All language subtitles for A Moon for the Misbegotten 1

Ah, thank God.

Bad luck to you for a slowpoke.
Didn't I tell you half-past eleven?

How could I sneak here sooner with him
peeking round the corner of the barn

to catch me if I took a minute's rest,
the way he always does?

I had to wait till he went to the pig pen.

Where he belongs, the old hog!

Don't hit me, Josie! Don't, now!

Then keep your tongue off him.
He's my father, too, and I like him, if you don't.

You're two of a kind, and a bad kind!

I'm proud of it. And I didn't hit you,
or you'd be flat on the ground.

It was only a love tap to waken your wits,
so you'll use them.

Get your bag now. I've packed it. It's inside the door of my room with your coat laid over it.

I put everything in the bag.

You can change to your Sunday suit in the can at the
station or in the train, and don't forget to wash your face.

I know you want to look your best when our brother,
Thomas, sees you on his doorstep.

And him way up in the world, a noble sergeant of the Bridgeport police.

Maybe he'll get you on the force.
It'd suit you.

I can see you leading drunks to the lockup
while you give them a lecture on temperance.

Or if Thomas can't get you a job, he'll pass you along to our brother,
John, the noble barkeep in Meriden.

He'll teach you the trade.

You'll make a nice one,
who'll never steal from the till, or drink,

and who'll tell customers they've had enough and better
go home just when they're beginning to feel happy.

Ah, well, Mike, you was born a priest's
pet, and there's no help for it.-

That's right! Make fun of me again,
because I want to be decent.

You're worse than decent. You're virtuous.

Well, that's a thing nobody can say about...
About me?

No, and what's more, they don't.

I know what a trial it's been to you, Mike, having
a sister who's the scandal of the neighborhood.

It's you that's saying it, not me.

I don't want to part with hard feelings.

And I'll keep on praying for you.

Och! To hell with your prayers!
All right, I'm going.

Wait.

Don't mind my rough tongue, Mike.
I'm sorry to see you go, but it's the best thing for you.

That's why I'm helping you,
the same as I helped Thomas and John.

I wish you all the luck in the world, Mike.

I know you'll get on...and God bless you.

Here's a little present over your fare.

I took it from his little green bag, and won't he
be wild when he finds out! But I can handle him.

You can. You're the only one.

Thank you, Josie. You've a kind heart.
But I don't like taking stolen money.

Don't be a bigger jackass than you are already.

Tell your conscience it's a bit of
the wages he's never given you.

That's true, Josie. It's rightfully mine.

Get along now, so you won't miss the trolley.

And don't forget to get off the train at Bridgeport.

Give my love to Thomas and John.

No, never mind.
They've not written me in years.

Give them a boot in the tail instead.

That's nice talk for a woman.

You've a tongue as dirty as the Old Man's.

It's his influence made you what you are,
and him always scheming how he'll cheat people,

selling them a broken-down nag or a sick cow

or pig that he's doctored up to look good for a day or two.

It's no better than stealing, and you help him.

I do. Sure, it's grand fun.

You ought to marry and have a home
of your own away from this shanty

and stop your shameless ways with men.

Though it'd be hard to find a decent
man who'd have you now.

I don't want a decent man, thank you.
They're no fun.

They're all sticks like you.

And I wouldn't marry the best man
on earth and be tied down to him alone.

Not even Jim Tyrone, I suppose?

You'd like being tied to money, I know that,
and he'll be rich when his mother's estate is settled.

I suppose you've never thought of that? Don't tell me!

I've watched you making sheep's eyes at him.

So I'm leading Jim on to propose, am I?

I know it's crazy, but maybe you're hoping if
you got hold of him alone when he's mad drunk...

Anyway, talk all you please to put me off,
you've cooked up some scheme to hook him,

and the Old Man put you up to it.

Maybe he thinks if he caught you with Jim

and had witnesses to prove it,
and got his shotgun...

You're full of bright thoughts. I wouldn't
strain my brains any more, if I was you.

Well, I wouldn't put it past the Old Man to
try any trick.

And I wouldn't put it past
you, God forgive you.

You've never cared what man you went out with.

You've always been brazen
as brass and proud of your disgrace.

You can't deny that,
Josie.

I don't. You'd better shut up.

I've been holding my temper, because we're saying
good-bye. But I'm losing my patience.

Wait till I finish and you won't be mad at me!

I was going to say I wish you
luck withyour scheming, for once.

I hate Jim Tyrone's guts,

with his quotin' Latin and his high-
toned Jesuit College education, putting on airs

as if he was too good to wipe his shoes on me,

when he's nothing but a drunken bum

who never done a tap of work in his life,

except acting on the stage while his father
was alive to get him the jobs.

I'll pray you'll find a way to nab him,
Josie, and skin him out of his last nickel!

One more word out of you

You're a dirty tick and
it'd serve you right

if I let you stay gabbing until Father
came and beat you to a jelly, but I won't.

I'm too anxious to be rid of you.

Get out of here, now!

There he is, coming up to the barn.

He sees you're not working.

He'll come here next.
You'd better run for your life!

I'll bet you're a mile
away by now, you rabbit!

Look at my poor old father pelt.

He's as spry on his stumpy legs
as a yearling...and as full of rage as a nest of wasps!

