All language subtitles for The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr Toad (1949)

Ichabod and Mr Toad

Ichabod

Ichabod and Mr Toad

Ichabod, Ichabod and Mr Toad...

If you were asked to chose the most
fabulous character in English literature,

who would it be?

Robin Hood? King Arthur?

Becky Sharp?

Sherlock Holmes?
Oliver Twist, perhaps?

Any one of them would
be an excellent choice.

But as the most fabulous
character of all, I nominate

a toad.

J Thaddeus Toad, Esquire.
Have you never met him?

You'll find his story in
"The Wind in the Willows".

Toad was the one
disturbing element.

Incurable adventurer, mad,
reckless, tried everything.

A positive mania for fads, and
he never counted the cost.

He had a host of
fair-weather friends.

But there were only three who had
his best interests at heart.

One was a badger. MacBadger.

And then there was a water rat.

A bit stuffy, perhaps, but really
a fine fellow. And a mole.

A gentle creature,
kind and sympathetic.

They all made their homes in a
quaint community along a riverbank.

On that particular day, Mole
was in a hurry because...

because he was late for tea.

A regrettable habit, but Rat
had learned to put up with it.

Sorry, says Mole. Quite
alright, says Rat. Two lumps?

Then, just as they were
getting settled...

- Special Delivery, Mr Rat.
- Thank you, Postman.

How's everything on the river, sir?

Dashed quiet, as usual, thank you.

Mole, listen.

"Dear Rat: You and Mole must
come to Toad Hall at once."

"Urgent!! A MacBadger."

Rat was certain Toad was
making trouble again.

The answer to that lay just
around the bend at Toad Hall,

the ancestral home of
J Thaddeus himself.

This impressive structure was
the finest home on the river.

The animals were
tremendously proud of it.

They felt it gave the whole
community an air of respectability.

To lose Toad Hall was,
of course, unthinkable,

and yet it was no secret
that Toad's follies

had brought him to the
brink of bankruptcy.

So, MacBadger had volunteered
to put Toad's house in order.

Smashed fence. Two guineas.

Damage, lamp post. Four pound six.

Destruction of hen house...

How can a man figure
with all this hubbub?

- I'll not be put off!
- Pay my bill!

- I want my money!
- Silence!

You'll get your money
in due course.

Now, go along with you.
I'll pay no more today.

Why did I assume the
responsibility of looking after...

Didn't I tell you...?

It's you, Rat. And Mole, too.
Thank goodness, lads.

You've come at last.

Poor MacBadger. He'd reached
the end of his rope.

As he said himself...

I'm practically a nervous wreck.

I say! What seems
to be the trouble?

Summat's got to be done about Toad!
This time he's gone too far!

But he promised us...

Promises? What good are promises
when wild manias take him?

Now, look, you're his closest
friends, are you not?

- Yes.
- Very dear friends.

Then you must find
Toad and stop him!

- What's he doing?
- He's got a new mania.

He's rampaging about the county
in a canary-yellow gypsy cart.

With a horse named Cyril.

Tally-ho!

Are we on our way to Nottingham,
to Brittingham, to Buckingham

Or any hammy hamlet by the sea? No!

Are we on our way to Devonshire,
to Lancashire or Worcestershire?

I'm not so sure
We'll have to wait and see

Are we on our way to Dover?
Or going merrily over

The jolly old road that
goes to Plymouth Ho?

No! We're merrily, merrily,
merrily, merrily, merrily

On our way to nowhere in particular

We're merrily, merrily, merrily,
merrily, merrily on our way

Though the roads are perpendicular

- We're always in a hurry
- We have no time to stall

We've gotta be there
We've gotta be there

But where, we can't recall

We're merrily, merrily, merrily,
merrily, merrily on our way

And we may be going to Devonshire,
to Lancashire, to Worcestershire

We're not so sure,
but what do we care?

We're only sure we've
got to be there

We're merrily on our
way to nowhere at all

Hello, you fellows!

You're the very animals
I was coming to see!

Come along! Hop up!
We'll go for a jolly ride!

The open road, the dusty
highway. Come!

I'll show you the world.

Travel, change, excitement...

How stupid of me! I want you fellows
to meet my noble steed Cyril.

Aye, that's me.

A bit of a trotter,
a bit of a rotter.

