Original subtitles

[theme music]

[blows whistle]

[siren blaring]

[blows whistle]

vroom

screech

[music continues]

vroom

screech

thud

slam

thud

mwah

[splashing]

[splashing]

Looks like a professional paint job, Wilma.

That "Do it yourself" painting kit was worth

all those trading stamps.

I'm gonna put on two more coats.

If by sinuses hold out.

[blows whistle]

Mailman!

The mail! The mail!

What's with Fred? He's all excited.

Oh, it's the notice from his boss, he hopes.

About the annual raise in salary.

Oh, what's the big fuss then?

Fred gets his raise every year.

Oh, the other employees have already

received their notices in the mail.

I see.

Well, suppose, Fred doesn't get that raise

this year, would it upset him?

(Fred) 'No, it can't be!'

That answer your question.

Believe me, Mr. Flintstone

I am not holding out on you.

That notice from Mr. Slate is got to be there.

- It's just gotta! - I checked.

But no notice, sorry.

You're sure, positive? Scout's honor?

Sure, I'm sure. Help yourself, take a look.

snap snap snap

spoot

(Fred) 'It's gotta be there. It's just gotta--'

Anything wrong, Fred?

I don't understand. Just plain don't.

I got a raise every year. Why not this one?

Don't take it so hard, Mr. Flintstone.

Yeah, Fred, maybe next year--

Ta huh! Thanks for cheering me up.

[gibberish]

Fred, Betty and I are going shopping.

If you don't mind--

Mind, why should I mind

if you spend a couple of bucks.

I'm not busted exactly. We got everything.

Give or take, a few payments.

You didn't let me finish.

If you don't mind helping yourself to lunch.

- The ice box is full. - You're darn right it's full.

I don't need old Slate's raise.

But why did he single me out for no raise this year, why?

- Fred, maybe-- - Yeah, yeah?

Maybe, you lost your temper with Mr. Slate at sometime.

Me? I never lose my temper, never!

You ever catch me losing my temper?

You? Hm. Ridiculous.

There.

- Fred? - There you go again!

Again? All I said was Fred.

Well, that's the trouble with you!

You're always sneaking up behind me and yelling, Fred!

I'm sick of it! Sick, sick, sick!

Why, why, why?

'I think Fred's a nice name.'

Oh, you wouldn't understand.

[door slams]

Hey, what's he sore at me for?

It's not you, Barney. It's himself, his pride.

Being the only one who didn't get a raise this year.

Yeah, poor guy. I'll go out and cheer him up.

Hey, what do you doing, pal? Throwing darts?

No, I'm riding a bicycle out on the ceiling.

Oh, that's funny, it looks like you're throwing darts.

[laughing]

[laughs sarcastically]

Eh, uh, uh, I'm just trying

to take your mind off your troubles, Fred.

Say, that resembles, Mr. Slate.

It's him, alright.

Barney, you have an open mind?

The openest.

Do you think Mr. Slate deserves my loyalty

after the way he treated me?

- Well-- - You're right.

It would serve him right if I quit.

- Right, Barney? - Quit...your job?

Exactly, just let old man Slate try

and find a guy who can do the job the way I did.

'Well, sure, Fred, but--'

And while I'm resigning

I might as well tell old Slate

what he can do with his old job.

- You don't mean-- - A letter.

I've saved up a long time

to tell that guy off.

This is gonna be a real doozy.

Oh, I don't know what I'd do without your advice, old pal.

Somehow, I don't think I deserve all the credit for the decision.

Hey, uh, Fred, all those things you're calling, Mr. Slate

do you think, they'll let into mail?

This is mild compared to how feel about him.

And not only do I think you're a cheap skate, Mr. Slate

for chiseling a devoted employee out of a raise.

But, I am quitting because you're a no good

mean, despicable, insufferable, skunkasaurus!

Now, uh, how shall I end it?

Uh, uh, how about, "Love, Fred Flintstone?"

Why?

Incase you'll want Mr. Slate

to give you a reference for another job.

I don't need any help from that pebble head.

Funny thing, you pay taxes like crazy

and there's never a mailbox around when you need it.

Oh, there's one over there.

Excuse me, mac, I gotta drop this air mail letter?

Contact.

[sputtering]

vroom

Uh, but, Fred, how about your job?

Wilma, h-how will you explain quitting to her?

I'm not worried about that, pal.

- Oh, you're not? - 'Nope.'

'I'm sure you'll think of something.'

M-m-m-me?

You should have no problem making Wilma understand.

- You're a very convincing man. - Is that so?

You made me realize that a man should have pride.

- Respect for himself. - Is that so?

I hope I remember all those things

when I have to convince Wilma too.

Delicious, Mrs. Flintstone. Super yummy.

You must let Mrs. Slate have the recipe for this, this, uh..

- 'Mastadon and Azpec.' - Ah, yes.

Delicious.

Uh, can't you stay just a little bit longer, Mr. Slate.

Fred should be back momentarily.

And he'd be thrilled that, you, his boss

took time to come here, personally.

Mr. Flintstone, eh, Fred is no mere employee.

Not at all, Mrs. Flintstone.

The fact that he didn't raise a fuss

when because of a bookkeeping oversight he wasn't notified

of his raise in salary, is proof positive of that.

Yes, well, I must be off. Bye, now.

Bye, Mr. Slate.

[chuckles] I just can't wait to see

the expression on Fred's face

when I tell him he got his raise.

Mr. Slate must think an awful lot of Fred

to come here in person to tell him.

I know, Fred, but, somehow I don't feel responsible.

I really didn't talk you into writing

that letter to, Mr. Slate.

You didn't talk me out of it either.

That makes you responsible for whatever happens.

Come on, Wilma's home.

(Barney) 'Good, I think I'll go to mine.'

Where's your courage?

You get up and go.

(Barney) 'It got up and went.'

[humming]

thud

[continues humming]

Hello, Fred, Barney. Do I have news for you.

We have news for you, dear. I mean, Barney has.

Don't you, Barney?

Uh, Wilma, I, uh, that is

he, uh, that is, well, i-it's about, uh, the..

That raise from Mr. Slate.

Oh, then you ran into Mr. Slate when he left here.

Slate...left here?

He couldn't already have received the letter.

Letter? What letter?

- Well-- - Letter, uh, let..

L-l-let her finish, Barney.

Uh, what's this about Slate being here, Wilma?

To apologize for the bookkeeping mistake.

And tell you that you're getting the raise.

Gee, Fred, that's wonderful. You must be awful proud.

The boss coming here to give you the good news in person.

Yeah.

Oh, I guess I was wrong

about Mr. Slate, he's swell.

Not a bad guy..

- Ohh! - Ohh!

What's happened? Anything wrong, Fred?

No, no, nothing.

Barney and I, we, uh

thought we'll go for a stroll.

- Down to the mailbox. - Mailbox?

Fred Flintstone, are you trying to keep something from me?

(Fred) 'No, from Mr. Slate!'

Still a few minutes before they pick up the mail.

- I'll have to work fast. - What are you gonna do, Fred?

Get that letter out of there, that's what.

[grunting] I can't touch anything yet.

(Fred) 'That's the trouble with these mail boxes.'

- 'They make 'em too deep.' - 'Yeah.'

You ought to write a letter to your congressman to complain.

When this is over

I'm through with writing letters of any kind.

Yeah, dangerous, aren't..

Fred. Oh, Freddy boy.

Uh. Oh, stop that, Barney, will you?

Trouble, Freddy. Much trouble.

King sized or rather cup sized.

Stop nudging me, just keep an eye peeled for cops.

You just said the secret word, Freddy.

What? What secret word?

C-O-P. Cop.

Barney, your voice is changing..

[laughing nervously]

Hey, nice day, officer.

Not for you, it isn't, sonny, unless of course you can come up

with a convincing lie about why

you're tampering with the government mails.

I'm-I'm not tampering with the government mails, officer.

- Heh. Right, Barney? - You ain't? I mean, you ain't.

He just mailed the letter and the reason

his hand was in there was because--

Don't tell me. Let me guess.

He forgot to wave bye-bye to the letter.

Get that arm out of there, pronto!

[screaming]

thud

Now, get out of here and don't let me catch you at this again.

- Y-yes, sir. - Y-yes, sir.

- Cop gone yet, Barney? - Duck, here he comes.

Coast is clear now, Barney, let's go.

Okay.

[drum roll]

boing

I don't get it. I better lay off that health food.

Coast is clear, Barney, come on, work fast.

But, if I'm caught, it'll mean 20 years for me.

Well, you're younger. You still have time to enjoy life.

- Reach it yet, Barney? - Not quite, Fred?

Now, Barney, how about now?

Good, I can touch something?

Hold it there, Fred?

Uh-oh. The cop, quick, out.

(Barney) 'Ouch. Ooh.'

- 'What's the big idea, Fred?' - Shh. Cop's back.

I thought I told you to scram.

Why, officer? Is it against the law to lean on mailboxes?

Well, it's not in the regulations.

Well, good day, officer.

I hope I'm not keeping you from rounds.

No, but, I'm keeping my eye on you.

- Coast is clear, Barney. - I can't tell which is yours.

- It-it's dark in here. - Oh, fine.

Here, Barney, now, you can see.

Okay, Fred, I'll have your letter in a jiffy.

Quiet, Barney, the man in blue is here again.

Good day, Mr. mailbox leaner.

- Having fun? - It's the only way to live?

A-a-anything wrong?

No, just a little calisthenics

on must keep fit, you know.

You, uh, always exercise in front of mailboxes?

Doesn't everybody?

sniff sniff sniff

- You smell smoke? - Me?

sniff sniff sniff

- No. - There it is!

Smoke from inside the mailbox.

Eh, could be one of those, uh, fan letters to a movie star.

Some of them can be pretty hot, you know.

[laughs]

Look, there's a fire in there!

Hey, you better get some water and put it out, officer.

Yeah. Be right back.

[whistles] That was close. Hurry, Barney.

(Barney) 'Okay, Fred. There's a lot of letters to go through.'

- 'Out of the way!' - But, officer..

[screeching] The mail! It might burn up!

That should do it.

[coughing]

Oh, what's the big idea?

I just.. That voice?

It came from inside the mailbox.

- Exactly where I threw it. - Huh?

- I'm an amateur ventriloquist. - Ventriloquist?

[Barney sneezes]

Gesundheit.

- 'Thank you.' - You're wel..

Somebody in there? Probably trying to steal the mail.

He might be dangerous. Look..

I'll stand guard here while you get help.

Yeah, thanks, I'll never forget you.

I wish you would.

Hurry, now, Barney, but, fast.

- Pardon me, sir. - Huh? Oh, oh, the mailman.

- What happened here? - Uh, uh, the strangest thing.

I know. You dropped that letter in the box and forgot to let go.

Happens all the time. Ha ha ha.

I'll take that letter.

Well, now, you've done it.

Had the letter in your hand and now

it's on it's way to Mr. Slate.

The cops. Come on.

- He's in there. - You sure?

A mail crook.

Come out, you, with your hands up.

Don't move, you, we've got you cov..

- He, he's gone! - Yeah, and I'm going.

So help me, Riley. One more of these goofs.

[Riley crying]

- And you'll be pounding a beat. - 'No!'

- At Far Rockaway. - 'No! No!'

[crying] Not there.

(Wilma) 'Breakfast is ready, Fred.'

'Out of bed, today is work day.'

It won't be for me when Mr. Slate reads that letter.

Come on, Fred or do I have to yank you out of bed.

- 'Oh-h-h!' - Fred, it's half past.

What are you doing in bed?

S-shivering. I don't think I can go back to work ever.

- I'm-I'm sick. - 'Isn't this rather sudden?'

Well, it's a sudden disease. Instant pneumonia.

I-I think I'm gonna die. At least I hope so.

Stick out your tongue. Come on.

- 'Your tongue looks alright.' - That's not what's sick.