Well, that's the last of you, Mike, and good riddance.

It was the little boy you used to be that I had
to mother, and not you, I stole the money for.

Well, himself will be here in a minute.

I'd better be ready. Not that I need it, but
it saves his pride.

Where is he? Is he hiding in the house?

I'll wipe the floors with him, the lazy bastard!

Haven't you a tongue in your head,
you great slut you?

Don't be calling me names, you bad-tempered
old hornet, or maybe I'll lose my temper, too.

To hell with your temper, you overgrown cow!

I'd rather be a cow than an ugly little buck goat.

Old men shouldn't run around raging in the noon sun.

You'll get sunstroke.

To hell with sunstroke! Have you seen him?

Have I seen who?

Mike! Who else would I be after, the Pope?

He was in the meadow,
but soon I turned my back he sneaked off.

There's his pitchfork! Will you stop your lying!

I haven't said I didn't see him.

Then don't try to help him hide from me,
or...Where is he?

Where you'll never find him.
We'll soon see!

I'll bet he's in your room
under the bed, the cowardly lump!

He's not.

He's gone like Thomas and John
before him to escape your slave-driving.

You mean he's run off to make
his own way in the world?

He has.

So make up your mind to it, and sit down.

I'd never dream he had that much spunk.

And I know damned well he hadn't,

not without you to help him and give him
the guts, like the great soft fool you are!

Now don't start raging again, Father.

You've stolen my satchel to give him, I
suppose, like you did before for Thomas and John?

It was my satchel, too.

Didn't I help you in the trade for the horse, when you got the
Crowleys to throw in the satchel for good measure?

I was up all night fixing
that nag's forelegs

so his knees wouldn't buckle together till
after the Crowleys had him a day or two.

You've a wonderful way with animals, God bless you.

And do you remember the two
Crowleys came back to give me a beating, and I licked them both?

You did. You're a wonderful fighter.

You could give Jack Dempsey himself a run for
his money.

I could, but don't try to change the subject
and fill me with blarney.

All right. I'll tell the truth then.

They were getting the best of you till I ran out
and knocked one of them tail over tin cup against the pigpen.

You're a liar!
They was begging for mercy before you came.

You thief, you!

You stole
my fine satchel for that lump!

And I'll bet that's not all.

I'll bet, like when Thomas
and John sneaked off, you...

Listen, Josie, if you found
where I hid my little green bag,

and stole my money to give to
that lousy altar boy, I'll...

Well, I did. So now what'll you do?

Don't be threatening me.

You know I'll beat better sense in
your skull if you lay a finger on me.

I never yet laid hands on a woman...

not when I was sober...but if
it wasn't for that club...

A fine curse God put on me when he gave me a
daughter as big and strong as a bull,

and as vicious and disrespectful.

Look at you standing there with the club!

If you ain't the damnedest daughter in Connecticut,
who is?

And if you ain't the damnedest father in
Connecticut, who is?

How much did you steal, Josie?
Six dollars only.

Only!

Well, God grant someone with wits will see that dopey
gander at the depot and sell him the railroad for the six.

It isn't the money I mind,
I know.

Sure, what do you care for money?

You'd give your last penny to the first
beggar you met-

if he had a shotgun pointed
at your heart!

Don't be teasing. You know what I mean.

It's the thought of that pious lump having my
money that maddens me.

I wouldn't put it past him to drop it in the
collection plate next Sunday, he's that big a jackass.

I knew when you'd calmed down you'd think it
worth six dollars to see the last of him.

Well, maybe I do.

To tell the truth, I never liked him.

And I never liked
Thomas and John, either.

You've the same bad luck in sons I
have in brothers.

They all take after your mother's family.

She was the only one in it
had spirit, The rest of them was a pious lousy lot.

They wouldn't dare put food in their mouths before they
said grace for it.

They was too busy
preaching temperance to have time for a drink.

They spent so much time confessing
their sins, they had no chance to do any sinning.

The scum of the earth!

Thank God, you're like me and your mother.

I don't know if I should
thank God for being like you.

Sure, everyone says you're a wicked
old tick, as crooked as a corkscrew.

I know. They're an envious lot,
God forgive them.

You didn't get much thanks from Mike,
I'll wager, for your help.

Oh, he thanked me kindly.

And then he started to preach
about my sins...and yours.

Oho, did he?

For the love of God,

why didn't you hold him till I could give him
one good kick for a father's parting blessing!

I near gave him one myself.

When I think your poor mother was killed
bringing that crummy calf into life!

I've never set foot in a
church since, and never will.

A sweet woman.
Do you remember her, Josie?

You were only a little thing when she died.

I remember her well.

She was the one who could put you in
your place when you'd come home drunk

and want to tear down the
house for the fun of it.

Yes, she could do it, God bless her.

I only raised my hand to her once...just a slap

because she told me
to stop singing, it was after daylight.

The next moment I was lying on the floor thinking a mule had kicked me.

Since you've grown up,
I've had the same trouble.

There's no liberty in my own home.

That's lucky...or there wouldn't be any home.

What did that donkey, Mike, preach to you about?

Oh, the same as ever...
that I'm the scandal of the countryside,

carrying on with men
without a marriage license.

Hell roast his soul for saying this.

But it's true enough.

It is, and what of it?

