All language subtitles for People.Will.Talk.1951

Elwell?

- I am Rodney Elwell. Do you wish to see me?
- Pickett.

- I beg your pardon?
- Sarah Pickett.

Quite so. Your name.
In any case, I'm late for class...

- They said for me to come right away.
- Who said?

- The agency.
- The agency? What...

Oh, of course. The detective agency.
Sergeant Coonan.

- Yes. Come in. Come in.
- If I come in, does the door get closed?

- Naturally.
- Then I don't come in.

- Why not?
- You know why not. You're grown up.

- My dear Mrs. Pickett...
- Miss Pickett. And don't butter me up.

I have conducted my affairs
behind closed doors for 20 years.

Not with me.

You overestimate both of us.
Have it your way.

Ah, yes, here we are.

You are Rebecca Pickett.
Is that correct?

Sarah Pickett.

Quite so. Sarah.

Rebecca Pickett is my grandma.

- Was your grandma.
- She still is. She's 103.

- Interesting.
- She's a liar.

- Possibly.
- 108 if she's a day.

Probably.

Miss Sarah Pickett,
you were engaged some 15 years ago...

- by one Noah Praetorius as his housekeeper?
- That's right.

- Where?
- Goose Creek, where I come from.

Goose Creek. Goose Creek is
a little village way downstate, is it not?

- Way back in the hills.
- And at that time...

what was the profession
of this Praetorius?

- He was a doc.
- A doc?

- He healed people.
- How?

If I knew how,
I'd be a doc myself.

I mean, what were
his methods of treatment?

Well, some healers use one thing
and some use another...

but Doc Praetorius
used them all.

Once he'd give a powder,
sometimes syrup...

sometimes pills,
sometimes a jab with a needle...

and sometimes just talk...

just sit there and talk about
a body's misery...

and talk a body into being well...

like workin' a miracle.

Ah, a miracle worker too, eh?

- Well, if my grandma isn't a miracle, what is?
- Your grandma?

Four times she laid down to die,
and four times he talked her up on her feet.

Told her she was gonna live forever.
Looks like he was right.

Doc, healer, miracle worker...

possible hypnotist.

Check on narcotics administered.

Now, Miss Pickett, are you
completely certain...

that this man's name
was Noah Praetorius?

Would I make up a name like that?

And is this Doc Praetorius
by whom you were employed...

the same man as the famous Dr. Praetorius
of this university and this city?

Doc Praetorius was already as famous
as you can get back in Goose Creek.

He had people coming
from miles around.

But is he now the famous Dr. Praetorius?

When you say "doctor",
do you mean school doctor, out of books?

- That is precisely what I mean.
- Can't say.

For my part, I wouldn't get caught dead
in a room with one of'em.

Miss Pickett,
I am a school doctor out of books.

That's one reason
why the door is open.

This man...

is he the healer,
the miracle worker?

- Is this Doc Praetorius?
- That's him...

only he looked younger
15 years ago.

- We all did.
- Not me.

We come now, Miss Pickett,
to the most important subject of all.

What can you tell me
about a man named...

Shunderson?

- Who did you say?
- Shunderson.

Hello.

It's, uh... It's Hoskins,
Professor Elwell.

Well, in case, perhaps,
Professor Elwell, you'd forgotten...

the class is still waiting.

Oh. Yes, Professor.
Of course.

No, no, no. Not at all.
It... It's just that, well, uh...

Dr. Praetorius
is also waiting to see you.

Dr. Praetorius?

To see me? Well.

Well, he'll have to wait too.

But not for long,
eh, Miss Pickett?

- What's the matter with you?
- What's in this for me, Professor Elwell?

I thought that Sergeant Coonan
had made it quite clear.

He said you wanted some
information from me...

but also that you were
going to give me a job.

- That's right.
- What kind of a job?

In the dissecting room
as a sort of a housekeeper.

What I want to know is
will the job be worth it?

Will the job be worth what,
Miss Pickett?

- Shunderson.
- Tell me about him.

I didn't know very much.
Nobody did.

Tell me everything you knew
or heard, every detail.

You're a professor, and it's hard to make you
understand anything that ain't in a book.

Well, most of what goes on
in the world ain't in a book.

Spare me your philosophy.
What about Shunderson?

To begin with, we used
to call him the Bat.

Hmm. Did it ever occur to you, Shunderson,
that skeletons always laugh?

Now, why?

Why should a man die
and then laugh for the rest of eternity?

- What news, Uriah?
- I've just spoken with Professor Elwell, Doctor.

He regrets exceedingly
that he is unavoidably detained.

A meaningless phrase
which could signify...

anything from oversleeping
to being arrested for malpractice.

I've never known the professor
to be late before.

Hmm, he'd be the last
to tolerate it in anyone else.

Ah, it saddens me, Uriah.
An unmistakable symptom of human weakness.

Professor Elwell
of all men.

Have you your notebooks ready?

I would be quite unable to give
the lecture you came to hear...

and I'm not sure you should hear
the lecture I'd like to give.

Well, we want to hear
anything you've got to say, Dr. Praetorius.

That's very flattering.
Thank you.

We thank you.
The cadaver and I.

A cadaver in a classroom.

As students of medicine,
it's important at the outset...

that you realize that a cadaver in a classroom
is not a dead human being.

I don't understand that, Doctor.

Anatomy is more or less
the study of the human body.

The human body is not
necessarily the human being.

Here lies a cadaver.

The fact that she was, not long ago,
a living, warm, lovely young girl...

is of little consequence
in this classroom.

You will not be required to dissect
and examine the love that was in her...

or the hate...

or the hope, despair,
memories and desires...

that motivated every
moment of her existence.

They ceased to exist
when she ceased to exist.

Instead, for weeks
and months to come...

you will dissect, examine
and identify her organs...

bones, muscles, tissues
and so on, one by one.

And these you will
faithfully record in your notebooks.

And when the notebooks are filled...

you will know all about this cadaver...

that the medical profession
requires you to know.

Oh! Oh!

Get back. Get back!

- Is she all right?
- Don't touch her.

Quiet down. Quiet down.

A group of Cub Scouts would know better
than to crowd like this. Back up.

Have you any idea
why you fainted?

Have you ever fainted before?

- How do you feel?
- Silly.

I think you better tell a doctor about this.
There may be a reason.

Can you get up now?

Good.

Perhaps you'd better go somewhere
and relax. You go with her.

And, you know, if you insist upon
studying anatomy...

I suggest you do not sit on the aisle.

Have a candy.

Thank you.

- Oh, you're not leaving, Doctor?
- Yes, Uriah.

And please give my thanks
to Professor Elwell for the use of the hall.

- It's been fun.
- I can't understand his not being here.

- It's most unusual.
- It's an unusual world, Uriah.

I understand I've kept you waiting.
Please forgive me.

It was most urgent business.

My business, on the other hand,
was the idlest of curiosity.

- You were going to let me know
about a tumor you'd found.
- Ah, yes.

A malignant dysgerminoma.

Professor Elwell, you are the only man I know
who can say "malignant..."

the way other people say "bingo."

A malignant dysgerminoma.

- Good day, Professor Elwell.
- Good day.

- Coming back in?
- Mm-mmm.

- Aren't you going back at all?
- Mm-mmm.

Are you going to see a doctor?

I guess so.

- Good morning, Dr. Praetorius.
- Good morning.

Run another test. How was she
when you made this one? Depressed?

- Cried all through it.
- When you run it again, call me.
We'll have a laugh...

through the next one, see what happens
with different emotional factors.

- Well, if you like.
- Dr. Praetorius...

a problem's come up
about Mrs. Bixby.

Mrs. Bixby? I thought
she was doing well.

She's nearly ready to go home,
but she wants to take her gallbladder with her.

I think that's quite touching.
Let her have it.

You know we don't keep gallbladders
lying about once they've been removed.

Mrs. Pegwhistle, it's highly unlikely
that Mrs. Bixby would recognize her own.

So why don't you just give her
any old gallbladder and make her happy.

Doctor, unless all of the patients
are served breakfast at the same time...

I cannot operate the kitchen
with our present personnel.

- Then hire more people.
- But it is common practice in hospitals...

Miss Filmore, in my clinic no patient shall be
wakened from a health-giving sleep...

and forced to eat breakfast at a time
which pleases the culinary union.

But in the interest
of good economy...

Bad therapy is never good economy.
If you must economize...

do it in the doctors'
dining room.

And I will not have the patients bathed
at the stroke of a gong...

for the convenience
of the nurses.

One of the reasons for my founding
this clinic is a firm conviction...

- that patients are sick people, not inmates.
- Of course, Dr. Praetorius.

I'll bet I know
what you're thinking.

"Here comes Dr. Happiness,
the good humor man.

If he tries to cheer me up, so help me,
I'll hit him with an ice bag." Right?

- Wrong.
- Not that I blame you.

One of the few pleasures of being sick
is the right to feel good and miserable.