It's the rest of me.

Wilma, there's something I gotta tell you.

- 'Yes?' - Wilma, I..

Close the door, I feel a draft.

Now, don't move and stay in bed.

I'll fix you some nice brontosaurus broth.

- It'll make you feel better. - Morning, Wilma. Where's Fred?

- In bed. - But he'll be late for work.

A-and me too. It's his turn to drive.

He's not going to work, Barney.

Oh, Slate's already gotten it.

- 'Gotten what, Barney?' - Uh, didn't Fred tell you?

- Tell me what? - 'Uh, uh, uh, nothing.'

I'll go in and say goodbye to Fred.

Maybe Slate won't fire you, Fred, if you explained.

After all nobody's perfect.

You happen to remember the things

I called Slate in that letter?

Brother.

knock knock knock

Morning, Mr. Wilcox. That all the mail for us today.

Sorry, Mrs. Flintstone but we mailmen..

(together) Just deliver it, don't write it.

Sorry, this is the one your husband sent out the other day.

It was sent back for insufficient postage.

- Oh. - Two cents, please.

Uh, maybe Fred has some change.

I suggest you tell her the truth.

Not while I can keep coming up with believable lies.

- 'Fred.' - It's Wilma.

Yikes!

[groaning]

Gosh, Fred, you sound worse.

Oh, I am worse.

Feels like Spanish flu.

[teeth chattering]

Could be. His teeth sound like castor nuts.

I'll call a doctor.

I'll-I'll be alright. All I need is rest.

Then you'll be getting plenty of that from now on.

I'll call Mr. Slate and tell him you won't be coming in.

Never mind. He must know that now, uh..

Uh, since I'm not there already.

'What are you looking for, Wilma?'

I need a few pennies.

- Be my guest. - Thanks, Barney.

Maybe you better get to work, Barney.

- Nothing you can do. - 'I can help you worry.'

That I can handle myself. Here's Wilma.

Uh, who was out at the door?

The mailman. He brought back the letter you sent yesterday.

- 'He did?' - 'He did?'

My troubles are over.

Yabba-dabba-doo!

Fred Flintstone, you shouldn't be out of bed.

You're a sick man.

Not anymore, honey. Not anymore.

[upbeat music]

Where is that letter?

On it's way to whoever you sent it to.

That's what those coins were for. Insufficient postage.

Oh-h-h! You did it!

thud

You're always putting in your two cents.

- Well, I didn't realize. - 'That's your trouble.'

Never realizing. Oh! Now, I am sick.

Move over. I'm sick too.

I demand to know what this is all about. Now!

Wilma, darlin', gorgeous, beautiful--

- 'Now.' - Well..

Any help will be appreciated.

It was like this, Wilma.

And that's the whole miserable truth.

Wilma, please, forgive me.

That letter, Fred, you sure you left nothing out?

No, I called Slate every nasty thing I could think of.

If there's one thing Fred learned as a sergeant

in the army, it's a vocabulary.

You don't hate me or stuff like that, do you, Wilma?

How can I? You're the same stubborn, unthinking

quick tempered mule I loved and married.

Oh, Wilma, that's the nicest thing you ever said to me.

You kids will be alright. Fred's lost jobs before.

Yes, but never one with the raise.

You better get to work, Barney. No use losing your job.

I'm taking a day off. You're gonna need a friend today.

Thanks pal. Say, I may have to borrow car fair.

- To look for jobs, Fred? - No.

To pick up my unemployment checks.

Any idea what you're going to say to Mr. Slate, Wilma?

No, but I just have to get Fred's job back somehow.

Well, you're not going to lower yourself

to beg and plead to Mr. Slate?

That's a silly question. Of course, I am.

[engine revving]

- Did you ring, Mr. Slate? - Yes, Connie.

I'm Alice, Mr. Slate.

Oh. Oh, I can't see a darn thing without my glasses.

Where are the pesky things anyway?

'In your hand, Mr. Slate.'

Huh? Oh, yes! Yes, of course.

Uh, which hand, Alice?

Uh! That's better.

Now, to read the morning mail.

knock knock knock

(Mr. Slate) 'Come in.'

(Mr. Slate) 'Ah! Mrs. Flintstone.'

A pleasure to see you.

I hope I'm not interrupting something important, Mr. Slate?

Oh, hardly, Mrs. Flintstone.

Always have the time to chat with the wife of an employee.

Uh, you mean, uh

Fr-Fred is-is he still with you, Mr. Slate?

Naturally. Now, what's on your mind, Mrs. Flintstone?

Then you haven't read the morning mail?

- The letter from my Fred. - The dear boy wrote me?

Probably a note of thanks for his salary raise.

It must be around here somewhere.

Ah! Here it is.

"From Fred Flintstone." This is it.

Uh, uh, thi-this is it alright.

First thank you letter an employee ever sent me.

The lenses of my glasses are so fogged up.

I can't see through them.

Oh, let me wipe them, Mr. Slate.

Oops!

That wasn't what it sounded like, was it?

I'm sorry, Mr. Slate.

Now, now, don't fret, Mrs. Flintstone.

I have another pair at my residence.

I just can't wait to read your husband's letter to hear--

Then why wait? I'll read it to you right now.

'Well, Thank you, Mrs. Flintstone.'

My pleasure.

[clearing throat]

"My dear, wonderful, kind, big hearted

marvelous, Mr. Slate."

Well, it starts off sort of flattering, doesn't it?

It gets much more, uh, fla-flattering.

"You are more than a-a kind

"just lion hearted employer, Mr. Slate.

"You are a b.., uh, beacon

"'lighting the way to a better understanding'

'between your employees and yourself."'

Hmm.

Fred, Wilma's doing what she thinks is right.

And Betty agrees or she wouldn't have told you.

Well, I'm not gonna let Wilma get down on hands and knees

and plead my case to get my job back. I got pride.

- Besides, it might not work. - Exactly.

That ain't why I'm gonna stop Wilma.

[tires screeching]

"And in conclusion, Mr. Slate, may I thank you for acting

"as a shepherd to us, your flock

"and leading us forward in safety and trust.

"Yours with the greatest admiration

respect and eternal gratitude, Fred Flintstone."

Beautiful.

I've never been so understood by anyone

as by your brilliant husband.

(Wilma) 'Fred just wrote from his heart, Mr. Slate.'

- Wilma, I-- - Oh! Fr-Fred.

Uh, we were just discussing--

Your letter to me, Flintstone. Interesting, very.

Uh, not what I ever expected.

Uh-uh, you mean, he knows?

Uh, exactly how you feel about him.

Uh, Mr. Slate, it was written before I had time to think.

For only a little thought, my boy.

- You did terrific. - Yeah, didn't I?

(Mr. Slate) 'The part about me being the shepherd of my flock here.'

Shepherd?

You captured the real spirit of my attitude

towards my employees, Freddy boy.

- The real me. - Yeah.

Uh, you write so beautifully, Fred.

It was a pleasure for me to read the letter to Mr. Slate.

Oh! You read it to him, Wilma.

After she happened to break my glasses.

- Accidently, of course. - Of course.

Uh, we'll replace them, won't we, Fred?

Out of my raise in salary.

Well, Fred has to get back to work

and, uh, so do you I'm sure, Mr. Slate.

Uh, may I have Fred's letter, Mrs. Flintstone?

- Uh, th-th-the letter? - You want it?

I'd like to frame it.

As a memento of one of my employees esteem.

[mumbling]

- Of course, yeah. - Sure.

Uh, here you are, Mr. Slate. Oops!

- Don't tell me. - Oh! Sorry.

Uh, guess I'm, uh, well, butter fingers, you know.

Yeah.

May I see you to your car, Mrs., uh, butter fingers?

mwah

[laughing]

[theme music]

[yawning]

[music continues]

clink

thud

boing

slam

[door rattles]

Wilma.

thud thud thud

'Wilma!'

thud thud thud

'Come on, Wilma'

'open the door!'

'Wilma!'