I don't care a damn for the scandal.

No. You do as you please and to hell with
everyone.

Yes, and that goes for you,
too, if you are my father.

So don't you start preaching too.

Me, preach?
Sure, the divil would die laughing.

Don't bring me into it.

I learned long since to let you go your own
way because there's no controlling you.

I do my work and I earn my keep and I've a
right to be free.

You have. I've never denied it.

No. You've never.

I've often wondered why a man
that likes fights as much as you

didn't grab at the excuse of my disgrace
to beat the lights out of the men.

Wouldn't I look a great fool,

when everyone knows that any man who tried to make free with you,

and you are not willing, would be carried
off to the hospital?

Anyway, I wouldn't want
to fight an army.

You've had too many
sweethearts.

That's because I soon get tired of any man
and give him his walking papers.

I'm afraid you were born to be a terrible
wanting woman.

But to tell the truth, I'm well
satisfied you're what you are, though I shouldn't say it,

because if you was the decent kind, you'd have married some fool
long ago,

and I'd have lost your company and
your help on the farm.

Leave it to you
to think of your own interest.

What else did my
beautiful son, Mike, say to you?

Oh, he was full of stupid gab, as usual.

He gave me good advice...
That was kind of him.

It must have
been good...

I ought to marry and settle down...

if I could find a decent man who'd have me,
which he was sure I couldn't.!

I tell you, Josie, it's going to be the saddest memory of my life

that I didn't get one last swipe at him!

So the only hope, he thought, was for me to catch some indecent man,

who'd have money coming to him I could steal.

He meant Jim Tyrone?

He did.

And the dirty tick accused you and me
of making up a foxy scheme to trap Jim.

I'm to get him alone when he's crazy drunk and
lead him on to marry me.

As if that would ever work.

Sure, all the pretty little tarts on
Broadway, New York, must have had a try at that.

They must have, surely.

But that's in the city where he's suspicious.

You never can tell what he mightn't do here in the country,
where he's innocent,

with a moon in the sky to fill him with poetry
and a quart of bad hootch inside of him.

Are you taking Mike's scheme
seriously, you old goat?

I'm not. I only thought you wanted my opinion.

And if that didn't work, Mike said maybe we
had a scheme that I'd get Jim in bed with me

and you'd come with witnesses and a shotgun,
and catch him there.

Faith, me darlin' son never learnt that from his prayer book!

He must have improved his mind on the sly.

The dirty tick!

Don't call him a tick. I don't like ticks but I'll say this
for them, I never picked one off me yet was a hypocrite.

Him daring to accuse us of planning
a rotten trick like that on Jim!-

Yes, it's as old as the hills. Everyone's heard of it.

But it still works now and again, I'm told,

and sometimes an old trick is best because it's so ancient

no one would suspect you'd try it.

That's enough out of you, Father.

I never can tell to this day,
when you put that dead mug on you,

whether you're joking or not,
but I don't want to hear any more...

I thought you wanted my honest opinion on the merits of Mike's suggestion.

Och, shut up, will you? I know you're only trying to make game of me. You like Jim and you'd never play a dirty trick on him, not even if I was willing.

Not unless he was playing one on me.
Which he'd never would.

No, I wouldn't think it, but my motto in life is never trust anyone too far, not even myself.

You've reason for that.

I've often suspected you sneak out of bed
in the night to pick your own pockets.

I wouldn't call it a dirty trick on him to get you for a wife.

God save us, are you off on that again?

Well, you've put marriage in my head and I can't help considering the merits of the case, as they say.

Sure, you're two of a kind, both great disgraces.

That would help make a happy marriage because neither of you could look down on the other.

Jim mightn't think so.

You mean he'd think he was marrying beneath his station?

He'd be a damned fool
if he had that notion,

for his Old Man who'd worked up from nothing to be
rich and famous didn't give a damn about station.

Didn't I often see him
working on his grounds

in clothes I wouldn't put on a scarecrow,
not caring who saw him?

God rest him, he was a true Irish gentleman.

He was, and didn't you swindle him, and make me help you at it?

I remember when I was a slip of a girl, and you'd get a letter saying his agent told him you were a year behind in the rent,

and he'd be damned if he'd stand for it,
and he was coming here to settle the matter.

You'd make me dress up, with my hair brushed and a ribbon in it, and leave me to soften his heart before he saw you.

So I'd skip down the path to meet him, and make him a courtesy, and hold on to his hand, and bat my eyes at him and lead him in the house,

and offer him a drink of the good whiskey you didn't keep for company,

and gape at him and tell him he was the handsomest man in the world, and the fierce expression he'd put on for you would go away.

You did it wonderful.

You should have gone on the stage.

Yes, that's what he'd tell me, and he'd reach in his pocket and take out a half dollar, and ask me if you hadn't put me up to it.

So I'd say yes, you had.

I never knew you were such a black traitor, and you only a child.

And then you'd come and before
he could get a word out of him,

you'd tell him you'd vacate the premises unless
he lowered the rent and painted the house.

That used to stop him in his tracks.

It didn't stop him from saying you were the
damnedest crook ever came out of Ireland.

He said it with admiration.

And we'd start drinking and telling stories,
and singing songs,

and by the time he left we were both too
busy cursing England to worry over the rent.

Oh, he was a great man entirely.

He was. He always saw through your tricks.

Didn't I know he would?

Sure, all I wanted was to give him the fun of seeing through them

so he couldn't be hard-hearted.

That was the real trick.

You old devil, you've always a
trick hidden behind your tricks,

so no one can tell at
times what you're after.

Don't be so suspicious.

Sure, I'd never try to fool you. You know me too well.

But we've gone off the track. It's Jim we're discussing, not his father.

I was telling you I could see the merit in your marrying him.

Och, a cow must have kicked you in the head this morning.

I'd never give it a thought if I didn't know
you had a soft spot in your heart for him.

Well, I haven't!

I like him, if that's what
you mean,

but it's only to talk to,

because he's educated and quiet-spoken and
has politeness even when he's drunkest,

and doesn't roar around cursing and singing, like
some I could name.

If you could see the light in your eyes when he blarneys you-

The light in me foot!

I'm in love with him, you'll be saying next!

And another merit of the case is, he likes you.

Because he keeps dropping in here lately?

Sure, it's only when he gets sick of the
drunks at the Inn, and it's more to joke with you than see me.

It's your happiness I'm considering when I
recommend your using your wits to catch him, if you can.

If!

Who knows?

With all the sweethearts you've
had, you must have a catching way with men.

Maybe I have. But that doesn't mean-

If you got him alone tonight...there'll be a
beautiful moon to fill him with poetry and loneliness, and...

That's one of Mike's dirty schemes.

Mike be damned! Sure, that's every woman's scheme since
the world was created. Without it there'd be no population.

There'd be no
harm trying it, anyway.

And no use, either.

Och, Father, don't play
the jackass with me.

You know, and I know,
I'm an ugly overgrown lump of a woman,

and the men that want me are no better than stupid bulls.

Jim can have all the pretty, painted little Broadway girls he wants and
dancers on the stage, too-

when he comes into
his estate. That's the kind he likes.

I notice he's never married one.

Maybe he'd like a fine strong handsome figure of a woman
for a change,

with beautiful eyes and hair and teeth and a smile.

Thank you kindly for your compliments.

Now I know a cow kicked you in the head.

If you think Jim hasn't been taking in your
fine points, you're a fool.

You mean you've noticed him?
Stop your lying!

Don't fly in a temper.

All I'm saying is,
there may be a chance in it to better yourself.

Better myself by being tied down to a man
who's drunk every night of his life?

No,
thank you!

Sure, you're strong enough to reform him.

A taste of that club you've got,
when he came home to you plastered,

and in a few weeks you'd have
him a dirty prohibitionist.

It's true, if I was his wife, I'd cure him of
drinking himself to death, if I had to kill him.

Och, I'm sick of your crazy gab, Father! Leave me alone!

Well, let's put it another way.

Don't tell me you couldn't learn
to love the estate he'll come into.

Ah, I've been waiting for that.
That's what Mike said, again

. Now we've come to the truth
behind all your blather of my liking him or him liking me.

All right, then.

Of course
I'd love the money. Who wouldn't?

And why shouldn't I get my hands on it, if I could?

He's bound to be swindled out of it, anyway.

He'll go back to the Broadway he thinks is
heaven,

and by the time the pretty little tarts, and the barroom sponges and racetrack
touts and gamblers are through with him he'll be picked clean.

I'm no saint, God knows, but I'm decent
and deserving compared to those scum.

Be God, now you're using your wits.

And where there's a will there's a way.

You and me have never been beat when we put our
brains together.

I'll keep thinking it over,
and you do the same.

Well, I won't!

And you keep your mad
scheming to yourself. I won't listen to it.

All right. The devil take you. It's all
you'll hear from me.

Except one thing...

I'm serious, and you'd better listen, because
it's about this farm, which is home to us.

What about the farm?

Don't forget, if we have lived on it twenty years, we're only
tenants and we could be thrown out on our necks any time.

Mind you, I don't say Jim would ever do it, rent or no
rent,

or let the executors do it, even if they wanted, which
they don't, knowing they'd never find another tenant.

What's worrying you, then?

This. I've been afraid lately the minute the
estate is out of probate, Jim will sell the farm.

Of course he will! Hasn't he told us and promised you can
buy it on easy time payments at the small price you offered?

Jim promises whatever you like when he's full
of whiskey.

He might forget a promise as easy
when he's drunk enough.

He'd never!

Did I say he would...when he's in his right
mind?

What I'm afraid of is, he might be led into it sometime
when he has one of his sneering bitter drunks on

and talks like a Broadway crook himself, saying everything and
anyone can be bought if the price is high enough.

You've heard him.

I have. But he doesn't fool me at all.

He only acts like he's hard and shameless to get
back at life when it's tormenting him...and who doesn't?

Or take the other kind of queer drunk he gets on sometimes when,
without any reason you can see, he'll suddenly turn strange,

and stare at nothing as if he was
mourning over some ghost inside him, and...

I think I know what comes over him when he's like that. It's
the memory of his mother comes back and his grief for her death.

Poor
Jim.

And whiskey seems to have no effect on him,
like water off a duck's back.

He'll keep acting natural enough, and you'd swear he
wasn't bad at all,

but the next day you find his brain was so paralyzed
he don't remember a thing until you remind him.

