 Over the Christmas holidays, the past few years, our Miss Brooks has been putting her time to good use, writing articles for the Western Quarterly magazine. Last year, they paid her $50 for an authentic article called The Vanishing Indian. And this year, they've agreed to pay her $100 for one on the vanishing hobo. And next year, if they make it $200, I'll do one on the vanishing school teacher. Ah! Make this year's article as authentic as possible. I decided to get my information from a genuine hobo. So my first problem was, where would I be most likely to find the biggest bum in town? I decided to try the railroad yard, since my principal's office was closed for the holidays. And yesterday morning, my search was rewarded. I met a really loquacious tramp, with whom I agreed to divide my fee for the article if he would supply the information I needed. As we walked back to my house, we made a very interesting couple. Me, with my new Christmas hat and coat with patch pockets. And he, with his broken down derby and suit, with patch pockets wherever you looked. But my hobo still couldn't seem to get over his good fortune. Then you're really shelling out half a scene out just to hear me spill. Boy, lady, it sure is lucky I stumble onto you. Particularly since I just got in by lower berth from shy. You rode from Chicago by lower berth? Yeah, all the way. Right under a Pullman car. I ride Pullmans all the time. You gotta know how to use your lump of lead to land a spot like that. Your lump of lead? Yeah, your head. Well, knowing the students at Madison, I shouldn't have asked. Your vocabulary is a wee bit different from mine, Mr.... Mr.... You know, I still don't know your name. It's the Earl of Peoria. The Earl of Peoria? Well, what do you hear from the Princess Margaret Rose? I just couldn't resist that. You should have. Nearly everybody pulls the same gag. Well, here we are, Earl. This is where I live. Hey, this is quite a trap you got here. Oh, I don't know. In six years, I still haven't caught Mr.... Just a moment while I get... Clark, Connie. I was wondering if you'd be back in time for breakfast. Oh, hello, Mrs. Davis. This is the Earl of Peoria. Hello, lady. Oh, how do you do your lordship? Mrs. Davis, you needn't bother to curtsy. All right, dear. But would it be all right if I asked the Earl a question? It's a little personal. That's okay, lady. Go right ahead. How's the Princess Margaret Rose? The last time the Earl was in Buckingham Palace, he forgot to inquire. Mrs. Davis, you can see by the way the Earl is dressed, that he's a gentleman of the road. Yeah, a hobo. My, what a perfect disguise. Well, don't worry, your secret is safe with me, your majesty. Your majesty? I tell her he's a hobo, and immediately she ups the ante. Mrs. Davis, maybe the Earl is hungry, Connie. Breakfast is on the table, and I know there's plenty for all three of us. Why not go ahead in your worship? Well, thanks. I won't mind a bite at that. You can cut the wood later. Uh, go right in sometime there. We'll be with you in a minute. Thanks. Mrs. Davis, the Earl is actually a genuine hobo. Really? Well, dear, no matter what his profession is, it's nice that you're getting away from biologists for a change. And I'm not seeing him to get away from Mr. Boynton. The Western Quarterly magazine is paying me $100 for an article called The Vanishing Hobo, and I'm simply seeing the Earl to get authentic information. Now, do you understand? Of course, dear. Good. Where is he taking you on New Year's Eve? He's not taking me anywhere. As of now, Mr. Boynton is still my New Year's Eve date. Well, I thought you said he hasn't invited you yet. What if he doesn't ask you? Well, then I'll have to resort to a clever little subterfuge which we women use only in extreme emergency. What's that, dear? I'll ask him. I expect to see him in a little while. Walter's driving me over there to pick up his typewriter and borrow a clean shirt and tie for the Earl. Oh, that reminds me, Connie. While you were out, Mr. Conklin called. He said to tell you to come over to his house as soon as Walter puts you up. He sounded as if it were a matter of life and death if you weren't there in half an hour. I think I'll wait an hour and be sure. Everything's a matter of life and death with our principal and he wants me to do something for him. Doesn't he realize that these are the holidays and that we teachers have a right to some time off just as much as... Oh, there's the back doorbell. That's probably Walter now. Come in, dear. The door's open. Why is he coming in by the back door? He probably wants to stop in the kitchen and drop off the bag of food I asked him to buy. Good morning, ladies. I say, I just came through your dinette. You know, there's a man eating like crazy and they're with both hands. Well, go in and show him how you eat with both mouths. Go in and join him, Walter. Well, say, who is he? He's the Earl of Peoria, Walter. The Earl of Peoria? Well, what