Pocketful of Miracles Page #3

- I'm not leaving here until I get my apple.

All right. OK.

I'll go look in a few gutters myself.

Herbie!

Shh!

- Did you get it?

- Don't I always?

- Classiest stationery in the house.

- God bless you, Herbie.

A blind man could read that.

"Hotel Marberry."

- Give it to me.

- When are you expecting another letter?

The mail boat comes in tomorrow.

You know, I could get fired

for stealing your letters.

Herbie, you mustn't get fired.

Please don't get fired.

Who keeps writing you

from Spain, anyway?

None of your business.

A heavy lover, eh, Annie?

Yeah. King Alfonso.

But keep it quiet.

The queen gets very jealous.

Well!

It's been two years I've been waiting

for one like that. Come here, you.

Oh, Queenie.

Mmm...

- Dude...

- Mmm? What?

The doorknob's killing me.

The doorknob, huh?

You gorgeous stack of cupcakes.

Come here.

- Now, Dude...

- Come on now, Queenie. You started this.

I was trying to thank you for everything.

That's the way to kill a man,

not thank him. Come here.

- What's this? A party?

- It's the Fourth of July.

- In December?

- It's freedom day for both of us.

- You're through selling liquor.

- Now it's legal, it's no fun.

- I sold the club today.

- You did?

Did you bring 'em? Papa's IOUs?

I brought 'em.

There you are.

The last of Papa's debts.

Now we put them in the Easter fire

and we burn the past.

- Now you can make it Christmas, Dude.

- Happy New Year. How?

By saying you meant it

when you asked me to marry you.

Honey, I'll marry you.

I'll fight Dempsey, kiss a cop, anything.

Let's get started. Two years is a long wait.

Saturday, darling.

10am Saturday we get married. It's all set.

You're kidding. Really married? Us?

The real us. No more Dude and

no more Queenie. To David and Elizabeth.

Mr and Mrs Conway of Silver Springs,

Maryland, and their flock of children.

- Maryland?

- Yeah.

You know the house I was born in?

I bought it for us a year ago.

- You keep a secret real good.

- Honey, I want to be married there,

in Mama's wedding dress

by the preacher who married them.

Maybe I should go out and get my violin.

It's sappy, I know. But let me be sappy.

I'm sick of being Queenie Martin.

Reverend Morgan's still down there.

He's 81 years old and he's still

conducting Sunday services.

Dude, when I located him on the phone,

he cried. Can you imagine?

I cried too. It was the wettest

long-distance call...

Are you crying? I've never seen you cry.

When I'm happy -

when I'm really happy - I'm a Niagara.

OK, Elizabeth. To us.

To the wedding in your mother's wedding

dress... by the 81-year-old preacher.

- Oh, Dude, Niagara's coming!

- Watch it. This stuff burns holes, baby.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes