Miracle in the Rain Page #2

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You mean, you?

Look at the rain now,

it's turning somersaults.

What's that hidden under there?

Corned beef. Fresh.

- You like some bologna? It's a good...

- No bologna.

- We'll have a pound of corned beef.

- Oh, the corned beef is good.

- We got enough already.

- A pound of fresh corned beef.

- Ninety-five cents.

- Oh, a bargain.

You don't know

the powerful appetite I have.

Especially on a rainy night.

Do you have any cake on hand?

I got this and nothing else.

- Sold.

- The whole thing?

In toto, ma'am.

What's that hidden in here?

Oh, that's cheese.

We have enough, really.

- Good cheese.

- The finest I ever saw.

We'll take a sizeable chunk.

There was a man in Nashville

who used to collect cheeses.

About that size would be fine.

What is that I see

lurking in the shadows?

We've struck gold. Beer.

Hello, Mama.

- Won't you come in?

- Thank you.

- This is my mother.

- I'm pleased to meet you, Mrs. Wood.

How do you do?

I hope you don't mind the invasion.

Excuse me.

I'll just dump the groceries in here

and clean up if you don't mind.

No.

I never knew

that people in New York had homes.

I always thought they lived in elevators.

You fix everything up

and I'll grab a shave, if I may.

- All right. The bathroom's right over there.

- Oh, thanks.

I always carry my own razor.

- Makes me socially independent.

- The other door.

Oh, yes.

Excuse me. I was on the right trail.

- Did Mrs. Hamer look in, Mama?

- No.

Who's he?

Well, his name is Art Hugenon.

He's a soldier.

- You shouldn't have...

- Mama.

- You shouldn't have encouraged him.

- I didn't encourage him, Mama.

- Please be nice.

- I've told you and I've told you...

- But he's nice.

- What do you know how nice they are?

Yes, nice, nice,

till they meet someone else.

Mama, I'm home now.

Now, you go and sit down.

We have a surprise for you.

Ruthie?

Ruthie?

I seem to be all out of shaving soap.

Is there any on the premises?

No.

Wait. Just a minute.

What are you doing?

You mustn't touch those things.

Mama, you sit down and rest.

The whole thing is advertising

and propaganda. Shaving, I mean.

The razor-blade people

made whiskers a social crime.

Bet there's not a dozen beards left

in our republic.

I don't know if these are any good.

- They're awfully old.

- Oh, thanks.

I couldn't do better

at the Waldorf-Astoria.

So I said to Aunt Sarah, "Auntie," I said,

"I'm not designed for farm work.

There's no call in me to wrestle

with the Tennessee soil."

That's Sarah Hugenon, my father's sister.

- A sort of cow-and-chicken tyrant.

- Here, I'll do that.

Almost six feet in her stockings

when she stoops to wearing them.

Chiefly at funerals. Chews tobacco too.

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