 Ladies and gentlemen, the railroad hour. And here comes our star-studded show train. Tonight, the Association of American Railroads brings you a new musical play based on the celebrated American story, The Million-Pound Banknote, starring Gordon MacRae and his charming guest Dorothy Warren-Scholes. Our choir is under the direction of Norman Luboff and our music is prepared and conducted by Carmen Dragon. Yes, tonight another delightful musical is brought to you by the American Railroads, the same railroads that bring you the food you eat, the clothes you wear, the fuel you burn, and the multitude of other things you use in your daily life. And now, here is our star, Gordon MacRae. Thank you, Maramela, and good evening, ladies and gentlemen. The man who wrote tonight's story also wrote Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn. Yes, Sam Clemens knew a lot about the dreams that boys had. Say, remember when you were a kid and you dreamed you were a millionaire? Well, I do. And here's what I used to tell all the other kids in the block. If I was a millionaire, kids, if I was a millionaire, there wouldn't be nothing too good in the world for me and my pals to share. Don't tell me I'm shooting hot air kids, but here's what I do on the square. If I was a real-life, regular first-class, cross my heart, millionaire. I'll buy up every schoolhouse in the nation. I'd write upon the blackboard big and clear. Instead of one, there will be two vacations. Each vacation six months twice a year. There wouldn't be no school when it was raining. I'd let you stay at home when it was fair. You'd have free soda fountains. Say, I'd build you ice-free mountains if I was a millionaire. When I grew up, I wasn't a millionaire harbor. I was just playing Hank Adams a stock clerk without two dimes to rub against each other. I had one pleasure in life, though, getting into a tiny sailboat on a Saturday afternoon and getting a taste of the sea breeze in my teeth. This is the life, Hank, old boy. Better than being a millionaire. Suddenly, from nowhere, a huge wave capsized my little boat and I found myself rubbing shoulders with the fish. Then everything went flat. When I woke up, I was sure I was in heaven. You're not in heaven, matey. Not quite yet. Oh, where am I? A border British freighter, Yank, bound due east for England. England? Oh, well, as the song says, I'm off to my love with a boxing glove 10,000 miles away. Now, London's a fine town. Unless you arrive there the way I did, hungry and homesick and broke. And the first organ grinder I heard was playing home sweet home. Made me feel like another wanderer. An American in London named John Howard Payne, who wrote a song for all wanderers to sing. Mid-flag. I kept walking around London town getting hungrier and hungrier until it got to be dusk. And suddenly, from an old mansion, I heard a voice. I thought it was my hunger making me dream of an angel. It was an old man, grey with side whiskers. Now what would you do? Go in? Well, that's exactly what I did. My name is McGill. This is my brother. How do you do? Young man, do you have any money in your pocket? No, sir. Not a cent. Splendid. Wonderful. What's your name? Henry Adams. My friends call me Han. We'll call you Mr. Adams. An American, eh? Yes, sir. Now, will you tell me what this is all about? Mr. Adams, we've been sitting at this window watching a long time for the right man. We saw a lot of honest faces go by that were not intelligent enough. And a lot that were intelligent, but not honest enough. A lot will both mind you, but not poor enough. Or if poor enough, we're not strangers. But you, Mr. Adams, you fill the bill all round. We elect you unanimously. Well, I'm very glad to be elected, gentlemen. But what office have I been running for? Now, this envelope will explain everything, young man. No, don't open it here. Wait until you get back to your lodging. I don't have any lodging. Oh, better still. We'll see you back here in 30 days, Mr. Adams. Now, good day to you. Now, wait a minute, gentlemen. There was a voice. I heard it from outside. That will be all, Mr. Adams. Okay, okay. But if this is some sort of practical joke, I don't think it's so funny. Funny? Now, I don't find it very funny either, my dear uncle. Oh, of course. I was listening, and I think it's wicked of you to play a prank on that nice-looking young man. What's so wicked about handing a young man a million-pound banknote? Well, it's horrible. He'll be starving amidst plenty. Smart girl, Porsche. That's exactly what I say. In 30 days, he'll start to death or be flung into jail. And I say he'll do fine, and that's our bet. Well, I'm going to follow him and see that he doesn't get into any trouble. You can watch what happens to him, my dear, at a distance. But no help from the audience. Well, I didn't know what was going on. All I knew was that I was hungry. So I ripped open the envelope, and the first thing I found was money. Well, I didn't bother to look at how much it was, or to read the letter. I just headed as fast as my legs would carry me to the nearest restaurant. That was great. Great, my host. I give you a toast. Wait a minute. I don't think I know any British toasts. Oh, except the one in that op-read. I played second lead in it in Nottingham High School in Syracuse, New York. And it's will ye quaff with me, my lads. And it's will ye quaff with me. It is a drab of nut-brown ale I offer unto ye. All humming in the tankered lads, it cheers the heart for Lord. Oh, here's a friend to everyone, to stout John Barley Corn. So lab-flats and wild-flats will make you stout and hail. Through all my days, I'll sing the praise of Brown-October Ale. Yes, lab-flats and wild-flats will make you stout and hail. Oh, through all my days, I'll sing the praise of Brown-October Ale. Check please. Here you are, sir. I hope this covers it. There you are. What's wrong? Of course, sir. We're not prepared to handle such fantastic denominations in our humble little pub. What's that? Can't you change this bill? Sir, this is a million-pound banknote. Of what? Were you mind translating that into American? Current rate is about four-and-a-half dollars to the pound. Four-and-a-half million dollars? Million dollars in my pocket? Don't bother about the price of the meal, sir. It's on the house. Oh, fine. In that case, I'll have a cigar. Yes, sir. Here you are, sir, the best in England. Thank you. Thank you. Now, for Matt? Oh, there