Original subtitles

[doorbell ringing] - I got it.

Hi, Miss Cathcart.

- Hi, Dennis.

You're just the boy I need.

How would you like a job?

- Sure, Miss Cathcart.

What's to it?

- Well, I need somebody to rake up the leaves once a week,

mow the lawn, take the trash cans out on pick-up days,

wash a few windows, and bring in some firewood.

How does $0.50 a week sound?

- Gosh.

It sounds fine up through setting out the trash cans.

You've got a lot of windows, Miss Cathcart.

- Oh. Well, $0.75.

It's a deal.

- We haven't even got to the firewood yet.

- Oh, gee, Dennis, what a haggler.

Well, $1 a week.

- Miss Cathcart, now it's a deal.

- OK.

- Why, hello, Miss Cathcart.

- Oh.

Hello, Mrs. Mitchell.

I was just hiring Dennis for a few chores,

if you've no objection.

- Oh, not at all.

Anything that keeps him in pocket money I'm all for.

- You don't know how lucky you are,

having a man around the house, happily married, looking

so young and lovely.

- Oh, why, thank you, Miss Cathcart.

- And all because you've found your own knight

in shining armor.

HENRY (OFFSCREEN): Alice?

Where's that screwdriver I left on the sink?

Oh, hi, Miss Cathcart.

- Hello, Mr. Mitchell.

- I'm afraid my knight's a little tarnished right now.

- I'm cleaning the furnace.

- Well, there's nothing wrong with a little good clean soot,

Mr. Mitchell.

Gee, I wouldn't care what he looked

like if I had a man around the house

to keep the home fires burning.

Well, I've got to be running along.

I'll see you this afternoon after school, Dennis.

- OK, Miss Cathcart.

- Bye. - Goodbye.

- Goodbye. - Gosh.

She shouldn't have much trouble getting a husband.

She doesn't sound very hard to please.

[theme music]

- Eloise, good news.

Krinkie wants me to write the "Jane Butterfield" column

for a few weeks for the paper.

- You mean that advice to the lovelorn thing?

- Why not?

I'll advise the lovelorn or anyone

who hopes to be lovelorn for $2,000.

Listen to this, Eloise.

Dear Jane Butterfield.

I am in love with a nice man who passes my house every day,

but I can't get him to stop and get acquainted.

He seems very shy.

What shall I do?

Signed, Hopeful.

[chuckling]

- Fortunately, I know just the advice to give her.

Dear Hopeful.

Remember, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach.

Why don't you bake a nice apple pie

for the object of your affections?

- When do we get the $2,000?

- As soon as I achieve results.

The column has been allowed to run down.

Do you know what we're going to do with the money?

We are going to take a vacation trip to Canada.

- Aw. [knocking]

DENNIS (OFFSCREEN): Hey, Mr. Wilson!

- Come in, Dennis.

- Hi, Mr. Wilson.

Mom said you wanted to see me.

- Yes, I-- I have a job for you.

There's, uh, $1 in it if you're interested.

- Boy, it's raining jobs.

Am I interested.

- Good.

I had these handbills printed this morning,

and I want you to distribute them for me.

Tack them up all over town.

Put them every place.

DENNIS (OFFSCREEN): Is romance your problem?

Consult Jane Butterfield.

- "Jane Butterfield" is a newspaper column,

Dennis, only I'll be writing it.

And giving the advice to the lovelorn.

- Oh, I get it.

- Before I'm finished, I'll have every single woman

in this town happily married.

- Hear, hear.

- And I'll be helping by taking these handbills around, huh?

- You are making a great contribution.

Uh, but Dennis, I don't want people

to know that I'm Jane Butterfield.

After all, I'm a magazine writer.

- OK, Mr. Wilson.

Hey, with all these weddings coming up,

I better go tell our minister to start getting ready right now.

[chuckling]

- Yoo-hoo!

Yoo-hoo, Sgt. Mooney.

I never saw you look more handsome.

- Oh, Miss Cathcart.

- I knew you'd be along this way.

You never walk down my street, you naughty boy.

- Well, Elm Street is closer to where I board and room.

- Well, why don't you walk me home now?

It's just a block over.

I want to show you some snapshots taken

of me on the beach last summer.

- Uh, sorry, Miss Cathcart.

Some other time, maybe.

- When?

- Well, sometime when I'm not so busy.

I'm in a hurry right now.

- You ought to relax more, sergeant.

All work and no play-- oh.

- Uh, goodbye, Miss Cathcart.