How do you do, how do
you do, how do you do?

How do you do?

Say, guv'nor, your friends
seem a bit on the stuffy side.

Toad, we want to have
a talk with you.

A visit! Splendid!

This is serious. You must
give up that horse and cart.

Give up my... But my dear
Ratty, this is my career!

- You can't mean...
- I do!

- You must stop this foolishness!
- No.

- You must!
- No. I won't do it.

Your reckless behaviour is
giving animals a bad name!

You're becoming a
menace to society.

At least think of poor MacBadger!

And as for that horse, no good
will come of gadding about

with such a fast and
irresponsible beast!

- Get him, Mole!
- Come down, Toady.

Stop it! Let me go!
Giddy up, Cyril! Giddy up!

It's no use. You'll never
get me to give this up!

Tally-ho! Yikes!

Look!

Gad! What is it?

- Lummy, guv'nor, it's a motorcar.
- Motorcar?

A motorcar... Gad! What
have I been missing?

- Ratty, it isn't... He hasn't...
- It is, and he has.

A new mania. Motor mania.

Mania.

That's it. That's what it was.
A positive mania.

No telling where it would end.
Might linger for months.

And with Toad Hall at stake,
Rat and Mole had no choice.

Only one thing to do.

Lock the poor chap up until the
poison worked out of his system.

Hold him, Moley!

- That's better.
- And you can't escape.

Simply no use trying.

Let me out! Open up, I say! Please!

Open the door!

Playing jailer to one's dearest
friend wasn't pleasant.

In fact, Moley immediately wanted to
call it quits, but Ratty said no.

This time they must be firm.

It wasn't just a matter of
saving Toad from himself.

There was MacBadger to consider, and
Toad Hall and all it stood for.

There was only one thing wrong
with Ratty's cure for motor mania.

It didn't work. You see,
Toad was far too clever.

And, at the moment, completely mad.
He was determined to get a motorcar,

even if he had to beg, borrow or...

Toad arrested! Extra!

His Majesty versus J
Thaddeus Toad, Toad Hall,

Riverbank, Doodle-Bunton-
Maxon-Morton, Surrey.

24th day of August, set forth
in the following brief.

Accused is J Thaddeus Toad,
of stealing a motorcar,

and with it, endangering sundry
subjects of His Majesty,

- their life and limbs.
- Counsel for the Crown,

proceed with the case.

My lord, I call, as
first Crown witnesses,

Mr Rat and Mr Mole!

Is it true that you had the
accused locked in his own house

because he had threatened
to get a motorcar?

Did you, or did you not,
have him locked up?

- We did.
- Thank you! That is all!

- Next witness.
- Mr Angus MacBadger!

As trustee of the Toad estate,

you knew of the prisoner's
mania for motorcars?

And due to his extravagance,
you cut off his allowance?

Then he was, to the best of
your knowledge, without funds?

That is all! Thank you!

Gentlemen of the jury,
the Crown rests.

Counsel for the defence
will present his case.

My lord, with the
court's indulgence,

I rise prepared to
plead my own defence.

Stop it.

Gentlemen of the jury...

I call, as my first
witness, Cyril Proudbottom.

Are you acquainted with the
defendant, J Thaddeus Toad?

Lord love a duck, yes! He's one of
the jolliest chaps I've run across.

And simply tons of money.

Good fellow? Throws it away.

But he wasn't throwing
it away that day!

You heard Mr MacBadger testify
that his allowance was cut off.

Then how did he get a motorcar?

The only way a gentleman
gets anything.

- The honest way.
- And what is the honest way?

I thought you wouldn't know!

Your Lordship, I...

The witness may testify
in his own words.

Righto, guv'nor.
I'll just give you the facts.

When Toady escaped from his boudoir
he headed straight for my place.

Soon we was off down the highway,

but we hadn't gone far, I confess,
when, with a rush and a roar...

something passed
like the London Express.

It was big, it was
red, it was beautiful.

A motorcar, a bit of alright.

Toady was transfixed
with... rapture.

You could tell it was
love at first sight.

The motor pulled up to a tavern,
wherein was located a bar.

And we watched while some
tough-looking weasels

got out of that lovely red car.

Now, weasels, I know,
are deceitful.

And not to be trusted, at all.

But how could I know
they'd stolen that car?

I didn't have no crystal ball.

