You Can't Take It with You

- Good morning, Mr. Kirby.

- Good morning.

- Good morning, A.P.

- Good morning.

Good morning.

- No pictures.

- New York Times, Mr. Kirby.

We'd like a statement

on the business outlook.

The newspapers should know

Mr. Kirby never issues any statements.

Come on, come on.

I got your telegram, Mr. Kirby.

They're waiting in your office.

Good.

Hello, A.P.

- You're looking well.

- How was the trip?

- Hi, Dad.

- I'm glad to get home.

- Tony, how are you?

- Good.

- How's your mother?

- Fine.

Good, I nearly sent for you.

You might like the White House.

Sorry you didn't.

- How do you like being vice president?

- Painless so far.

He still talks

as if he were having a tooth yanked.

- What happened in Washington?

- What did you find out?

- How do we stand?

- Get me some bicarbonate of soda.

How do we stand, A.P.?

There will be no interference

from the powers that be.

- There won't?

- Are you sure?

What about the senator

with the anti-trust complex?

I said there'd be no interference.

We're going ahead exactly as we planned.

It'll be the largest individual monopoly

in the world if we're smart.

Particularly now that Ramsey is lined up.

- That's impossible.

- The administration'd never stand for that.

- We'd control every type of war material.

- That's exactly it.

With the world going crazy,

the next big move is munitions.

And Kirby and Company will cash in on it.

It's unbelievable.

A war wouldn't be possible anywhere

without us.

If I know Ramsey, he'll never let himself

be absorbed by anybody.

- Won't he?

- No.

We'll see if he will

when I hand him a little surprise.

I own every inch of the 12 blocks

that surround the Ramsey factories.

- News to us!

- We didn't know anything about that.

So, how is he going to fulfill his contracts

without us?

You'd better get busy.

Complete your negotiations with the others.

- I'll handle Ramsey myself.

- We'll hop right to it.

I have a meeting with my nitrate group

this afternoon.

Good.

$10,000 a year for doctors

and I'm still taking this stuff.

- Son, what do you think about it?

- Don't ask me.

You know how cockeyed

my sense of value is.

Get me that sour-faced real estate agent

on the phone. What's his name?

- Blakely.

- Yeah. Private line.

- Dad, how do you feel?

- Rotten. It's my stomach.

I thought so.

These trips to Washington have me jittery.

But it's the last one.

From now on, they come to me.

Tony, do you realize there won't be a bullet,

gun or cannon made here without us?

Now, Dad, don't tell me

you've forgotten the slingshot market.

Mr. Blakely on the phone.

Hello, Blakely. This is A.P. How's it going?

You what? What trouble?

Now, wait a minute. Don't bite my head off.

I've got all 12 blocks, everything...

...with the exception of one little lot

and I can't get the man to sell.

Those 12 blocks are useless

unless I get every inch of them.

I'm up against some kind of an old crank.

His house isn't worth over $25,000.

I've already offered him $50,000,

but he's standing pat.

If you can't get it with money

there are other ways.

That's up to you. Now, remember this:

Unless you buy up the whole 12 blocks,

you won't get a penny commission.

That man has got ice water in his veins.

The description fits only one man.

I've simply got to get that property, Bill.

You can't force a man

to sell his home, John.

I've got to. I'll make him sell

if I have to drive him out with stink bombs.

Listen, a fortune has been invested

in those 12 blocks.

Behind it is one of the most powerful men

in the country, and a silly old man...

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