The Purchase Price

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- Stop it, will you?

- Sure.

Hey, go on, take a walk.

You make me nervous.

Sure, Ed.

- You still here?

- Joan, you're a prized dummy.

So you've said before,

about a million times more or less.

That Leslie kid won't marry you,

he can't.

His family won't let him.

Rich, prominent people

with real social positions.

What am I?

Just a little gal who sings torch songs

in a naughty nightclub.

See, Ed?

I know your routine

better than you do yourself.

Yeah, I guess I am the chump wasting

my breath arguing with you.

Why do it then?

You know why.

Because I'm screwy about you.

This past year has been perfect.

We've had some swell times.

- And we're gonna keep on having them.

- Oh, not a chance, Eddie.

No college boy still wet

behind the ears is gonna bust us up.

Now, be a good little boy

and don't get yourself all in a lather.

This is what you know,

here's where you belong.

Now, listen, Ed.

I've been up and down Broadway

since I was 15 years old.

I'm fed up with hoofing in shows.

I'm sick of nightclubs, hustlers,

bootleggers, chislers and smart guys.

I've heard all the questions

and I know all the answers.

And I've kept myself

fairly respectable through it all.

The whole atmosphere of this street

gives me a high-powered headache.

I've got a chance

to breathe something else...

...and boy...

...I'm grabbing it.

Pick up the marbles, hon. You win.

By the way, here's a couple of trinkets

I wanna return to you.

Might as well do it now.

- Sure you don't wanna keep this hardware?

- Positive.

All through playing house?

All through, Eddie. Thanks.

Well, so long, kid.

It was swell while it lasted.

Yeah.

Hello. About eight hours too early,

aren't you?

I thought our date was for lunch today.

Is that the best you can do?

- Joan, something's happened.

- What?

My father walked in on me

about an hour ago.

Oh, I thought he was in California.

- Yes, so did I.

So your father hired detectives

to watch me.

I didn't have anything to do

with it, Joan.

I'm not blaming you, Don.

Why didn't you tell me

that you and that Eddie...

There's no answer to that...

...but we're not now.

You know I would've told you before

we were actually married. You know that.

Of all the men in the world, Eddie Fields.

A bootlegger, a racketeer, a crook.

Joan, he's been in jail three or four times.

You know you can't blame my father for...

- Shh. Don, please. Quietly.

- I'm sorry.

It's perfectly okay, Don.

All we can do is forget it.

You're a darn sensible girl.

- You understand...

- Please run along.

If you ever need or want anything...

...you know I'Il...

- Oh, get out.

Looks like war has been declared again.

You get back your service stripes, honey.

Nice of you, Eddie.

Say, when a guy like him

marries a doll like you...

...I'll kiss your foot in Macy's window

at high noon.

Oh, I can take a hint, you don't have

to knock me down with no club.

How's for scramming

and letting a gal get dressed?

You daffy little tomato,

I'm bugs about you.

I'd marry you myself

if I wasn't already married.

Well, take it.

I'll see you at the apartment about 2:3o.

I gotta run over to Brooklyn first.

It's Joan, all right.

She's using a phony name.

Yeah.

Hello?

Yes, Charlie?

What did he look like?

Oh, that's Waco, all right.

You're sure you didn't tell him

where I live?

Uh-huh.

Yes, from Eddie Fields in New York.

Of course they are.

Well...

Okay, thanks for letting me know.

Bye.

Oh, excuse me, miss.

I thought you was out.

That's okay, Emily. Go right ahead.

- Oh, Miss La Rue?

- Yes?

- I won't be around here much longer.

- No?

No, I'm leaving to get married.

Well, congratulations.

I'm much obliged...

...but I don't know if I ought

to be congratulated or not.

You see, I'm marrying a wheat farmer.

I kind of envy you.

A farm sounds so nice and peaceful.

Well, that part is all right...

...but gee, I've never laid eyes

on the fellow.

We got introduced

through a matrimonial agency.

We exchanged pictures.

I call that very romantic.

Yes and no.

Miss La Rue,

you've been awful nice to me.

Tipped me so liberal and all...

...that, well...

...I just can't leave

without making a confession.

- A confession?

- Well, you see...

...the pictures I had taken of myself

turned out awful.

So, well...

...I sort of swiped one of your pictures

and sent it to him.

You did?

Gee, I'm glad you ain't sore.

I'm not, but won't he be when you arrive

and don't exactly resemble your picture?

Oh, shucks.

He may be deceiving me too.

His farm probably ain't nothing like

as big as he said in his letter.

He probably sent me a picture

of some movie actor.

What does this mail-order

Romeo of yours look like?

Well, this will give you kind

of a rough idea.

Well, they both look healthy.

How old is he? The man, I mean.

Thirty, and he's got a grand farm,

that is if he ain't an awful liar.

And he wanted a wife bad enough

to write to an agency.

Sure, women are awful scarce.

Even schoolteachers get married there.

Emily, would you like

to make a hundred dollars?

Oh, who wouldn't?

You sent him my picture.

He's expecting a woman that looks like me.

I've gotta get out of town quickly.

- You ain't committed no crime.

- Of course not, but I have to leave town.

I have to go away someplace

where somebody can't find me.

I'll give you $ 1 oo

if you'll let me bat for you.

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