does he hear from the Princess Margaret Rose? That joke might easily become as popular as the bubonic plague. But to forestall any further speculation as to who he is, the Earl of Tramp who's helping me with an article I've been writing called The Vanishing Hobo. Now, is everything clear? Oh, yes, ma'am. I'm glad. Where is he taking you on New Year's Eve? I wonder if this place is wired for sound. Now, Walter, if you're ready, let's get going. I have to stop off at our principal's house before we visit Mr. Boyden. Oh, I'm not going with you, Miss Brooks. I have some errands to do for my mother, so I thought I'd let you borrow my car. I have every confidence you are my equal as a driver. Give a pedestrian, take a pedestrian. Well, in that case, I might as well take the Earl along. That is, if your car is suitable for him, how high is the body from the ground, Walter? But, Connie, what difference does it make how high the car's body is? Plenty. I want the Earl to be perfectly comfortable while he rides under it. In case you're wondering whose house this is, Earl, it's my principal's. Hey, hey, it's not fair. Yes, sir, this is a real ice palace, isn't it? Yes, that does describe the thin stuff I skate on around here. Oh, hi, Miss Brooks. Daddy's been expecting you. Come on in. Thanks, Harriet. Daddy's in the... Oh, hello. Hello, Miss. Harriet, this is the Earl of Peoria. Oh, how do you do, Your Highness? Harriet, you don't have to curtsy. Well, all right, then I'll... And you don't have to kiss his hand, either. Ah, go on, let her enjoy yourself. Well, at least could I ask the Earl a question? Of course it is a little personal. If it's about the Princess Margaret Rose's health, she's in bed with the gout. Why did you know what I was going to ask? I read tea leaves. The Earl of Peoria is a hobo, Harriet. Who is a sore Harriet? Oh, if you, Miss Brooks. What's that? How are you? Mr. Conklin, this is the Earl of Peoria. And you needn't bother to curtsy, sir. The Earl of Peoria. Well, what do you hear from the Prince of Wales? The Prince of Wales. Oh, I really do come up with a name, Miss Brooks. You should have stayed down with that one. See me about something, sir. Indeed, I did. Come into my den, please. Daddy, if you don't need me around here anymore, I'm going to meet Cynthia Craven. Lucky Cynthia. You may go, Harriet, and follow me, Miss Brooks. You don't mind waiting here alone a few minutes, sir? Oh, not at all. It's a lot safer. Now, sit down, Miss Brooks. Now tell me, just what is that hobo doing tagging along with you? Well, I'm writing an article for the Western Quarterly magazine entitled The Vanishing Hobo. And I needed authentic information, so I found the Earl in the railroad yard. Does that explain everything, sir? I believe it does. I'm glad. What did you want to see me about, Mr. Conklin? Miss Brooks, when I called this morning, I had a little errand I wanted you to perform for me. But I know how insignificant that will appear when I tell you about the reports Mr. Stone asked me to work on. But, sir, didn't you explain to him that these are your holidays and there's time enough when you get back to school? I did indeed, Miss Brooks. I was so persuasive, in fact, that Mr. Stone finally agreed to let me split my work half and half. Half during the holidays and half after? No, half for you and half for Miss Enright. But, sir, these are my holidays, too. Yes, they were Wednesday. Miss Brooks, those reports will only take you a few afternoons this coming week. Oh, well, I don't suppose there's any use in protesting. And, my, you are maturing, aren't you? Now, the other thing is quite simple. Since you have Denton's car anyway, I didn't think you'd mind dropping off three or four suits of mine at the cleaners. My wife has taken our car up to her mother's for a few days. Oh, that's all right, sir. All right, fine. They're on one of the chairs in the hall. I'll show you. Yeah, they're right over there. Miss Brooks, they're gone. My suits are missing. Oh, but that's impossible, sir. They couldn't be missing. Not with the Earl standing right in here guarding. Descending right? Well... Any outside guarding them. But Jersey Crookes stole my suits. Oh, Mr. Conklin, what a horrible thing to say. Harriet probably told the Earl you wanted me to take your suits to the cleaners, and he probably carried them to the car for me. He's undoubtedly waiting in the car this very minute. Now, I'll just open the front door and show you how mistaken you are. Why, the dirty Crookes stole Walter's car. Well, while I was writing my article on the vanishing hobo, the hobo vanished with Mr. Conklin's suits, Walter's car, and maybe even my job. I persuaded Mr. Conklin not to call the police just yet to show a little faith in human nature. The sort of faith I showed later that morning when I dropped into Mr. Boynton's apartment to borrow his typewriter and wait for him to ask me out on New Year's Eve. I waited. And