Arise, My Love Page #4

They call me "Gusto".

"In Paris with Gusto".

- Haven't I seen that somewhere?

- No.

It's a fashion column.

"Chiffon makes a comeback".

"Suzanne scoops skunk corset".

Don't tell me this story will be

what the fugitive was wearing!

No. From now on,

its front page features for me.

With a by-line.

Syndicated and copyrighted!

- You're going to write right now?

- Right now is right.

I want to be ready for the first

French telegraph office.

Now, "Thomas Martin",

what's your middle name?

Thomas Fuller Martin,

often known as Thomas Fuller,

"Marlakey".

I'll bet.

What's that for?

Just wanted to hear

if they're around.

With those planes after us

and a weak gas supply,

there's a 50-50 chance

of making it to the border.

Do you mind if I write

"one chance in a thousand"?

Why not be practical?

Either we're caught and

you've written that for nothing

or we land in France and you've got

all the time in the world.

Well?

If it's going to be our last hour,

let's spend it like sensible people.

For instance?

You could kiss my earlobe.

It's funny you're sitting beside me.

You're precisely my type.

- How long were you in prison?

- Ten months.

Yeah.

The first girl I was crazy about

was like you.

Or take Hazel,

the hostess on the line I flew

from Fort Worth to New Orleans.

One April night, no passengers.

Just Hazel and I.

I lost my commercial license.

What I was saying was she looked

a lot like Gusto. Same hair,

like what I said,

precisely my type.

Honey, after 10 months in jail,

anything would be your type,

even a Saint Bernard.

Ever since you kissed me

I've been...

- Hungry. You're just hungry.

- No, it's you. Really it is.

There are three ways

of approaching a woman.

The first one winds between

rose bushes and forget-me-nots.

It takes about six months.

The second is dusty,

deep understanding and fellowship.

That takes about six weeks.

But the third way's a shortcut.

The last time a man tried

a shortcut with me, I bit his nose!

Why, Gusto!

There they are!

- Right upstairs.

- Can they see us?

No, but if they swoop,

they could dent our fenders.

- Can't you do something?

- Well...

Let's go up and say "hello".

Put your belt on.

- You alright?

- Yes.

- How are you feeling?

- I left my stomach in the cloud.

What's the matter?

Are we hit?

That's what they think, I hope.

Now, if we can only locate

your stomach.

Don't bother.

How soon before they find us?

They'll lose an hour

looking for our wreckage below.

- You're pretty clever.

- I was trying to tell you that.

Now, back to those three ways...

Come on. The train's in.

They're in Car 8.

Hold it, Gusto! Stay where you are.

Come on, boys, step on it!

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