His Girl Friday Page #43

Clinging to him, Burns takes him to the phone.

BURNS:

(into phone)

Duffy! I'm sending Bensinger over to

see you.

(looking up at

Bensinger)

Mervyn, isn't it?

BENSINGER:

No. Roy. Roy V.

BURNS:

(with a little laugh

at his own

forgetfulness)

Of course!

(into phone)

Roy Bensinger, the poet. Of course

you wouldn't know! You probably never

heard of Shakespeare, either! Put

Mr. Bensinger right on the staff.

(to Bensinger)

How much are you getting on the

Tribune, Roy?

BENSINGER:

Seventy-five.

BURNS:

I'll give you a hundred and a by-

line.

ANOTHER ANGLE:

as Burns continues.

BURNS:

(into phone)

Let him have everything he wants.

(puts down the

receiver; turns to

Bensinger)

Now hustle and write me a story from

the point of view of the escaped

man.

(acting it out)

He hides, cowering... Afraid of every

light, of every sound... hears

footsteps... his heart going like

that... And all the time they're

closing in... Get the sense of an

animal at bay!

BENSINGER:

Sort of a Jack London style?

TRUCKING SHOT:

BURNS:

Exactly!

Leads him hurriedly to the door.

BENSINGER:

I got my rhyming dictionary in --

(indicating desk)

BURNS:

(getting him to door)

It doesn't have to rhyme!

CLOSE SHOT - AT DOOR

as Bensinger turns there.

BENSINGER:

Gee, I'm terribly grateful, Mister

Burns. Do you suppose there might be

an opening some time as foreign

correspondent? I parley a little

French, you know.

Burns shakes hands with him and opens the door with the other

hand.

BURNS:

I'll keep you in mind.

BENSINGER:

(going)

Au revoir, mon capitaine.

BURNS:

(never at a loss in

any language)

Bon jour!

Continuing his French, he gets the door closed and relocked

and turns for the table, singing as he does so:

BURNS:

Mademoiselle from Armontieres, parlay --

MED. SHOT

Burns returns alertly to table, not noticing that Hildy has

stopped typing, and sits staring moodily before her.

BURNS:

(into phono)

Duffy! Got this!

CLOSEUP BURNS - AT PHONE

BURNS:

A rat from the Tribune is coming

over to get a job -- Bensinger, the

guy I told you about. Handle him

with kid gloves. Tell him to get

busy writing poetry... No, we don't

want him. Stall him along until the

extra comes out. Then tell him his

poetry stinks and kick him downstairs.

He lays down receiver.

WIDER ANGLE:

taking in Hildy. She looks up at him.

HILDY:

(to Burns)

Double-crossing swine!

BURNS:

You said it! But this'll teach him a

lesson. He won't quit his paper

without giving notice after this.

Hildy doesn't bother to reply. She rests her chin on her

hands and stares moodily ahead.

BURNS:

Tear into it, will you? Don't sit

there like a frozen robin!

HILDY:

I'm finished.

BURNS:

Finished!

He grabs the last sheet of paper out of her typewriter, kisses

her and rushes over to the telephone.

CLOSEUP BURNS:

at phone.

BURNS:

(into phone)

Duffy! All right -- here we go! And

got it out as soon as you can. I

want this paper out on the streets

in half an hour!

(reading Hildy's copy)

"So once more the Morning Post --"

EXT. CRIMINAL COURTS BLDG. - NIGHT MED. SHOT

Diamond Louie, bearing evidence of a mishap, his hat crushed,

his face bruised and his clothes torn, comes running down

the sidewalk and up the steps into the buildings.

INT. PRESS ROOM - NIGHT MED. SHOT

Hildy is up now, pacing.

HILDY:

Bruce ought to be back by now. Walter,

you're not trying anything again,

are you?

BURNS:

(coming over to her)

Hildy, you think I could? After this

story?

(taking a flask from

his pocket)

Here! You're just nervous.

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