The Women

Oh, poor darling! Aw!

Did that bad monster try to fight with Muddy's little baby? My darling.

You sure is nice and sweet, but you need perfume on your breath.

- Good morning, Olive. - Good morning.

Good grief. Women should leave beasts like that at home.

But my little Lillikins is different. She's her Muddy's little playmate.

Olive, here's her special drinking water.

She never wants to drink, Mrs. Van Adams.

Ah, but you never can tell. Some day, she may. If she cries for me, tell her that...

Muddy's making herself beautiful just to play with little Lillikins.

Mrs. Carter and I are being done together. Is she here?

Yes. You're going to have a manicure, shampoo, facial and everything.

- Look at Sydney's miniatures. - Sure sign of a petty mind.

They've been waiting half an hour. You could see the art exhibit later.

All right. Art exhibit, my foot.

Would you remove your hat? Sit here, Mrs. Spencer.

How fascinating.

- Put your face in there and be quiet. - Let me see. Oh!

Good grief. I hate to tell you, dear, but your skin makes the Rockies look like chiffon velvet.

Only half a minute more, Mrs. Miller, and you can talk again.

Oh. I beg your pardon. I'm looking for Grandma.

- Grandma isn't in there. - She isn't in here.

This mud has worms in it! I know it has worms in it! I can feel them.

They're more scared of you than you are of them.

What's a little worm? At Harvard and Yale, they eat them.

- Relax. Rest and close your eyes. - All right.

But I still say I'm going to pull a gun on him, just like I did on Judge McClure.

I'm coming. I'm coming. Oh, my dears!

That solid mountain of flesh is going to marry a jockey.

- Won't her husband turn over in his grave? - What's she got in common with a jockey?

Horse feathers.

Yes, miss?

She's all right, Miss Spencer. She's my press agent.

Has anybody seen my grandmother? She's Southern. Thank you.

The South is in that direction.

- Grandma! - Hello, darling.

- Where have you been? - Four miles.

- May I go to the fights tonight? - Not without me.

Oh, Grandma.

Is Miss Atkinson here?

You don't look a day over 35.

That old gasoline truck. She's 60, she's a minute.

- Who is she? - Gillingswater.

One more perm and she won't have a hair left.

- She's got plenty on her arms, baby. - She does shed, doesn't she?

It's the newest color, Jungle Red.

- What? - It's the newest color, Jungle Red.

One of the girls recognized in Cholly Knickerbocker's column...

and it was Haines.

- What did you say the name was? - Haines.

How do you know?

Two weeks ago I passed by where Crystal lives.

The landlady said she'd moved to be with her gentlemen friend.

- "What gentlemen friend," I said. - Shut it off. I can't hear a thing!

Hazel! Hurry, get the pins out. I want to get out!

- Boo! I'm an elevator man! - Don't frighten Mother, dear.

Run along, darlings.

The lambs! Are you sure they are dressed warm enough? Hello?

Edith? Take a good grip on yourself. You're going to die.

Stephen Haines is stepping out on Mary.

- What? - All aboard for the main lobby!

Yes. Run along now, children.

But, Sylvia, darling, who told you?

A manicurist? Go on.

This manicurist, she's perfectly divine, she said to me:

"I know something about rich Mrs. Haines."

Oh!

But, Sylvia, suppose Mary should hear about it? Wouldn't it be terrible?

Wouldn't it be ghastly?

But, darling, we've got to face her at lunch today.

Won't it be too tragic?

Eating her food and knowing all about her husband.

Darling, I'll burst until I get the details, but I've got to see that filthy doctor.

Yes, you know, my regular checkup. Goodbye, darling.

Operator, will you give me Great Neck 8125, please.

Will you tone her down? This is a toll call.

Hello, this is Mrs. Potter speaking.

Will you tell Mrs. Haines not to wait lunch for me?

No, tell her I have to see my doctor, but I'll make it just as soon as I can.

Mrs. Haines is out riding now with Little Mary, but I'll let her know.

Mother, will you tell Daddy I beat you? Will you tell him?

- If I tell him, he'll think I'm conceited. - Ha, ha. He'll be awfully disappointed in me.

- But you're so solid with him anyway. - Oh, you think so. All right, I'll tell him.

And to prove it beyond doubt, I'll photograph the finish.

Oh, swell.

Lickety-split now. It's got to look like the real McCoy.

All right, Mother. Here I come.

- Hooray! - Hooray! The winner.

- I'll have to borrow your horse next time. - I could beat you with any horse.

Let me take you now, Mother.

Wait a minute. Oh! Ha, ha. Look at that one.

How's that?

Look out there. You're shooting us on the bias.

Oh, I meant to. That's artistic.

That won't impress Daddy. He's heard that one before.

- How is this for artistic? - That's swell.

Hold it. Still.

My goodness. What a racket.

If this was an angel cake, it would fall like a board.

