Nothing Sacred

Ladies and gentlemen!

When the Morning Star summoned you to this banquet

I realized that there were only two people qualified

to introduce the great man 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

A prince with a heart as 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

as a warning against fakes!

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

I am going to remove him 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, 5, 6 lines on Hazel Flagg.

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 café 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 clay... 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 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.

I think you're being a little 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.

Moses in the mountains! You're from the Morning Star?

Stay right where you are. Don't move!

I'll show you something that'll freeze ya!

Listen, doctor. I'm getting sick of this taffy pull.

Where can I get hold of Hazel Flagg?

Don't talk to me about Hazel Flagg! No, siree!

Here's the evidence.

I appeal to you as a man of learning, Dr. Downer. What is Miss Flagg's address?

Don't waste my time, young fella. Here, read that.

That's a copy of an essay I wrote. Read it. Go on.

Tit for tat.

Give me her address, and I'll pore over these interesting documents all night.

I entered this contest with a clean pair of hands.

Who are the six greatest Americans?

I named them and proved why, writing on one side of the paper.

And what happened? Did I win the $10,000? No, siree.

Did I win the 5,000? Did they even try to save their face

by giving me one of the smaller $1,000 prizes?

Not that gang of chicken thieves!

Here's what they gave me, read it. A check for $1.

- Young fella, for 22 years... - I must ask you to be reasonable.

- You can't harbor a grudge for 22 years. - I'll harbor it till I die! Wait and see!

The Morning Star had a chance to win my respect 22 years ago.

They saw fit to swindle and belittle me. Very well.

I'll prove to them before I die who the six great Americans are

and who was entitled to the first prize!

I could do better in darkest Africa.

You know who got that $10,000? The editor's wife, that's who!

Morning.

You don't have to sit there looking so dramatic, Hazel.

Like Eliza crossing the ice.

Well, I can't help feeling a little bad.

You couldn't either if you were gonna die any minute.

Well, you can stop giving yourself the airs of a dying swan.

According to this last analysis I made, you ain't going to die.

Unless you get run over or something.

What?

You heard me. I don't like to chew my cabbage twice.

Enoch... Enoch, I-I-I'm not gonna die?

You're fitter than a fiddle! And stop gawking at me or I'll cut myself!

Oh, I gotta cry, Enoch. I can't help it.

Come, come, come, this is no way to behave in a doctor's office.

Besides, that soap will give you the darndest bellyache you ever had.

Oh, Enoch, you saved my life.

Oh, it was nothing. That first diagnosis I made was a mistake.

I got so that I was seeing radium poisoning everywhere.

I've been awfully brave, haven't I, not to cry before? Please say I have...

Well, now that it's over, I don't mind telling you, Hazel,

I felt kinda sorry for you.

Sorry.

I've been under a great strain.

You know, I don't know why I'm so happy about it, Enoch.

You sort of spoiled my trip.