The Thin Man Goes Home

What about Asta? He'll have to go in

the baggage car, won't he?

Why should he have

any special privileges?

- He'll ride with us and like it.

- But those are the rules, aren't they?

Well, we'll camouflage him

under your coat.

Out of sight, out of mind.

It's a cinch.

Two to Sycamore Springs, please.

- Nick. Asta. Catch him.

- Here, you get them. Asta.

Asta. Asta.

Excuse me.

Asta.

All right, come on.

Here, here, what's going on?

Nick Charles.

- Hi, Clancy.

- Nick, I'm surprised at you.

I thought you could handle the stuff.

- I tripped. I was chasing my dog.

- Oh, sure.

Clancy, I've had nothing

but a swig of cider all day.

- Nicky, are you hurt?

- I think he hurt his head, Mrs. Charles.

- He's saying he's only been drinking cider.

- And it's true.

He's going down to visit his folks,

they don't like drinking.

Now, let's get down to the train

and get comfortable.

- Camouflage, you know.

- Oh, yes.

Thanks, Clancy.

Pardon me.

It's cozy, isn't it?

That's French for "bottoms up."

- Tickets, please.

- Nicky...

...do you really like cider?

Like it? I love it. Why, just the pure,

natural juice of the apple.

- What could be better, for instance?

- A dry martini, for instance.

That horrible stuff. Almost took

the lining off my stomach.

Why do you care? It didn't show.

- Good gracious!

- What's the matter?

- Nicky.

- Blockbuster.

Upsy-daisy.

- Tickets, please.

- You know, mammy, I don't think...

...you're taking this reform movement

of mine very seriously.

Not very.

You just wait. A couple of weeks

on this cider, and I'll be a new man.

Well, I sort of liked the old one.

That's the nicest thing

you've said to me...

...since I got my head caught

in that cuspidor at the Waldorf.

That wasn't the Waldorf.

That was the Astor.

- Asta?

- Astor.

All animals must go in the baggage car.

That's not an animal,

that's my fur coat.

If it can wag its tail,

it goes in the baggage car.

So it was going to be a cinch, eh?

Very well.

Credit me with an error.

Hey. Hey, mister.

When you pass the kitchen

will you ask the chef to warm this up?

I don't dance, bub.

Body temperature.

Good grief. Are you on milk now?

I'm warming this up for a friend.

I beg your pardon.

Why, if it isn't Nick Charles.

Where did you drop in from?

You sure are a sight for sore eyes.

- Hi, Brogan.

- Cut off my legs and call me Shorty.

- Small world, ain't it?

- Ain't it?

- Ain't it. Where you going?

- We're off on a little vacation.

- Sycamore Springs.

- I get it. I get it. I'll play dummy.

You're on the wrong horse, Brogan.

This is Mrs. Charles.

Oh, sure, sure.

How do you do, Mrs. Charles?

- What are you doing these days?

- Traveling in postcards.

- Pardon?

- Postcards. Postcards. Seasonal greetings.

Say, I cover Sycamore Springs.

I'll look you up on the way back.

That will be nice.

- Well, so long.

- So long.

Nick, how am I doing?

Swell. But stick close to me

in Sycamore Springs.

Right. How's my postcard chatter?

All right. But look, don't those greeting

cards have some poems or mottoes?

- I think so.

- Yeah.

- Memorize a few.

- You mean, like:

Roses are red, violets are blue

A happy birthday's what I'm wishing you

Yes, that's it. Roughly.

I get it.

"Willa Wanna."

Desdemona, Minnetonka, Nipiwana.

How far is that baggage car anyway?

Oh, I imagine it's somewhere between

Pocahontas and Sitting Bull.

Well.

- Any suggestions?

- Make like an eel, mama.

More people.

Oh, I'm sorry.

Oh, my cigar.

- And that was my last one too.

- Excuse me.

- Would you please let me pass?

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