 Family Theatre presents Anne Blythe and Sterling Holloway. That work in cooperation with Family Theatre Incorporated brings you Anne Blythe and Sterling Holloway in George Lathrop's comedy In Each Other Shoots. To introduce the story, your hostess, Anne Blythe. Thank you, Gene Baker. George Parsons Lathrop was the son-in-law of Nathan Hawthorne. To a lesser writer, this might have meant remaining in the shadow of one of the great masters of American literature. But this was not true of George Lathrop. Poet, novelist, biographer, he was well able to stand upon his own literary feat. And his short stories had a quality of imagination and fantastic conception that caused them to live and breathe today, both as wonderful examples of the moors of human behavior and as true comedy. We invite you then to listen to George Parsons Lathrop's rollicking short story In Each Other's Shoes and to our star, Sterling Holloway, who plays the role of its most human hero, John Cromby. It all seems like a dream. Only six months ago, I, John Cromby, came to the great city of New York to seek my fortune. And today, a mere half year later, I own the entire metropolis, lock, stock, and barrel. The destinies of its three million people are held in the palm of my hand. Yes, it all seems like a dream. I reside at the lawn, that's the city's most fashionable and expensive apartment building, where a regiment of servants snaps to attention to serve my needs. While my valet tends to my clothes. Mr. Cromby, sir, your clothes are laid out for you, sir. Mr. Cromby, sir. Blatchford, this suit, haven't I seen something like it before? Wait a second, Mr. Cromby, sir, I do believe that you wore it once, but that was over a year ago, sir. Blatchford, you know very well that I wear a suit only once. Sometimes not that often. Burn it. Well, yes, sir, Mr. Cromby, sir. Where is my wallet? The armored car is taking it to your office, sir. And my pocket change? Here, sir. I have your pin money right here. Once a month, I visit my offices in Wall Street to decide the financial state of the world. I'm admiring throngs follow every foot of the road. And the same annoying thing always occurs as I reach my modest 200-story office building. Blanche Nittomer, the world's richest and most beautiful girl, rushes out and throws herself at my feet. Please, Mr. Cromby, I beg of you, please just touch my head with your hand. I ask no more, even though my love for you is beyond words to describe. Just a glance, a mere touch of your hand. Please, Mr. Cromby. Poor girl. Like millions of others, you cannot resist my manly charm. No, no, no, my child, I shall not glance at you, not touch your head. Your life is unhappy enough as it is. Why make your future unbearable? Blanche could remove her from my path. Oh, yes, sir. Well, Blanche's father, J. Latimer Nittomer, once one of Wall Street's greatest tycoons, was now only my office boy. Oh, welcome, Mr. Cromby. Welcome, your office is all ready to receive you. Thank you. Has it been dusted as I ordered, Nittomer? Oh, indeed it has, Mr. Cromby, with genuine gold dust. Very well, Latimer Nittomer. You may unroll the red velvet carpet, and I shall enter. I... What's that? That, Mr. Cromby. That is the alarm system on your vault. The alarm on my vault? Yes, Cromby, you've been robbed. Your wealth is gone. You're now a popper, sir, a veritable popper. Ha, ha, ha, ha. No, no, no, my wealth can't be gone, can't be. Yes, but it is, Cromby. Blanche, please. Hey, you are now a broken, penniless man. No, no, it can't be, really. So, you spurned me, did you, Mr. Cromby? Blanche. Well, now that your wealth is gone, I realize that you're nothing more than an ugly, insignificant, ill-favored poppeljerry. Blanche. Remove him from my path, Father. Out of the way, scum. Yes, we'll ride him out of town on a reel. Yes. No, no, please. Let go of him. Take him away, the common lowdown poppeljerry. Penniless poppery scum. You're my slave now, Cromby. You hear? My slave. You can't. This is some horrible dream. It's all a horrible, horrible dream. Here, Mr. Blancheford. Cromby, I have been calling the stock room for five minutes now. You have, Mr. Blancheford? No. What, Mr. Blancheford? Nobody answered, Cromby. Oh, they didn't? No, Cromby. Next time it happens, you incompetent, dreamy idiot. You will be fired. Yes, but, but. You are undoubtedly the most stupid, moronic, incapable, stock room clerk that ever filled an equal. Thank you, Mr. Blancheford. Now guess even here, with two dozen paper clips, and a ream of