Don't let any doctor
tell you differently.

I was thinking, it's not much fun
when you get to be old.

It's less fun
if you don't get to be old.

- I want to die.
- You'd like that, wouldn't you?

Just lie around in a coffin
all day with nothing to do.

- How was last night?
- Just fine, Doctor.

Well, if we have another
good night tonight...

maybe tomorrow morning we'll go back
into surgery and take another look.

Doctor, does it hurt
when you die?

Not a bit.
Where'd you get that idea?

They tell me
there's so much pain.

Oh. Did anyone who actually died
ever tell you that?

Of course not.

Well, there, you see?

All this silly gossip
about dying.

You know, I nearly died once.
When I was a kid.

The doctors gave me up
for lost.

The nerve of some doctors
giving people up for lost...

as though they'd found them
in the first place.

Anyway, I was dying.
And I was in a coma.

- You know how it felt?
- No. How?

It was winter at the time.

And I felt as if I was flying
very slowly in a sled...

high up in the sky.

And the world below was covered
in snow and ice and bitter cold.

But I was warm and cozy
in the back of the sled...

wrapped in an ermine blanket.

And then I came out of the coma.
I came back to life.

- How'd you feel?
- Awful.

I had a splitting headache,
and I vomited for three days.

I've never felt as good being alive
as I did when I was dying.

You certainly make dying
a pleasure, Dr. Praetorius.

Well, we'll keep that
our little secret, shall we?

I wouldn't want that
to get around.

Doctor? Are you
feeling all right?

Just my usual twilight sadness.

Did it ever strike you that days die
pretty much the way people do...

fighting for every last minute of light
before they give up to the dark?

You think about
the strangest things, Doctor.

It's my unbalanced diet.

- Who's waiting?
- Just one patient left. Mrs., uh... Mrs. Higgins.

She was in earlier today.
You had Dr. Beecham run a test...

- I know.
- And told her to come back.

- Here's the laboratory report.
- Thank you.

Well, the day will die
on a happy note at any rate.

Have Mrs. Higgins come in.

Mrs. Higgins.

Pardon me for getting up. It's the only exercise
I take. Sit down, won't you?

Mrs. Higgins, as a doctor it's my duty,
if at all possible...

to find something for you
to worry about.

However, I cannot repudiate
a laboratory report such as I hold in my hand.

Mrs. Higgins, you have
nothing to worry about.

- You mean everything is all right?
- Perfect.

Then the fainting this morning,
it didn't mean a thing, did it?

Nothing out of the ordinary.
You might eat lightly, however...

on the days
you dissect cadavers.

Oh, that.
I've given that up.

I wasn't really a medical student anyway,
just sitting in on some courses.

Well, I imagine it'll be more fun
just sitting home with Mr. Higgins.

Yes. Yes, it will be. I can't say
how grateful I am to you, Dr. Praetorius.

For just a routine examination?
After all, I didn't exactly save your life.

- Thank you anyway.
- Not at all.

Uh, Mrs. Higgins, don't forget
to have Miss James...

give you another appointment
in about a month.

In about a month?
To see you?

Of course, if you can afford it, it might be
preferable to have a regular obstetrician.

In that case, there are several
I'd be pleased to recommend.

But... But didn't you say
that I had nothing to worry about...

that everything
was all right?

It couldn't be any better, Mrs. Higgins.
You're pregnant.

Are you sure? I mean,
couldn't there be some mistake?

There's always
a possibility of error.

However, with a result as positive as this,
that possibility is remote.

After all, it wasn't a very thorough test.
I mean, it only took a couple of hours.

- I... I thought, in order to be
sure, you had to wait weeks.
- Not anymore.

Nowadays we find out about everything
a lot more quickly than we used to.

About life and even about death.

Well, they used to use a little pink rabbit
for the pregnancy test...

but now they use a frog.

Not nearly as cute,
but it's a lot faster.

Only two hours
and just as certain.

The name of the frog,
by the way, is Rana pipiens.

It sounds like a movie star,
doesn't it?

You're not married.

- What about the baby's father?
- It has no father.

If that were true, it'd be the first time
in the annals of biology.

- I have no husband.
- But when he knows about the baby...

He'll never know.
I got a telegram the other day.

The other day.
It seems as if he left just the other day.

Seems as if we met just the other day.
It's all such a crazy, mixed-up nightmare.

He was in the reserve...
the medical corps.

That's why I took the courses.
When he came back and we were married, I...

I wanted to know
something about his work.

- When did he leave?
- Six weeks ago. Or was it five?

How right you are, Doctor.
How quick we've become with life and death.

- And had you known him long?
- No. Not even that.

Not even long enough
to be sure... either of us.

You're not permitted enough time
these days to be sure of anything.

And then when he had to go and we had to
say good-bye, I was suddenly afraid.

I wanted to prove to myself
and to him that I wasn't afraid!

Hmm.

The frightening things we do sometimes
when we're afraid to be afraid.

Sit down, why don't you.

- What are you afraid of now?
- I'm not.

Then stop behaving as if fear were
something to be ashamed of.

Stop being such a pompous know-it-all!
You don't know what I'm crying about.

- Do you?
- Yes!

Miss Higgins... I can't call you Miss Higgins.
What's your first name?

- Deborah.
- Blow your nose.

There's tissue in the top drawer.

No, no. Here.

I can't speak with
as much assurance as I usually do...

because you've just called me
a pompous know-it-all.

- I'm sorry.
- Don't be. I do get pompous...

but I'm really not
a know-it-all.

- As a matter of fact, right now I'm confused.
- By what?

Well, it seems to me that if you were crying
because of the father of your baby...

the time for you to cry would have been
when you thought you weren't pregnant...

not now that you know you are.

Isn't that so?

So he isn't the reason.

No, he isn't.

Then were you crying
because you're afraid for yourself...

- afraid of what people will say?
- No.

Are you sure?

Society has a strict set of rules
about that sort of thing...

the bylaws of
our social corporation.

You violated
section "A," article one.

That can bring heavy penalties,
up to and including expulsion.

You really think
I'm a coward, don't you?

- Are you?
- No.

Which brings us
to the party of the third part... the baby.

Were you crying
because of the baby?

You can't say there won't be time enough
for you to love your baby...

and, if you're a good mother,
to have it love you.

It is the baby
you're afraid of.

- In a way.
- Don't you want it?

Of course I do, but I can't have it.
I just can't have it.

Why not?
Why not, Deborah?

You couldn't understand.

I could try.

Because of my father.

You can never tell
about fathers.

They can be suddenly understanding
at the most unexpected times.

He's the most understanding
and most gentle man in the world.

- Well, then?
- I'm all he's got.

If he knew about this,
it would kill him.

Oh. Well, if you're all he's got...

- then the baby will give him
just that much more.
- He couldn't live if he knew.

Deborah, no man could be as gentle
and understanding as you say...

and still so deeply
prejudiced that...

It's got nothing to do with prejudice.

Then what has it to do with?

Perhaps...
This is only a suggestion...

- but perhaps if I were to tell him.
- No.

- It's possible I could put it
to him in such a way that...
- No, please.

It's very kind of you,
but you mustn't even consider it.

Dr. Praetorius, believe me,
if you did see my father...

you couldn't tell him about me.

Even you wouldn't know how.

And if you did,
you wouldn't have the heart.

Thanks just the same.

What are you going to do?

I don't know.

You had a pretty good idea, didn't you,
even before you came to see me...

- that you were having a baby?
- I wasn't sure.

Tell me, of all the doctors you could have
gone to, why did you pick me?

There wasn't anyone else I could...

Well, when you talked
to us this morning...

- I felt suddenly that
you could help me somehow.
- How?

You seem to care so much more about people
than just any doctor would and so...

So you came to me for help, and all I did was...
talk to you some more.

There is nothing I wanted from you,
Dr. Praetorius...

- that would have affected
your conscience in any way.
- Not even the tiniest hope...

that, uh, perhaps, for
your father's peace of mind...

I wouldn't want to buy my father's
peace of mind at the cost of yours.

- Did Miss Higgins make another appointment?
- Miss Higgins?

Sorry. I meant
Mrs. Higgins, of course.

No, Doctor.
She left without saying a word.

Sometimes, Shunderson, it seems to me
that half the women who come in here...

want babies they can't have
and that the other half...

She's old enough to know what she's doing
and to take what's coming to her.

I never want to hear you say anything
as idiotic and heartless as that again.

- But, Doctor...
- For one thing, you're a nurse.
And for another, you're a woman.

I'm ashamed of both of you.

Have her taken to
the nearest treatment room.

You prepare her yourself.

Left side, flesh wound.
Doesn't look too bad.

- Get Billings for intravenous anesthesia.
- Yes, Doctor.

- Thank you, Billings.
- Yes, Doctor.

Shall I have her taken
to the ward, Doctor?

Yes, and get some blankets, please.

