Nothing Sacred
- APPROVED
- Year:
- 1937
- 77 min
- 442 Views
1
Ladies and gentlemen!
When the Morning Star
summoned you to this banquet
only two people qualified
we are honoring tonight.
Either my humble self or that
pearl among journalists
Mr. Wallace Cook, my great
friend and star reporter.
You said it.
I want Mr. Cook himself to tell
you the great feat he performed
not only for the Morning Star,
but for mankind itself
in interesting our guest of
honor in this great project.
Twenty-seven halls of
learning and culture!
Twenty-seven arenas of art!
To be known as the
Morning Star Temple.
And for every dollar we contribute, our
guest has pledged himself to give ten.
Ladies and gentlemen, it is my
great honor to introduce to you
big as his pocketbook
that fabulous and magnificent
potentate of the Orient
the Sultan of Marzipan.
Peace be unto you, my friends.
Peace and the blessings of culture.
That's him.
That's my husband.
Well, my fine
Oriental potentate
I'm not going to have you arrested.
I'm going to put you on the payroll
as a janitor!
Thank you, sir.
And I always want you
present in the local room
Where my reporters and Mr. Wallace
Cook can drink you in constantly
Yeah, sir.
May I ask, ain't Mr.
Cook a reporter anymore?
I wouldn't like for him to lose his job.
He was very nice to me.
Mr. Cook is not going to be
discharged, Your Majesty.
For his own good and the
good of the Morning Star
from the land of the living!
Listen, Oliver, I tell
you I'm innocent.
I was just as fooled by old
black Joe as you were.
I believed everything he
said just as you did.
Now, Oliver.
Either you cut out these fat-headed monkeyshines
of yours and let bygones be bygones
or I'm walking out of this
fish trap right here and now.
You're under contract with the
Star for five more years.
You're not in a position to resign
unless you wish to retire from
journalistic efforts over that period.
Oliver, you're not gonna keep me
pounding out obituaries for five years?
Those are my plans, Mr. Cook.
That's gratitude.
I'm the best reporter you ever had.
I've handed you a hundred scoops.
It isn't fair, Oliver.
It isn't human.
Shut up!
Oliver, I... I don't like
to say this, but...
The paper is going to rack and ruin with
me hidden away in that water cooler.
- Look at this.
- What's that?
Poor little working girl doomed
to death from radium poisoning.
- We've covered it.
- Covered it?
You're getting old, Oliver.
Look, there's 1, 2, 3, 4,
A poor little kid with a few
months to live at the outside.
Doomed. Death staring
her in the face.
What does she feel?
What does she think?
- Radium eating away her bones!
- Don't shout at me!
Listen, Oliver, there's a story in this
kid that ought to tear your heart out.
Where is it? Why hasn't the Star got it?
I'll tell you.
Because I'm stuck away in the water cooler
on account of some whim of yours.
Listen, Oliver, give
me a chance, will you?
So help me may I drop
dead or redeem myself.
- I oughta be shot for what I'm thinking.
- What are you thinking?
I'm thinking that maybe you ain't the
most tittering imbecile on Earth.
I'm thinking that maybe
you've learned your lesson.
Oliver, so help me. I'll
be in Vermont by morning.
I'll dig you up a story that'll make
this town swoon. Here's my hand on it.
I've been through an inferno.
I haven't been able to enter a
caf for the past three weeks
without the band playing "Dixie".
- Oh well, that was a coincidence.
- I've given you my hand, go on...
- Redeem yourself.
- Thanks. You won't regret it.
If I don't come back with the
biggest story you ever handled
you can put me back in short
pants and make me marble editor.
- You through?
- Yep.
- You know this girl, Hazel Flagg?
- Yep.
- Pretty girl, eh?
- Yep.
- Where is she now? In the hospital?
- Nope.
Just walking around, eh? Laughing
and carrying on, I suppose.
Yep.
- What's your name, Coolidge?
- Nope.
Well, if you aren't worn
out talking, what is it?
Bull.
Mr. Bull, my name's Cook.
I'm from the New York Star.
I'm, uh, going to be filing a lot of
stuff with your telegraph office here.
- I don't think you are.
- Well, who says?
The Paragon Watch Factory owns this town.
They don't care to have any scandal printed.
What they say goes.
Better take the next train back.
- What kind of a fellow is this Dr. Downer?
- He won't talk to you.
Nobody talkin' in this town.
Except me. Better go home.
Well, if you don't mind I'll take a little
stroll and have a look at the sights first.
Well, I wouldn't have talked at all if
I knew I was gonna do it for nothin'.
Oh, pardon me.
I forgot I was in Vermont.
All right.
Morning, sister.
- You in charge here?
- Yep.
I've been wandering through your
fascinating metropolis for an hour.
- Mind if I sit down here?
- Yep.
- I guess you misunderstood me.
- Nope.
- You know Hazel Flagg?
- Yep.
Any idea where I could
find her this morning?
You're a newspaperman from New York.
- How did you guess that, sister?
- You was described to me.
Will Bull can shoot his mouth
off to all he wants, but not me
nor anybody else in this town.
This drugstore's run by the
Paragon Watch Company
and they don't want any scandalmonger
New Yorkers snoopin' around.
- OK, sister. And how much do I owe you?
- Well, you've tooken up my time...
Thank you very much. I'm sorry that
I've tooken up so much of your time.
Sorry.
- Oh. Good morning.
Is Dr. Downer in?
- Yep.
- Is that his office?
- Yep.
Would you tell him Mr. Cook
would like to see him?
Tell him yourself.
- Dr. Downer?
- Yep!
My name's Cook. I'm up
here from New York.
Sit down. I'll be
with you in a minute.
- Nice day... Yep.
- Yep.
- What have you got, young man?
Hives?
No. No hives.
Lotta hives goin' around. Mrs. George
Nasher was took yesterday. Do you know her?
Nope.
- Where did you say you were from?
- New York.
I was wondering if you you could tell
me where I could find Hazel Flagg.
- From New York, eh?
- Yep.
You know what I
think, young fella?
I think you're a newspaperman.
I can smell 'em.
I've always been able to smell 'em.
Excuse me while I open the windows.
I'll tell you briefly what
I think of newspapermen.
The hand of God reaching
down into the mire
Couldn't elevate one of them
to the depths of degradation.
Not by a million miles.
severe toward my profession.
- Not much, but just a little.
- Nothing of the sort.
I'm a fair-minded man, young fella, but
when you've been robbed, swindled, cheated
for 22 years out of a fortune, it's
pardonable to formulate an opinion!
- From New York, eh?
- Yep.
You don't happen to know of a
newspaper called the Morning Star?
You have the honor, Dr. Downer,
of addressing that newspaper's
most gifted representative.
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"Nothing Sacred" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 2 Nov. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/nothing_sacred_14989>.
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