note paper, and rice away. And the next time I catch you dreaming on the job, I'll skin you alive. Yes, Mr. Blancheford. Foe on you. Here, what was that, Cromby? Yes, Mr. Blancheford, right away, sir. No wonder my conquest of New York all seemed like a dream. It was a dream. And as for Blanche Littermer, well, we both lived in the law and the partner building. She and her father in the 20 room sweetened me in a remodeled tool room they let me have for sweeping out the basement every Sunday. Then one day, as romance would have it, we found ourselves in the same elevator together. I only brought all my courage to bear, and I spoke to her. I... Hello. Hello, Mr. Littermer. Oh, hello there. You remember me, of course, Mr. Littermer. Oh, why, of course. Of course I do. How could I forget? They never came back, you know. Oh, they didn't? No, they'll always be terribly indebted to you for that. Oh, it was nothing. Was it? Your floor, Mr. Littermer. Thank you. Yes, we'll always be grateful to you. Fido and I. Fido? And the next time he's afflicted with fleas, I'll certainly buy more powder from you. Bye now. Yeah, goodbye, Fido. I mean, goodbye, Mr. Littermer. And then came the fateful day. And the day I'm going to tell you about. You see, I woke up kind of late that morning. It was raining very heavily, and I knew I'd have to hurry to get to work in time. I hastily grabbed my shoes from the hallway where I'd left them the night before for the porter to shine. I dressed in a flash, rushed to the office, and to my horror, I arrived one and a half minutes late. And no sooner had I reached my desk in the stock room. Hello? Yes, Mr. Blatcher, at once. It says that you are one minute and 33 seconds late. You see, I... That amounts to eight minutes and 38 seconds a week. Yes, sir, will you say... Or seven hours, 12 and a third seconds a year. What do you have to say to that crowned man? What do you have to say? Could I say, I stood there, looked down at my shoes and wriggled my toes. There was something funny about them. They were dry. Oh, that was very peculiar because my shoes had a hole the size of a half-dollar in each sole, and what with the rain outside, my feet should have been sopping wet. I wriggled my toes again. They were still dry. Then I realized what had happened. The porter had left somebody else's shoes at my door by mistake, and in my hurry, I hadn't noticed it. I was now standing before Blatchford in somebody else's shoes. I'm waiting for an answer. What do you have to say? What else could I do? I answered him. Why don't you shut up, blabbermouth? What was that? You said... I said, why don't you shut up, blabbermouth? You know Blatchford. I'm tired of being your slave in that stock room. I think I'll become a director of this company. As a director of this company? Yes, yes, Blatchford. Most of the board of directors will be held next week. I think I'll run for chairman. You can't be... You're fired! All right, fire me. And when I become chairman of the board, I'll fire you. Get out of my office. Get out! Fui on you. Blatchford, good day, sir. I strolled casually, magnificently out of his office, chuckling delightedly to myself as I recall the entire conversation. And I got to the part about where he thought he had fired me. I fainted. I know I should have been morose and depressed, but somehow unbounded courage seemed to rise through me from the soles of those strange shoes I was wearing. Somebody else's shoes. And those shoes, well, they walked me right into a large office at the far end of the corridor. And they kept going and going to an imposing-looking door in the rear. I opened it and the shoes stepped right inside. And as the door started to close behind me, I caught a glimpse of the lettering on it. J. Lattimer, Littimer. Private. Well, what's the meaning of this confounded impudence, young man? Oh, relax, Littimer, relax. You and I have business to talk about. Oh, well, that's different. What do you mean? I don't discuss business with any unknown young squirter who walks unannounced into my office? Then I'll introduce myself, sir. I am John Cromby, sir, your new business partner, sir. You are? Really? Yes, sir. Well, I'm glad to know you then come. No, you listen to me, you. No, you listen to me, Littimer. I came in here to discuss a little deal. Well, it can net us a couple of million dollars, but if you're going to fly into temper tantrums about it, did you say... Gesundheit. Thank you. Did you say a couple of million dollars? I did. Net? After taxes. But if