- Is it bad?
- It's a good thing most people...

haven't the foggiest notion
where the heart is actually located.

- She didn't even come close.
- Why'd she try to kill herself?

Oh, I imagine, Shunderson,
that when people need help the most...

it must sometimes seem as if
they're all alone in the world.

Isn't that true?

Then she'll try it again.

She's still all alone,
and if there's still nobody to help her...

she'll try it again.

And so into the mixed chorus.

- How are they coming along?
- Just fine, Dr. Praetorius.

- They're ready to start with you any time now.
- Good. The sooner the better.

Set the first full rehearsal
for next week.

Well, tonight for the first time,
your attack was not premedical.

The horns did not sound
as if they'd been sterilized.

The second fiddles still pull a little.

You're still inclined to regard the strings
as catgut for sewing...

rather than for playing.

And as for the gentleman
on the third bull fiddle...

Professor Barker,
is there any reason...

why you, Professor Barker...

who live so intimately with millions
of neutrons and know them all by name...

cannot maintain a simple beat
on a bull fiddle?

Are you referring to me?

I do not mean to impugn
your academic standing, of course.

My dear Dr. Praetorius,
I would willingly entrust the life of my sister...

to your skill as a gynecologist...

but I would not let you conduct
my three-year-old nephew to the bathroom.

The point is that I am the conductor
and you pay no attention to me.

- I do pay attention.
- Very well. We shall see.

Start at letter "B," please, Professor Barker.
Just your part alone.

It's going to sound
a little silly.

After all, the bass viol
is not a solo instrument.

On the contrary.
For one, Serge Koussevitzky has concertized...

as a virtuoso
of the bass viol.

Look who's talking about Koussevitzky.

Ready?

Tell me, Professor,
do the neutrons bombard the electrons...

or do the electrons do it to the neutrons?

Same time next week.
Thank you and good night, all.

You drive my car home.
I'll ride with Professor Barker.

Oh, and leave the knockwurst and the rest
on the kitchen table. I'll cook them.

I don't want you to wait up.

You'll make me very unhappy
if you don't go straight to bed.

He gets up before I do
and won't go to bed till I'm asleep.

I keep forgetting he can't stand
these long hours anymore.

Noah, there's something
I want to talk to you about.

Noah, there's something
I want to talk to you about.

- Here and now?
- While it's fresh on my mind.

Just for a minute.
Sit down.

You behave as if
you were about to propose.

Noah, one of the differences
between matter and mankind is...

that in matter
all relationships can be stated...

whereas between people they can
rarely be put into words.

- Granted.
- I want you to know that I am
your good and devoted friend.

I've been aware of that for some time.
And I am yours.

Therefore I have the right
to point out to you...

that there are occasions when you behave
like a cephalic idiot.

Also granted.
Any particular occasion?

Out of a universe
full of time and space...

only you could pick
Rodney Elwell's anatomy class.

Ah, the good word gets around,
doesn't it?

Don't take this lightly, Noah.
There's been trouble brewing.

- Talk of rummaging about in your past.
- Let them rummage.

- They're spitting into the wind.
- And all this talk about charges and whatnot...

of an investigation.

Noah, as a friend, tell me,
can Elwell dig up anything in your past...

that would conceivably
discredit you enough to justify...

say, a hearing before
a faculty committee?

How much discredit is enough?

I've known you intimately for 10 years,
and I can't even guess what you were up to...

- the day before I met you.
- Suppose I told you all.

- Could it affect our friendship?
- Of course not.

I'm glad to hear that. It's not much to have
a friend who knows all about you...

but one who's a friend
even though he's not quite sure...

that's worth having.

Then will you tell me
just this?

- About the Bat.
- The Bat?

I thought you knew
that's what they call him.

- Shunderson.
- Who calls him that?

Why, the students,
the faculty...

even the staff
at your own clinic.

No, I didn't know.
It's not a proper name for him.

- Noah, who is he?
- A man named Shunderson.

Where does he come from? Why is he with you
day and night, everywhere you go?

I have no right to tell even you
anything about Mr. Shunderson.

Can Elwell uncover something
about his past...

or yours or both that he can
use to make trouble?

That depends.

Drop me by the clinic first, will you?
I want to look in on a patient.

Don't turn the light on, please.

- You've been crying again.
- That doesn't necessarily follow.

Well, it's a pretty good guess
when a woman wants the light kept off.

Either that
or her face isn't on.

I don't mind being seen
without makeup.

I don't mind seeing you
without makeup.

You know all about women,
don't you?

- Not nearly enough.
- I don't mean just as a doctor.

Not even as a doctor.

Deborah, I, uh...
I've got something to tell you.

- And as a pompous know-it-all...
- I didn't mean that even when I said it.

As a pompous know-it-all,
it isn't going to be easy.

But do you remember the remote possibility
that I thought could never occur...

about the frog being wrong?

Well, the frog wasn't wrong,
but you got the wrong frog.

It seems the possibility of
a laboratory assistant making a mistake...

- is not remote at all.
- I don't understand.

Two tests were being run
at the same time.

One had a positive result,
and the other, negative.

Through unforgivable negligence,
your report read positive...

when it should've read negative.

Then... I'm not having
a baby after all?

You're not having a baby after all.

Sleep well. You've got
nothing to worry about.

That's what you think.

- Now what are you crying about?
- It's just awful.

What is?

To think I had to go and tell you
all about myself and what I did.

Now it turns out
I didn't really have to.

- Well, it did you good to
have someone to tell it to.
- But not to you.

Why not?

- I'll see you in the morning, Deborah.
- Dr. Praetorius.

- Hmm?
- Are all your patients women?

- Almost.
- I guess they all fall in love with you.

- Not all of them.
- Just most.

Not even most.

Good night.

What a mess.

Why'd you have to stop by the clinic?
Anything interesting?

A physician respects the confidence
of his patients...

and does not
discuss them with anyone.

How true, how true.

Was it the young girl
who tried to shoot herself?

- Mm-hmm.
- Why?

Because of
an unpremeditated baby.

Her condition pretty bad?

Better than yours on the whole.
Just a superficial flesh wound.

Then why drive all the way
up to the clinic to see her?

I wanted to tell her
she was not pregnant.

Lost the baby, eh?
Was it shock or when she fell?

She's as pregnant now
as she ever was.

Then why in the name of good sense
tell her that she isn't?

Pregnancy, my dear boy,
is not a state of the mind.

Here. Get me
some more knockwurst.

Two reasons.
One, to get her a good night's sleep...

and the second, to keep her
from trying it again...

until I can find her father
and talk with him.

What has her father
got to do with it?

She has an unshakable conviction that
the knowledge of what she's done will kill him.

And you intend to talk him into
clicking his heels with joy over the situation?

I intend to convince him
either to be compassionate about it...

or to convince her that her father
will survive her disgrace...

and that her chief responsibility
is to the baby.

- Noah.
- Yeah?

Has it ever occurred to you,
aside from certain medical considerations...

that most of this
is none of your business?

- Thanks.
- No? What is my business?

To diagnose the physical ailments
of human beings and to cure them.

Wrong. My business is
to make sick people well.

There's a vast difference between curing
an ailment and making a sick person well.

We won't go into that.
I'm too tired.

- Besides, doctors bore me.
- Just one little question.

What have you great men of science
done with atomic energy...

to make people well, hmm?

That's wonderful sauerkraut.
It tastes like sauerkraut used to taste.

Hmm. There's a German woman
who makes it in a barrel.

- I'll send you some. More beer?
- Yes, please.

Sauerkraut belongs
in a barrel, not a can.

Our American mania for sterile packages
has removed the flavor...

from most of our foods.

Butter is no longer sold
out of wooden tubs.

And a whole generation thinks
butter tastes like paper.

There was never a perfume
like an old-time grocery store.

Now they smell like drugstores, which
don't even smell like drugstores anymore.

You country doctors live
romantic lives.

Just think, it might be quintuplets.

This time of the morning
it's usually heartburn or loneliness.

- Hello.
- Dr. Praetorius?

Dr. Praetorius,
one of our patients is missing.

Miss Higgins. That's it.
Deborah Higgins.

It must've been in the last hour, Doctor.

Miss Myers said Miss Higgins was sleeping
when she made her rounds about an hour ago.

We've searched the grounds.

Doctor, I just can't imagine
how she got out.

I can tell you exactly
how she got out...

by walking down the corridor and out the
front door just as I did a couple of hours ago.

No, don't notify the police.
I'll take care of it in the morning.

Keep looking, of course.
And let me know if you find her.

Good night.

Who flew the coop?
The young lady we were discussing?

- Yeah.
- Why would she run away?

I don't know,
but I've got to find her.

I should think so. It seems you've got
some important information about her...

that she hasn't got.

You'd better wait
in the car while I ask.

I wondered what
Beelzebub was barking at.

Beelzebub? Beasts like that
are usually called "Pal."

