Original subtitles

Come on.

Why couldn't Murray come in and play?

I'll tell you why.

Because Murray needed a bath urgently.

It's fun to be dirty.

How come we can't play on the dirty sidewalks like Murray?

Because you are being raised like civilized children.

What's civilized?

Clean.

Then I don't want to be.

Whatever he says.

Now, look, Mr. Davis is bringing guests home for dinner, and I have business to

do in the kitchen, so go to your rooms and play. Go on.

We see him every day.

In fact, since Uncle Bill is away a lot, we see Mr. French more than anybody

else in the world.

He is English.

He has a beard.

He understands a lot about cooking and books and music.

And that is all I know about him.

I suppose that is the most I know about anybody.

Now that I think of it, I wonder if anybody really knows anything about

people.

I mean...

The real, deep -down insights of other people.

The end.

I'd like to see you follow it up.

Follow it up?

I'm willing to give you extra credit for writing a sequel about Mr. French.

I'd like to see you explore the possibility of getting to know someone.

Oh, gosh.

It sort of scares me.

Well, I mean, trying to get personal with Mr. French.

Miss Elliot, if you knew him... You won't do anything to hurt him or offend

Now, perhaps he doesn't know how to reach you either.

Perhaps he would welcome a chance to open up.

You know, I've often thought that we all would.

Okay, Miss Elliot.

I'll try.

Mr. French.

Where were you born?

London.

What part?

The West End, of course.

What did your father do?

Oh, he was in service, as was my grandfather.

What was your mother like?

The matter of my family tree should be of small interest.

Forgive me, Miss Sissy.

have you known... How long have you known Mr. French?

About nine years.

Where did you meet him?

In London.

I was working on a job over there. I met him and brought him back with me. Why?

Well, I wrote a composition about him for English.

You know, the more I think about it, the more I realize that I don't know very

much about him.

What would you like to know?

Doesn't he have a first name?

Sure, it's, uh... I put it on a check every month.

Giles. Giles French.

Giles? Yep.

I can't imagine anybody calling him Giles.

Not even his mother.

Shut up.

I get the idea that he was never a small boy.

I think he always looked the way he does now.

Maybe he did.

Come to think of it, I don't know much about him myself.

Never occurred to me to ask him a lot of questions.

I see him every day of the week, too, except Thursday.

Where does he go when his day off?

Oh, how would I know?

He leaves early in the morning and he comes back late in the evening.

Same time every week.

Nine years.

sharing the same apartment.

That's all you know about him.

Yeah?

Well, maybe men aren't as inquisitive as women.

Maybe we respect each other's privacy, too.

So not a bad idea for anybody.

Okay.

Listen, guys.

I'll be right around here. Don't go too far, okay? Okay, bye.

Bye -bye.

Good afternoon, Miss Davis. Hello, Miss Aversham.

Oh, please.

Thanks.

And how is Mr. Davis?

Oh, he's fine.

The twins are fine, too.

Mr. French is fine.

Oh?

Mr.

French is English.

So I understand.

Did you know Mr. French back in England?

Yes.

Very well.

I would say so.

Well, we don't know a lot of stuff about him.

Was he always so, well, so stiff?

Do you know when he grew a beard?

I mean things like, was he ever married?

Did he have any children?

Romances? I mean, maybe you and Mr. French were even... Well, you could have

gone out on dates back there.

Why, the two of you could have been in love and you wouldn't mention it.

Miss Davis, we consider reticence a virtue.

I'm sure your intentions are good, but it is...

Rather a sensitive subject.

You see, Mr. French was very much in love.

But not with me.

He was?

Would you tell me about it?

Certainly not.

Mr. French in love.

Really in love.

Mr. French being in love.

Like, well, Romeo and Julie.

It's Mr. Withers.

Go on ahead, Freddie.

Good afternoon, Miss Davis. Hi, Mr. Withers. Do you have a minute?

You and Mr. French are good friends.

Quite so.

Considering that he is opinionated, stubborn, aloof, and difficult, not to

mention stiff -necked.

Didn't you ever see something else underneath?

A moment of warmth?

A hint of tenderness, maybe?

No.

Well, you must remember something.

Something to show the inner Mr. French.

Inside, Miss Davis, you will find more of the same.

Well, like where does he go every Thursday?

I have no idea.

I should consider that his private affair.

Good afternoon, Miss Davis.

Wait, wait, wait.

There was something once.

I always wondered.

Yes?

Well, we were in a local pub discussing the football matches.

A fellow there recognized Mr. French from the old days in London. He slapped

French on the back and inquired about Old Bertie.

Who was Old Bertie?

Why, I haven't the foggiest.

But I remember Mr. French's expression.

He drew himself up.

Didn't about turn and marched off.

I never mentioned it again, of course.

Old Bertie.

I understand you to say, Old Bertie.

Yes, Old Bertie.

I was just wondering... And who may I ask suggested that you recall Old

Mr. Withers.

ask why?

Well, I'm working on this composition for school.

What composition?

About you.

Me?

I had to write about somebody I knew.

And I thought I knew about you.

Only I don't.

Miss Sissy, have I ever inquired concerning your past history?

Your personal affairs back in Terre Haute?

Well, no. Then may I suggest a mutual exchange of privacy?

Yes, sir.

Bertie. Bertie and Dean.

Yes, Buffy?

We brushed our teeth and we're ready for bed.

Oh, yes.

To be sure, I'll be along to tuck you in presently.

Whose dog is that?

It's my own.

I used to have a cat that's head broke off.

I like Mrs. Beasley better.

It's a souvenir.

What's a souvenir?

A memory.

Something out of... long, long ago.

Is he a friend of yours like Mrs. Beasley?

Come on.

Hi.

Am I interrupting anything?

No, come on, sit down.

