The Philadelphia Story Page #8

Now I do, far away.

It's my bedroom telephone.

It couldn't be anyone but George.

I was sort of swinish to him.

Perhaps I'd better go

and see what...

It isn't ringing anymore.

I tell you what.

Let's have a quick swim

to brighten us up.

Dexter and I always

swam after parties.

Let's dip into this instead, huh?

- Hello, you.

- Hello.

- You look fine.

- I feel fine.

Did you enjoy the party?

Sure. Sure.

The prettiest sight

in this fine, pretty world...

is the privileged class

enjoying its privileges.

- You're a snob, Connor.

- No doubt. No doubt.

"Awash with champagne...

"was Will Q. Tracy's

pleasure dome...

"on the nuptial eve

of Tracy Samantha... Tracy..."

You can't marry that guy.

George? I'm going to.

- Why not?

- I don't know.

I thought I'd be for it at first,

but you don't seem to match up.

Then the fault's with me.

Maybe so. But all the same,

you can't do it.

Come around about noon tomorrow.

I mean today.

- Snob.

- What do you mean, "snob"?

You're the worst kind there is,

an intellectual snob.

You made up your mind

awfully young, it seems to me.

Thirty's about time

to make up your mind.

And I'm nothing of the sort.

Not Mr. Connor.

The time to make up

your mind about people...

is never.

Yes, you are,

and a complete one.

- You're quite a girl, aren't you?

- You think?

- Yeah, I know.

- I don't think I'm exceptional.

- You are, though.

- I know any number like me.

You oughta get around more.

What, in the upper class?

No, no.

No, thank you.

You're just a mass

of prejudices, aren't you?

You're so much thought

and so little feeling, Professor.

- I am, am I?

- Yes, you am, are you.

Your intolerance infuriates me!

I should think that, of all people,

a writer would need tolerance.

That fact is you'll never,

you can't be...

a first-rate writer

or a first-rate human being...

until you've learned to have

some small regard for human fra...

Aren't the geraniums

pretty, Professor?

Is it not a handsome day...

that begins, Professor?

- Lay off that "Professor."

- Yes, Professor.

You've got all the arrogance

of your class, all right.

How... what have classes

to do with it?

What do they matter

except for the people in them?

George comes from the so-called lower

class; Dexter from the upper. Well?

Mac, the night watchman, is a prince

among men; Uncle Willie is a pincher.

Upper and lower, my eye.

I'll take the lower, thanks.

If you can't get a drawing room.

- What do you mean by that?

- My mistake.

- You're insulting!

- I'm sorry.

- Oh, don't apologize!

- Who's apologizing?

I never knew such a man.

You wouldn't be likely to,

not from where you sit.

Talk about arrogance.

- Tracy.

- What do you want?

You're wonderful.

There's a magnificence

in you, Tracy.

Now I'm getting self-conscious.

It's funny, l...

Yeah?

I don't know.

Go up, I guess. It's late.

A magnificence that comes out

of your eyes and your voice...

in the way you stand there,

in the way you walk.

You're lit from within, Tracy.

You've got fires

banked down in you...

hearth fires and holocausts!

I don't seem to you

made of bronze?

No. You're made out

of flesh and blood.

That's the blank,

unholy surprise of it.

You're the golden girl, Tracy...

full of life and warmth

and delight.

What goes on?

You got tears in your eyes.

Shut up. Shut up.

Oh, Mike, keep talking.

Keep talking.

Talk, will you?

No, no, I've...

I've stopped.

Why?

Has your mind taken hold again,

dear Professor?

Well, it's a good thing,

don't you agree?

No, Professor.

Lay off that "Professor" stuff!

Do you hear me?

Yes, Professor.

- That's all I am to you?

- Of course, Professor.

- Are you sure?

- Why, yes, of course...

Golly.

- Golly Moses!

- Tracy.

- Mr. Connor...

- Let me tell you something.

- I've got the shakes.

- It can't be anything like love, can it?

No, no, it mustn't be.

It can't.

- Would it be inconvenient?

- Terribly.

Anyway, I know it isn't.

- Mike, we're out of our minds.

- Right into our hearts.

- That ought to have music.

- It does, doesn't it?

It's as if my insteps

were melting away.

- Have I got feet of clay?

- Tracy.

It's not far to the pool.

It's in the birch grove.

- It'll be lovely now.

- Tracy, you're tremendous.

Put me in your pocket, Mike.

I can't imagine what

makes me so sleepy.

- It couldn't be the company.

- It's you, Mr. Dexter.

- Hello, Mac.

- I heard you were about.

- Any prowlers around?

- No prowlers.

- Can Miss lmbrie get in this way?

- Lf she can't, you can go in the back.

Good.

- Thanks, Mac. Good night.

- Good night, sir.

Well, home after

a hard day's blackmailing.

When are you going

to telephone Kidd?

In time to get him here

for the wedding.

Why?

A sort of wedding present,

if it works.

If it works.

I could still tear it up.

No. Mike's only chance to ever become

a really fine writer is to get fired.

You're a good number, Liz.

Oh, I just photograph well.

I'm certainly out of focus now.

Why don't you take a swim?

- A swim?

- Sure.

Tracy and I always

took a swim after a party.

- Did you?

- Mm-hmm.

Bet it was fun.

I'll have to try it

with Mike sometime.

Liz, why don't you marry him?

- You really want to know?

- Mm-hmm.

He's still got a lot to learn.

I don't want to get

in his way for a while.

It's risky though, Liz.

Suppose another girl

came along in the meantime?

I'd scratch her eyes out,

I guess.

That is, unless she was going to

marry somebody else the next day.

- Hello, Kittredge.

- What are you doing here?

I'm a friend of the family's.

Dropped in for a chat.

Don't try to be funny.

I asked you a question.

I could ask you

the same question.

I telephoned Tracy,

and her phone didn't answer.

I was worried,

so I walked over.

- I was worried too.

- About what?

What do you think of

this fellow Connor, or do you?

If you're trying to insinuate...

My dear chap, I wouldn't

insinuate anything, only...

Kittredge,

I'd advise you to go to bed.

I don't want your advice.

I'm staying right here.

You're making a mistake.

Somehow I don't think you'll understand.

- Maybe you'd better leave that to...

- Dreams really do come true

Someday I'll wish upon a star

- What's that?

- It's Mac, the night watchman.

Always singing.

I'll walk you around the house.

Something's going on here,

and I'm staying.

And so are you.

All right, then.

Take the works.

Only heaven help you.

Somewhere over the rainbow

Way up high

There's a land

that I heard of

Once in a lullaby

And the dreams

That I dare to dre...

- Uh-oh.

- Don't stop, Mikey.

Keep crooning.

Someday over the rainbow

Way up high

- What is this, Connor?

- Easy, old man. She's not hurt?

- No, no.

- Not wounded, sire, but dead.

Seems the minute she hit the water,

the wine hit her.

- Look here, Connor.

- A likely story!

- What'd you say?

- A likely story!

- Lf you think that...

- You'll be down directly?

- Yes, if you want!

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