 A noted man gets a warm place by the fire through a half-a-peck of oysters. Can you imagine that? There's a Lindsey McCurry once more, ladies and gentlemen, introducing another session of this series of broadcasts in which we try to dramatize for you some of the more surprising incidents and facts of the world. We'll return in just a moment with the first one. Sometimes we gasp at the fortunes made and lost overnight in a furious buy-and-sell flurry in the stock market. But did you ever hear of anyone earning $2,000,000? Yes, I said $2,000,000 an hour. It staggers the imagination to think of what that might amount to in a year or even a month. Just give me one day like that and I'd be willing to let the rest of the world go by. In fact, I'd buy a few things I've always been wanting. But here's the proof of that amazing statement. Vance Breeze, famous test pilot, once took a plane up for a test dive. He took the ship up to 20,000 feet and dived within 4,000 feet. He also took a plane up for a test dive. He took the ship up to 20,000 feet and dived within 4,000 feet of the ground. The dive took up 15 seconds for which Vance Breeze was paid $8,000. If you're a mathematically inclined, expand those 15 seconds into a minute, which gives you $32,000. Multiply by 60 and you'll reach the staggering total of nearly $2 million per hour. Can you imagine that? You know it occurs quite often that two famous men will engage in a few of words over some bitterly contested difference. But it seldom happens that any two great men will come to a physical encounter. It did happen on one Thursday evening in 1931, March 29 to be exact, within the heavily draped and thickly carpeted walls of the Metropolitan Club in New York City. On that night, Mr. Ray Long, editor of the Cosmopolitan magazine, was entertaining at a banquet in honor of the Russian writer, Mr. Boris Pilnyak. Among those attending were such noble names of letters as Mr. Irvin S. Cobb, Mr. Haywood Brune, Mr. Arthur Brisbane, Mr. Rupert Hughes, Mr. Theodore Dreiser, and Mr. Sinclair Lewis. As well as a rather imposing array of American literary critics. After cigars have been passed and lighted, and as the men of the Fourth Estate sat chatting over their demitas, their host, Mr. Ray Long, arose and tapped on his glass. Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Gentlemen, it is our pleasure this evening to welcome to the metropolis and to America a colleague from across the sea, a man of letters who has come to visit our land from the Union of Socialist Soviet Republics. A man whose fame has long preceded his actual presence among us. Boris Pilnyak. I'm going to assume the privilege of calling upon several of you to welcome this fellow penman in your own way. First, I know you'll be glad to hear a word or two from a gentleman recently from Minnesota. But more recently, winner of the coveted Nobel Prize for Literature, Mr. Sinclair Lewis. Mr. Long, gentlemen, I'm very happy to meet Mr. Pilnyak, but I do not care to speak in the presence of a man who has plagiarized 3,000 words from my wife's book on Russia. Nor do I care to talk before two sage critics who objected to the Nobel Committee's selection of me as America's representative writer. Thank you, Mr. Lewis. Now I'm sure we'll all be glad to hear a few words from that Dean of American Humorist, Mr. Irvin S. Kahl. Thank you, Mr. Long. I don't know whether I'm Dean or not, but one thing I'm certain of is that right now I'd rather be Dean than President. Well, I suppose you'll expect a story about the old days down in Padukin. Wisely calling upon surefire Irvin Cobb Long saved the situation momentarily. Following Cobb, others paid just tribute to the guest of honor, and at last the banquet adjourned. As small groups gathered to discuss the speeches, two newspaper men assigned to cover the event stood by one of the doors. Hey, what did Lewis mean by the one man who has plagiarized his wife's book on Russia? Don't you know? He had a drizer. Why? Sure, you remember? Hey, look. What's the matter? There they are, Lewis and Drizor sitting at that table talking. Yeah, man, and how they're talking. Come on, come on, let's get up a little closer. Drizor, you're a liar and a cheat! For the love of mine, Drizor slapping Lewis in the face! Yes, friends, truly indeed, did Mr. Lewis, Nobel Prize winner, author of Main Street, Babbitt and Arrowsmith, receive several resounding smacks upon his countenance from the ample palm of portly Mr. Drizor, Nobel Prize runner-up, author of An American Tragedy, The Genius and The Hand of the Potter until the letter was restrained by fellow writers. The next day remarked Mr. Lewis. Drizor's a pretty big fellow. He must weigh close to 200 pounds. Well, I bet he could have put up a good scrap if they'd let us go. Still, he's pretty old, must be 60. You know, he was an established editor in New York when I was just a kid trying to get along. The incident, however, is closed as far as I'm concerned. Can't two men have a private squabble without all this fuss being made over it? When, after some difficulty, Theodore Drizor was located at his apartment on 57th Avenue, he made the succinct comment. It was the proper retort to any insert. And thus did 1931 witness the amazing progress of ballet between two of America's leading writers. Can you imagine that? God helps those who help themselves. And that's a saying that's well enough known to everyone, but here's a case where it was put to practical use by the famous American statesman, Benjamin Franklin. It's one of those human interest stories that take the varnishing veneer of legend away from our national heroes and make them just plain human beings like ourselves. It seems that Benjamin Franklin was traveling one night in bitterly cold weather. He rained his horse up in front of a cozy-looking tavern, and one of the hostels ran up to meet him. Good evening, sir. It's pretty cold tonight. Yes, it is. But I suppose I'll be able to thaw the ice from my bones in your tavern here. Looks cozy enough. Well, I don't know, sir. A lot of others had the same idea. A few of the townsmen are toasting themselves in front of the fire. They say it's wood in their own homes. And no place by the fire for a frozen traveler? None at all, sir. But you can try. I'll take your horse to the stable, sir. Thank you. Thank you. Good evening, sir. Good evening. A bit of cold out there. Yes, cozy in here, warm with a cherry fire. Well, I always managed to keep a blaze going, sir. Even with times as hard as they are. I suppose I couldn't find a place by the fire. Well, no, sir. I... The places are all taken now. Well, no matter. But, landlord, you may take a half-pack of oysters out for my horse. A half-pack of oysters for your horse? A half-pack of oysters for my horse. Very good, sir. And, landlord? Yes, sir. On the shell. Oysters on the shell for a horse? Bless my soul. I'll get them right away, sir. Oysters on the shell for a horse? I'm going out and see the horse eats them, I have. A seat by the fire. Nothing like it on a cold night. So, Franklin seated himself comfortably in one of the vacated chairs by the fire. But it wasn't long before... I beg your pardon, sir. I beg your pardon. But your horse won't eat the oysters. Oh, won't he? Well, no matter now. Just bring them in here, and I'll eat them myself. And so, Benjamin Franklin, the humorist and statesman, got himself a warm place by the fire with no fuss, no bother. Can you imagine that? It comes time now for another of our Can You Imagine That musical oddities. We all like to play detective, and now we're going to give you your chance to do a little melodic snooping. If you ferret out the clues, you can award yourself a bright badge and a diploma complete with fingerprint outfit. First, let's listen to a composition of the immortal Frederic Chopin, whose delicate musical traceries have left him undying fame. While you're listening to it, try to figure out what popular tune of pre-war days sounds very, very much like it. Are you ready? Then listen to Chopin's Fantasy Impromptu in C-sharp minor. Did you catch it? Well, we're not going to give you another chance on the Fantasy Impromptu, but here's the popular tune of pre-war days. We're sure you'll recognize the melody, but if you don't, the lyrics will tell you all about it. Listen, a closing item on another session of Can You Imagine That? But we'll be back with you soon on this same station, and we most heartily invite you to be with us at that time. Until then, this is Lindsay McCarrie saying goodbye now.