The Trouble with Harry Page #2

So few cars. They don't... I guess|the cider takes their attention.

Cider, indeed.|Throw it away! Drink it.

- No, I hate cider.|- Not a picture sold.

I'm sorry, Mr Marlowe. Let's get|a look at your new one. Hold it up.

What good would it do? You don't|deserve to see it. How will I eat?

Mr Wiggs always used to thump|his stomach when he got mad.

He busted somethin' inside once.

You think we'd do any better|on 5th Avenue?

If there's more people there.

Oh, lots of people. Hundreds|and thousands and billions of people.

- It might be better then.|- But what sort of people, Wiggy?

What breed? I'll tell you.

They're little people,|little people with hats on.

How are your cigarettes?

I'll buy the other half tomorrow.

What does your son do with all those|old cars he always works on?

He sells 'em. Mechanical antiques.|Doesn't make much, needs the money.

Hm. Doesn't he get paid|for being deputy sheriff?

Piecework.|Gets paid by the arrest, I think.

Ah, Mr Marlowe, it's wonderful.

- I've been in a tortured mood.|- What is it?

Good old Wiggy, my sternest critic.

I don't understand it but I think|it's beautiful. Mrs Rogers agrees.

- Oh? You talk about me?|- Well, I...

She's the pretty woman|with the little boy, isn't she?

Mm-hm.|I only brought up your name once

when we were talking|about strange people.

- Huh?|- That is, strangers.

- Oh.|- People she hadn't met yet.

What does the pretty,|little thing say about me?

Nothin'.

I think we better discuss business.|Here, my shopping list.

I'll go in and start puttin' it up.

Wiggy, how do you spell Tuscaloosa?

Sam?

- Hi, Calvin.|- You hear any shootin'?

- Nope.|- I did.

And there shouldn't be|any shootin' around here.

- Why?|- It's posted land, that's why.

- Why's that?|- 'Cause I posted it.

What's wrong with people doing|shooting now and then? Let off steam.

Bullets and guns are dangerous.|They kill things.

No one around here could hit|a freight car with a cannon.

I guess you're right, Sam.|All the same, the law's the law.

I got a mind to scout around to find|out who's shooting and level a fine.

And pick up a little piecework?

If I can do anything to make it|any harder for you, let me know.

How'd you want your bacon,|Mr Marlowe?

- What were you saying?|- I asked how you want your bacon.

Sliced.

- Where is Calvin?|- Off somewheres unimportant.

What a wonderful day.

So was yesterday, but you didn't say|anything to me about it.

What you want Calvin for?

These marvellous pictures.

Someone told me they were yours.

Why don't you sell them,|make a lot of money?

Never thought of it. I guess|I'll just have to think about it.

And that song. You sing it so|beautifully. You wrote it yourself?

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