you're not interested, of course... Not interested? Oh, don't be silly, John Boy. Sit down, sit down, you're following me. Have a cigar. Have two. After all, what are a few cigars between old business partners, eh? I hadn't been fibbing to Littimer because, you see, from a physician of vantage in Blatchford's firm in the washroom one day, I overheard him boasting about an undisclosed surplus of some three million dollars in the firm's treasury. And to my utter amazement, I suddenly found I had a plan whereby Littimer and I could corner the market and the bountiful harvest of dollars would go to us, you see. And in return for my contribution, I asked only the modest sum of 50% of the profits and the chairmanship of the Board of Directors. Well, I finished my magnificent presentation, relaxed in my chair, and with an impressive flourish, I placed the end of my cigar in my mouth. You! Wrong end. Several gallons of water later. Littimer gave me his answer. My boy, my dear, dear boy, this will be a coup worthy of the greatest, the greatest, the... Gazuntite. Thank you. Worthy of the greatest financial geniuses of all time. Very well, and suppose you get started at once, Littimer. Did I shall, John, I'll... I'll... I'll... Gazuntite. Thank you, thank you. But I'd certainly like to get my hands on that, that didiotic, moronic imbecile first. Yes? Who is that, Littimer? The stupid, irresponsible, puppler-jerry who traded shoes with me this morning. Traded shoes? Yes, someone switched shoes in the hallway last night without noticing it, I put these on. Did I call them shoes? Would you believe it? There's a hole the size of a half-dollar in each of the soles. There is? Yes, yes, so my feet got soaked in the rain this morning. That's why I have this... have this blasted coat. Believe me, I'd say that anyone responsible for such a dastardly trick should be drawn and quartered. But the very least boiled in oil. What would you say, John? Say, Mr. Littimer, I guess I'd just say, there's no time. Suddenly, everything had become horribly clear. My strange confidence and grasp of high finance. Mr. Littimer's submission to my forceful personality for due to a quarter's error, for Littimer and I were literally standing in each other's shoes. Well, I left his office and hurried to the nearest shoe store to buy a new pair of shoes for myself, and then I rushed over to his apartment to return his shoes before he learned of my involvement in the horrible mix-up. Hello there. Oh, hello, Mr. Littimer. I'm so glad you dropped around. You are? Yes, I have a great deal to apologize to you for. Please, come in. Well, I, uh... Thank you. I don't know how you'll ever forgive me for confusing you with a flea powder salesman. Oh, oh, then you know that... Of course! I should have known all along you were the termite man. Well, I soon learned that Blanche Littimer was as intelligent as she was very beautiful. It only took me an hour to establish my true identity, and at the end of another hour, you were sitting on a Davenport holding hands. And as I told her of the mix-up of the shoes, oh, gee, we were enjoying the story no end when the front door opened. Well, John, John, my dear boy, I didn't expect to see you here. And I didn't expect to see you so soon either, Mr. Littimer. Well, it was, uh... It was, uh, this... Hey! It goes on tight. Thank you. It was this confounded cold. I thought I'd better come home early. But tell me, my dear boy, what are you doing here? Oh, John dropped by to return your shoes, Daddy. He did. Well, now that was awfully thoughtful of you, John. If you only knew how I suffered in these moth-eating 10-cent paper-sold atrocities all day, you'd... you'd... But, well, Daddy, your face is turning the color of the... My shoes, um... The penniless nincompoopies didn't wear the jackass who couldn't afford a pair of shoes with soles on them had the audacity to ding-dang rescue and gentle feathered nerve to bamboozle me into thinking you was a financier. Crumbly. Crumbly, get out of here. Get out of here before I... Well, and good riddance to rubbish, Blanche. If you ever let that... that four-flushing jungle and hide in this apartment again, I'll... I'll... I'll... I'll... Well, thank you, John, my boy. Get out! I wandered out into the park, realizing it lasted I. John Crumbly was a perpetual failure, doomed to remain a stockroom clerk and a bachelor for the remainder of my days. There was nothing for me to do but return to Mr. Blachford on my hands and knees and beg his forgiveness. You'll do