hospital.
Ruptured appendix. Middle of last night. Went like that!
It scared the life out of me.
Oh, that's terrible.
-Goodbye.
-Goodbye.
Could I have a word with you?
No thanks. Thanks a lot, but no thanks.
Oh. You're welcome, I'm sure.
Don't mensch.
Now, Gloria. Wasn't that rather rude to send that nice man
all alone to Grant's Tomb?
When i've got a chance to go out with you? Don't be ridic.
-Oh, is our engagement definite?
-You meant it, didn't you?
Oh. Surely, surely.
Well, I've gotta get a facial, a fingerwave, the works.
Right now. You're going to call for me,
aren't you? And, if so, what time?
-What time do you suggest?
-How about eight?
-Eight's fine.
I live right in the corner house. You know
where the antique shop is, the one with the wooden Indian outside?
-They got the Indian sign in me, I always say.
-I'll be there.
Second floor, front. Oh, Mr. Birnam,
all I got is a semi-formal.
- Will that be all right?
-That'll be fine.
So long, Nat.
Last one, Nat.
Pour it softly, pour it gently,
and pour it to the brim.
Look, Mr. Birnam, there a lot of bars on Third Avenue.
Do me a favor, will ya, get out of here
and buy it somewhere else.
What's the matter?
I don't like you much. What was the idea of pulling her leg?
You know you're not going to take her out.
-Who says I'm not?
-I say so.
-You're drunk and you're just making with your mouth.
-Give me a drink.
And that other dame...I mean the lady.
I don't like what you're doing to her either.
Oh, shut up.
You should've seen her come in here last night. Lookin' for you
with her eyes all rainy and her mascara all washed away.
-Give me a drink!
-That's an awful high class young lady.
You bet she is.
How the heck did she ever get mixed up
with a guy who sops it up like you do?
That's the problem, isn't it.
That nice young man who drinks, and the high-class young lady,
and how did she ever get mixed up with him...
and why does he drink and why doesn't he stop?
That's my novel, Nat.
I wanted to start writing it out in the country.
Morbid stuff.
Nothing for the Book-of-the-Month Club. A horror story.
The confessions of a booze addict, the log book of an alcoholic.
Oh, come on, Nat, break down, will ya?
Do you know what I'm going to call my novel?
The Bottle...that's all. Very simply, The Bottle.
I've got it all here in my mind.
Let me tell you the first chapter.
It all starts one wet afternoon about three years ago.
There was a matinee of La Traviata at the Metropolitan.
Did you forget something?
No. Just going home, if it's all right with you.
-Say, this isn't yours, is it?
-It certainly isn't.
-That's what it says though...417
-I don't care what it says.
The checks must have got mixed up.
-Maybe they did.
Find me my coat. It's a plain man's raincoat and a derby.
Are you kidding? Do you know how many plain men's raincoats
we have on a day like this?
About a thousand.
-Well, let me get back there. I can find it.
-No. Please, that's against regulations, sir.
-I am not going to wait here until the end of the performance.
-Well, you can get your coat tomorrow.
Look, man, there's something in the pocket of that coat. I...
Well, it so happens I find myself without any money
and I need that coat. And I need it now!
Listen, if everybody went in there digging through those coats...
There's regulations. There's got to be regulations.
Then, what do you suggest?
-Wait till the other party arrives, then swap.
-I want my coat.
As far as I'm concerned Mister...
that's your coat.
You're a great help.
That's my coat you've got.
And that's mine, thank heaven. They mixed up the checks.
-I thought you'd never come.
-Well you couldn't have waited so long.
Only since the first aria of the first act. That's all.
-Do you always just drop in just for the overture?
-Goodbye.
Oh, oh. Just a minute!
Oh, my umbrella if you don't mind.
Catch.
Thank you very much.
I'm terribly sorry.
You're the rudest