I waited. And I waited. Finally, with the amazing insight he usually displays, Mr. Boynton asked me the question I had been expecting. What are you waiting for, Miss Brookes? The baseball team to go south for spring training. Mr. Boynton, do you realize there's only five more days till New Year's Eve? Hmm, that's right. Five days. There's only 120 hours, 7,200 minutes. Sounds longer that way. I feel the only way to really celebrate is in some gay nightclub. Don't you agree, Mr. Boynton? Not for me. They're too expensive. Oh, they'll rob you blind. Personally, I prefer an intimate little house party. A friend of mine is giving... House party with all those crazy records, the wild dancing and the indiscriminate kissing and midnight? I avoid those parties like the plague. That's why I thought I might go walking with some dear friend on New Year's Eve. You know, mixed with the gay mad holiday crowds, Mr. Boynton? Hmm? Walk and mix? Mix and walk? I did that last year. It came down to the awful cold. Like I say, Mr. Boynton, there's only one place to spend New Year's Eve, and I wish you'd tell me where. Mr. Boynton, what are we going to do New Year's Eve? We? I'm staying home. What are you doing New Year's Eve? Not a thing, and thanks for the invitation. I'll be over at 9 sharp. Oh, before I forget, I came here to borrow your typewriter. My typewriter? But your friend, the Earl, stopped by and borrowed it for you an hour ago. I told him a few keys were stuck, but he took it anyway. The Earl was here? And took your typewriter with him? Yes, my portable. With the Earl, everything is portable. Don't worry, Mr. Boynton, I'm sure you'll get it back. You mean he stole my typewriter? Borrowed is a better word, Mr. Boynton. But suppose he never brings it back? Then stole is a better word. Well, I'm not just going to sit around, Miss Brooks. I'm calling the police at once. Oh, no, please, Mr. Boynton, I'm sure it isn't necessary. Maybe they're calling you. Hello? Oh, yes, she's here. Miss Brooks, it's for you. Oh, it must be the Earl. Hello? Look, you bring everything back, and I promise you, you won't serve one day in jail. Not one day. Believe me, you do believe me, don't you? Yes, Connie, I believe you. Is that you, Mrs. Davis? You didn't call for any special reason, did you? Well, yes. My radio is missing. Oh, no. Are you sure? Of course I'm sure, dear. I have no television set, so it must be the... No, Mrs. Davis, I didn't take it. Well, don't worry, dear. That nice gentleman's friend of yours must have stolen... Mrs. Davis, I'm surprised that you... I thought you would show a little more faith in human nature. Well, I'm sorry, dear. Perhaps I spoke too quickly. But, Connie... Connie... Yes? Why don't you call Fisher's Pawn Shop just to make sure? No, if the Earl had been there, the Pawn Shop would be missing by now. Goodbye, Mrs. Davis. So, he stole Mrs. Davis' radio, too. And you still think he'll be back, Miss Brooks? Call it a sixth sense, Mr. Boynton. Call it a woman's intuition. Call it anything, but don't call the police. Please? All right, Miss Brooks, in order not to embarrass you, I won't. But I don't share your confidence. I'm going hunting for that crook, and when I get my hands on him, there'll be fireworks. Oh, I'm sure you'll catch him before the 4th of July. He'll be back soon, you'll see. Now, if you'll excuse me, Mr. Boynton, I've got to break some sad news to Walter. What sad news? That the car he loaned me this morning is now getting its kicks on Route 66. More ice cream, Walter. It's no trouble to go out to the kitchen and bring you another plate. Oh, no, thanks. These three quarts were plenty. I've already been here an hour more than I expected. I might as well tell you the truth. Your car is gone. Gone? Yes, the Earl disappeared today with your car, Mr. Boynton's typewriter, Mr. Conklin's clothes, and Mrs. Davis's radio. Wow! That guy collects more stuff in a day than the Salvation Army does in a year. But why would a friend of yours do a thing like that, Miss Brooks? A good question, Walter, and I'm sorry you asked it. But let's not lose our heads. I have an idea how and where we might find our vagabond friends. Wow, Miss Brooks. Oh, I'm just itching to get my hands on that jalopy jipper. Well, operating on the theory that it takes a crook to catch a crook, or in this case, a hobo to catch a hobo, here's how I think we can find the Earl. All right, Walter, let's camp here. All right, Miss Brooks. Gosh, you look funny in my father's old clothes. How do I look, Walter? You like my father. Well, it's my own fault for asking. I was hoping I'd look like an authentic hobo. Not you, Miss Brooks. But with that broken-down derby, you look a lot like the Earl. Excepting, of course, you haven't a three-day's growth of beard. I just couldn't wait for three days. Well, let's hope my idea works. Wait a minute. I think it's working already. Look over there. Where? That man, huddle over a fire. It's