- That's a knight who has to have a chink in his armor someplace.

- Dennis, what are you doing?

- Hi, Miss Tarbell.

I'm putting up handbills about Jane Butterfield.

- Her column was very interesting this morning.

- You think Jane Butterfield gives pretty good advice, huh?

- We'll soon see, Dennis.

Hello, Sgt. Mooney.

- Hello, Miss Tarbell.

- Hi, Sgt. Mooney.

- Hey, what are you putting up there, Dennis?

- Oh, you wouldn't be interested in that, Sgt. Mooney.

I was hoping you'd come along.

I've just baked a big, yummy apple pie.

- That's nice.

- Why don't you come over and, uh, rest your tired little feet

while you sample a big juicy slice?

- Well, thanks, Miss Tarbell, but I--

- Oh, come on. You like apple pie.

And if I do say so myself, nobody

makes them more mouth-watering.

- Well, sorry, Miss Tarbell, but I--

- Oh, don't be stuffy.

You're on your way to lunch, aren't you?

- Well, uh, it is lunch hour.

I guess there's no harm in eating apple pie as

long as I don't do it on city time.

- Oh, Sgt. Mooney, you're so cute and droll.

[laughter]

- Boy, what an operator.

Bet she's had advice from Jane Butterfield.

[doorbell ringing]

- Well, Lucy, how are things with you?

- Oh, just wonderful, Esther.

I don't know when I've been so utterly fluttery and happy.

- Oh, the trick mustache show up again after all these years?

- Oh, I've forgotten Mr. Penrose ever existed.

Anyway, he was never the gentleman that Sgt. Mooney is.

- Sgt. Mooney? - Oh, he's such a dreamboat.

And he seems to be so happy to have discovered me.

- Oh, rats.

I saw Sgt. Mooney this morning.

He didn't look so happy.

In fact, he was going to walk me home,

but he was in a hurry to get to another appointment.

- He was in a hurry to get to my house.

We had lunch together.

- You're kidding.

How did you corral him?

- Oh, a little birdie showed me how.

- Well, just because you've had lunch with a man

doesn't give you a 99-year lease on him.

- I hate to disappoint you, dear, but he's

coming back this evening.

- Oh, come on, Lucy, your cooking isn't that good.

I've had it.

- Sgt. Mooney is so protective.

I just mentioned that I had prowlers at my place--

- Prowlers?

- I've got to run along, dear.

I want to pick up some yummy tidbits at the grocery store.

Sgt. Mooney loves to eat.

It's been nice chatting with you, dear.

- Great.

Hello, police department?

Get me the chief.

[phone buzzing]

- Chief Doyle speaking.

Who?

Oh, Miss Cathcart.

Yeah, what's the trouble, ma'am?

- Well, I've been hearing prowlers

around the house, chief, and I think

it ought to be investigated. How about sending Sgt. Mooney?

- Just a minute, ma'am.

Mooney.

- Yeah, chief?

- There's a Miss Cathcart on the phone.

She's complaining about hearing prowlers.

- Oh, chief, she doesn't have any prowlers.

She just wishes she did.

- Get going, Mooney.

That's an order.

- Sgt. Mooney, what brings you to Esther Cathcart's house?

- Well, she's a taxpayer just like you.

She's entitled to protection.

She complained about prowlers.

- Prowlers?

Why, that's my i-- - Huh?

- I-- I mean, uh, fiddlesticks.

She doesn't have any prowlers.

- That's what I told the chief, but I

have to make a routine check, just like with you.

Chief's orders.

[laughing nervously]

[doorbell ringing]

- Come in, sergeant.

While you sit down and catch your breath,

I'll show you those snapshots.

- Now, Miss Cathcart, maybe I'd better

check around outside for the prowler.

- Oh, he's gone now.

Come on and have a cup of tea.

- Well, if he's gone, I'll be on my way.

- Well, he might come back if you stay long enough.

Now, then, tea? Sugar?

- Miss Cathcart, no prowler's going

to snoop around in the broad daylight.

- Well, did you ever stop to think

he might still be in the house?

I tell you, I hear noises, sergeant.

- What noises?

[thumping]

- What was that?

- You see?

Now we'd better have a cup of tea

and sit very close together and steady our nerves.

- Miss Cathcart, I don't think you have a problem.

- No problem?

Are you kidding?

- I gotta get back to work.

[phone ringing]

- Oh, wait a minute, sergeant.

That may be a threatening phone call.

