LUCY IS IN HER KITCHEN, STARING INTO SPACE.

ETHEL KNOCKS ON HER BACK DOOR. LUCY LETS HER IN.

Good morning Lucy.

Oh, hi Ethel.

ETHEL NOTICES THE DOWN ATTITUDE IN LUCY'S VOICE.

Hey, what's wrong?

Oh, Ethel. I had a pretty nifty scheme cooked up last night to get back at Ricky for reducing my allowance, but I have gone totally blank trying to remember what it was!

Reducing your allowance? Hey, at least you get an allowance. Mr. Tightwad Freddie cut mine out years ago.

Really? What do you have to spend on whatever, then?

I just steal what I need any more.

Well, Ricky said the other day that I was frittering away his hard-earned money so he has reduced my allowance to one dollar a week!

A single dollar?

Yes! It used to be double that, so now I don't know how I am going to get by.

(glee in her voice)

So, you were hatching a scheme to get back at him?

Yeah. And I can't even recall a single piece of what it was. Shoot!

Maybe I can help you. Did it involve the INS?

(thinking hard)

Ahhh, ... I don't think so.

How about a handgun?

Maybe. I do seem to recall there was metal involved.

Does Ricky have any old Olympic metals you may have been planning on hocking?

(looking askew at Ethel)

Ethel, does Ricky, even a teeny weeny bit, look like any type of athelete?

Hey, I am just trying to help.

(beat)

Maybe you were going to beat him with a tire iron. Those are metal, right?

Yeah, but - wait, now it's coming back a little more ... I think I was going to use his ... Shoot! I've lost it again!

Why don't you just give up, Lucy? It's 1957. This show has about run its course, don't you think? This always-scheming plot point is getting real tired anyway.

You may be right.

Maybe they would let me start to hatch schemes in future shows. A fresh bunch of scripts and all.

You can ask.