I call him Beelzebub
because he's an evil dog.

Well, I am delighted to meet someone
courageous enough not to love all dogs.

- My name is Praetorius.
- Dr. Praetorius?

This is a pleasure.
I'm Arthur Higgins.

I'm delighted Beelzebub didn't
frighten you away...

but I am surprised
he gave up so easily.

Mr. Shunderson has a way with dogs.

- Mr. Shunderson.
- How do you do?

- Won't you come sit down?
- Thank you.

You're far from a stranger
to me, Dr. Praetorius.

I've heard so much about you
from my daughter, Deborah.

- Have you?
- How fortunate you were such good friends...

when she had that
ridiculous little accident.

Yes, it was ridiculous,
wasn't it?

I still do not understand how a woman can
accidentally burn a deep welt in her side...

with a curling iron.

Well, it's not uncommon for women...
female students in particular...

to curl their hair, eat, read and telephone,
all at the same time.

The results are often disastrous.

- Yes, I imagine it could've been worse.
- Much worse.

I happen to be devoted
to porch sitting.

- If you'd rather go inside...
- Oh, this is very pleasant.

And I see that you're properly protected
against too much fresh air.

- Don't you believe in the benefits of fresh air?
- I do not.

Nor do I believe
that eating fish develops the brain...

or that oysters will
increase virility.

Oh, you must tell that to Deborah.

She's forever driving me
out of the house.

You're an unusual man
of science, Dr. Praetorius.

You're an unusual farmer,
Mr. Higgins.

But I'm not a farmer.
This isn't my farm.

- It belongs to my brother.
- I see.

Then you're just
visiting here?

You might say
I'm staying here.

We need help.
Beelzebub crawled in under the icehouse...

and...
he won't come out.

- Beelzebub belongs under the icehouse.
- Deborah, we have guests.

Yes, I... I see. Hello, Doctor.
Hello, Mr. Shunderson.

I was wondering about that nasty little burn
you got from the curling iron.

It's fine.

It's been almost a week, and since
we happened to be driving out this way...

Happened to be out this way?
Hours from your clinic and the university?

Dr. Praetorius has
far-flung interests.

Then I'm sure both
he and Mr. Shunderson...

will be interested in joining us
for Sunday dinner.

No, really, we couldn't
impose upon you.

Dr. Praetorius must have
more important matters.

Nonsense. We can't let them
drive miles to get here...

and send them away unfed.

- We'd love to have you.
- We'll be happy to stay.

I'll tell Bella.

- Have you been here long?
- Your father and I have
just been getting acquainted.

Dr. Praetorius has a way of knowing people
very well, very quickly.

He's entitled to
as much time as he wants.

After all, you've told me
so much about him.

Father, I'm not at all sure
that it's good for you to be out of doors.

There is nothing healthier
than fresh air.

You said something
about telling Bella?

I haven't the slightest
intention of leaving here.

Bella!

It seems also that Deborah has told me
a great deal about you, Mr. Higgins.

There wasn't much to know,
was there?

The number of accomplishments in my life,
Doctor, is one... Deborah.

- Quite an accomplishment.
- If you don't mind...

I'd rather not be discussed
this intimately on the front porch.

On the front porch or in a test tube,
it is obvious that you're going to be discussed...

so why do you insist upon remaining
where you're not wanted?

Well, why should you want to discuss me?
There's... There's nothing to discuss, is there?

Deborah...

Dr. Praetorius has not
driven this great distance...

to see Beelzebub or to inquire whether you're
being more careful with your curling iron.

It's quite apparent that
he's come to talk with me.

- Now go and tell Bella there will be two extra for dinner.
- - Somebody yell for me?

Yes, Bella. Uh, these two gentlemen
are staying for dinner.

- Mr. John know about it?
- There's plenty of food.

- Mr. John better know about it.
- I'll tell him.

He's doing his books,
and he don't like to be disturbed.

I'll tell him
when he's finished, Bella.

Well, I'll put
two plates on anyway.

You left the peas half done.

- I'll be right in.
- I would like to help.

- Mr. Shunderson, really.
- It isn't necessary.

No, let him. It's a good idea.
He'll be of great help.

May I ask,
is Mr. Shunderson your servant?

- He's my friend, but he likes to help.
- I see.

Dr. Praetorius,
I referred a moment ago to Deborah...

as the only accomplishment
of my life.

- I'm sure you were being modest.
- She's more than my only accomplishment.

Quite simply, she's my only contact
with and reason for...

what is sometimes
described as life.

If you'll permit
a rather lurid analogy...

Deborah is my heartbeat.

Mr. Higgins, please don't feel
that you have to tell me anything.

No, I want to tell you about myself
for just a moment.

I can't say what
makes me want to.

Perhaps it was
Bella's rudeness.

Perhaps because I think of you
already as a friend.

Uh, have you got a match?

- No.
- I smoke too much anyway.

The "Mr. John" Bella seemed
so concerned about is my brother.

He owns this farm.

He owns the food
I invited you to share...

the beds we sleep in,
clothes we wear, Deborah's tuition...

and the tobacco in my pipe.

The pipe is mine.

I have other possessions.

Some scrapbooks,
a thin volume of poetry...

Mine too. It was published
but didn't sell of course.

And Deborah and
the memory of my wife.

- I wondered about her.
- She died when Deborah was
very little in London.

That's where Deborah was born.

- What were you doing in London?
- I did the same thing, Dr. Praetorius...

in most of the major cities
of the world...

I failed miserably at
whatever it was I tried to do.

- We haven't any matches.
- What?

Oh, it's become
a nervous habit, I guess.

My brotherJohn never left this farm...

physically, mentally, spiritually
or in any other fashion.

I don't imagineJohn's been
more than a hundred miles from this porch...

in any given direction.

When you left the farm,
what did you set out to be?

Nothing in particular,
except to be as far from here as possible.

I remained both
throughout my life...

far from here
and nothing in particular.

I was an indifferent journalist,
a minor poet, an ineffective teacher...

and a wretched businessman, unable to
provide properly for my wife and child...

and then not even
for just my child.

When my heart gave way,
it seemed to me...

that my functions had achieved
a unanimous failure.

And so I applied to my brother
for permission to return here with Deborah...

as a complete dependent...

which I am in
every sense of the word...

including being listed as such
in his income tax report.

And now,
if you'll excuse me...

- I'll askJohn about dinner.
- Perhaps it would be better if you didn't.

Please.
I'd consider it a favor.

- Would you like to come inside?
- No. I'll stay out here for another minute.

- I thought you were helping in the kitchen.
- The woman didn't want me.

I can't say I approve
of the company you keep.

The dog is frightened
and unhappy.

He has that in common
with most of humanity.

It's not going to be easy...

what you came here for.

Let's go for a walk.

Sunday ain't Sunday
without chicken.

Two things I guess I did every Sunday
of my life... go to church and eat chicken.

Don't you ever eat chicken
on a weekday?

Only on Sundays.

But if you like chicken so much,
why don't you eat it more often?

'Cause I only eat it
on Sundays.

UncleJohn lives
according to a very strict schedule.

Two things I live by...
the good book and the calendar.

I got a day's work to do
every day in the year.

I take care of my work
and the good book takes care of me.

Then you do the same thing
every day of every year, is that it?

Just like the cows
and horses and vegetables.

That's right.
That's what the good Lord...

and old Mother Nature
put us here for...

to do thejob
they set out for us.

Oh. Well, I can't speak for
the good Lord, of course...

but I know a little about
old Mother Nature.

If old Mother Nature had her way,
there wouldn't be a human being alive.

- How do you mean that?
- I mean, among other things...

that old Mother Nature tries
to destroy us periodically...

by means of pestilence,
disease and disaster.

The human race has been at war
with old Mother Nature ever
since it became the human race.

What do you mean, "Became the human race"?
Is that what you teach?

No, and I'm not really a teacher.

That merely happens to be my opinion.

Oh.

- You make a lot of money?
- John, really, I don't think you...

I don't mind telling him.

Yes, Mr. Higgins.
I make a lot of money... as a doctor...

but then I'm one of
the few fortunate ones.

Huh. I'll say. We got one here in town
works night and day.

- Hasn't got a red cent.
- If you had a teacher here in town...

he'd be a little worse off
than even your doctor.

But then the government
doesn't pay them...

for the patients they don't treat
or the children they don't teach.

Oh, you mean like, uh,
I get paid for not growing some crops.

I never could
figure that one out.

But then I never asked
too many questions about it.

Never look a gift horse
in the mouth. You?

I never look any horse
in the mouth.

Oh. Well, I'm going back
to working on my books.

Then I'm gonna sleep a while
till it's time for my radio programs.

Off my schedule today. Income tax.
I ain't complaining though.

Got more deductions
than I thought.

Doc, do you mind if I put you and your friend
down as a couple of feed salesmen?

Flattered.
Just don't call me "Doc."

That way I deduct
the whole dinner.