him, Miss Brooks. He's wearing the same broken-down derby, torn coat, handkerchief around his neck. Yes, yes, I think you're right, Walter. Now we'll sneak up behind him and take him by surprise. Ready? Am I? Oh, for his sake, I hope his blue cross is paid up. Let's go. All right. Tackle him, Walter. Miss Brooks, why are you sitting on my chest? Waitin', Miss Brooks. You're sitting on Mr. Boynton's chest. Well, so I am. Just like a tramp, Mr. Boynton. Yes, I'm already convinced you can't afford much for New Year's Eve. I might ask you and Walter the same question, Miss Brooks. Why are you dressed up like hobos? I can't afford much for New Year's Eve either. That is, we figured it takes a hobo to catch a hobo. Well, that's exactly the way I had it figured out. Miss Brooks, would you do me a big favor? Certainly, Mr. Boynton. What is it? Will you please get off my chest? I am still there, aren't I? Well, it seems we were both operating on the same theory to catch the arrow, so... Miss Brooks, look. Over there, it's him. It's just who we're looking for. Where's him? I mean, who's who? Where is he? He's behind that tree by the open fire. It's him. Yes, it does look like him. The broken derby, the torn coat, the handkerchief. All right, the three of us will sneak up and grab him. Ready, Mr. Boynton? Not quite. Oh, that's right. I'm still on your chest. There. How's that? All right, now. We'll sneak up behind him, and when I give the signal, we grab him. We, Mon Capitan. Okay, grab him! All right! Kindly remove those pointed knees from my chest. Is that you? No. It's Liberace. Mr. Cochran, what are you doing in a railroad yard dressed up like a tramp? If you must know, Denton, I am only a school principal by day. I have a full-time job with the railroad, hosting weenies over open fire. Oh, what is the meaning of this? Dastardly attacked by the three of you on my person? Mr. Cochran, we had no idea it was you. The way you were dressed, we thought you were the Earl. Just, why did you come here, sir? Because I dearly loved those clothes, Miss Brooke's decrepit raffles, so callously took from me. And acting on the theory, it takes the crook to catch a crook? Hey, we all had the same idea, Mr. Cochran. Well, goody gumdrop. Now, see here, Miss Brooke. One minute, sir. Now, I think I really see him. The Earl? Where, Mr. Boyman? Over there, on the tracks, bent over that little fire. Oh, this time it must be the Earl. And why must it be the Earl this time, Boyman? Because we've already run out of bombs. It certainly looks like him, sir. Well, yes, yes, it does. Same broken derby torn coat. All right, men, follow me. When I give the signal, attack. Oui, Mons General. Stop, men! Go for broke! Mr. Boyman, Mr. Cochran, and Walter Dent. I can't help who they are. They still aggravate my... Awfully sorry, Mrs. Davis. We didn't know. Why are you dressed up like a clam? Well, I do miss my little radio, dear, and I was hoping I'd run into your gentleman friend down here. Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm not wasting any more time. I'm going to the police at once. I don't think that will be necessary, Osgood. There's a plain clothes detective coming toward us this minute. Well, I suppose there is. His clothes will be pinned. Well, there's nothing we can do, Miss Brooks. He sees it. Officer, you must believe us. We are not actually trapped. We are only people... Turn me up, you think I'll handle this? Now, listen, Copper, you can't get a thing on us. Not a thing. Copper, lady, don't you recognize me? I'm the Earl of Peoria. The Earl of Peoria. Soon to be known as the Duke of Alcatraz. Young man, if that's my suit you're wearing, you may consider it the suit you are about to be laid out in. Hey, let go of me, Mac. I paid for this suit with my own money. Certainly. He's probably collecting unemployment insurance. I demand to know this instant. Where are my clothes? And my car. And my typewriter. And my radio. I pass. Earl, you'd better tell these people where their things are. They want to call the police. Miss Brooks, is that what you think of me too? That I stole these things? No, no, I don't, Earl. I had a hunch you'd be back. Well, I'll tell you what happened. You treated me so nice today. I figured I'd do something for your pals. So I took your principal's clothes for a real good tailor. And I fixed up the typewriter, radio, and car. I paid for everything myself and bought them all back before I came down here. A very interesting explanation. And exactly where did you get the money for all those repairs? Plus the new suit you're wearing. The money I got was some advanced dough and some work I'm doing. Advanced money? Or what? Well, you see, Miss Brooks, while you were writing an article about hobos for your magazine, I was writing an article about teachers for the hobo news. An article about teachers for the hobo news. And if he can get a photographer down here in a hurry, he'll believe every word of it.