M*A*S*H

It's up to you, Father.

The bet's two dollars.

I don't think I've got a prayer.

Three Hail Marys beats two of a kind, Father.

I'm out.

Uh, I ain't got two dollars.

Youse guys accept a two‐day pass?

Put it in. Paper's paper.

We're certainly gonna miss you around here, Sergeant.

A lot of our hopes and cash will leave with you.

Yeah. Well, I put in my time.

Thirty years' worth.

At least four of which were devoted

to official army business.

Are you in?

‐Am I in? ‐Yeah.

With this hand, you want to know if I'm in?

Are you crazy?

All right. Here's your two dollars.

And two more.

And I get the last raise?

Mm‐hmm.

Two, four...

six.

I'm out.

I must've been born under a ladder.

All right. What have you got?

Full house‐‐ kings and tens.

‐Phew! ‐Three 8s.

Eight 3s would've been better.

Hey, it's light out.

Can I interest anyone in a Mass?

Of what?

Well, another day in the R. O. K.

Have a safe flight home, Sergeant Kimble.

Right.

With you out of the motor pool,

maybe the army can finally break even.

You know, I think flight‐homewise,

I got a little problem, Doc, with my ear.

I've got chronic adhesive otitis

with eustachian tube dysfunction.

How do you know that?

A lucky guess and a little research.

How long have you had this condition?

I caught it the second I read about it.

Your ears will hurt if you fly. Right?

Bad.

Like to get out of that little, tiny plane

and into a big, big boat?

You know, you guys are too smart to be officers.

Kimble, the truth. How much loot

are you planning to ship home with you?

I figure a couple of thousand pounds.

‐A ton? ‐I didn't say that.

Right. That's your word for 2,000 pounds.

And that's just personal effects

and toilet articles. Right?

I'm only taking enough

to open a restaurant back in Philly.

Kimble's Korean Kafe.

Three K's. You get it?

You can buy your linen from the Ku Klux Klan.

What about the two eyeholes?

He can put the salt and pepper shakers on them.

All I'm asking is that you put in my medical file

that I can't fly.

That requires three medical officers' signatures.

You two are two.

Last time we counted.

Colonel Potter?

The man's hopelessly honest.

‐Major Burns. ‐Major‐‐

Major Burns do something thoughtful?

He sends his kids collect birthday cards.

How long before you ship home?

Two weeks.

But with my connections,

I can get the orders changed.

We'll do what we can.

By the way, MacArthur wants to know

if he can have the car Saturday night.

Of course.

Boy, that poker game really tapped me out, boy.

Me too. You couldn't lend me a few bucks,

could you? Against next month?

I lent you against next month last month.

Oh, yeah.

Oh, this water sure does feel good.

Yeah.

It's been gettin' too muggy

for me lately, boy.

Even the weather stinks in the army.

You know, I read somewhere

that General MacArthur don't even sweat!

Can you imagine? He just don't sweat at all.

Probably has some private do it for him.

Boys.

I'll be out in a minute, Father.

Take your time. I took a bit of a bath in the poker game.

Huh!

Anyone heard they've spotted snipers near the camp?

Pay no attention, Father. Just rumors.

It's just a rumor.

‐Hmm. ‐(gunshot)

Hey!

That rumor almost came through the door!

I'll be out in a minute, Father.

Can you H. Q. boys give me some help, Barney?

I've got sniper trouble.

Oh, a British patrol will be fine. Yes.

Right. It'll give me a chance to use my English.

Thanks, Barney. Everyone's a comedian.

See the men get plenty, Stokes.

We'll be about an hour.

‐Mind? ‐Hmm.

Lieutenant Chivers, 29th Brigade.

‐Hunnicutt, Captain. ‐Pierce.

Ah. I know a family named Pierce in Kent.

I've got an uncle in Suffolk. Sheep farmer.

He's the one who never married.

My lads are trying to clean up the area.

Snipers rather like giving you chaps in medical

a knocking about. Demoralizes the troops.

Makes us feel a bit dreary as well.

Ah, it's a rotten war, all right.

Still, it's the only one we've got.

I say. You wouldn't be doctors, would you?

Except for eight years of medical school, we wouldn't.

I, uh I have a small problem.

We're very sensitive to small problems.

The smaller, the better.

Actually, it's hardly worth mentioning at all.

Well, let's forget the whole thing.

No. No. What I mean is, you may not think so,

but it could be awfully dicey for me

if this appeared on my service record.

Shall we repair to the clinic?

I'd be most grateful.

A privilege, sir.

I'm a lifelong Anglophile.

England is still the only place I know

where any young man can grow up to be the queen.

What you must understand is that British C. O. s

are absolutely bonkers on the subject of foot care.

An officer neglectful enough to develop an ingrown toenail

is in serious trouble.

What can they do, make you turn in your feet?

Hold up a promotion, deny you leave, the lot.

Aha! The offending digit.

So, in spite of all the training films and lectures,

you went and got yourself an ingrown toenail

instead of saving yourself for marriage.

Yes, I'm afraid so.

Well, you came to the right place, Lieutenant.

Yes, I've been told.

Very often these things are done

in sleazy backrooms in Cuba.

We're clean and safe.

‐You're aware of the price? ‐Yes.

According to the Pierce‐Hunnicutt

Ingrown Toenail Menorial Clinic conversion table,

one severe metatarsal perionychium

will cost you exactly two bottles of Scotch.

Two bottles it is.

Doctor, the hydrogen peroxide, please.

Lieutenant, you've put your foot in the right hands.

You'll be doing the Lambeth Walk in no time.

Hey!

Oh, for Pete's sake!

Somebody swiped our microscope.

That really stinks. Anybody who'd steal a hospital's microscope

would take Tiny Tim's crutch.

Thievery's getting quite out of hand.

Last week I lost two machine guns and a tea cozy.

But a microscope!

I might just be able to get us another one.

Colonel Potter, Lieutenant Chivers.

Sir!

Ingrown toenail, eh?

Pretty fast, Colonel.

It's my third war.

I've seen more British toes

than I have American fannies.

What's the going rate these days?

Two bottles of Scotch.

‐Good stuff? ‐Jolly good stuff, sir.

It'll be welcome. I had some local moonshine last night.

Curled the hair in my nose.

Hawkeye, I want you in post‐op.

Tank Commander, 1st Cav's here to visit one of his men.

You worked on him.

‐Ah, the life of a star. ‐Yat‐eta, yatk‐eta.

‐Ta‐ta for now. ‐Yes.

All right, Lieutenant.

Stick out your toe and saw "ah."

Your people are doing a big job here.

Well, you know the wholesale business.

Over here, Colonel.

Of course Major Burns handles