I'll See You in My Dreams

Have a nice lunch.

Excuse me.

Just a moment, please. Rossiter Music Company.

- Ms. LeBoy, it's for you. - Thank you.

- Excuse me, miss. I brought a... - Hello. Ye...

Yes. Yes, I heard your song and I like it very much.

Could you come in, say, around 4:00? Fine. You're welcome.

- Look, excuse me... - Just a moment, please.

I asked... I'm sorry about that.

- Sorry. - That's quite all right.

I have a song that is just wonderful for you.

I told Mr. Rossiter yours is the voice that can do it justice.

I'll bet you tell that to all the customers.

Of course I do, but in your case, it's true.

All right, then.

Shine on.

Shine on Harvest moon up in the sky

I ain't had no lovin'

Since January, February, June or July.

Snow time ain't no time to stay.

Outdoors and spoon.

So shine on, shine on Harvest moon.

For me and my gal.

That's lunch.

Let's eat someplace where they don't have any music.

You may as well stand still. I can beat you to that door too.

- Who are you? - Look, all I want is five minutes.

- Read them. - What are these?

Song lyrics and poems and an operetta, and underneath that, two musical comedies.

I want an opinion.

- You want an opinion. - That's all.

Well, I am going to give you one.

You are, without a doubt, the most persistent young man that I've ever met.

Now, get yourself a haircut, make an appointment, and come back.

And for heaven's sake, wear a tie.

Are you gonna publish my songs or my tie?

Now, wait a minute. Do you know what this is?

Four years of working nights after wrestling with crockery all day long...

and nobody to tell me if they're good.

Today, I made up my mind to find out. Please.

But I just work here.

Why don't you take these to Mr. Rossiter?

I'm having a tough enough time. How could I see your boss?

I'm very sorry, but this is my lunch hour and...

Well, be my guest.

Salami on pumpernickel, homemade pumpernickel.

You couldn't do better at the Palmer House. Believe me, you'll enjoy them.

I'll get you a drink. There.

Are they all about William Howard Taft and the Statue of Liberty?

Anything wrong?

Don't you ever write about simple things?

Things that you know and you feel?

- You don't like them, huh? - I didn't say that.

But I wouldn't wanna sit on a boy's lap...

and have him sing about Washington crossing the Delaware.

What's that got to do with it?

Do you know why you write a popular song?

Let me explain.

Because most boys and girls don't know how to say "I love you."

So you've got to say it for them, in 32 bars of music, no more, no less.

Just like that.

Who are you to make new rules? If a song is good, people will sing it, no matter what.

- You asked for my opinion. - All right, so I made a mistake.

You'd probably turn down "The Star-Spangled Banner"...

if it didn't say "I love you by the dawn's early light."

Two salami sandwiches down the drain.

At least you've had your lunch.

Thirty-two bars of music to say "I love you."

What if I said, "I hate you"? They could shoot me?

What am I talking to you for?

You don't understand. Nobody understands.

I hope I haven't discouraged you.

What's four years' work?

For that which we are about to receive...

we thank the William Rossiter Music Company.

- Oh, now, Father. - Well, it's true.

My daughter earns as much at that great citadel of culture as I do teaching school.

If it bothers you, Father, I'll have them cut my salary.

That isn't what bothers me.

It's the type of person you have to associate with.

And the grossness of their nature will have weight to drag thee down.

Father thinks they're not fit for a nice girl, dear.

But he hasn't even met one of them.

And if he did, he'd like them.

They're sensitive musicians and composers and poets...

in spite of what Father thinks.

- I'll see who it is. - Oh, thanks.

Your trouble is you shouldn't have had a daughter.

You should have had a marble statue.

Quite right, my dear. Only, we didn't know how to go about it.

Coming.

- A guy could freeze to death. - What are you doing here?

I called your office. They gave me your address.

Nice of them.

You know, after I left you this morning, I got to thinking about what you said.

- So I did it. - Did what?

The lyric. You know, simple, what I feel.

Here, read it, Ms. LeBoy.

- What's your name? - Gus. Gus Kahn.

Well, Mr. Kahn, we happen to be having our dinner.

If you bring that to the office, I'll be happy to look at it.

It's very cold and I walked a long way. Look at it now.