absolutely nothing of the kind. Hey, Blanche... Why, it's ridiculous to think that a pair of... of shoes could alter a person's personality. If you're a financial genius in my father's shoes, you're a financial genius in your own. But, Blanche, I don't feel like one. I feel just like a... a... a... a popple-jerry. Oh, nonsense. You're a sweet, wonderful, kind, marvelous young man, so there. Blanche... You... you mean that to me? Of course I do. What else could you be but sweet, wonderful, kind and marvelous when you're gonna make two million dollars for my father? I left Blanche standing there in the park. I walked back to Mr. Littimer's apartment. Listen, Mr. Littimer... Get out! Oh, 23 skidoo. What did you say? Now, shut up. You're going to listen to me now. I'm going to listen to you. And just why should I listen to you? I'll tell you why, because I'm a sweet, wonderful, kind, marvelous young man. That's why. Oh, well, that's different. Blanche! And I'm going to make you two million dollars, whether I'm a mere stockroom clerk or a billionaire. Are you going to listen? Keep talking, son. Keep talking. Well, Mr. Littimer listened, and I talked to the results. The next week at the election meeting of the board of directors of Mr. Blatchford's firm... And I have here in proxies and voting stock certificates. 1,200 votes. And I cast them for myself. Theobald Z. Blatchford. As chairman of the board. Here, here. Blatchford's for chairman. And I, gentlemen, I have in voting certificates alone 12,000 votes. And as chairman of the board, I elect none other than myself. John Cromby. Yeah, yeah. Cromby for chairman. Fooey on Blatchford. So you have heard my story. It all seems like a dream. Only six very short months ago, I, John Cromby, came to New York to seek my fortune. And today, today I'm chairman of the board of one of the city's greatest corporations. And, well, as for Blatch and me, we had a perfectly wonderful honeymoon traveling around the world. Twice. Then we returned home and examined our wedding presents. And, you know, I do think that one of them is all sort of worthy of special mention. Oh, John, look. It's daddy's present to us. Isn't it unbelievably sweet of him? Why, sure. I should say so much. Can you imagine your daddy giving us a pair of solid gold shoes? And complete in every detail, John. Look, they even have holes in the bottoms of them. Yeah. Oh, here's a card that came with him, Blanche. Wait, wait, wait a minute. I'll see what he had to say on it. Blanche, I believe me. I never heard of anything so sweet and sentimental and poetic in all my life. Well, what is it, John? What did daddy write on the card? Just one simple, all-embracing word, Blanche. Because it's on tight. This is Anne Blythe again. You know, there are a lot of unusual things about family theater, but here's something that really makes it different. Family theater has no commercial sponsor, and yet every father and mother in the country is a sponsor of this program because every parent has the responsibility of making his home a place of happiness, a place of goodness, a place where God is known and family prayer is a daily practice. And family theater is successful if it helps you realize that the family that prays together stays together. More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of. From Hollywood, family theater has brought you in each other's shoes, starring Sterling Holloway with Anne Blythe as your hostess. Others in our cast were Barbara Eiler, Ken Christie, Howard McNear, and Jim Nussin. This adaptation of George Lathrop's comedy was written by Sidney Marshall with music composed and conducted by Harry Zimmerman and was directed for family theater by Jaime Del Valle. Our family theater broadcasts are made possible by the thousands of you who felt the need for this type of program, by the mutual network which has responded to this need and by the hundreds of stars of stage, screen and radio who have so unselfishly given of their time and talent to appear on our family theater stage. This is Gene Baker inviting you to be with us next week at this time when your family theater will bring you Barbara Britton, Arthur Shields, and Dan O'Hurley in King O'Toole and Saint Kevin. Join us, won't you? Family theater is heard in Canada through the facilities of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation and is broadcast to our troops overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service. This is the world's largest network, the Mutual Broadcasting System.