The guv'nor is not one to dally.

He made up his mind
like a flash. He says...

Try it for size, my good Cyril,

while I see what they'll
take for it, cash.

Into the tavern he saunters, where
the barman was back of the bar.

And he said,

Cheerio, tavern keeper. Who's the
owner of that... hot-looking car?

The barman, a codger named Winky,
leaned over the bar and said,

- Why?
- The guv'nor answered,

That car must be mine!

Whatever the price is, I'll buy.

But Toad found he hadn't no money.
So, he promptly offered a trade.

The weasels appeared to be willing.
In a moment, the bargain was made.

Toady drawed up a paper, with
almost incredible speed.

He called on old Winky the barman

to... pop over and
witness the deed.

Now, the guv'nor is not a bit stingy.
He never does anything small.

The weasels gave him
the red motorcar,

and he gave the weasels Toad Hall.

Traded Toad Hall? An estate
worth �100,000 for a motorcar?

You expect me to believe that?

I don't expect you
to believe anything.

Fortunately, I can produce
a witness. Call Mr Winky!

My lord, gentlemen,

facing you in the witness box is a
citizen of substance and standing.

A man of unimpeachable honesty.

Now, Mr Winky, do you recall
an incident that took place

in your... establishment
last August 12th,

that I was a party to?

Yes, sir, that I do.

Well, then... just tell the
court what actually happened.

Well, guv'nor,

you tried to sell me
a stolen motorcar.

That's a deliberate lie,
you monkey-faced rum pot!

I've been framed! Let me go! Help!

Toad guilty!

Toad's disgrace rocked the nation.

The court was determined
to make an example of him.

Toad's friends tried to help
him, but were always blocked.

They must've reopened
the case a dozen times.

Appeals to this court, that court
any court. But the decision stood.

The case of J Thaddeus
Toad was closed.

Merry, merry Christmas time

Bind every heart with happiness
Let everyone...

Yes, once again, it was
a white Christmas.

Melodies of Yuletide hung
sweet upon the winter's air.

Hearts were gay and spirits high.

Indeed, in all the city,

only one spot was untouched by
the warmth of Christmas cheer.

The Tower, grim monument to
despair. Cold, cruel, forbidding,

and the abode of Toad for a
good many Christmases to come.

Poor Toad. Alone with
memories of his wasted life.

What a fool he'd been!

With many a pang he recalled the
kindly face of Angus MacBadger,

and his sage advice,
so often scorned.

A tear for Moley, too, for his
loyalty, sympathy, understanding.

Toad wept for Rat, and all those
little lectures so often laughed at.

Yes, within the dark confines
of his miserable cell,

a new Toad was born. A reformed
Toad, a repentant Toad.

In a flood of remorse, he
vowed to forsake the follies

of the Primrose path.

Never again would he give way
to those mad, foolish manias

that had brought him
to this sorry end.

As it's Christmas, you're
allowed a visitor.

- Your grandma's here.
- Grandma?

Merry Christmas, sonny!

Granny wouldn't forget
her little Toady boy!

Look, Christmas gift.

- What is it?
- Don't you get it?

A disguise.

All you've got to do is put on
this natty little costume and...

Alas for good intentions.
Toad was incurable.

One whispered word and
all his high resolve

vanished in the mad whirl
of this new adventure.

This new mania! Escape!

Toad's escaped!

Halt!

Good evening, ma'am.

Good evening to you, Officer.

We're merrily, merrily, merrily...

Begging your pardon, but you...

You fellows, do you see him?

Gad, what perfectly ripping luck!

Trap Toad, would they?

Never!

- There he goes!
- Where?

Over there!

Blockheads! Let them
scour the countryside.

Once more, J Thaddeus
Toad had the last laugh.

That Christmas Eve,
along the riverbank,

the name of Toad was
banned from conversation,

lest the memory of his disgrace
becloud the merriment of the season.

Yet there was one home, at
least, in which two loyal hearts

still held the warmth
of Christian charity.

Bless this good food
we are about to enjoy.

Bless us, every one.

And... bless poor Toad.

And may he get time off
for good behaviour.

Why, it's a poor old lady.

Let's take her over by the fire.

What are you doing here?

I was just sort of...

Well, this is a merry Christmas!

But... aren't you
afraid of the police?

Afraid of the police?