- Who is it, dear? - Just a young man I met at the office.

- Bring him into the dining room. - He has to leave, Mother.

I don't have to leave. I'd like to come in.

- We'll be in in a minute. - All right, dear.

Don't you ever wear a tie?

What's with you and ties? You'd think I was naked.

Wait here. I'll get one of my father's.

You and my mother are the same. Ties, ties. Worried about ties.

Hold still. I'll put this on.

You didn't have your hair cut either.

Maybe you could get me one of your father's.

Come on.

This is Mr. Kahn. He's a lyric-writer.

I am not a bit surprised.

There is about him the unmistakable aura of the poet.

- How do you do, Mr. Kahn? - How do you do?

You'll excuse us... Oh, I suppose you've had your dinner?

I could eat.

Bring Omar Khayyám his loaf of bread and jug of wine.

The name's Gus, and if it's all the same to you, I'll have soup.

- Bring Gus his soup. - Why, yes. Yes, indeed.

I had no idea Mr. Kahn was coming tonight. I'm a little embarrassed.

Oh, think nothing of it, my dear. You're the only one who Is.

- I hope I'm not busting in or anything. - No apologies, Mr. Kahn.

- Genius is its own excuse. - Father, please.

Tell me, what has the muse inspired you to today?

If you mean what did I write, I just knocked out a love song.

Beautifully put.

Father, I've read Mr. Kahn's work.

And if he's written a love song, I'm sure it is beautiful.

I can't think of anything the world needs more than a new love lyric.

After all, Shelley and Keats have been going downhill for some time...

and who couldn't knock out something better than Elizabeth Barrett Browning's:

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth And breadth and height.

My soul can reach, When feeling out of sight.

For the ends of being and ideal grace.

I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.

Could I have the rest of it?

Wring out my tie, Mr. Kahn, and I'll continue.

Gosh, I'm sorry.

Oh, gosh.

Gosh, l... Please, would you go on?

I love thee freely, as men strive for right.

I love thee purely, As they turn from praise.

I love thee with a passion put to use.

In my old griefs, And with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a...

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose.

With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath.

Smiles, tears, of all my life; And, if God choose

I shall but love thee better after death.

Excuse me.

Father.

Mr. Kahn. Mr. Kahn, I want to apologize.

What for? He's right.

What's a mug like me doing with a pencil?

But nobody expects you to write like that.

Express yourself in your own way, Mr. Kahn.

And if you can make others feel what you feel, that's poetry.

Some people are meant to write poems.

Some people are meant to move crockery.

I wouldn't expect my horse to get up on the seat and start driving.

Good night. I'm sorry if I've troubled you.

Well, what about the lyric you walked through the snow with?

Have yourself a laugh.

"Gee, I wish that I had a girl like the other fellows have."

Gracie, look at these figures.

"Smiling Through," 450,000 copies already.

It was an inspiration you had to let John McCormack introduce it.

I wanna talk to you about something.

You don't have to. Without a word, I'm raising your salary $5 a week.

Get back to work on the two dogs we are trying to push.

- Mr. Rossiter. - What?

I've written a song.

It happens every time.

Every good demonstrator wants to be a bad songwriter.

But this is a wonderful lyric I ran across, just crying for a tune.

Better it should cry than me. No, Gracie, look.

How many good songs do we have lying in the catalog...

that die because they've not been plugged?

And how many bad songs have you yourself helped to become hits?

Now, Gracie, believe me, to me, you are a much greater artist than Victor Herbert.

I'll make that a $ 10-a-week raise.

- Don't you even wanna hear the song? - No. I might like it.

Then I'll take it someplace else, because this song has to be published.

But you can't go to another publisher while you work for me.

I don't work for you anymore, Mr. Rossiter.

Then you don't get that raise.

I'm sorry, Ms. LeBoy. I just can't do it.

But you wouldn't have to pay us very much for the song. Say $ 10?

You say it. Business is so bad, I can't say anything.

We don't care. We'll work just for royalties.

We'll work night and day and do our own plugging.

What's this "we"? Who's the silent partner in this deal?

- Mr. Kahn, the lyricist. - Where is he, in hiding?

I don't know. I haven't seen him since he gave me the lyric.

That's why I've got to have this song published.