- I'll check it out myself, if you don't mind.

Hello?

- Is that you, Sgt. Mooney?

Well, I just heard that prowler again,

and I'm terribly frightened.

Could you rush right over?

- Oh, Miss Tarbell, again?

- Tarbell?

- Take it easy.

I'm on my way.

Goodbye, Miss Cathcart.

- That Tarbell.

Swiped him right out from under my nose, and by telephone.

[knocking]

- Oh, hello, Dennis.

- I'm here to do those chores, Miss Cathcart.

- Oh.

Well, you can rake up the leaves and take out the trash cans

before it gets dark.

- OK.

Hey, Miss Cathcart.

You were telling my mom how lucky

she is to have a husband, huh?

- I'll say she's lucky.

- Well, did you ever think about writing

to Jane Butterfield in the paper?

I mean, maybe she could help you find one.

- Jane Butterfield?

Is that the way your mother got your father?

- I don't think so.

But you might get some swell advice.

- Could be.

- Jane Butterfield says before she's finished,

she'll have every single woman in town happily married.

- Did Jane Butterfield say that?

- That's what I heard.

Better think it over, Miss Cathcart.

- Oh, I wouldn't want to air my personal affairs

in a newspaper, Dennis.

Dear Jane.

- Well, Dennis, thanks to your help with those handbills,

our mail is picking up.

- I've been telling people about Jane Butterfield, Mr. Wilson.

- You didn't tell them that I'm Jane Butterfield?

- Oh, no.

Nobody knows you're a woman.

- Uh, thank you.

Well, let's see who's lovelorn today.

Uh, dear Jane, I am the aggressive type

and very attractive.

I've tried everything but a lasso to rope my sugar cookie,

but failed.

He's a policeman and supposed to be brave,

but around me he's a coward.

Any suggestions?

Signed, Frustrated.

- What's frustrated?

- Oh.

That's when you want something and can't have it.

- Like when I want a missile gun and Dad

won't let me have it, huh?

- That's frustrating. - Frustrated?

Is that the way that one's signed?

- That's right.

- Well, how are you going to un-frustrate her, Janie?

- Janie?

- Now Eloise, cut that out.

It's another woman with a desperate problem,

and I happen to know a little trick that will work for her.

I remember it worked for you, my dear.

- What trick?

- Oh, pretending to have a sprained ankle

so that I'd have to carry you in my arms.

- Now, John Wilson, my ankle was in a cast for weeks.

- So was my poor back.

- I guess you were pretty frustrated, huh, Mr. Wilson?

- Ha. - Ahem.

Well, to work.

Dear Frustrated.

- Why, Esther.

Aren't you a little dressy for gardening?

- You're a little gussied up yourself.

What for?

- I just thought I'd come over and walk along

with Sgt. Mooney.

- Yeah?

What makes you think he's coming?

- I called the police station.

They said he'd left for a routine assignment on Spruce

Street.

I just figured he was about due to check up on your prowlers.

And I was right.

Hello, Sgt. Mooney.

- Why, sergeant, you look sharp as a tack.

- Eek! Help!

Put it away quick! Eek!

Esther, what are you doing?

Whoa!

I'm all wet.

- Oh, I'm so sorry.

Here, let me dry you off. - My mink.

Not my mink.

It's ruined. - Sorry, I lost my head.

I'll get a towel.

- My mink.

[sobbing]

- Help! Ow!

Ow! Ow!

- Are you OK, Miss Cathcart?

- Of course I'm not OK.

I sprained my ankle.

- That's too bad.

- Well, are you just going to let me sit here?

Where's your gallantry?

- Excuse me.

Maybe I can help you hobble into the house.

- Oh, I've sprained both ankles.

I can't walk.

- Oh, brother, then I'll have to carry you.

- Yeah.

- Sgt. Mooney, are you going to let her get away with that?

- Miss Tarbell, a policeman has to do his duty.

She's a taxpayer.

[sobbing]

- So that's who Frustrated is.

Boy, Mr. Wilson's advice may be corny, but it sure works.

- Put me over in that chair, Harold.

The name is Harold, isn't it?

Oh, I guess you'd better put me over in that chair over there.

I think Harold is such a distinguished name.

Or maybe you'd better put me on the couch.

- Have a heart, Miss Cathcart.

- I have a heart.

And the name is Esther,

- Harold.

- I know, I know.

- Oh, hold it.

- Make up your mind.

This ain't no child's play.

- I know.

Can you carry me out to the kitchen?

