At the Circus Page #5

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- Do you rumba?|- No.

Come on. Let's dance.

Pennies from heaven.

Pauline, help me down.

Pauline, let me have that wallet.

Pauline, I'm stuck up... Let me down.

Pauline, how do I get down out of here?|Pauline, quick. Help.

Get me down, Pauline.

Help me down.

Get me off the ceiling.

Help. I'm stuck up...

- Julie?|- Come in.

- Hi there, Mr. Wilson.|- Telegram for you.

Thanks. Excuse me.

It's nothing important.

Julie, why don't you take that job?

What job?

With the Miracle Shows.|I heard they made you an offer.

That. I'm turning that down.

Maybe you better take it.

It looks as if the Wilson Wonder Circus|is gonna have to do without Wilson.

I might not be the best boss in the world...

but I don't think you'll like working|for Carter.

I don't intend to work for Carter.|I'm leaving when you leave.

But where will you go to?

Where you go.

- Don't you want me to, Jeff?|- Sure.

This isn't easy for me.

I've made plenty of mistakes, I guess.|But I don't want to make another.

You once said that we belong|to different worlds.

You're right. You're a success.

When I leave here I won't even have a job.

Things will work out for you.|I know they will.

Until they do, until I can pay the bills...

I'm not going to drag you to any preacher.

You're pretty heavy...

but suppose I drag you?

I don't think I'd enjoy life|as Mr. Julie Randall.

You better wire Miracle Shows|you're going to take that job.

I guess Emily Post was right.

A girl should never propose to a man.

You're some lawyer. You come here|to help Jeff and Julie, and what happened?

Come, come, you know as well as I do.|And you know better.

- We've got to think.|- We tried that.

Let's review the case.

One Jeff Wilson owes $10,000.

Or let's put it another way:|$10,000 is owed by one Jeff Wilson.

It's a clear case|of Jeff Wilson owing $10,000.

- Which he ain't got.|- Brilliant deduction.

If only that Mrs. Dukesbury|would help him out.

- Mrs. Dukesbury?|- Yeah. She's Jeff's aunt.

The rich Mrs. Dukesbury?|Page 1 of the social register?

The Newport branch|of the United States Mint?

That money is Jeff's aunt?

I usually say aunt, but I'm showing off|on account of the monkeys.

But she wouldn't lend Jeff the money.

Wait, I got an idea.

You go to Newport|and ask Mr. Dukesbury for the money.

Fine.

I mean, if he's alive you could ask him.|But he's dead.

He's dead, eh?|Then why don't you ask him?

Mrs. Dukesbury,|America's wealthiest widow...

and yours truly, who could certainly|use the money for Jeff.

Don't tell this to Jeff,|but his troubles are over.

Goodbye, Mr. Chimps.

Let him go. We solve this case myself.

Punchy, I'm going to my tent|where I can think.

You come over later and wake me up.

Well, shut my mouth and freeze my face.

That man don't belong to no human race.

Got a hoca-hoca-pocus|and a fiddle-dee-dee...

that can charm a lion or a chimpanzee.

Well, button my lip and send me quick.

That man's got a voodoo in that stick.

When he voodoo raki-sakis|he can hypnotize an elf.

That man must be Swingali himself.

Zoom zoom go the cymbals

And boom boom go the drums

When that man comes

The kids from the alley

They rally round Swingali

He waves that Toscaninian hand

And zoom zoom go the cymbals

And soon Swingali sways

to thousands of trumpets

Sounding their A 's

Tell me, is he man or maestro?

When he's in command

Give that man a hand

Yeah, man

They swing us soft and low

Play it loud and corny

Oh, glory hallelujah!

Rhythm races through ya

When he rolls his evil eye

He can boogie-boo ya

Louder now, yeah

When we got Swingali?

Hey, look me in the eye

Concentrate

Relax

Swing it

And hypnotize the moon

Make it a blue

Moon

Make it a blue

Moon

Swing low, sweet chariot

Hello, Teresa.|This is Suzanna, Suzanna Dukesbury.

You are coming tomorrow night,|aren't you?

Splendid. Yes. Just as the invitation read.

I'm bringing Jardinet|and his famous symphony orchestra...

all the way from Paris, just to play for us.

And I've invited only the 400 of Newport.

No outsiders.

Here, what is this?

It's English tweed. Wears like iron.

Now, then,|where's old Lady Dukesbury's room?

I beg your pardon.

Mrs. Dukesbury cannot be disturbed|by anyone.

I don't want to be disturbed either.

- You can't go up there. Who are you?|- Who am I? Mr. Dukesbury.

But I understood|Mr. Dukesbury passed away.

Just a typographical error.|Passed out. What a brawl that was.

Here I am, after the brawl is over.

- I'll inform Mrs. Dukesbury you're here.|- Never mind. I'll tell her myself.

What's her room number?|Never mind. I'll find it.

I've been in bigger hotels than this,|and with better-looking clerks.

What in the world...

What is the meaning of this?

Keep your sheet on.|I'm looking for Mrs. Dukesbury.

I am Mrs. Dukesbury.

Snookums!

Gracious. I don't know you.

You mean you've forgotten?

I know. You have forgotten.|Those June nights on the Riviera...

when we sat|underneath the shimmering skies...

moonlight-bathing in the Mediterranean.|We were young, gay, reckless.

The night I drank champagne|from your slipper.

Two quarts. It would have held more,|but you were wearing innersoles.

- Hildegard.|- My name is Suzanna.

Let's not quibble.

It's enough that you've killed something|fine and beautiful.

Suzanna. Won't you fly with me?

'cause the Sheriff's after me

Get out of this room|or I'll scream for the servants!

Let the servants know.|Let the whole world know about us.

You must leave my room.

We must have regard|for certain conventions.

One guy isn't enough.|She's got to have a convention.

Suzanna, at last we're alone.

Couldn't the two of us be...|How shall I say it?

A man and a woman? There. I said it.

Suzanna, if you only knew|how much I need you.

Not because you have millions.|I don't need millions.

I'll tell you how much I need.

Have you got a pencil?|I left my typewriter in my other pants.

- That's Whitcomb. What will I do?|- I'll cool him off.

No, you mustn't.|This is so embarrassing. Oh, dear.

What, succotash? What's eating you?

I beg your pardon, but M. La Fontaine|of the concert bureau...

has phoned to say|that all arrangements are complete.

- The maestro will be here on time.|- That's fine.

Here's a dime. Get yourself a clean shirt.

- He's gonna get himself a clean shirt.|- This is an outrage.

I'll say it is. That Whitcomb is a fine butler.

I phoned five hours ago|and he gives you the message now.

Why, you're not M. La Fontaine?

What do you mean,|I'm not M. La Fontaine?

Do I go around saying|you're not M. La Fontaine?

It must be wonderful to be associated...

- with such a great artist as Jardinet.|- It is a pushover.

- Did you say Jardinet?|- Why, of course.

Be sure when the "Normandie"|docks tomorrow in New York...

Jardinet and his entire orchestra|come directly here.

This bedroom will be awfully crowded.

Say, Suzie, hiring a world-famous guy|like what's-his-name...

that will run into money.

I realize that. I didn't expect him|to play at my party for nothing.

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