Setting:
A cozy 1950s living room. Herb sits in his armchair with a newspaper, and a pipe rests on the side table. Dot is tidying up, making sure everything is in perfect order. Billy is sprawled on the floor with a comic book, and Susie is playing with her doll. The radio hums softly in the background with a jingle about a “modern kitchen.”
Herb (seriously reading the letter aloud, with a slight squint):
“So, Dot, kids, we got a letter from Uncle Craig. Let’s see what he’s been up to.” (Clears his throat.) “'Dear family, I’ve finally bought something real special. Just picked up a brand new Plymouth. It’s a beauty.'”
Dot (straightening up the doilies, mildly interested):
“A Plymouth? Sounds like one of those newfangled gadgets. Like that thing Shirley got that peels apples and slices them too.”
Herb (nodding confidently):
“Exactly, Dot. A 'Ply-mouth.' Probably something that chops up wood. Good ol’ Craig — man’s always been practical. Got himself a saw that can eat through plywood.” (Proudly.) “A smart investment.”
Billy (snickering from the floor):
“Uh, Dad… I’m pretty sure he means a car.”
Herb (chuckling, dismissive):
“A car? Don’t be ridiculous, Billy. You ever heard of a car that eats wood? Think about it — what kind of person drives around in a giant termite?”
Dot (half-listening while dusting):
“Well, it could be one of those portable electric saws. Maybe with wheels for rolling it out to the yard. I’ve seen it in that new Modern Living magazine.”
Herb (tapping his chin thoughtfully):
“Yeah, yeah, that makes sense. A portable sawmill on wheels. You know, Craig’s always thinking a step ahead. Can take it to the lumberyard and just start sawing right there.” (Reads further.) “'It’s got a sleek design, shiny chrome finish, and she runs smooth as butter.'”
Susie (giggling):
“Maybe it churns butter too?”
Billy (grinning):
“Dad, it’s a car. Plymouth makes cars.”
Herb (shakes his head, refusing to believe it):
“Look, if it were a car, he’d mention wheels, wouldn’t he? No, Craig’s talking about a proper tool. Now listen — 'The engine purrs like a kitten, and when I hit the gas, she flies like the wind.' See? Nothing flies except sawdust!”
Dot (finally putting her hands on her hips):
“Herbert, if Craig’s driving a woodchopper down the highway, I think we’d have heard about it by now.”
Herb (feeling validated):
“Mark my words — Craig’s gone and bought himself the Cadillac of portable sawmills. Efficient, practical, and a sound investment.”
Uncle Craig pulls up in the driveway in his shiny new Plymouth, honking the horn proudly.
Dot (peeking through the window, suddenly brightening up):
“Well, there he is now. Herb, why don’t you invite him in for dinner?”
Herb (grumbling as he gets up):
“Alright, but you’ll see — he’s not driving a car.”
Craig (steps out of the car, and to everyone’s surprise, he’s wearing dusty overalls and a toolbelt. He’s covered in a fine layer of wood dust.)
Herb (pausing mid-step, looks at Craig triumphantly):
“See? I told you! He’s got the tools and everything!” (To Craig.) “How’s that woodchopper working out for you, huh?”
Craig (laughing, brushing off some dust):
“Woodchopper? Herb, it’s a Plymouth! The car!”
Herb (smirking, arms crossed):
“Sure, Craig, sure. But you can’t fool me with that dust and those tools strapped to your waist. That’s a sawmill if I ever saw one.”
Dot (grinning as she calls from the door):
“Well, whatever it is, Craig, come inside! We’ve got roast chicken for dinner. You can tell us all about your… 'car'.”
Herb (quietly to Billy as they head inside):
“Told you it wasn’t a car. You don’t drive a car around in overalls and a toolbelt.”
As Craig steps inside, he casually drops his keys on the table, and a small pile of sawdust falls from his overalls. Herb just smirks and gives the kids a wink.
Herb (whispering to the kids):
“See? A sawmill.”