I, Toad, afraid of the police?

- Open up, I say!
- The police!

Hide me, Ratty!

Sorry, but you owe
a debt to society.

And you've got to pay.

Mole, let them in.

But, Ratty, don't
you think, maybe...

Open the door!

- MacBadger!
- Hi, lads!

I've just made a very
important discovery.

Toad Hall is ablaze with lights

and in possession of
a pack of weasels.

And the leader of the gang
is none other than Mr...

Winky!

Hip, hip...

Hooray!

And so, you see,
he did trade Toad Hall

for the motorcar!

- Toad was innocent all the time.
- Aye, lads.

And if he were only
here right now...

- Toad!
- Angus!

Sorry, Toad, I misjudged you.

I hope, someday, you'll
find it in your heart...

Not another word.

To err is human, to forgive...

Not so fast!

You're still guilty in
the eyes of the law.

To prove your innocence, we've got
to get that paper away from Winky!

Now, I have a plan.

We'll sneak in through
the secret tunnel.

It was an expert plan, cunningly
contrived but extremely dangerous.

It would work only if each did his
part. There was no margin for error.

The odds against them were tremendous,
but the stakes were high.

But now, steady's the word...

One false move and four
lives hang in the balance.

Careful, lads. There is a guard.

- I'll pop him off!
- Don't shoot!

Who goes there?

That was a close one.

Trust Toad to start things
off on the wrong foot.

No turning back now. Nothing
for it but to push on.

What new and greater perils
lay ahead, no one could say.

Toad had already got out of
hand, so anything could happen.

Look. They're all asleep.

Lads, they're drunk.
They've been hitting the bottle.

But where is Winky?

There he is!

He's got the paper on him!

We'll have to climb
up on the balcony.

The paper! It's gone!

Get him, you blokes!

I beg your pardon!

Over here!

After it!

- Just one more!
- There he is! Get him!

Where's Moley?

Well, laddies, we saved our skins,
but we didn't get the deed.

Well done!

Hip, hip, hooray!

So, it was a happy
ending, after all.

Toad's friends were dreadfully
proud of him. And why not?

He was a new Toad,
completely reformed,

through with gypsy carts
and motorcars for ever.

And so, on this happiest of New
Years, a toast was in order.

- To the New Year and...
- To the new Toad!

Hello, you fellows!

Come! I'll show you the world.

Travel, change, excitement...

That was the fabulous
Thaddeus Toad.

But let's weigh our
judgement carefully,

we Moles and Rats and Badgers.
Don't we envy him a bit?

I know I do.

When we speak of
fabulous characters,

the most fabulous will
always be, to me,

the master of Toad Hall.

Yes! J Thad was quite a lad!

Speaking of fabulous characters,

England has produced a bumper crop.

But here in the colonies,
we have a few of our own.

Paul Bunyan, Pecos Bill,
Johnny Appleseed, Black Bart,

Davy Crockett, Daniel Boone.

And, of course, the one
and only Ichabod Crane.

Ichy was the country schoolmaster
dreamed up by Washington Irving.

He had a way with a
yarn did Mr Irving.

If we could journey back
to that period in history

when Manhattan was
but a market town,

we would discover,
in one of the coves

which indent the
shores of the Hudson,

the little village of Tarry Town.

And just beyond, nestled deep
in the low rolling hills,

a sequestered glen.

It's a quiet, peaceful place,
and yet, somehow... foreboding.

It abounds in haunted spots,

twilight tales and
local superstitions.

The best-known story concerns
an itinerant schoolmaster

who once frequented these parts.

Some say his melancholy spirit
still haunts the vicinity.

The pedagogue was described
as a most unusual man.

To see him striding along,

one might mistake him for a
scarecrow eloped from a cornfield.

He was tall, but exceedingly lank.

His head was small and flat on
top, with a long, snipe nose.

It looked like a weathercock
perched upon his spindle neck.

Altogether, he was an apparition
seldom to be seen in broad daylight.

Late one drowsy autumn afternoon,

this strange figure first
approached Sleepy Hollow.

As usual, there had gathered

at Ye Olde Schnooker
and Schnapps Shoppe

a group of rustic lads,
the Sleepy Hollow boys.

Their self-appointed
leader, Brom Bones,

was a burly, roistering blade, always
ready for a fight or a frolic.

