The Bad Seed Page #2

I think they're very nice.

They save money.

Oh, you penurious little sweetheart.

You think of everything,

take everything so much to heart.

That's one reason why I thought

you should have some presents today.

You wanted to win that

penmanship medal very much, didn't you?

It's the only gold medal Miss Fern gives,

and it was really mine.

Everybody knew I wrote the best hand

and I should've had it.

I just don't see how Claude Daigle

got the medal.

Oh, Rhoda, Rhoda.

These things happen to us all the time...

...and when they do,

we simply accept them.

Now, I've told you,

darling, try to forget it.

I'm sorry. I know you don't like

people pawing over you.

It was mine! The medal was mine!

It was mine! The medal was mine!

Hey!

Leroy, have you lost your senses?

Look at Rhoda's shoes.

I'm sorry, Mrs. Breedlove, but she had

to come running out just as I was...

Leroy! RHODA:
Hey!

- Sorry, ma'am.

- Leroy, I own this apartment house.

I employ you. I've tried to give you

the benefit of every doubt...

...because you have a family.

I've thought of you as emotionally

immature, torn by irrational rages...

...a bit on the psychopathic side.

But after this demonstration,

I think my diagnosis was entirely too mild.

You're definitely a schizophrenic

with paranoid overtones.

I've had enough

of your discourtesy and surliness...

...and so have the tenants in my building.

My brother has wanted to discharge you.

- I've been on your side.

- Monica...

- I shall protect you no longer...

- Monica.

He didn't mean it. It was an accident.

- Sure, it was...

- He meant to do it. I know Leroy.

It was no accident, Christine.

It was deliberate,

the spiteful act of a neurotic child.

He meant to do it.

You watched out of the corner of your eyes.

- Rhoda, I want you...

- You made up your mind in one second.

I never. I never. I'm just clumsy.

Leroy, my patience is at an end,

and you might as well know it.

Get about your work.

Oh, well, it's much too lovely a morning

for such tirades.

Now, don't forget our luncheon

with Reggie Tasker.

Dear me. I haven't put in my order yet.

What do you feed a criminologist?

Prussic acid, blue vitriol, ground glass.

- Ha, ha. Hot weather things.

- Nothing would hurt Reggie.

He thrives on buckets of blood

and sudden death.

Goodbye, dear.

Have a wonderful, happy day.

Goodbye, Aunt Monica.

That know-it-all Monica Breedlove.

Don't think nobody

knows anything but her.

Well, she ain't got long to go anyway.

Old heifer's about ready for the canners.

But that young,

trough-fed Mrs. Penmark...

...she might get kind of lonesome

with that soldier boy of hers gone.

Yes, sir, she might.

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