THE AGATHA CHRISTIE KWIZ ANSWER
She didn’t actually throw the frog at the photographer, but she did threaten him with it.
THE AGATHA CHRISTIE KWIZ
WINIFRED SNOWE AND THE TREE
Balthazar Embolism was a tree growing in a woodsy setting. On many afternoons, Winifred Snowe, local crone, would visit the tree’s glade and engage Balthazar in conversation.
‘Oh, Balthy, you would never speak to me again if once you gazed upon my face,’ stated the crone one day.
‘Poff,’ retorted the tree. ‘A friend now is a friend forever in spite of any grotesquery involved.’
‘I will test you,’ promised the crone.
And so she did, returning the following day with a giant magnifying glass and an eye inducing spell. After inducing an eye for Balthazar Embolism, she positioned the giant magnifying glass in front of her face.
‘Oh, most hideous Winifred, though your face curdles my very sap, you’re still my friend and I will talk to you, but please have pity, strike me blind!’ pleaded the tree.
Secretly pleased at her splendidly hideous appearance and somewhat gratified that the tree would continue speaking to her, Winifred granted Balthazar’s request with a muttered spell.
‘Let that be a lesson,’ she said.
‘What sort of a lesson?’ asked the tree.
‘Never you mind,’ said the chuckling crone. ‘Never you mind.’
THE MUTTERING MAN
The muttering man shuffled along, wringing his hands and smiling his toothless smile.
‘What a wonderful day,’ he said. ‘If all goes well, it will be a date which will live in infamy.’
THE MELON MAN KWIZ ANSWER
Mary Pickford needed activities like this to escape the maddening suffocation of being America’s sweetheart.
THE MELON MAN KWIZ
IN THE TIME OF WEALTH
Every morning the eccentric billionaire descends the grand stairway and announces his name to the assembled staff. On each occasion the name announced is different. On this morning he says, ‘My name is Beak Hickenlooper.’
At this, the staff bows or curtsies, according to gender. The housekeeper then slips away to the dining room, where she finds the billionaire’s wife dissecting a flaky croissant.
‘Well, Harper, who am I today?’ says the lady, fork with morsel poised at lips.
‘Mrs. Beak Hickenlooper, if you please,’ says Harper.
‘Got it. Tell the fat oaf I’m ready for him,’ says Mrs. Hickenlooper, setting her morseled fork on the plate for the moment.
Harper leaves and informs the master that the mistress awaits him in the dining room. Hickenlooper strides importantly down the hall and throws wide the sliding doors.
“Beak darling! You look marvelous. Have a croissant,’ says Mrs. Hickenlooper.