He's done a lot of mad things, when he was that way, he was
sorry for after.

What drunk hasn't?

I won't have you suspecting Jim without any cause,
d'you hear me!

I don't suspect him.

All I've said is, when a man gets as queer drunk as Jim,

he doesn't know himself what he mightn't do,

and we'd be damned fools if we didn't fear the
possibility,

however small it is, and do all
we can to guard against it.

There's no possibility!

And how could we
guard against it, if there was?

Well, you can put yourself out to be extra
nice to him, for one thing.

How nice is extra nice?

You ought to know.

But here's one tip.

I've noticed when you talk rough and brazen like
you do to other men,

he may grin like they
do, as if he enjoyed it, but he don't.

So watch your tongue, all right?

I'll talk as I please,

and if he don't like it he can lump it!

I'm to pretend I'm a pure
virgin, I suppose?

That would fool him, wouldn't it, and him
hearing all about me from the men at the Inn?

We're wasting the day, blathering.

If he ever went back on his word, no matter how drunk he was,
I'd be with you in any scheme you made against him, no matter how dirty.

But it's all your nonsense. I'd never believe it. I'll go to
the meadow and finish Mike's work.

You needn't fear you'll miss his help on the farm.

A hell of a help! A weak lazy back and the
appetite of a drove of starving pigs!

Where are you going? When it's dinner time?

Where's my dinner, you lazy cow?

There's stew on the stove, you bad-tempered
runt. Go in and help yourself.

Your gab has bothered my mind.

I need
hard work in the sun to clear it.

Wait now.

There's a caller coming to
the gate...

and if I'm not mistaken, it's the
light of your eyes himself.

Look at him when he thinks no one
is watching, with his eyes on the ground.

Like a dead man walking slow behind his own
coffin.

Faith, he must have a hangover.

He sees us now.

Look at the bluff he puts up,
straightening himself and grinning.

I don't want to meet him.

Let him play the old game about a drink you both
think is such fun. That's all he comes for, anyway.

Are you running away from him?

Sure, you must be afraid you're in love.

Go in the house now, and wash your face, and tidy your dress, and give a touch to your hair.

You want to look decent for him.

I'll go in the house,
but only to see the stew ain't burned,

for I suppose you'll have the foxiness to ask him
to have a bite to eat to keep in his good graces.

Why shouldn't I ask him?

I know damned well he has no appetite this early in the day, but only a thirst.

Och, you make me sick, you sly miser!

"Fortunate senex, ergo tua rura manebunt,

et tibi magna satis, quamvis lapis omnia nudus."

It's the landlord again, and my shotgun not handy.

Is it Mass you're saying, Jim?

That was Latin. I know it by ear.
What the hell...insult does it mean?

Translated very freely into Irish English, something like this.

"Ain't you the lucky old bastard to have this beautiful farm,
if it is full of nude rocks."

I like that part about the rocks. If cows could eat them this place would make a grand dairy farm.

Well, how's the Duke of Donegal this fine day?

Never better.

Slaving and toiling as usual, I see.

Hasn't a poor man a right to his noon rest without being sneered at by his rich landlord?

"Rich" is good. I would be, if you'd pay up your back rent.

You ought to pay me, instead, for occupying this rockpile, miscalled a farm.

But I have fine reports to give
you of a promising harvest.

The milkweed and the thistles
is in thriving condition,

and I never saw the poison ivy
so bounteous and beautiful.

You win.

Where did Josie go, Phil?

She ran in the house to make herself beautiful for you.

You're a liar.
Hello, Jim.

Hello, Josie.

Don't get up. Sure, you know I'm no lady.

How's my fine Jim this beautiful day?

You don't look so bad.

You must have stopped at the Inn for an eye-opener...or ten of them.

I've felt worse.

And how's my Virgin Queen of Ireland?

Yours, is it? Since when?

And don't be miscalling me a virgin.

You'll ruin my reputation,
if you spread that lie about me.

How is it you're around so early? I thought you never got up till afternoon.

Couldn't sleep.

One of those heebie-jeebie nights when the
booze keeps you awake instead of...

But what of it!

Maybe you had no woman in bed with you,
for a change.

It's a terrible thing to
break the habit of years.

Maybe.

What's the matter with the tarts in town, they let you do it?

I'll bet the ones you know on Broadway, New York, wouldn't neglect their business.

Maybe not. Cut out the kidding, Josie.
It's too early.

I told you not to annoy the gentleman with your rough tongue.

Sure I thought I was doing my duty as hostess making him feel at home.

Why all the interest lately in the ladies of the profession, Josie?

Oh,
I've been considering joining their union.

It's easier living than farming, I'm sure.

You think I'd starve at it, don't you, because your fancy is for dainty dolls of women?

For God's sake, cut out that kind of talk, Josie!
It sounds like hell.

Oh, it does, does it?
I'm shocking you, I suppose?

No.,Josie. Not at all.

In fact what makes you think that I fall for the dainty dolls?

That's all the things of the past.

I like them tall and strong and
voluptuous, now, with beautiful big breasts.

There you are, Josie, darlin'. Sure he couldn't speak fairer than that.

He couldn't, indeed.

You're a terrible blarneying liar, Jim,
but thank you just the same.

I don't blame you, Mr. Hogan, for taking it easy on such a blazing hot day.