- The kitchen?

- I've got some fried chicken in the oven.

We could have a nice, cozy dinner for two.

- Oh no, we can't.

- Harold Mooney.

- Mr. Wilson!

Mr. Wilson!

- Yes, Dennis.

Coming, coming.

What is it, Dennis? - Mr. Wilson?

Did you know when you wrote that stuff

about apple pies and sprained ankles,

you were helping Miss Tarbell and Miss Cathcart trap Sgt.

Mooney?

- Oh, no.

- Are you sure?

- Sure, I'm sure.

I just saw Sgt. Mooney carrying Miss Cathcart into her house.

- Good heaven.

I wonder if he'll ever get out.

- Well, after that sprained ankle trick, you didn't.

- Looks like Sgt. Mooney is the one who needs help.

Boy, is he in the middle.

Two women.

- Dennis, there's no doubt about it.

- Maybe he never even thought about writing

to Jane Butterfield.

Maybe I ought to see that he gets

a handbill, huh, Mr. Wilson?

- My boy, you are thinking like a genius.

The more letters I get, the better Krinkie will like it,

and the sooner we can get off on our Canadian vacation.

- Is it worth another dollar if I can swing it?

- You are not only thinking like a genius,

you are a shrewd businessman.

- See you later.

- Bye.

- I was wondering if I could leave these handbills here.

Maybe you could give them to the guys in jail

if they happen to have a romantic problem.

- Do you want to know something?

Jail isn't a bad place for a guy to hole up

if he's got a romantic problem.

Is romance your problem?

Consult Jane Butterfield daily in the "Chronicle."

Nah, that stuff's bunk.

- Gosh, Sgt. Mooney.

You'd be surprised if you knew how well her advice works.

- How do you know so much, Dennis?

- Well, I know someone who knows Jane Butterfield real well.

And he says-- I mean, she says when she's through,

every single woman in town will be happily married.

- No kidding?

- So if Jane Butterfield can do that,

why can't she tell a man how not to get trapped?

- Yeah.

- So would you give these to anybody

in jail with a romantic problem, Sgt. Mooney?

I'll see you around.

- It's a cinch. I've got to try something.

Dear Jane.

- Dear Jane, I am a desk officer, but the chief assigned me

to two dames' houses regularly to check for prowlers.

They both just want to get married

and are driving me crazy.

How can I get rid of them without insulting them

or losing my job and pension?

P.S., don't put this in the paper.

Just send advice in a hurry to Sgt. Harold Mooney.

- Oh!

- You see, John happens to know that the two ladies in question

are Miss Tarbell and Miss Cathcart.

[gasp] - Oh, dear.

- And he's already given them advice on how to get their man.

- Oh!

Mr. Wilson, how can you be fair to both women and Sgt. Mooney?

- It's simply a matter of professional ethics.

I advise each one impartially according to his or her needs.

- King Solomon.

- Now, in Sgt. Mooney's case, I would

advise him to say that he is sending alimony

to four ex-wives, that he would like a fifth

to be a mother to his six children.

- Oh.

- That should frighten them.

- That should frighten anybody.

[laughter]

- I have four ex-wives, but I would like a fifth

to help me pay alimony and support my six children.

Jane Butterfield.

Man oh man, that ought to do it.

[chuckling]

- I was beginning

trying to avoid me, sergeant.

- Well, Miss Cathcart, I didn't want

to get you mixed up in my life.

- Oh, I'd love to get mixed up.

Sorry, I forgot.

Sit over here.

- Now, Miss Cathcart, I-- I thought it over.

- So have I.

- And I'm thinking I ought to settle down and find

a mother for my six children.

- Six children?

I didn't even know you'd been married.

- Four times.

- Kind of shakes you up, doesn't it?

- Four times?

I didn't know you were such a Lochinvar.

Why, I'd be number five.

- Of course, there's the small matter

of paying alimony to four ex-wives.

- Alimony to four women.

- And I expect number five to help take care of them.

- Well, I'm a good kid.

We'll manage.

Yippee, we're engaged.

- You don't know what you're doing.

- That's what you think.

[phone ringing]

- Heck of a time to be interrupted.

Hello?

- Esther, this is Lucy Tarbell.

Let me speak to Sgt. Mooney.

- It won't do you any good, honey.

Sgt. Mooney and I just got engaged.

And if that doesn't throw you for a loop, brace yourself.

I'm going to be a mother.

Lucy?

Must have fainted.

Harold? Harold?

Harold.

