The Secret Life of Walter Mitty Page #3

to see you, dear.

- Hello, Mrs. Griswold.

- Dear Walter.

- Hello, Gertrude.

- Come along, Irmagarde.

What's that awful smell?

It's that cologne you gave me

for Christmas.

It's lovely, isn't it?

Queenie, say hello

to your future daddy...

"Walty Mittens."

Don't stand there like a stick.

Wave back.

Hello, Queenie.

Naughty Queenie!

There you are, Queenie.

Mommy's precious.

- Have you talked to your boss yet?

- No, I haven't.

I certainly think you should talk

to him and get two or three months off.

- Two or three months!

- Frankly I don't approve of honeymoons.

All that packing!

Walter's always head his heart set

on seeing Yellowstone Park.

- Why?

- Why?

I don't know. I just thought

I'd like to see Yellowstone Park.

Do they let dogs in there?

Honey, you weren't thinking

of taking Queenie along?

- I was only asking!

- I wouldn't dream of leaving Queenie!

Queenie and Walter don't trust each

other. That's why they don't get along.

She always starts!

You see?

Queenie, you old crosspatch.

I don't think she's feeling well.

Why don't you try that new

vitamin puppy biscuit?

Walter would be happy

to pick some up for you.

That would be wonderful.

- Make a note of that, dear.

- Yes, Mother.

Walter, you haven't touched

your nice milk toast.

- I'm not hungry.

- You know the doctor said...

it would be good

for your nervous stomach.

That's why the Air Corps

turned him down.

It must be cold in here.

Queenie's shivering.

Yes, Mother. I know.

The furnace.

Excuse me.

Walter's a very lucky boy.

Tubby Wadsworth has proposed

a half a dozen times.

He's still doing it!

The Spitfire dived through the clouds,

its machine guns belching lead.

Oblivious to the ominous ta-pocketa,

ta-pocketa of his failing engines...

Wing Commander Walter Mitty, the most

feared man in R.A.F. Desert patrol...

clung to the tail

of the Messerschmitt.

Himmel's villain.

It's Walter Mitty.

I am a lost man.

Mitty's jaw was a grim,

straight line...

as he gave the Jerry

three more lethal bursts...

and watched him go down in flames.

As I go rolling home

I'm as happy as a king, believe me

I say, fellas!

There's Group Captain Mitty.

He made it!

Mitty, how many this time, old boy?

- Hello, sir.

- Good show, Mitty.

- Oh, thank you, sir.

- That makes 73, doesn't it?

No, 71 actually.

2 were only probables, you know.

Oh. Spot of brandy?

Oh, yes. Thank you, sir.

I say, old chap.

You're wounded.

It's nothing, sir. Merely a scratch.

Set the bone myself.

Priceless fellow.

- I wish we had more like you.

- Thank you, sir.

- Anything troubling you, sir?

- Young Raleigh.

Got a case of nerves. I promise

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