Any sensational ideas about dessert tonight, Ingrid?

- Baked apples. - What? No Charlotte russe?

- You never eat it, and he shouldn't. - Why?

Because he sits in an office all day, and most every night too, lately.

That's why he should be pampered. It's our last dinner at home.

We'll be up in Canada for two weeks, living like pioneers.

I'll be cooking, so you know what he'll get.

I know. Indigestion.

You can't fool me. You cook for him like a French chef all the time you're away.

I was looking for my cookbook this morning, and I found it in your trunk.

- I'll bring it back. - I hope.

What kind of food do you want for him tonight?

- Pancakes Barbara. - Oh, ridiculous. Twenty pounds right off.

- Oh, come on. - All right, if you say so.

But that Adonis figure of his won't last forever without help from the kitchen.

I'll cry for you...

- Mother, I'm helping you to pack. - Thanks, darling.

Sheba, get off Daddy's coat.

You don't want to take this old thing along with Daddy, do you?

What old thing, dear? - This.

Old thing? Heh. What do you mean, old thing?

- Daddy never wears that coat. - Yes, he does.

Whenever we go away on trips together, hunting and fishing.

- Where did you get those? - I found them in here.

Oh.

- We took those on our honeymoon. - You did? Where was your honeymoon?

Up in Canada, where we're going tomorrow.

You know, that's the spot where I caught that famous fish.

Goodness gracious. It isn't such a big fish, though, is it, Mother?

Well, the big fish aren't always the most important, you know.

When I first married Daddy, I couldn't fish worth a cent.

He started to teach me.

The first thing I learned was how to cast a fly. And then I caught that fish.

And Daddy said he'd have to have it stuffed...

in case I never catch another. - In case I never catch another.

- But you do catch others? - Millions of them.

It's only nip and tuck now who makes the biggest catch, Daddy or me.

- Does it make Daddy jealous? - Furious. We have terrific battles.

- Oh, now you're just fooling. - Ha, ha.

- Where's Daddy in this one? - He's probably taking the picture.

- I see his shadow, there in the snow. - That's right.

Oh, I remember that morning.

It snowed during the night and we had to dig our way out of the cabin.

We were snowbound for two whole days.

- Like in a movie? - Yes, darling.

- Were your lives in danger? - Mm?

Well, uh, hardly. But it was very romantic, anyway.

Oh.

I think that kind of lovey-dovey stuff is silly.

You do, hmm? What do you know about it, anyway?

- Mother? - Mm-hm?

What do you and Daddy talk about when I'm not around?

- Oh, I don't know. Everything. - You do an awful lot of laughing.

- Do we? - I hear you sometimes.

- You shouldn't be listening. - What do you laugh at?

Oh, little jokes. Lots of things.

- Do you love Daddy better than me? - What?

Whatever gave you such an idea?

Ingrid says you love him better than anyone.

Oh. That's a different kind of love. You'll find out when you grow up.

- Will I? - Mm-hm.

Well, when I do, I hope that I won't think it's silly.

Mrs. Haines. The lunch guests have started to arrive.

Mother, let me pick out your dress.

- They'll be fancy, why not be plain? - Let's hurry.

- How do you do, Mrs. Potter? - Hello, Jane.

- How are you feeling today? - Too awful.

- I wouldn't wish my woes on my worst friend. - Aw.

Oh, Jane. Will you tell Mrs. Fowler that I'd like to talk to her for a moment?

Yes, Mrs. Potter.

- How's the little mother? - Jane, never mind about that.

Hello, dear.

The spider's in the parlor. Let's join her.

I said, "Do you expect me to stay home and darn your socks?"

- Why do we keep servants?" - You don't keep them long.

Great guns, what are you made up for? "The Seeing Eye"?

You better save your cracks for your next book.

- Edith, you must have dashed. - I broke every speed record.

- I thought you were going to Africa. - As soon as my book's out.

I'd rather face a tiger than the things the critics said about your last book.

Isn't this divine of Mary and the little girl? Let's see.

Uh, what does it say?

Hmm. Leave it to Mary to see she's photographed from her best angle.

Is that so?

What will you write next? Animal stories?

I wouldn't have to go to Africa for that.

Ha-ha.

I wish I could make a little money writing, the way you do.

If you wrote the way I do, that's what you'd make.

- You're not a very popular author, are you? - Not with you.

Best angle, my foot. It doesn't half do her justice.

You'll have some sherry?

I'll take it. Peggy never seems to connect very well.

- I'm sorry. - Let me see.

She's in love, bless her. After the child's been married as long as you...

she may be able to concentrate on matters like cocktails.

- Ah, another lecture on the modern woman. - At the drop of a hat.

I consider myself a perfectly good wife. I've sacrificed a lot for Howard Fowler.

Oh, smoked oysters. Mm.

Don't mention smoked oysters. They turn me green.

Oh, Edith, you are a bore.