Hot, did you say? I find it cool, meself.

Take off your coat if you're hot, Mister Tyrone.

One of the most stifling days
I can remember, isn't it, Josie?

Terrible. I know you must be perishing.

I wouldn't call it a damned bit stifling.
It parches the membranes in your throat.

The what? Never mind.

I can't have them,
for my throat isn't parched at all.

If yours is, Mister Tyrone,
there's a well full of water at the back.

Water? That's something people wash with, isn't it? I mean, some people.

So I've heard. But, like you, I find it hard to believe.

It's a dirty habit. They must be foreigners.

As I was saying, my throat is parched

after the long dusty walk I took just
for the pleasure of being your guest.

I don't remember inviting you,

and the road is hard macadam with divil a spec of dust,
and it's less than a quarter mile from the Inn here.

I didn't have a drink at the Inn.

I was waiting until I arrived here,
knowing that you...

Knowing I'd what?

Your reputation as a generous host...

The world must be full of liars.

So you didn't have a drink at the Inn?

Then it must be the air itself smells of whiskey today,

although I didn't notice it before you came.

You've gone on the water-wagon, I suppose?

Well, that's fine,
and I ask pardon for misjudging you.

I've wanted to go on the wagon for the past
twenty-five years,

but the doctors have strictly forbidden it.

It would be fatal with my weak heart.

So you've a weak heart?

Well, well, and me
thinking all along it was your head.

I'm glad you told me. I was just going to offer you a
drink, but whiskey is the worst thing...

The Docs say it's a matter of life and death.

I must have a stimulant...

one big drink, at least, whenever I
strain my heart walking in the hot sun.

Walk back to the Inn, then, and give it a
good strain, so you can buy yourself two big drinks.

Ain't you the fools, playing that old game
between you, and both of you pleased as punch!

Hasn't he ever been known to loosen up,
Josie?

You ought to know.

If you need a drink you'll
have to buy it from him or die of thirst.

Well, I'll bet this is one time he's going to
treat.

Be God, I'll take that bet!

After you've heard the news I've got for you,
you'll be so delighted

you won't be able to
drag out the old bottle quick enough.

I'll have to be insanely delighted.

Shut up, Father. What news, Jim?

I have it off the grapevine that a certain
exalted personage will drop in on you before long.

It's the sheriff again.
I know by the pleased look on your mug.

Not this time.

Bad luck to you, can't you tell us who?

A more eminent grafter than the sheriff!

It's a leading aristocrat in our Land
of the Free and Get-Rich-Quick,

whose boots are licked by one and all...

It's one of the Kings of our Republic by Divine Right of Inherited Swag.

In short,

I refer to your good neighbor, T. Stedman Harder,

Standard Oil's sappiest child, whom I know you both love so dearly.

Did you say Harder is coming to call on us, Jim?

It's too good to be true.

The great Mr. Harder intends to
stop here on his way back to lunch from a horseback ride.

How do you know?

Simpson told me. I ran into him at the Inn.

That English scum of a superintendent!

He was laughing himself sick.

He said he
suggested the idea to Harder...

He told him you'd be overwhelmed with awe if we decided to
interview you in person.

Overwhelmed isn't the word. Is it, Josie?
It isn't indeed, Father.

What's the reason Mr. Harder decided to notice poor,
humble scum the like of us?

That's right, Josie. Be humble. He'll expect
you to know your place.

Will he now? Well, well. This is going to be
a beautiful day entirely.

But what's Harder's reason, Jim?

Well, it seems he has an ice pond on his estate.

Oho! So that's it!

Yes. That's it.

Harder likes to keep up the
good old manorial customs.

And your pigpen isn't far from his
ice pond.

A nice little stroll for the pigs, that's
all.

And somehow Harder's fence in that vicinity
has a habit of breaking down.

Fences are queer things. You can't depend on
them.

Simpson says he's had it
repaired a dozen times,

but each time on the following
night it gets broken down again.

What a strange thing!
It must be the bad fairies.

I can't imagine who else could have done it.
Can you, Father?

I can't, surely.

Well, Simpson can. He knows you did it and he told his master so.

Master is the word.

Sure, the English can't live unless they have a lord's backside to kiss, the dirty slaves.

The result of those breaks in the fence is that your pigs stroll...

as you so gracefully put it...

stroll through to wallow happily along the shores of the ice pond.

Well, why not?

Sure, they're fine ambitious American-born pigs

and they don't miss any opportunities.

They're like Harder's father who made the money for him.

I agree, but for some strange reason Harder
doesn't look forward to the taste of pig in next summer's ice water.

He must be delicate. Remember he's delicate,
Josie,

and leave your club in the house.

Oh, be God and be Christ in the mountains!

I've pined to have a quiet word
with Mr. Harder for years,

watching him ride past in his big shiny
automobile with his snoot in the air.

Oh, won't I welcome him!

Won't we, you mean.
Sure, I love him as much as you do.

I'd kiss you, Jim, for this beautiful news,
if you weren't so ugly.

Maybe Josie'll do it for me. She has a stronger stomach.

I will! He's earned it.

Och, there's no spirit in you!
It's like kissing a corpse.

Yes? Well, how about that drink, Phil?

I'll leave it to Josie if drinks aren't on the
house.

