The Trouble with Harry

OK! I know how to handle your type.

Well, old faithful,|that's your shooting for the day.

If we haven't rung up|at least two rabbits,

we deserve to go home empty-handed.

Yeah, still, blessed are they|who expect nothing.

for they shall not be disappointed.

Mm. Fewer things in life give a man|more pleasure than hunting.

It satisfies his primitive nature,

striding through the woods,|picking up his kill.

Well, come on, old faithful.

There's plump rabbits|waiting for the frying pan.

If this can had four legs and a tail,|we'd be eating it tonight.

Clean through the heart.

For rice cake! I've done him in.

Cor.

A harmless pot-shot at a rabbit|and I'm a murderer, a killer.

Mother always said|I'd come to a bad end.

What in Hades were you doing here|anyway?

I can't say that I've seen you|around here before.

No. If you're going to get yourself|shot, do it where you're known.

"Mr Harry Worp,

87 Maple Avenue,|Boston, Massachusetts. "

Worp, you're a long way from home.

With the looks of it, you won't|get back for Christmas, now.

We're going to have a cold,|hard winter.

Mm. You might keep here a long time,|an awful long time.

Too long for me, Harry.

Yes.

Captain Wiles?

Yes, ma'am?

What seems to be the trouble,|Captain?

It's what you might call|an unavoidable accident.

- He's dead.|- Yes.

I would say that he was. Of course,|that's an unprofessional opinion.

Yeah. Did you...|did you know him, Miss Gravely?

- No. Doesn't live around here.|- Well, he died around here.

- That's what counts now.|- Embarrassing.

What do you plan to do with him,|Captain?

Miss Gravely, without cutting the hem|off truth's garment,

I'm gonna hide him, cover him up,

forget him.

Are you never going to inform|the police, Captain?

No. Forget you saw me, Miss Gravely.

Chase it out of your mind, for|heaven's sake, it was an accident.

He was poking around the clearing|and I thought he was a rabbit.

It was a human error.|Ah, now, please, don't...

Don't say anything to anybody,|Miss Gravely.

Do as you think best, Captain.

I'm sure you must have met|many similar situations

in your travels in foreign lands.

- Yeah, I've seen much worse things.|- I certainly won't say anything.

Much worse things.|I remember when I was on the Orinoco.

We had a Turk, a great, big Turk,|running amuck with a machete -

Captain, if I were going to hide|an accident, I shouldn't delay.

Oh. Oh.|You're right as rain, Miss Gravely.

Yes. You know something?|I'm glad I met you today.

I feel better for telling someone|as warm,

tender, understanding as yourself.

Well, on the contrary, Captain. It...

It...

I'm certainly glad|if I helped you, Captain.

Perhaps you would care to come over|for some blueberry muffins

and coffee later on,|high-bush blueberries?

Ah, well. This is certainly something|of an interesting surprise.

- And maybe some elderberry wine.|- Oh!

After all, we've been neighbours|for nearly three years now and...

we've never exchanged social calls.

You're right.|It's high time I paid a call.

- What time?|- Oh, say, early this afternoon.

I'll be there with a clean shirt|and a hungry face.

Do that.

You better be going now. Don't want|to be an accessory after the fact.

You are a considerate man,|Captain Wiles.

- Goodbye.|- Goodbye.

We're almost there, Mommy!

Here he is, Mommy. Here he is.

- What did I tell ya, Mommy?|- Don't touch it, Arnie.

- There he is.|- No. It can't be! Harry!

Harry, thank Providence,|the last of Harry.

- Who's Providence, Mommy?|- A very good friend.

- Don't you know who it is?|- You said Harry.

- Can't you remember, Arnie?|- Why don't he get up and move?

He's asleep.

He's in a deep sleep,|a deep, wonderful sleep.

How'd he hurt his head?

Putting it where it wasn't wanted,|would be my guess.

- Will it get better?|- Not if we're lucky.

Let's run home|and I'll make you some lemonade.

Will lemonade put me in a wonderful,|deep, deep sleep, Mommy?

No, Arnie, but it's better|than no lemonade.

- I don't understand that.|- Never mind. Forget you saw him.

- Is there a special way to forget?|- Just think of something else.

- I'll try not to see him tomorrow.|- That's a good boy, Arnie.

Now, let's run home|and get that lemonade.

She won't care what I do with him.

Couldn't have had more people here|if I'd sold tickets.

What's the big attraction, I wonder?

This could turn out to be|the luckiest day of my life.

I'll just wait till the whole world|comes to pay their last respects.

Sooner or later one of them has|to turn out to be the Deputy Sheriff.

# Flaggin' the train to Tuscaloosa

# Flaggin' the train that's going home

# Flaggin' the train to Tuscaloosa

# Never no more, no more to roam

# Gotta get back to Tuscaloosa

# Got a sweet gal who's on my mind

# Gotta get back to Tuscaloosa

# Back to the gal I left behind

# Got no baggage

# Just got my fare

# But all I need yes, indeed

# Is waitin' for me there|Flaggin' the train to Tuscaloosa

# Oh how I love that choo-choo sound

# Flaggin' the train to Tuscaloosa

# Flaggin' the train|that's homeward bound

# Gotta get back to Tuscaloosa

# Got a sweet gal who's on my mind

# Gotta get back to Tuscaloosa

# Back to the gal I left behind

# Got no baggage

# Just got my fare

# But all I need yes, indeed

# Is waitin' for me there #

Hello, Mr Marlowe.

Wiggy, you haven't sold a painting.|All my pictures in the same place.

So few cars. They don't... I guess|the cider takes their attention.

Cider, indeed.|Throw it away! Drink it.

- No, I hate cider.|- Not a picture sold.

I'm sorry, Mr Marlowe. Let's get|a look at your new one. Hold it up.

What good would it do? You don't|deserve to see it. How will I eat?

Mr Wiggs always used to thump|his stomach when he got mad.

He busted somethin' inside once.

You think we'd do any better|on 5th Avenue?

If there's more people there.

Oh, lots of people. Hundreds|and thousands and billions of people.

- It might be better then.|- But what sort of people, Wiggy?

What breed? I'll tell you.

They're little people,|little people with hats on.

How are your cigarettes?

I'll buy the other half tomorrow.

What does your son do with all those|old cars he always works on?

He sells 'em. Mechanical antiques.|Doesn't make much, needs the money.

Hm. Doesn't he get paid|for being deputy sheriff?

Piecework.|Gets paid by the arrest, I think.

Ah, Mr Marlowe, it's wonderful.

- I've been in a tortured mood.|- What is it?

Good old Wiggy, my sternest critic.

I don't understand it but I think|it's beautiful. Mrs Rogers agrees.

- Oh? You talk about me?|- Well, I...

She's the pretty woman|with the little boy, isn't she?

Mm-hm.|I only brought up your name once

when we were talking|about strange people.

- Huh?|- That is, strangers.

- Oh.|- People she hadn't met yet.

What does the pretty,|little thing say about me?

Nothin'.

I think we better discuss business.|Here, my shopping list.

I'll go in and start puttin' it up.

Wiggy, how do you spell Tuscaloosa?

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