Savannah Page #2

tickled to death at that

silly little 7 shot you use.

Christmas, with a name like yours,

you have a duty towards avoiding

such sarcastic constructions.

They don't become you.

Save them $10 words for the judge.

Ward Allen's river

and his way of life

might have gone on forever

if time and tide and the law

had not had other ideas.

And the new laws found in

Ward an implacable opponent.

Young blood doth not

obey an old decree.

We cannot cross the

cause why we were born.

Let us lose our oaths

to find ourselves,

or we will lose ourselves

to keep our oaths.

Your Honor.

Well remembered, Mr. Allen,

and, uh, nicely edited.

Thank you, sir.

But are you saying you

were born to hunt,

or saying you were

born to break the law?

I do recollect there are a few

who say you have a

natural talent for both.

I am slow of study, Your Honor,

and if there is a

law I truly broke,

I have not read it.

I may be a bit too good of a shot,

and there may be some who

try to construe that

against my character,

which efforts I generally

choose to forbear.

But when this type

of personal dispute

is deranged in such a way

as to bring in front of

this august assembly,

all I can say is, on my honor,

neither my partner

nor I have willingly

nor willfully broken a true law!

Or a law made in error.

Error?

And who is the judge of that?

Why you, sir, without question.

And, if you'll allow,

there are more than a few

who say you have a natural

talent in that regard.

Lord, help us.

Order. Order, please.

You... You expect me

to believe all this?

Mine honor is my life.

Both grow in one.

Take honor from me

and my life is done.

Richard III.

The Second, Act 1.

I stand corrected.

Nevertheless, you

are guilty as sin.

But in light of all the factors,

probation for six months...

Not again!

during which time

you'll be pure as the driven snow.

Thank you, Your Honor.

Once again, liberty plucks

justice by the nose!

All right.

They could have let

us keep our quota.

Commissioner be

eating good tonight.

Oh, there's no logic

to it, Christmas.

They expect us to

let the duck fly by

just to go and get

shot in South America.

Mr. Ward, this one right

here ain't gonna make it.

Shh.

Here! Rock!

Heel.

Christmas, um,

have the skiff at Broad

quarter past 3:
00 and...

keep the bird for supper.

All right, then.

Evening, Mr. Ward.

Here!

That wasn't a hug!

I better go now.

Hey! Come on!

I'm a Yankee Doodle, why?

I report back to Uncle Sam

So I can't shoot birds out the sky

Oh! Rock!

Come on.

Good boy.

I'm certain you could

shoot as many as me

if you give up your

aversion to gloves.

I get 36.

Order was 39.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes