” she whispered to her two companions. Sure enough it was one — big, too. “Maybe there are more,” she hoped aloud . . . and finally she had unearthed two more. This sent the trio into an electric huddle of secrecy.
“Gotta keep the pearls hidden from the management!”
“Joan found ’em — they belong to her!”
“Ixnay — the aiterway!” warned the girl in pig-La tin as the waiter approached. This went on for the duration of lunch. They were an hysterical trio of Musketeers, guarding their jewels. After lunch they rushed into a taxi and up to the nearest fine jewelry shop. And here a gray-haired, morning-coated jewel expert told them the sad truth.
“Sea-gravel,” he pronounced. “Found in oysters everywhere. Worthless.”
The three Musketeers sagged out, despondent. But at least their consciences were clear. They hadn’t cheated the restaurant out of a thing!
There is nothing sophisticated about that story, and its heroine could easily add the initial N to her name — N for Natural. For natural is the word for Joan Caulfield, which you know if you’ve seen her in her first three pictures: “Miss Susie Slagle’s,” with Sonny Tufts; “Blue Skies,” with Bing Crosby and Fred Astaire; and “Monsieur Beaucaire” with the one and only Bob Hope. She has thick springy blonde hair, wide blue eyes, a wider white smile and a
Joan, the honey blonde, who helps keep the rest of the Caul fields
in happy, hectic confusion
BY ELEANOR HARRIS
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