Every little bit helps.
I write it all down in a book.

Most of my equipment don't cost me a thing,
writing it off year by year.

- What's it called, Arthur?
- Depletion and depreciation.

Yeah, that's it.
It means it's running down.

- Don't work so good as it did.
- One thing about teachers
and writers and such.

They have less bother with their income tax
than farmers and oil well owners.

That so? Why?

Because their equipment
is talent...

and a highly developed mind.

And when they run down
and don't work so good as they did...

the depletion and depreciation
can't be written off their income tax.

See what I mean?
What's so smart about 'em?

Don't play the radio loud
while I'm sleeping, Arthur.

No, John.

Deborah, why don't you show
Dr. Praetorius the farm?

I'm sure he'd be interested.

Just a lot of depletion and depreciation.
That's all.

Let's see it before
it's all written off.

I'll get a sweater
and meet you outside.

How old were you
when you learned to walk?

I did pretty well
by the time I was four.

- When did you leave the farm?
- When I was 16.

It couldn't have taken you 12 years
to make up your mind.

Do you enjoy music, Mr. Shunderson?

More than anything.

Mr. Shunderson...

Dr. Praetorius has come here
to ask Deborah to marry him, hasn't he?

I wouldn't be surprised.

This, as you see, is the dairy.
The cows are out in the pasture.

Doing the job
the good Lord gave them.

Uncle has eight cows.

That's far more milk, butter and cheese
than what we need. He sells the rest in town.

That makes it a commercial enterprise,
and he can write off...

the dairy and the equipment and the cows...

I think I like the dairy best of all.
It's certainly spotless, isn't it?

The board of health
is very strict about that.

Where do you hide Bella
when they come around, under the icehouse?

Down here,
this room is for the separator and things.

I'd stay out of there
if I were you.

You might get caught
in a room with a dead end.

The milk gets certified,
you know...

according to the amount
of butterfat in it.

Why did you run away
from the clinic?

And this is the separator where the cream
gets separated from the milk.

- Why did you run away?
- It works by centrifugal action.

It used to be done
by just skimming it off.

The cream, being lighter than the milk,
rises to the surface.

- Deborah.
- Because I had to.

- Why?
- I had to, that's all.

- Why?
- Because.

- Why?
- I had reasons.

- What?
- They were private. I don't
have to tell you everything.

Why?

I'm in love with you.

- What makes you think so?
- I can't give you symptoms.
It's love, not measles.

Am I being pompous again?

Well, there are some things
you can't be scientific about.

Even so, why should that make you want to
run away in the middle of the night...

in your bathrobe
and slippers?

- I didn't want to see you the next morning.
- I wanted to see you.

Not if I knew about you what you knew
about me you wouldn't want to.

Possibly. I don't know.

A person just doesn't fall in love that fast,
or that often.

I just couldn't lie there anymore
and think about it. I couldn't stand it.

Don't you see? If I do love you,
then how could I have been in love with him?

And if I didn't love him,
then why...

And anyway, even if I did,
why did I have to go and tell you about it?

- Are you crying again?
- No, but I wanna run away again.

No. No more
running away.

You were right about your father.
I couldn't have told him.

He'd have understood,
but I couldn't have told him.

Certainly you couldn't have.

Now you tell me something.
Why did you come here?

What do you mean?

It couldn't have been
to talk to my father.

Well, as a matter of fact...

Because if it was,
what about?

There wasn't anything
to tell him really, was there?

- Well, no, not really...
- A superficial flesh wound like mine...

you weren't worried
about my condition, were you?

- Of course not. I...
- Going to all the trouble of finding me...

searching the registrar's
records and whatnot.

- Why did you come all the way out here?
- I don't know, really.

I think you do know.
What's your first name?

I can't go on calling you
Dr. Praetorius.

- Uh, Noah.
- Why did you come after me, Noah?

What you said before about cream being
lighter than milk, that wasn't quite accurate.

- Noah's a cute name.
- My real name is Ludwig.

You see, cream is the oily part of the milk.
It's not actually a separate product.

- I prefer Noah.
- In homogenizing milk, for instance...

the particles of fat
become emulsified.

I do not want to appear unladylike about this,
but I feel silly acting coy...

- So the cream becomes part of
the general body of the milk...
- with you, of all men.

You couldn't have come out here
because you wanted to talk to my father.

And you couldn't have come out
because you were worried about my health.

And there comes a time
when a patient asks a doctor questions.

Why did you come all this way
just to see me, Noah?

- I did have a reason, you know.
- I know.

No, you don't.
But it doesn't seem to matter at the moment.

You're being pompous
again at the moment.

You'd be surprised
how un-pompous.

Then what are you being?

Well, things do have a way of happening,
don't they?

Old Mother Nature.

Old Mother Nature knows best.

- What's UncleJohn up to?
- He's got the radio on full blast.

Something about rustlers. It seems
somebody rustled 15,000 television sets.

Here, use this.

Dropping my things out of the window.
You'd think I was escaping from a reformatory.

There is no reason why we can't just
walk out the front door.

It's more fun this way. When you gonna
break the news to the gentleman farmer?

John? During his favorite
quiz program.

I intend to let him have it
as a personal jackpot.

- He'll be mad.
- I hope so.

I am scared.

Deborah, I thought I was going to have to die
without seeing you safely out of here...

and without telling him off.

- Remember your promise
to come and live with us.
- Of course he will.

Much against everybody's better judgment,
including my own...

I intend to live
very happily with you.

- I'm still scared.
- There's nothing thatJohn
can do to either of us.

- She's not scared of John. She's scared of me.
- Pompous know-it-all!

It just so happens that what I'm afraid of
is you don't really wanna marry me...

and that I won't make you
a good enough wife.

In the first place, I'm not in the habit of
marrying women I don't really want to marry.

- His first name isn't Noah. It's Ludwig.
- And in the second place...

the woman has yet to be born
who doesn't in her heart believe...

she'll make her husband a much better wife
than he has any possible right to expect.

I just don't want to
get married tonight.

I don't want a long engagement,
but can't I even have one day?

We'll be married in New York.
That takes three days, all right?

It's just so I can feel
more feminine about it.

I must say, you're the only man
I ever heard of...

who acts exactly like some poor girl
that has to get married.

I imagine that as a man I've come
as close to it as any other man who ever lived.

Come in.

- I got it, Professor.
- Sergeant Coonan.

I got your man.

- Excellent.
- Is that the same Shunderson?

- Very probably.
- Could you identify him from this?

- Almost positively.
- You gotta do better than "very" and "almost."

My dear man, this newspaper
appeared in 1917.

The photograph is
34 years old, at least.

The identification may not be entirely positive,
but it satisfies me.

We gotta be sure.
Get me a new picture of this character.

There are none
that I know of.

Mr. Shunderson has always manifested
a violent aversion to being photographed...

even to snapshots by students.

- Want me to handle it?
- Please.

Okay. Comes tomorrow,
we slap a tail on this monkey.

Mr. Coonan, I have spoken
to you about this before.

I must be able
to understand you.

Oh. What I mean is starting tomorrow
we'll have him followed.

Unhappily, it'll have
to wait until Monday.

Dr. Praetorius is undermining
a medical convention in New York
and will not return until then.

- Monday it is.
- Good luck to you.

- May I be of service to you, madam?
- Yes, you may.

I want to buy an electric train outfit...
very fancy and very elaborate.

- It's for a birthday.
- I'm sure we can find something nice.

- May I ask how old is the boy?
- He'll be 42 tomorrow.

Mr. Shunderson.

- Is anything the matter?
- No. I... I thought I saw a friend.

- Well, if you'd like...
- No, it doesn't matter.

Then would you help me
with the trains?

- We've got more equipment
than the Union Pacific.
- Sure.

- Good night, Dr. Praetorius.
- Good night.

- Good night, Doctor.
- Good night.

I think you should know,
someone took my picture today.

- Give me one to wear
in a locket around my neck.
- It wasn't that kind.

- He ran away after he took it.
- I see.

- Perhaps it would be better if I went away too.
- No.

You've made a great career.
You have a home now, a wife, responsibilities.

No!

Want me to answer, Mrs. Praetorius?

Don't bother, Anna. Mr. Shunderson's
somewhere out front. He'll get it.

- Professor Elwell from the university.
- At this time of day? What about?

He's come to see Dr. Praetorius
on very urgent business. Shall I call him?

Certainly not.
Dr. Praetorius is not to be disturbed.

I'll talk to Professor Elwell.

Good evening, Professor Elwell.

Mrs. Praetorius?
This is indeed an honor.

I'd heard, of course,
of Dr. Praetorius's marriage...

but until now I had
no knowledge of the extent...

to which he was to be complimented
upon his exquisite taste.

Thank you. How sweet of you to come
all this way just to say those nice things.

- Won't you sit down?
- Thank you, no. My business
is with Dr. Praetorius...

a most urgent
and confidential matter.

