The Front Page Page #2

through that trap door

you lift your pants leg

and squeeze the bulb. Clever?

You sure come up

with some doozies.

At 7:
00, the guy kicks off,

at 7:
03 you're out

of the jail yard,

there's an ambulance

waiting for you

with a darkroom

and a typewriter inside.

You take off

with the sirens going.

While you're

batting out the story,

they're developing

the negative.

At 7:
22, the picture

gets to the engraver,

and we start

setting up your copy.

At 7:
56,

we re-plate the front page.

At 8:
12,

the presses start rolling

and at 8:
47, you're out in the street

with an extra. How's that?

Walter, you'll either get the

Pulitzer Prize or a year in the clink.

You and me both,

we're in this together.

Now, what I want

is about 1,200 words.

You know,

lots of atmosphere.

With the cold, gray dawn,

and a voice from the death house singing

Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,

and the body twisting slowly,

slowly in the wind.

I don't have to tell you.

Anything else?

Yeah. We'll need

some last words from Williams

as he walks up

those 13 steps.

Something with a punch

to it.

If necessary

make 'em up yourself.

Last words?

You want some last words?

I'll give you

some last words. I quit.

A guy about to be hung? No.

He wouldn't say that.

Not Williams, me. I quit.

What?

I'm resigning.

Effective immediately.

It's the Tribune, right?

They've been trying

to steal you for years.

I won't work

for the Tribune...

Damn right.

Nobody walks out on Walter Burns.

...or any newspaper.

Walter, I'm getting married.

Getting married?

What the hell for?

You've already

been married.

Some marriage that was.

I never even got to Niagara Falls

'cause you made me get off the train

to cover the torch murder.

That's what makes you

a first-class reporter.

You're always in the right place

at the right time.

But never at home, Walter.

Not for Christmas,

not for our anniversary.

When she was sick

in the hospital and nearly died,

I was stuck in Tennessee

covering that goddamn Monkey Trial.

It's not gonna happen again, Walter.

Not this time.

Okay, Hildy.

You want to take

the plunge again,

all right.

Tell you what we do.

First you cover the hanging,

then you can get married.

Take the

whole weekend off.

Don't come into the office

till Monday.

Monday I'll be

in Philadelphia.

Philadelphia?

We're taking the midnight train,

tomorrow afternoon

we get married

with her family and everything

and everybody.

Monday I start working for her uncle

in the advertising business.

The advertising business?

You heard me. I'm goin' straight.

I'm quittin' this racket.

You mean you're going to be

writing crap like,

"I'd walk a mile for a Camel"

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