I won't leave it to Josie.

She's prejudiced, being in love.

Shut up, you old liar! Don't talk nonsense
to sneak out of treating Jim.

All right, Josie. Go get the bottle and one
small glass,

or he'll never stop nagging me.

I can turn my back, so the sight of him
drinking free won't break my heart.

On his
way back to lunch, you said?

Then it's time...

O Holy Joseph, don't let the bastard change
his mind!

Listen, Phil.

Don't get too enthusiastic.

He has a big drag around here, and he'll have
you pinched, sure as hell, if you beat him up.

Och, I'm no fool.

Will you listen to this, Josie.

He's warning me not to give Harder a beating...
as if I'd dirty my hands on the scum.

As if we'd need to.

Sure, all we want is a
quiet chat with him.

That's all. As neighbor to neighbor.

Here you are, Jim.

Don't stint yourself.

A fine daughter! I tell you a small glass
and you give him a bucket!

That's a fifty-
dollar drink, at least.

I hope you drown.

Here's luck, Phil.

Oh,Christ, Phill!

Jesus!

The best chicken medicine I've ever have.

That's gratitude for you!

Here, pass me the bottle. A drink will
warm up my welcome for His Majesty.

There's two horseback riders on the county
road now.

Praise be to God! It's him and a groom.

That's McCabe. An old sweetheart of mine.

You get in the house, Jim. If Harder sees you
here, he'll lay the whole blame on you.

Nix, Josie. You don't think I'm going to miss
this, do you?

You can sit inside by my window and take in everything. Come on, now, don't
be stubborn with me. Go into my beautiful bedroom. It's a nice place for you.

Just what I've been thinking for some time,
Josie.

Sure, you've never given me a sign of it.

Come up tonight and we'll spoon in the
moonlight and you can tell me your thoughts.

That's a date. Remember, now.

It's you who'll forget. Get inside now,
before it's too late.

He's dismounting...as graceful as a
scarecrow,

and his poor horse longing to give
him a kick.

Look at Mac grinning at us.
Pretend you don't notice him.

Good morning. I want to see the man who runs
this farm.

You do, do you?

Well, you've seen him.

So run along now and play with your horse,
and don't bother me.

D'you see what I see,
Josie?

Be God, you'll have to give that damned cat of
yours a spanking for bringing it to our doorstep.

Are you Hogan?

I am Mister Philip to a gentleman.

Where's your manners, you spindle-shanked
jockey?

Were you brought up in a stable?

My name is Harder.

Who asked you your name, me little man?

Sure, who in the world cares who the hell you
are?

But if you want to play politeness,
we'll play with you.

Let me introduce you to my daughter,
Harder...Miss Josephine Hogan.

I don't want to meet him, Father.

I don't like his silly sheep's face, and I've no use
for jockeys, anyway.

I'll wager he's no
damned good to a woman.

I don't think he's a jockey.

It's only the
funny pants he's wearing.

I'll bet if you asked his horse, you'd find he's no cowboy
either.

Come, tell us the truth, me honey.

Don't you kiss your horse each
time you mount and beg him,

"Please don't throw me today, darlin',
and I'll give you an extra bucket of oats".

Listen to me, Hogan! I didn't come here-

What? What's that you said? You didn't come
here?

Did you hear that, Josie? Well, that's a
puzzle, surely. How d'you suppose he got here?

Maybe the stork brought him, bad luck to it
for a dirty bird.

I said I didn't come here...

We've had enough of that.

Say it a third time and I'll send my
daughter to telephone the asylum.

Damn you, I'm the one who's had enough...!

Hold your dirty tongue! I'll have no foul
language in my presence.

Och, don't mind him, Josie.

He's said he isn't here, anyway, so we won't talk to him
behind his back.

Sure, ain't you the poor
crazy creature?

Do you want us to believe
you're your own ghost?

Ah! I understand now. You're drunk.

I'll
come back sometime when you're sober-

No, you don't! You'll apologize
first for insulting a lady...

insinuating I'm drunk this early in the day...
or I'll knock some good breeding in you!

I...I said nothing about you...

Aisy now, Josie.

He didn't mean it.

He don't know what he
means, the poor loon.

Run home, that's a good lad,
before your keeper misses you.

Good day.

Wait now, me Honey Boy.

I'll have a word with you, if you plaze.
I'm beginning to read some sense into this.

You mentioned that
English bastard, Simpson.

I know who you are now.

Take your hands off me, you drunken fool.

Would you strike my poor infirm old father,
you coward, you!

McCabe!

Don't think McCabe will hear you,
if you blew Gabriel's horn.

He knows I or Josie
can lick him with one hand.

Josie! Stand between us and the gate.

Stay where you are or my
daughter will knock you senseless.

You're the blackguard of a millionaire
that owns the estate next to ours, ain't you?

I've been meaning to call on you, for I've a
bone to pick with you, you bloody tyrant!

But I couldn't bring myself to set foot
on land bought with Standard Oil money

that was stolen from the poor it ground
in the dust beneath its dirty heel...

land that's watered with the tears of starving widows and orphans...

But never mind that, now.

I won't waste words trying
to reform a born crook.

What I want to know is,
what the hell d'you mean

by your contemptible trick
of breaking down your fence

to entice my poor pigs to take
their death in your ice pond?