And I have no wish to intrude for long
upon what seems to be a festive occasion.

- His birthday.
- So, these must be happy days
indeed for your husband.

Unfortunately, they're busy days too.

And at the moment,
he's in a very important conference.

But if you were to tell him that a most pressing
matter concerning the university...

I'm afraid he cannot
be disturbed.

Mrs. Praetorius, I assure you
that it is necessary for me to talk with him.

It just is not possible.

You're welcome to wait if you like...

but I assure you my husband
will be in conference until dinnertime.

I, too, have a home, Mrs. Praetorius.

I have come here
at no little inconvenience to myself.

Exactly what have you come here for,
Professor Elwell?

I have a message for your husband.
Not a happy one, I regret to say.

Oh?

Well, if you'll give it to me,
I'll see that he gets it.

Uh, I had hoped...

that is, I have been asked,
to inform Dr. Praetorius of it in person.

Has the message to do with some
confidential information about a patient?

It has to do only
with your husband.

In that case it doesn't matter
whether I tell him about it or he tells me.

A relationship...

- A relationship of such
mutual trust is heartwarming.
- Thank you.

You understand that my presence here
is a matter of duty...

not necessarily
personal inclination.

You are well known
as a man without personal inclinations.

Thank you.

- May I have a glass of water?
- On the table. Help yourself.

- It's so beautifully arranged.
- Just drinking some water won't hurt it.

You're extremely generous.

Mrs. Praetorius...

there have been
for some time now...

persistent, but obviously unreliable rumors
about your husband.

About women?

About the circumstances
under which he has practiced medicine...

about his methods and certain events,
both past and present.

Oh, that.

And, uh, in view
of certain disclosures...

unfounded of course, which
have come to light recently...

concerning both Dr. Praetorius
and his most intimate associate.

My husband is intimate
only with me.

The dean of our university...

has asked me to present
to Dr. Praetorius...

a list of the charges that
have been brought against him.

Who brought these charges?

Dean Brockwell invites your husband
to disprove these charges.

In confidence,
of course.

Should your husband be unwilling
to accept this offer of a private hearing...

then the dean will have no recourse
other than to summon Dr. Praetorius...

before
a faculty committee...

for an open discussion
of the charges in question.

They must be pretty serious.
What are they?

- I'm not privileged to reveal them.
- But you know what they are.

Unhappily, I do.

This must be a great strain
on you, Professor.

The performance of one's
duty in a profession...

founded upon such
high standards of honor...

dignity, learning and ethics...

One thing you can be sure of... my husband
isn't going to sneak into the dean's office...

to clear his name in private.

He'll drag those nasty, vicious rumors
of yours right out into the open...

and get rid of them in the open
where you've been spreading them!

Mrs. Praetorius,
you're not being objective.

We are discussing my husband,
not a kidney.

You are also leaping
at conclusions.

All rumors need not necessarily be vicious
and nasty. It depends upon the viewpoint.

I am pretty well committed
to one particular viewpoint, Professor.

Quite so. Well, I must be going.

I admire your courage
and faith.

Most women would be
perhaps... apprehensive.

- Most women are not married to my husband.
- True.

Whatever he did,
he did for good and sufficient reason...

even if it turns out
he murdered somebody.

I have never had occasion
to envy Dr. Praetorius.

May I say that I envy him you?

You have that right
under the Constitution of the United States.

Will you show the professor to the door,
Mr. Shunderson? He's leaving.

- Thank you for your hospitality.
- Drop in any time.

Give this to the miracle man.

I'll take it to him.

Beep.!

Beep-beep.

Beep-beep-beep.

What was that?

Uh, darling?

- Professor Lionel Barker!
- What happened?

"What happened?" Did your train leave
on beep-beep or beep-beep-beep?

- Beep-beep-beep.
- Your signal was beep-beep.

- Arthur's signal was beep-beep.
Mine was beep-beep-beep.
- We'll soon find out about that.

It was beep-beep-beep...
What a bloody mess.

And whose fault is it,
my fine atomic friend?

You can't go around smashing
everything you see. Everything isn't atoms.

- Yes, it is.
- Not for smashing. Not in
my house and not my train.

Deborah, get out of the way
before Professor Barker smashes you.

- Darling...
- Beep-beep-beep. Those were your orders.

- Arthur, what was your signal
to dispatch your train?
- Beep-beep.

I told you so. Mine was beep-beep-beep.

- Arthur, yours was beep-beep-beep.
- Beep-beep.

- Beep-beep.
- Beep-beep-beep.!

They're my trains and
I'm the chief dispatcher.

Beep from you, beep-beep from you
and beep-beep-beep from Arthur.

- What difference does it make?
- Look at this disaster.

In case of disaster, the responsibility remains
with the chief dispatcher.

And with a catastrophe like this,
he either resigns or blows his brains out.

I refuse to be held accountable
for the inability of two idiotic assistants...

to remember two simple signals.

- Noah, darling...
- I consider your high-handed
refusal to accept...

the testimony of two responsible men
as worse than idiotic.

Under the circumstances,
I consider it criminal.

Your signal was beep-beep-beep
and you know it was beep-beep-beep!

- Noah!
- Deborah, I'll leave it to you,
but remember, you're my wife.

Is this what you're crying about?
Then what?

It's just that I love you so much and I went
and put all those candles on that cake...

when you're really only nine years old.

According to this document,
I am not the picture of childish innocence...

you imagine me to be.

- Do you want to read it?
- No.

Do you want me to tell you about it?

Not if you think you shouldn't.

"Not if you think
you shouldn't..."

is a phrase used exclusively
by women who assume a man's guilt...

without having the guts
to come out and say so.

Nothing could be less important to me
than this whole business...

of rumors and charges against you.

That's my girl.

Just a minute.

Just from the type of men who attack you,
anybody'd know you were innocent.

Anybody with half an eye.

You haven't done anything you shouldn't have,
have you, Noah?

Many times, but not as a doctor.
Don't let it worry you.

I won't.

- Noah?
- Hmm?

Does it seem to you that I cry a lot?

Truthfully, darling,
there's never been anything like it...

since the little Dutch boy
took his finger out of the dike.

- He never took it out. That's what killed him.
- Pompous know-it-all.

I never used to cry
at all, you know.

If I bumped my head...
something like that...

but now the least little thing
that happens, I start to bawl.

Why do you suppose it is?

Why do you suppose it is?

I get upset so easily these days,
and I used to be...

well, if anything, sort of calm,
even placid about things.

- What did you say the name of that frog was?
- What frog?

The one that gets pregnant
in two hours.

The frog doesn't get pregnant, darling.
It just shows certain indications.

Well, I'm beginning to show
certain indications.

Anyway, I think I am.

I feel so silly
talking to you about it.

No, no, I understand. It's the kind of thing
you'd rather discuss with a doctor.

I don't pretend to be an expert
about such things...

but I've always thought
I was a fairly normal adult young lady...

who knew roughly what every
fairly normal adult young lady should know.

Right now, I feel like
a kind of idiot Elsie Dinsmore.

What seems to be your problem,
Mrs. Praetorius?

I'm confused. I can't figure anything out.
I'm all mixed up.

After all I've been through
these past few weeks, I've got a right to be...

but not this mixed up,
not this confused.

Married exactly two weeks
and three days.

Noah, darling, forgive me for being little Nell
from the country about this...

but is it possible
that I could be having a baby already?

Little Nell, Elsie Dinsmore
or Catherine the Great...

it is entirely possible.

Well, if it's possible,
then you should be the first to know.

It is also probable.
Do you mind?

Comes the dawn, I'll stand
on that windowsill and crow.

Comes the dawn next December,
you'll be walking the floor with it.

- Next September.
- December, dear.

September.

Now you're getting mixed up.
This is April.

- December.
- September.

My dear Dr. Praetorius, unless they've
changed the rules about how long it takes...

or unless there's a new way to count,
I make it December.

There's nothing wrong
with the way you're counting.

You're just not starting
back far enough.

How can I possibly start
any farther back than...

No.

Oh, no.

You're quite a noble character,
aren't you?

I've never thought of myself
as one particularly.

No, really. I've heard of doctors
who were self-sacrificing and unselfish...

but apparently
there's no limit to yours.

Deborah, you couldn't
be more wrong.

Were you that afraid
I'd kill myself?

- How afraid is "that afraid"?
- Afraid enough to marry me
to keep me from it.

Is it conceivable to you that I would?

It seems obvious, doesn't it?

You mean that as a doctor
I was faced by a situation...

which I could only meet by marrying you...
that I did it as a remedy.

Deborah, as you know...

I believe in using any form of therapy
that will make people well.

But it would be impractical to make marrying
my patients a standard form of treatment.

- Why did you marry me?
- Because I was in love with you.

Is that why you came to the farm,
to ask me to marry you?

No, not consciously
at any rate.

Let's not mess with
the unconscious right now.