Uncle Bill, I find out fascinating little bits and pieces about Mr. French,

they don't add up to anything.

And you're still trying to figure out what makes him tick?

Well, it started as an assignment for extra credit. But now, I'm getting

curious. When do you call an assignment like that? Private eye caper? No.

Just a composition to tell about a person I know.

But all I found out is... His name is Giles French.

He was born in the west end of London.

His father was a butler.

His grandfather was a butler.

He was in love once.

He's in love?

French?

Miss Faversham told me.

What else?

Well, Mr. Withers said he was stubborn.

And that when you ask Mr.

French about somebody named Old Bertie, Mr. French blows his top.

Old Bertie?

I've never heard him talk about anybody named Old Bertie.

Well, now you know everything, don't you?

I don't know anything.

Has it ever occurred to you maybe he wants it that way?

Well, aren't you curious about who he was in love with?

No.

Or... Who was old Bertie? No.

Well, you think I should drop the whole project?

No, I think you ought to stop for a minute and figure out whether you got

right to go sticking your nose into his private business.

Yes, sir.

Hey, I got a wild idea.

Why don't you and me go down to the corner and get a chocolate soda?

I have school tomorrow.

It's Thursday.

I know.

Let's live dangerously.

Morning, Mrs. Martiani. Hello, Freddy.

Did you happen to notice a man just went in the house a few doors down?

I mind my own business. I got no time to be watching the neighbors.

I just thought that... It's his business if he wants to go visit old Mrs.

Allaby.

Ah, I bet you he's English like her.

He stays on until nine, then he goes.

Every Thursday?

Never misses.

Freddy. You mustn't be nosy about other people's business.

Nine o 'clock on the dot.

Boy, if Uncle Bill ever finds out, he'll skin me alive.

Look. In this life, you have to take chances.

Go on.

Mrs. Allenby?

Yes?

May I speak to you, please?

Come in. The door is unlocked.

How do you do?

I just wanted to ask a few questions concerning Mr. French.

Mr. Giles French?

Mr. French?

Yes. He gave your name as a reference.

You see, he applied to our company for a credit card.

Just routine.

Gave me as a credit reference?

Oh, what a surprising thing to do.

Won't you sit down, miss?

Miss Jones.

Well, aren't you rather young to be making this sort of inquiries?

Yes, ma 'am.

I am young.

My name isn't Jones.

There isn't any credit card.

I'm ashamed of myself.

I'm Sissy Davis, and I live with my Uncle Bill.

Mr. French works for him.

I'm a very nosy little girl.

You see, I started out to write a composition about people for school.

I wrote about Mr. French, only I didn't know anything about him, and nobody

would tell me.

Only... Only Uncle Bill was right.

I should have minded my own business.

I'm very sorry.

Miss Davis, some of us do not like to have others delving into the past,

reminding us of old hurts.

Yes, ma 'am.

I'll just leave and not be any more trouble.

Please, Miss Davis, don't go just yet.

Would you care for tea?

No. No, thanks.

You know, I think... I should answer your questions.

Really? Would you?

So that you will stop asking them.

Was he... Was he really in love?

In love?

Oh, yes.

A long time ago.

Mr. French was my husband's valet in London.

We had reverses and came to America.

Here, Mr. Allenby died.

Mr. French, too, came to America.

And one day we met.

I was quite lonely and bewildered.

He was and is a faithful friend.

And now each Thursday he comes by.

tidies my room, fills the cupboard, takes me out for a walk and to a lovely

tea.

For one day each week, he is the old family servant and I am the lady of the

house and life is gracious again.

Mrs. Allenby, did you ever hear of old Bertie?

How would you know of old Bertie?

Well, I have no idea of who he is.

Only that it makes him flare up.

Well, I should think so.

Old Bertie is a little cloth doll.

Mr. French won it at Brighton.

That's something like your Coney Island.

Why does it mean so much?

Because he won it for her.

And she named it Old Bertie.

She?

The girl.

The one and only girl.

I never met her.

I never even knew her name.

Were they married?

No.

The blitz was on.

Whole blocks.

just blown to bits.

People just disappeared.

He searched and searched, but he never found anything

except a little cloth dog.

Why... Why did you just tell me to mind my own business?

Because I was afraid you would keep on asking questions and pry the truth out

Mr. French, and that would hurt him very much.

Goodbye, Mrs. Allenby.

My dear, you and I have a sacred trust.

Maybe I've grown up a little and can handle it.

Hi, Sissy.

Oh, hi, Uncle Bill.

What you doing?

Homework? English composition.

Hmm. About Mr. French?

No.

This one is about somebody I know. Me.

That's nice.

I meant the part about girls being too curious and too romantic and not knowing

enough about respecting other people's privacy.

Like French says, privacy.

Privacy. Privacy.

Hi.

Hi, kids.

How was the birthday party?

Sir, Mr.

Jody has a large portion of pistachio ice cream in his hand.

On the hair?

How'd that happen?

Murray did it.

We were playing pin the tail on the donkey.

Murray was bending over, and I pinned the tail on him.

Murray hit me, Jody hit him, and Murray threw his ice cream cone at Jody.

Well, I guess it's just as well it went in his hair instead of all over the

lady's furniture.

Yes, sir.

Only Jody threw his chocolate cone at Murray.

And it went all over the couch.

Sir, my training leaves me entirely unprepared for such nonsense.

All right, Jody, you go get your clothes off. I'm going to put you in the

washing machine, and then we'll call up the lady and tell her we're sorry.

All right?

Well, get going.

With your kind permission, sir, I will retire to my room and meditate in

for an hour before dinner.

No, no, you got me doing it. I wonder where he does go on Thursdays. Oh, just

glad he's here the other six days.

Uncle Bill, I know Mr. French's first name.

You too?