Some Came Running Page #9

Five hundred dollars.

Is that right? Hey, that's

fine, isn't it? That's great.

But I got a couple more important

things I wanna talk to you about.

I suppose I haven't talked to

you because I had nothing to say.

Dave, I've been so

confused and troubled...

...and now I'm not anymore.

Just talking to you...

...I'd forgotten how warm

and deep your voice is.

Oh, yes, I've missed you.

I have missed you.

It's astonishing how much.

When?

I'll be here.

Good night, Dave. Thank you.

Good night, baby.

Aces up.

Three nines.

Oh, happy day. You did it again.

Yeah, a little lucky.

You guys must be a couple

of grand ahead, huh?

- Oh, more or less.

- You always play together?

Mostly.

Two of you are pretty lucky.

I think we need a new deck.

Tell me something. That phone call.

Something very interesting?

For me, yeah. Why?

No reason at all, except, uh...

...made me think of a gambler

I used to know in Philly.

This guy had a pretty cute gimmick.

He used to sit in a card game...

...a buddy of his would go out and

call him on the phone and guess what.

He'd tell him what every

guy in the game was holding.

Makes you think, doesn't it?

Yeah, I'd say he was a dishonest bum.

You know something? He was.

- Charlie, I better straighten you out about...

- You just take it easy.

This fella here's the heavy loser tonight,

and I reckon he's entitled to be a bit stupid.

- Now, who could have phoned?

- Deal.

Well, let's say the waiter.

- The waiter?

- Yeah, he was in here, wasn't he?

- He could have cased everybody's cards.

- Yeah.

Now, mind you, I

didn't say that he did.

Mm.

- You never take that hat off, do you?

- Nope, never take it off.

Why?

He got a little shortwave

radio he's got sewn in the hat.

And it gives us back signals to

what you bums are holding. Why?

Do you know something?

This creep could be

kidding on the square.

Let's just take a look, huh?

All right, back away from the dough.

All right.

Don't like nobody to touch my hat.

Now, pick it up.

Pick it up and put it on his head.

All right, beat it. Beat it.

Move, sweetie, get out of here.

- You all right?

- I don't know. Where's my hat?

- Never mind your hat.

Get up here. I'll get it.

- Oh, those dogs.

- Get that.

Go back to Parkman. I'm gonna

take him to the hospital.

- Ain't there nothing we can do?

- Do what I told you.

- I don't like nobody to touch my hat.

- Put your arm around me. Come on.

- Here's your coat. Good call.

Easy now.

Mr. Dillert.

I never heard of anyone

sleeping with a hat on.

Well, ma'am, you heard

it now. It brings me luck.

That's a pagan superstition.

Yeah.

It sure is, ma'am.

Come in.

Oh, how do you feel, old buddy?

How do I feel, old buddy, huh?

How would you feel, strangers

busting in here day and night...

...turning you over,

feeling under the covers?

Boy, they sure get familiar

around here in a hurry.

- Is he being a tough patient, Sister?

- While she was trying to get my hat...

...I was teaching her how to

deal a second-top-card first.

Not teaching me, Mr.

Dillert, showing me.

- Please don't stay long.

- I won't.

Wanna know something

funny? She was beating me.

The Lord's on my side, Mr. Dillert.

So you finally got here, Dave.

Sure took you a long time.

They only allow visitors

in the afternoon.

Well, you just better get yourself

hustling and get me out of this flea trap.

Why?

Why? I don't trust them sisters.

What do you mean, you

don't trust them sisters?

They stole my clothes.

Ain't got a stitch here.

Those are doctor's orders.

They take everybody's clothes.

- He's the only man that can get them back.

- Get me the doctor.

Why don't you just ring that bell?

It ain't no good no more.

I got mad and I busted it.

Dave, you got me in this

here bed, now get me out.

Okay, I'll go talk to the doc.

- Oh, hello, doctor.

- Hi.

I want my pants, doc.

I'm afraid we're going to have to

keep you here for a while, Mr. Dillert.

Now, what is this? A hospital or jail?

It's not a question of legality. It's a

question of professional responsibility.

You're a sick man, Mr. Dillert. Not

from the knife wound, that was slight.

But we discovered quite accidentally

that you have rather an advanced case...

...of diabetes mellitus.

I got what?

Diabetes?

I noticed there was considerable

alcohol content in your blood test.

How much whiskey do you

drink in a day, Mr. Dillert?

- That's a pretty good question.

- Oh, I don't rightly know.

- Maybe a fifth, maybe less. I don't know.

- Maybe more.

Course, you'll have to

stop drinking, Mr. Dillert.

Alcohol adds an enormous

amount of sugar to the blood.

You need treatment, Mr.

Dillert. Immediate treatment.

You mean it's that serious?

The rate Mr. Dillert is going

now, it's more than serious.

All right, you've done your duty, doc.

Now, you just tell me what to

do to get out of this place...

...without busting down that

door and I'll be obliged.

I'll, uh, send up a

release for you to sign.

Pardon me.

Can you tell me where I can

find Miss French, the teacher?

Second floor. I believe it's Room 213.

Thank you. Is, um,

she teaching class now?

The period will be

over in a few minutes.

Now, we have time for

a few more questions.

Wally?

Miss French, do you think

that Emile Zola was immoral?

No, I don't at all.

Even when writing about depraved people,

his attitude was essentially moral.

But he had a mistress, didn't he?

You'll have to take

that up with Mrs. Zola.

Why do you ask?

Well, a friend of mine believes that

literary men have, well, different standards.

But it seems to me that if it's all right for

them, it should be all right for anybody else.

Well, I don't agree

with your friend, Wally.

But it is true, I believe, that good

writers feel more deeply than the rest of us.

They have greater appetites for life.

If I'd known Poe, I would undoubtedly

have been repelled by his drinking...

...but I would have

tried to understand him.

Just as I would have tried to understand

Dr. Johnson for his gluttony...

...de Quincy for using drugs, and

Baudelaire for his neurotic promiscuity.

They were big men. Big in

weakness, bigger in strength.

- Are you Miss French?

- Yes.

I'm Ginnie Moorehead.

You don't know me, but I know

you. Least I know about you.

Uh, I'd kind of like to

talk to you about something.

Well, what can I do for you?

Gee, you don't look

like a schoolteacher.

Thank you. I assume

that was a compliment.

Oh, sure.

Uh...

- May I sit down?

- Of course.

You won't tell Dave I've been here, will

you? He'd skin me alive if he knowed I was.

Is he a friend of yours?

Yeah.

I'm not gonna take up much

of your time, Miss French.

But he's coming back today, and

there's something I just gotta know.

Are you gonna marry him?

- Am I what?

- I gotta know how things stand, that's all.

- Well, I'm not sure I can...

- Miss French, let me explain.

You see, I think

he's in love with you.

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