Though Brom was given to madcap
pranks and practical jokes,

there was no malice
in his mischief.

With his waggish humour
and prodigious strength,

Brom Bones was quite the
hero, all the country round.

Odds bodkins! Gadzooks!

Look at that old spook of spooks.

Who's that coming down the street?

Are they shovels or are they feet?

Lean and lanky

Skin and bone

With clothes a scarecrow
would hate to own

Yet, he has a certain air

Debonair and devil-may-care

It's the new schoolmaster

What's his name?

Ichabod

Ichabod Crane

What a name!

Kind of odd

But nice just the same

Funny pan, funny frame

Ichabod may be quaint

May be odd, and maybe he ain't

Anyway, there's no complaint

From Ichabod, Ichabod Crane...

Though the arrival of the pedagogue
gave rise to mixed emotions,

the townspeople all agreed
they'd never seen anyone...

Like Ichabod, Ichabod Crane

The schoolroom became
Ichabod's empire,

over which, with lordly
dignity, he held absolute sway.

Truth to say, Ichabod was
a conscientious man,

and ever bore in mind the maxim
spare the rod and spoil the child.

Still, he was careful
to administer justice

with discrimination.

For it behoved him to keep on
good terms with his pupils.

Especially if their mothers
happened to be good cooks.

Who's the town's ladies' man?

Gets around like nobody can

Has to be none other than...

As time went by, it may be
seen that the pedagogue

got on tolerably enough.

Moreover, Ichabod found ways
to increase his slender income

and, at the same time,

awaken the cultural interests
of the sleepy little village.

It was inevitable that
a man like Ichabod

would become an object of ridicule
to Brom Bones and his gang.

Yet, to Ichabod, these
were small matters.

He possessed a
remarkable equanimity

which remained quite
undisturbed until

that fateful day, when his
path was crossed by a woman.

A certain woman.

Katrina Van Tassel, only
child of Baltus Van Tassel,

the richest farmer in the county.

She was a blooming lass,
plump as a partridge.

Ripe, melting and rosy-cheeked.

Once you have met that
little coquette Katrina

You won't forget Katrina

But nobody yet has
ever upset Katrina

That cute coquette Katrina

You can do more with
Margaret or Helena

Or Anne or Angelina

But Katrina will kiss and run

To her, a romance is fun

With always another one to start

And yet when you've met that
little coquette Katrina

You've lost your heart

There was no doubt the fair Katrina

was the richest prize
in the countryside.

The schoolmaster, being
an ambitious man,

began to fill his mind
with many sugared thoughts

and hopeful suppositions.

Katrina, my love.

Who can resist your grace?
Your charm?

And who can resist
your father's farm?

Boy, what a set-up!

There's gold in them
acres, and that ain't hay.

Not to mention that
lovely green stuff.

Katrina, my sweet. My treasure.

Treasure...

That barn's a gold mine.

How I'd love to hit the jackpot.

Dear Katrina. Papa's only child.

Papa!

The old goat can't
take it with him.

When he cuts out,
that's where I cut in.

Sweet Katrina, poor
little rich girl.

But don't worry, Katie,
Ichabod will protect you.

Yes, Katrina, you've won me.

I surrender.

And yet when you've met that
little coquette Katrina

You've lost your heart

Every portal to Katrina's
heart was jealously guarded

by a host of rustic admirers.

But Ichabod was confident
he'd soon ride roughshod

over these simple country bumpkins.

But the most formidable obstacle
he had failed to reckon with.

That was the redoubtable
Brom Bones.

The ease with which Brom
cleared the field of rivals

both piqued and provoked
the fair Katrina.

She often wished that some
champion would appear

and take the field openly
against the boisterous Brom.

A wiser man would have
shrunk from the competition,

but love is blind.

Ichabod was aware only
that Dame Fortune

was at last thundering at his door.

It's true that Brom liked a
joke as well as the next,

but enough was too much.

It was time for open warfare.

He'd double that schoolmaster up

and lay him on a shelf
in his schoolhouse!

But this was easier said than done.

No doubt of it, this was
Ichabod's lucky day.

The schoolmaster was a
man of hidden talents,

a rival to be reckoned with.

Still, wars are neither won nor
lost at the first encounter.

The high-flyer might yet
be brought to earth.