Don't lie, now! None of your damned Standard Oil excuses,
or be Jesus, I'll break you in two!

How many times I mended that fence, morning after morning, and seen your footprints where you had sneaked up in the night to pull it down again.

Josie, how many times have I mended that fence?

If it's once, it's a hundred, Father.

Listen, me little millionaire!

I'm a peaceful,
mild man that believes in live and let live,

and as long as the neighboring scum
leave me alone, I'll let them alone,

but when it comes to standing by and seeing
my poor pigs murdered one by one...!

Josie! How many pigs had caught their death of pneumonia
in his damned ice pond?

Ten of them, Father.

And ten more died of cholera after
drinking the dirty water in it

All prize pigs, too!

I was offered two hundred
dollars a piece for them.

Twenty pigs at two hundred,
that's four thousands.

And a thousand to cure the sick and cover
funeral expenses for the dead.

Call it four thousand you owe me.

And you'll pay it, or I'll sue you,
so help me Christ!

I'll drag you in every court in the land!

I'll paste your ugly mug on the front page
of every newspaper as a pig-murdering tyrant!

Before I'm through with you,
you'll think you're the King of England at an Irish wake!

Tell me now, if it isn't a secret,

whatever made you take such a
savage grudge against pigs?

Sure, it isn't reasonable for a
Standard Oil man to hate hogs.

I've had enough...!

Stay right where you are and be
soft-spoken to your betters!

You're not in your shiny automobile
now with your funny nose cocked

so you won't smell the poor people.

And let me warn you!

I have to put up with a lot of pests on this heap
of boulders some joker once called a farm.

There's a cruel skinflint of a landlord who
swindles me out of my last drop of whiskey,

and there's poison ivy, and ticks and potato bugs,
I got snakes I got skunks!

But, by God, I draw the line somewhere,

and I'll be damned if I'm gonna allow
a Standard Oil man to trespass!

So will you kindly get the hell out of here

before I plant a kick on your backside
that'll land you in the Atlantic Ocean!

Beat it!

Sure, you wouldn't go without a word
of good-bye to me, would you, darlin'?

Don't scorn me just because
you have on your jockey's pants.

Meet me tonight, as usual,
down by the pigpen

If you dare touch that fence again,
I'll send the lawyer to you!

And I'll put it in my lawyer's
hands and in the newspapers!

Look at him fling himself on his
nag and spur the poor beast!

And look at McCabe behind him!

He can hardly stay in
the saddle for laughing!

O, Jesus, this is a great day
for the poor and oppressed!

I'll do no more work!

I'll go down to the Inn and
spend money and get drunk!

Small blame to you. You deserve it.

Come inside, I'll give you a foundation. Listen to Jim still in stitches. It's good to hear him laugh as if he meant it.

It's supper time.
Will you have a bit to eat with us, Jim?

I'll boil you some eggs.

Och, why do you have to mention eggs?
Don't you know it's the one thing he might eat?

Well, never mind. Anything goes today.

Come in, Jim. We'll have a drink
while Josie's fixing the grub.

Hold on a second.

Let us pause to take a look at
this very valuable property.

Haven't you notice the change, Phil?

Every boulder on the place
has turned to solid gold.

You didn't get the D.T.'s from my whiskey.

No D.T.'s about it.

This farm has suddenly become a gold mine.

You remember that offer that I told you about?

Well, the agent had a check out and it seems
that the offer came from Harder.

He doesn't want the damned place but he
dislikes you so much as a neighbor

that he thinks the best way to get rid of
you would be to become your landlord.

The sneaking skunk!
I'm sorry I didn't give him that kick.

Yes. So am I.

That would have made the
place even more valuable.

But as it is, you did nobly.

I expect him to double or
triple his first offer.

In fact, I'll bet the sky is the limit now.

I see your point!

But we're not worrying you'd ever
forget your promise to us at any price.

Promise? What promise?

You know what Kipling wrote:

There's not a promise of God or man
that goes north of ten thousand bucks.

D'you hear him, Josie? We can't trust him.

Och, you know he's kidding.

I don't! I'm becoming suspicious.

That's wise dope, Phil.
Trust and be a sucker.

I've always wanted to own a gold mine...so I could sell it.

Will you shut up your
rotten Broadway blather!

Why suddenly so indignant, Josie?

You just told your unworthy Old Man I was joking.

At last, I've got you by the ears, Phil.

We must have a serious chat about when
you're going to pay that back rent.

A landlord who's a blackmailer!
Holy God, what next!

And you, Josie, please remember when I keep that moonlight date
tonight I expect you to be very sweet to me.

Sure, you don't have to blackmail me.
I'd be that to you, anyway

Are you planning to seduce my daughter?

Well, I'll be drunk at
the end, so how could I prevent it?

I'm starving. Let's eat.

Come along, Jim.
Afraid you'll lose me?

Swell chance!

You have the most beautiful breasts
in the world, do you know it, Josie?

I don't...but I'm happy if you think...

But I've no time now to listen to your kidding,
with my mad old father waiting for his supper.

Promise me you'll eat something, Jim.

You've got to eat.

You can't go on the way you are,
only drinking and never eating,

You're killing yourself.

That's right, Josie.

Mother me. I love it.

I will, then. You need one to take care of you.