Full House Page #2

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I did it!

E-Excuse me.

You forgot this.

Good afternoon, my dear.

Aren't you a little lonely

window-shopping all by yourself?

Wouldn't you prefer

to come and play in my backyard?

Sure, I don't mind,

if you buy me a drink.

How's dear cousin Fanny?

L-I'm afraid, my dear,

there's been a mistake.

Mistake?

What kind of mistake?

- I owe you an apology.

- Apology for what?

For allowing you to think that I might buy

you a drink. That's quite impossible.

I haven't got

a dime to my name.

- Hey, what is this? You trying to kid me?

- Not in the least, my dear.

I'm only trying to undo

the wrong I've done you-

A wrong committed, I might add,

for reasons that your young...

and inexperienced mind

couldn't possibly understand.

Since my means are limited,

l can only ask your pardon...

perhaps persuade you to accept,

as a token of my regard...

the last, uh, valuable left to me

from a once formidable estate.

My compliments to a charming

and delightful young lady.

What's going on here?

What's happening?

He called me a lady.

Think of it. Thousands of them swinging

their blasted clubs...

walking their blasted beats...

doing nothing but eat up

the taxpayers' money.

All day long I've flaunted the law

in their faces...

and not a one of them-

not a single one, mind you-

Has lifted a little finger

to prevent it.

I've a good mind to write

to my congressman.

You going to the park

again tonight, Soapy?

Where else can I go?

There isn't any hurry.

Listen to the music.

I seem to remember that tune

from somewhere.

No? Well, this might be

a country churchyard...

such as I knew

in my youth...

in the days when life contained such things

as mothers and roses...

ambition and friends,

immaculate thoughts...

and Little Lord Fauntleroy

collars.

Let's go in for a moment

and enjoy the peace.

- Me?

The front door is open

The invitation is obvious.

- What's the matter, Soapy?

Ain't you feeling

good, Soapy?

Hey, maybe tomorrow

will be different.

Maybe if you was to try

somewhere else...

like Central Park maybe

or Wall Street.

There'll be no tomorrow-

at least no tomorrow as you imagine it.

That phase of my life

has ended.

You sure you

feeling good, Soapy?

Maybe if you was to go back

and sit down again.

It isn't my body that's sick.

It's my soul.

For the first time

in my life...

I've viewed the horrible pit

into which I've tumbled-

The degraded days,

unworthy desires...

dead hopes, wrecked faculties,

base motives...

that have made up my useless existence!

I wasn't gonna tell you, Soapy,

but I got 30 cents a lady give me.

- I'll buy ya a beer.

- It isn't beer that I need.

It's hope, faith...

the assurance that it's still not too late

to pull myself out of the mire...

to make a man

of myself again...

to conquer the evil that's

taken possession of me!

We better get out of here.

If somebody was to hear you talking like that...

there's no telling what

we'd have to go through.

People praying over us,

preaching to us.

But there is time.

I'm still comparatively young.

Resurrect my old

and eager ambitions...

and pursue them

without faltering.

I'll give up this life of dissipation and idleness.

Tomorrow I'll go into the roaring downtown

district and find work.

I recall a fur merchant...

who once offered me

a position.

I think I must have his card

about me somewhere.

I'll find him, lay my plight before him,

seek his aid.

Yes, here is his card.

I recall his kindly face.

A noble man,

if ever I met one.

He'll give me a job.

He'll help me make something of myself.

- I'll be somebody in the world!

- Okay, come along.

- Huh? Officer, what have I done?

- Never mind. Come along.

Don't give me any of your lip,

or I'll bash in that skull of yours.

Come on!

Loitering, eh?

Guilty or not guilty?

Your Honor,

if it pleases the court-

One of those

argumentative types, eh?

- Where did you pick him up?

- Comin' out of church.

- Church?

- Your Honor, I'd just stepped in to refresh my soul.

I'd just undergone the most salutary

spiritual experience.

I'm a reformed man, and l-

Today I'd planned to apply for a position.

- Find any candlesticks on him?

- Oh, no, Your Honor. I assure you.

- Maybe he was try. Ing to rob the poor box.

- Oh, no, Your Honor.

I didn't find a thing on him-

not even a dime.

- Ninety days.

- For what?

Vagrancy-

no visible means of support.

- Next case.

O. Henry. Learned about jail

the hard way-

in jail.

He did his research on an iron cot,

listening to his cell mates.

He never felt superior

to the people he wrote about.

And maybe it's that humility

that draws us to his stories again and again.

Here's one of the best,

"The Clarion Call."

"Half of this story. Can be found in the records

of the police department.

There is no record

of the other half...

but it belongs behind the doors

of the editorial office...

of a New York newspaper. "

Well, welcome back.

How'd it go?

- I got him there.

- Good.

- Nine.

- Uh, 18.

Hi, Chief.

Hello, Barney.

One counterfeiter delivered to federal prison,

Leavenworth, Kansas.

- And now I'm bushed.

- No wonder. Long trip, handcuffed for five days.

Uh-uh.

Not that long.

I took the handcuffs off

outside Newark.

He was an old man of 70,

going in for good.

That train ride was his last chance

to stretch his legs.

You look tired. Take some time.

Lay out till Monday.

Thanks. They found some more counterfeit

in the old boy's shoe.

The warden ducked and asked us to turn

it over to the downtown treasury.

Hundred-dollar bills?

- Beautiful job.

- Almost perfect.

They trapped him

on the picture.

The old goat parted

Franklin's hair on the left side.

- Said it looked better.

You signed for it, you keep it.

We'll send it down Monday.

- Get some rest.

- Thanks.

Does this belong to you?

No, that's a clue

in the Norcross murder case.

Robbery knockdown.

Happened while you were away.

None of that means anything.

No fingerprints, no nothing.

Must be

an out-of-town killer.

I know everybody's work

around here.

Looks expensive.

Where'd you find it?

On the rug

in Norcross's room.

Whoever killed him left it.

There's some printing on it.

Yeah.

"Camptown Races.

July the fourth, 1901."

Doesn't mean a thing.

It's a nice tune though-

"Camptown Races."

Mind if I check it out

a while?

Sure, sure.

If you think you can do any better.

It's our only lead.

I used to sing it myself

in the old days.

A good quartet number.

- Do you happen to know Johnny Kernan?

- Who?

- Kernan. Johnny Kernan.

No, I don't

believe I do.

Thanks.

- Something I can do for you?

- No, thanks.

There.

It's Johnny Kernan.

But he's only

been registered a week.

- Maybe it isn't the same one.

It's the same one.

Look, I'm not full owner.

There isn't gonna be any trouble.

He's the best wrestler

l ever saw.

Whenever the referee

ain't lookin', he gets 'em.

- Give me a beer.

- How's the bock holding out?

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