For Brom Bones was never
a man to cry quits.

On the occasion of her father's
annual Halloween frolic,

Katrina chose to stir the embers
of the smouldering rivalry.

One invitation in particular
carried a most personal summons.

The worthy schoolmaster
was in a transport of joy.

To him, this could
mean but one thing.

Ichy, you sly old dog, you!

What is this strange power
you have over women?

Well, tonight's the night, boy!

Just turn on the old charm.

The fair Katrina is
yours for the asking.

Gaily bedecked and nobly mounted
on a horse he had borrowed,

Ichabod issued forth like
a knight errant of old

to keep a tryst with his lady fair.

There was nothing to
equal the merrymaking

at Mynheer Van Tassel's farm.

To Ichabod, here was a perfect
field for his endeavours.

How would he put his
best foot forward!

Beyond all his other talents, he
prided himself upon his dancing.

Unhappy Brom, already
bested at every turn,

saw himself once more outmatched.

For as he watched the
posturing pedagogue,

he had to admit that here
was a flawless picture

of ease and grace.

There was no doubt that Ichabod
was the man of the hour.

Brom had to concede his
rival another victory.

Yet, there was still a
chance his time would come.

For when the hour grew late, Van
Tassel would call on his guests

to tell him ghostly
tales of Halloween.

Brom knew there was no
more potent believer

in spooks and goblins
than Ichabod Crane.

Just gather round
and I'll elucidate

what goes on outside,
when it gets late.

Around about midnight,
the ghosts and banshees

get together for nightly jamborees.

Things with horns and saucer eyes,

and some with fangs
about this size!

- Some are fat.
- And some are thin!

And some don't even
wear their skin!

I'm telling you, brother,
it's a frightful sight

what goes on, Halloween night.

When spooks have a
midnight jamboree

They break it up with fiendish glee

Ghosts are bad, but
the one that's cursed

Is the Headless Horseman,
he's the worst

That's right, he's a
fright on Halloween night

When he goes a-joggin'
across the land

Holdin' his noggin in his hand

Demons take one look and groan

And hit the road for parts unknown

Beware, take care, he rides alone

And there's no spook like
a spook who's spurned

They don't like him and
he's really burned

He swears to the
longest day he's dead

He'll show them that
he can get ahead

They say he's tired
of his flamin' top

He's got a yen to make a swap

So he rides one night each year

To find a head in the hollow here

Now, he likes them little,
he likes them big

Part in the middle, or a wig

Black or white, or even red

The Headless Horseman needs a head

With a hip-hip and a clippity-clop

He's out lookin' for a top to chop

So don't stop to figure out a plan

You can't reason
with a headless man

Now, if you doubt this tale is so,

I met that spook just a year ago.

Now, I didn't stop
for a second look,

but made for the bridge
that spans the brook.

For once you cross that
bridge, my friends

The ghost is through,
his power ends

So, when you're riding home tonight

Make for the bridge
with all your might

He'll be down in the hollow there

He needs your head

Look out! Beware!

With a hip-hip and a clippity-clop

He's out lookin' for a head to swap

So don't try to figure out a plan

You can't reason
with a headless man

It was the witching hour of night
as Ichabod pursued his travel home.

The sky grew darker.

One by one, the stars
winked out their lights.

Driving clouds obscured
the moon from sight.

Never had the schoolmaster
felt so melancholy,

so utterly alone.

The nearer he
approached the hollow,

the more dismal he became.

Once inside the murky glen, Ichabod's
anxiety increased one-hundredfold.

The forest seemed to
close in behind him.

Every small detail of
Brom's awful story

returned to haunt his recollection.

Headless Horseman.

Beware!

Once you cross that
bridge, my friends,

the ghost is through,
his power ends.

Next morning, Ichabod's
hat was found.

And close beside it,
a shattered pumpkin.

But there was no trace
of the schoolmaster.

Shortly thereafter, Brom Bones led
the fair Katrina to the altar.

Rumours persisted that
Ichabod was still alive,

married to a wealthy widow
in a distant county.

But the good Dutch settlers
refused to believe such nonsense.

They knew the schoolmaster
had been spirited away

by the Headless Horseman.

With a hip-hip and a clippity-clop

He's out looking for a head to swap

But don't try to figure out a plan

You can't reason
with a headless man

Man, I'm getting out of here!