So Sgt. Mooney and I got engaged, chief,

but he got away before I found out

where I could see our six children.

- Mooney says he has four ex-wives and six kids?

Mooney!

Come in here.

- Hello, honey bun.

- You want me, chief?

- I don't know if I want you any longer or not.

What's this you've been hiding from the force?

How come we don't know about all those wives you're supporting?

- It's OK, chief, I'm willing to help.

- Chief, there isn't a word of truth in it.

The whole idea was hatched by this Jane Butterfield

at the "Chronicle."

- You've been getting advice from Jane Butterfield too?

- Well, it looks to me like this Jane Butterfield

is stirring up too much trouble.

And nobody's going to make a monkey out of this department.

Get me Krinkie at the "Chronicle."

- Wow!

- Ah.

Dennis, I can hardly wait to get up to the Canadian north woods.

I am going to catch myself a whopper.

- Sure got the equipment for it, Mr. Wilson.

- Including that aluminum boat out in

my garage, $300 worth of equipment.

And all paid for by my Jane Butterfield column.

- Has Mr. Krinkie paid you the $2,000 already?

- No, no.

But with the letters pouring in, thanks to your help,

it won't be long.

- Gee, I just can't believe it.

- Believe what?

- I just saw Miss Cathcart on my way over

here a little while ago, and she said she

and Sgt. Mooney are getting married.

- Really?

Well, I guess Mooney finally surrendered

to her fatal charms.

- He told me he'd stay in jail first.

- Oh, this will really cinch the success of the column.

I'll have Krinkie put a picture of Mooney

and his bride in the paper with the caption,

Jane Butterfield makes two hearts beat as one.

[doorbell ringing]

- Now, excuse me.

Oh, Krinkie, we were just talking--

- What are you trying to do, Wilson, ruin my newspaper?

- Well, I'm doing a good job for you, aren't I?

- Too good, I'm afraid.

You've got the police chief on my neck.

Says one of his men is in a mess acting on your advice.

Defamation of character.

He may sue.

- Sue?

- He's pretty sore.

- So I'm going to drop the column 'til things simmer down.

- Drop it?

What about my $2,000?

- I'm sorry, Wilson.

I'll give you $50 to cover out-of-pocket expenses.

- $50?

What about my Canadian vacation?

I've already spent $300 on equipment.

- I'm sorry.

I'll advertise it for you in my secondhand column.

- Secondhand?

- Here's your $50, Wilson.

And our deal is off.

- Krinkie, I am not going to take it.

- Well, I am. $50?

That'll just pay the down payment

on fixing my busted sofa.

They'll send you a bill for the rest.

And let me tell you something, Janie Butterdrops.

Your advice is for the birds.

Sprained ankle indeed.

Ha!

- Now just a-- oh, would you-- hey!

Hey!

Miss Cathcart, that's my-- I-- ugh.

- Wilson, I'm surprised at you, hiding

behind Jane Butterfield's skirts.

- I was trying to help you out, Mooney.

- Yeah, Sgt. Mooney.

Mr. Wilson was trying to help you.

- Well, it just so happens you did,

with the $50 I was going to have to cough up if you hadn't.

- It just shows you, Mooney.

Nobody appreciates what you trying to do for them.

I work hard.

I build up the column for Krinkie.

Then, when I want to take a little Canadian vacation,

he-- uh-oh.

- Oh, boy.

Looks like you've got another dissatisfied

customer, Mr. Wilson.

- Close the door, Dennis.

I don't want her to get in the house.

- Apple pie is what you told me to serve, Jane Butterfield.

Well, I won't bother to make an apple pie for you.

I'll just serve them up as is.

- It's a war!

You'd better get behind something, Mr. Wilson.

- Going inside.

I-- it's locked!

- Sorry, Mr. Wilson, you told me to close it.

- Never mind that now.

Go on around back from the patio and open it from the inside,

quick.

- Now, cut that out, Miss Tarbell,

or I'll call the riot squad.

- You keep out of this, you two-timing double-crosser.

- Don't close the door.

Wait for me.

- Whew.

- Boy, you'd better leave for Canada no matter what it costs.

- Advice to the lovelorn?

I-- I wish I'd never seen that column.

[thumping outside]

- Well, Mr. Wilson, if she keeps it up,

at least you'll have lots of apples.

And I'll come over and help you eat apple pie every day.

[laughing]

- Oh, good grief.

[theme music]

ANNOUNCER (OFFSCREEN): This has been a Screen Gems film

production.