We've got enough conscious trouble
to worry about.

You fell in love
all of a sudden, didn't you?

All of a sudden.
I'm still falling.

Let me know
when you hit bottom.

Any time within
the next 30 or 40 years.

You came to the farm
because you knew I was pregnant.

And then you met my father
and my uncle...

and you understood
why I tried to kill myself.

By that time, you were all mixed up in it
because you told me that silly lie...

about the wrong frog.

And I was so obviously in love with you,
it was all over me like a tattoo.

And so with no possible way out for anybody,
all of a sudden you fell in love with me...

and that solved everything,
and everybody lived happily ever after.

For two weeks
and three days, that is...

until I found out that my baby
isn't going to be yours.

Funny, this calls for tears,
and I haven't got any.

I take it all back about my being normal
and adult and a lady.

What makes you think
it isn't going to be my baby?

Because it isn't. Because its father is
someone you never even knew...

someone I can't even remember
as well as I should.

All of which, however true,
has nothing to do with our baby.

His interest in this world
will begin as it does with all babies...

when suddenly,
through no fault of his own...

he is rudely deprived of a warm, secure
and well-fed existence...

which he has every reason to believe will
go on forever, and finds himself upside-down...

being smacked
on the backside.

- Are you going to love him?
- Of course I am.

So am I, and we'll keep him warm and we'll
feed him and make him feel secure again...

- and give him brothers to play with.
- All boys, eh?

It's time you stopped thinking about yourself
and started thinking about my baby.

- Noah, if you really suddenly
fell in love with me...
- No "if."

- Why?
- I couldn't say why.

- Haven't you ever wondered?
- Falling as fast as I am, I don't have time.

- A man as exact as you
with a reason for everything?
- Then I'll find it.

Any time in the next 30 or 40 years,
I'll start wondering.

I won't be doing much else it looks like,
except wondering...

about you and me, about you and the baby,
me and my fine character.

- Are you feeling sorry for yourself?
- I'm feeling sorry for you.

- Don't be.
- I love you.

- Be that.
- Forgive me.

- Shut up.
- Love me.

Dinner is served.

I have forbidden you to bring
that disgusting echo chamber into my house.

- As your friend...
- Why is it here? Am I not
the master in my own house?

To provide for your wife
some contact with the world of sensitivity...

- of which you have no knowledge.
- Hear, hear.

♪ Happy birthday to you ♪

- ♪ Happy birthday to me ♪
- ♪ Happy birthday to you ♪

♪ Happy birthday ♪

♪ Dear Noah ♪

♪Happy birthday

♪ To you

Excuse me. Pardon me.

Excuse me. Sorry.
Pardon me.

- Lionel.
- Oh. I'm late.

- The hearing must have started.
Why aren't you there?
- Not yet, but in a second.

Now, you mustn't be nervous.
There's nothing to be worried about.

Just see to it that they get it over with quickly.
Such nonsense.

May I? Thank you.

How dare they hold their silly investigation
the same night as the concert.

- It's unforgivable.
- It may be worse.

From what I hear,
Professor Elwell and his gang insisted upon it.

They consider it unlikely that Noah
will conduct if the hearing goes against him.

The reasons for it
could then hardly be kept confidential.

The hearing will not
go against him.

And besides, Noah would conduct
on his way to be hanged.

I'm terribly sorry,
gentleman, but unavoidable.

My apologies.

Well, now that we're all here,
shall we begin?

It is my intention, gentlemen,
to conduct this hearing informally.

Dr. Praetorius, wouldn't
you like to sit closer?

Thank you. I prefer to remain
as remote as possible.

I suggested it merely to avoid having our
discussion take on the appearance of a trial.

I appreciate your thoughtfulness...

but I consider this trial to be a trial.

I have no intention of regarding
an investigation of my methods and myself...

as a cozy little chat
among friends.

- Hear, hear.
- Professor Barker...

I will have to insist that no one speak
without being recognized by the chair.

I am by nature
a man who interrupts.

- However, I shall try.
- Thank you.

Dr. Praetorius,
may I suggest to begin with...

in order to avoid both the embarrassment
and time involved in examination...

that you give of your own accord...

a pertinent account of your life
and professional activities...

prior to your arrival in this city
and this university.

I prefer to be questioned.

- Why?
- Because I do not intend
to tell things about myself...

of my own accord which are
nobody's business but my own.

- They are the concern of the entire medical profession.
- - Uh-uh-uh.

- Be recognized.
- You too, Professor Barker.

Your objection is understandable,
Dr. Praetorius.

Professor Elwell,
you may begin your questioning.

My colleagues have appointed me
to speak in their name.

I hope I may prove worthy of what is
not only an honor but a grave responsibility.

Dr. Praetorius, will you stipulate and agree
to abide by the verdict of this committee?

- I will do nothing of the kind.
- Why not?

Because I don't know
what the verdict will be.

The verdict will affect you seriously
whether you agree to abide by it or not.

Then why ask idiotic questions
to which you already know the answers?

One horse on you, Elwell.

Will you admit that in 1936...

you were a highly successful
quack and miracle healer...

in a remote little village
in the southern part of this state?

I will admit nothing
of the kind.

- Where did you live in 1936?
- In Goose Creek.

Would you describe Goose Creek
as a thriving metropolis?

It is a remote little village
in the southern part of this state.

Exactly. And, uh, what was your source
of income in Goose Creek in 1936?

- My practice.
- You practiced openly?

I was available to anyone
at any time.

I mean to say, did you set up practice
as a doctor of medicine?

When I came to Goose Creek,
I had my degree as a doctor of medicine.

I did not, however, display
my M.D. Upon my door.

Upon your shop door.

I beg your pardon,
his shop door?

Isn't it true, Dr. Praetorius,
that in that remote little village...

called Goose Creek
you opened a butcher shop?

An honorable trade,
if ever there was one.

In itself, unimpeachable.
But what did you sell in your butcher shop?

Meat, at cost.

At cost? Without profit?
Then how did you make your living?

I made sick people well.

Aha.

Mm-hmm. Why should that
startle you? I still do.

Do you deny that at that time
your patients were under the
impression you were a butcher...

and not a doctor?

Do you prefer the impression given
to their patients by so many of our colleagues...

that they are doctors
and not butchers?

Bravo! Bravo!

Dr. Praetorius, won't you admit
that your practice flourished in Goose Creek...

because you took advantage of the ignorance
of its backward inhabitants...

of the pathetic willingness
of those poor people to rely upon a belief...

in miraculous cure rather
than scientific knowledge...

and because of the readiness
with which so many people will prefer...

the glamourous quack
to the licensed practitioner?

Despite your definition of a quack
as someone who does not practice medicine...

according to your rules,
Professor Elwell...

the fact remains that a quack is an unqualified
person who pretends to be a doctor.

I was a licensed practitioner,
and therefore, not a quack.

And as to the willingness of those
so-called ignorant and backward people...

to rely upon the curative powers of faith
and possibly miracles too...

I consider faith, properly
injected into a patient...

as effective in maintaining life
as adrenaline.

And a belief in miracles has been
the difference between living and dying...

as often as
any surgeon's scalpel.

- That is not the issue under discussion.
- It is precisely the issue!

Whether the practice of medicine
should become more intimately involved...

with the human beings
it treats...

or whether it's to go on
in this present way of becoming...

more and more a thing of pills,
serums and knives...

until eventually we shall
undoubtedly evolve an electronic doctor.

The issue at hand is simply that you amassed
a fortune by treating sick people...

who believed that you were
a miracle-working butcher.

I could not have amassed
that fortune...

unless I had made an enormous
number of sick people well!

All this folderol, as I see it...

has got nothing to do with
the ethics and honor of our profession.

It has everything to do with envy
of one man's genius for healing the sick...

of his use of remedies you can't prescribe,
buy in bottles or apply with a knife.

Call Praetorius a psychiatrist, high priest...

voodoo, medicine man,
witch doctor, anything you like...

but don't investigate him,
gentlemen, learn from him.

Professor Barker, it was understood
you would not interrupt.

I'm sorry.

You can strike my remarks
from the record.

I'm sure you all agree with me anyway,
so why don't we call this silly thing off...

and start the concert.

It would interest me,
Dr. Praetorius...

to know why you ever left
this lucrative practice in Goose Creek...

and under what circumstances.

I'd always intended to leave when I'd acquired
enough money to start a clinic of my own.

As it turned out,
I left a little sooner than I'd planned.

I fired my housekeeper.
She was falsifying my grocery bills...

and splitting the money
with the grocer.

Unfortunately, she had
previously discovered...

my medical diploma
in a bottom drawer of my desk.

In revenge for being fired,
she let it be known around Goose Creek...

that I was not a butcher at all,
but a licensed M.D.

I was confronted by a crowd of angry
townspeople and forced to admit the truth.

I narrowly escaped being
run out of town on a rail.

Any more questions,
Professor Elwell?

A great many more.
Thank you.

Shh.! Shh.!

- Professor Barker.
- May I point out that these monkeyshines...

are seriously delaying
the concert of our student orchestra?

Our concern here is
the future good and welfare of our students...

as doctors of medicine,
not as troubadours.

- Were you recognized?
- We're all concerned about
the delay of the concert.

The fact that this hearing conflicts with it
is a most unfortunate coincidence.

You don't believe that
any more than I do.

Continue, Professor Elwell.

- Dr. Praetorius.
- I thought you'd forgotten me.

Who is Shunderson?

I take it you mean Mr. Shunderson.

Mr. Shunderson is my friend.

Is he associated
with you professionally?

Not as a professional.
He helps at whatever he can.

He is also employed in your home
as a manservant or a butler, is he not?

I do not employ him at all.
He works at whatever he pleases...

where he pleases and when.

He is never very far from
your side or for long it seems.

- Really?
- Dr. Praetorius...

what was Mr. Shunderson
before you knew him?

I refuse to answer that question.

What were the circumstances
under which you made his acquaintance?

I refuse to answer that question.

You have always evidenced a remarkable
tolerance for this strange and mysterious man.

His qualifications
have been questioned.

His blundering and slow-wittedness
have caused complaint...

and yet you have protected him at all times
to the fullest extent of your authority.

His qualifications concern
no one but me...

since his responsibility
is to no one but me.

As to his so-called blundering
and so-called slow-wittedness...

perhaps I overlook them
because I know the reason for them.

And is the reason of so delicate a nature
that you cannot divulge it even here?

I have no right
to divulge it anywhere.

May I suggest to you then,
Dr. Praetorius...

that your refusal to divulge it
is not out of loyalty to Mr. Shunderson...

but is due to some unsavory
and dishonorable coercion upon you...

because the reason, which has been
so delicately characterized here...

has to do simply with Mr. Shunderson
having been a convicted murderer!

What are you doing here?

I was listening
through the door.

I protest against this
highly irregular, unethical...

and probably prearranged
eavesdropping.

Elwell, you can use more words
more unpleasantly...

than any irritating little
pip-squeak I've ever known.

Gentlemen, I suggest
we leave the saloon floor...

and return to a more
academic level of behavior.

I want to tell my story.
He'll never tell it.

But what you want to know about me
has nothing to do with him.

Well, let's hear it,
by all means.

- Okay?
- Certainly, Mr. Shunderson.

Okay?

I'm not a fancy talker.
I... I don't know a lot of words.

That alone is a welcome relief.

Well, now, I...

Don't start with
"Well, now."

Where... Where should I begin?

Tell them when you were
condemned to death for murder.

- The first time?
- Of course.

Well, the first time
was in Canada...

in 1917.

It was Christmas.
It wasn't a very merry Christmas.

Don't editorialize.
Just tell the facts.

I had a sweetheart and a friend.

We were very close, the three of us.
We went everywhere together.

Well, this one time
we went mountain climbing.

My sweetheart couldn't
climb very high...

so she stayed behind at a hotel
while my friend and I went on.

We didn't get very far
before we started to argue.

I don't remember what about.
We always argued...

as friends do.

But this time
he hit me with a rock.

So I hit him with one.

Not too much detail.

Anyway, we had a bloody fight...

and he ran away.

So, I went back to my sweetheart.

She was waiting
in the lobby of the hotel.

She didn't even say hello.

She took one look at the blood on my clothes...

and saw that I was alone...

and started to scream,
"Murderer, murderer!"

That was how I found out
that my sweetheart...

and my friend
were sweethearts.

Who saw to it that you were arrested
and charged with murder?

Oh, my sweetheart, of course.

Her testimony and the blood
on my clothes were enough.

I was found guilty
of murdering my friend...

and I was condemned to death.

But because nobody could produce
the corpse of my friend, living or dead...

my sentence was commuted
to 15 years at hard labor.

And was the corpse
of your friend never found?

I found it myself,
after I served out...

my full 15 years at hard labor.

I found it accidentally.

I was walking past
a restaurant in Toronto.

I happened to look in the window
and there was the corpse of my friend...

sitting at a table
eating a bowl of soup.

I think it was pea soup.

Immaterial and irrelevant.

Well, I... I went in
and spoke to my friend...

in a very friendly fashion.

I asked him very nicely where
he had been for 15 years...

and why he never admitted
that I didn't kill him.

His answer, gentlemen,
was unsatisfactory.

So I hit him in the face
with the bowl of soup.

Then I hit him with a chair.

Somebody called a policeman.
The policeman had a club.

I took the club away from him.

And it was with the policeman's club
I finished up on my friend.

I tried to explain to the policeman...

that if I was committing a crime...

it was a crime for which
I had already paid the penalty.

- He arrested me anyway.
- You were released, of course.

No. I was tried for his murder again
and sentenced to death again.

But how could you be tried twice
for the murder of the same man?

The prosecutor insisted
that this was not the same murder.

The first time no dead body
was produced as evidence.

Well, the prosecutor
was very fair about it.

He was willing to admit that
my first conviction was probably
a miscarriage of justice.

But even though the first jury
made a mistake...

he said I didn't have
the right to commit a murder...

just to correct that mistake.

He demanded the death penalty,
and I was condemned to death.

But this time you were pardoned.

No. This time they didn't
even commute my sentence.

You see, the fact that I killed my friend...

with a policeman's club
made it a very serious crime.

Then will you tell us, Mr. Shunderson,
how did you manage to escape?

- I didn't escape.
- Well, what happened to get you out of it?

Nothing. I was executed.

- Executed?
- This is absurd.

It was on the morning
of the 29th of February...

1932...

a leap year.

It was a gray and rainy morning.

The hangman put the noose
around my neck.

Then we had to wait
because some official forgot his glasses.

They held an umbrella over me
so I wouldn't get wet.

And then the official's glasses came.

He read something,
a minister prayed...

I closed my eyes
and thought of my mother...

the floor went out
from under me and that was that.

I must protest against this fantastic...

and childish assault
upon our intelligence.

You be quiet!

- Then what happened?
- The next thing I felt...

was a finger
with a rubber glove on it.

It was in my mouth
pressing down on my tongue.

I bit it and somebody yelled.

I opened my eyes and...

that was the first time
I saw Dr. Praetorius.

Only he wasn't a doctor then.
Just a medical student.

I think I can make
this next part of the story clear to you.

At the time all this happened, I was just
finishing my studies as a medical student.

I was also keeping company,
as they say...

with a young lady who happened to be
the hangman's daughter.

Both the hangman and his daughter
were generous and sympathetic.

The hangman in particular
was sympathetic to my desire...

as a student of anatomy
to have a cadaver of my own.

Knowing that Mr. Shunderson's
body would go unclaimed...

because certainly no one was ever more alone
in this world than poor Mr. Shunderson was...

the hangman managed to send it to me
immediately after the hanging...

along with a sweet note
from his daughter.

I was delighted,
of course.

But not for long. I soon found out
that Mr. Shunderson was still alive.

You must have been furious.

He told me his story.

We put some pig iron in the cheap
wooden coffin that he'd arrived in...

and had it buried
in a charity graveyard.

From that day on,
he has never left me.

And I think it is understandable
that from time to time...

he may seem a little confused...

and perhaps even a little dull-witted.

I don't mean to intrude
too much, gentlemen...

but I'm sure that by now
you must have made up your minds.

Deborah, a wife simply does not
come barging into a room...

when her husband
is being investigated.

After all, if he's innocent,
he's late for the concert.

And if he isn't,
he'd better start conducting anyway...

because he may have to
earn his living at it.

I'm of the opinion the hearing is at an end.

Do you agree, Professor Elwell?

The trouble with you is, Elwell,
you've never had a cadaver of your own...

much less one that bit your finger.

And as for
this incredible evening, gentlemen...

the sooner we can forget it,
the better for all concerned.

And I think we've held up
the concert far too long.

Professor Elwell, you're a little man.
It's not that you're short.

You're little in the mind
and in the heart.

Tonight you tried to make a man little
whose boots you couldn't touch...

if you stood on tiptoe on top of
the highest mountain in the world.

And as it turned out...

you're even littler than you were before.

♪ Gaudeamus igitur ♪

♪Juvenes dum sumus ♪

♪ Gaudeamus igitur ♪

♪Juvenes dum sumus ♪

♪ Post jucundam juventutem ♪

♪ Post molestam senectutem ♪

♪ Nos habebit ♪

♪ Humus ♪

♪ Nos habebit ♪

♪ Humus ♪

♪ Vivat academia ♪

♪ Vivant professores ♪

♪ Alma Mater floreat ♪

♪ Quae nos educavit ♪

♪ Vivat membrum quodlibet ♪

♪ Vivat membra quaelibet ♪

♪ Semper sint ♪

♪ In flore ♪

♪ Semper sint ♪

♪ In flore ♪