you are, sir. This is a wonderful joke, but obviously this bill is a phony. So I'll just light my cigar with it. Huh? Well, hello. Oh, you mustn't burn it. It's really worth a million pounds. There are only two of those bills in England. Well, how do you know all this? Uh, I, um... I work in a bank. Wait a minute. Your voice, I think I know you. Oh, no, no, you don't. Did you ever sing this song? Thus can the shadows fall. Perhaps those a million people must know that song. Two million even. I think I'd better leave. Well, now, now, now, wait a minute. Wait a minute. Well, I'm sure that's the girl I heard, but who is she? The stars are gleaming. Give me a moment for act two of the million pound bank note. Do you know that an important part of you can travel anywhere in the United States for only three cents? It's true. Three season of the year in every kind of weather. The railroads are at work carrying your letters and packages all over America. Yes, for economy as well as for extent and dependability of service, no other form of transportation can match the railroads in carrying the mail. Ours is a vast and far-flung country, a country of small scattered towns as well as big cities. And our people send and receive a tremendous volume of mail moving between all our 41,000 post offices, small and large alike. Nobody can come close to doing the tremendous overall job of hauling the mail, taking the lean, costly small-scale movements as well as the halls between big cities at anything like the low cost at which it is done by the railroads. Truly, when it comes to carrying the mail as well as most everything else, we eat, wear, buy, and use. The railroads are our number one form of transportation. Now here is act two of the Lawrence and Lee dramatization of the Million Pound Bank Note, starring Gordon Macrae as Hank and Dorothy Warren-Schold as Portia. If I was a millionaire If I was a millionaire If I was a millionaire Wait a minute. I am a millionaire. I had another look at the letter that came with the money. It didn't explain much. I could keep the million pounds for 30 days and then report back to the old Jesus who gave it to me. So there I was walking down the street with a million pounds in my jeans and I couldn't even use it to light a cigar. Hello. Well, hello. Oh, I'm glad to see you're not in jail. Well, why should I be in jail? Well, I was afraid you might get in trouble with that million pound bank note. Somebody might think you stole it or forged it or something. Would you, uh, would you care if I went to jail? Well, yes, of course I'd care. Well, then you must like me a little bit anyhow. No, I didn't say that. I like you quite a bit. How would you like to fall in love with a penniless millionaire? My family has advised me against involvements with romantic young men. Oh, we don't have to get involved. We just get married. And love would have nothing to do with it? Why should it? It's like the evening breeze through the trees where we sleep is just a game that two are playing. Love is nothing but a game of chance. Love... Can't marry you, Mr. Adams. How do you know my name? Why, everyone in London is talking about you. Well, you're Henry Adams Esquire, the eccentric millionaire. Do they call me that? Is that what they're saying? Ah, now I know what to do. Ex-centricity Esquire. If I were really as famous as the young lady said, why not cash in? I rented a small office and then ran a discreet advertisement in the London Times. Advice on financial matters. 100 pounds per inquiry. Henry Adams Esquire. The next morning's mail brought 156 letters. Before opening them, I divided them into two neat piles. Half the letters in each. To the queries in one pile, I replied, do it. To the queries in the other pile, I replied, don't do it. Within a few days, my financial counsel was an overwhelming success because the way I figure it, the successes of the world are the people who either do it or don't do it. They're sure to be right 50% of the time. The failures of the people will never make up their minds. They're wrong 100% of the time. I finally knew I'd arrived when the morning mail brought an invitation from the foreign secretary to a ball in my honor. Distinguished guest Henry Adams, I'll now hear a song composed by one of his illustrious countrymen, Stephen Foster. Our soloist is the charming Portia Langham. There she is. Well, that's the girl. Oh, at last I know your name. Mr. Adams, well, eccentricity has proved very profitable for you, hasn't it? This is my 29th night as a vest pocket millionaire. By tomorrow noon I must return that accursed bit of paper I shall be absolutely miserable. But why should you be miserable, Mr. Adams? I have the feeling you've been hovering about for the past month as a sort of guardian angel. At 12 or one tomorrow afternoon I may find myself rich in my own right, but minus my angel. I am not an angel, Mr. Adams, and well, I'm sure you'd find it a bit tiresome to have one I'm hovering about. Good night, Mr. Adams. Wait, don't go away. Where will I find you again? Gentlemen, I return here with your million pounds. Somewhat creased, perhaps, but none the worse for where. Did you have a hard time of it, my boy? Oh, on the contrary. On the contrary, sirs, this piece of currency has taught me an important lesson. Small sums of money are meant to be spent. Large sums should merely be brandished. I won the bet. He didn't go to jail. Or starve to death. In fact, Mr. Adams has done very well for himself. I beg to differ with you, gentlemen. Thirty days ago I was penniless, but a free man. Today I am passably wealthy, but a prisoner. A prisoner? I am in love. But the young lady evades me like a moth in the fog. A moth in the fog, dear, dear, dear, dear. She sings. Her name is Portia Langham, and I had the curious impression that I first heard her voice coming from this very house. Perhaps you acquired that impression, young man, from the fact that Miss Langham lives here. She does? Portia is our niece. That's Portia. Are you in love with her, young man? Why, of course I am. We have reason to believe that she's in love with you. She is? You two decide to get married. Do you know what we'll give you for a dowry? The million-pound banknote. Oh, no, oh, no, you don't. I've had enough trouble with that piece of paper. If Portia loves me, why, I'm richer than any millionaire. Night and the stars are gay. Ladies and gentlemen, lovely Dorothy Warren Scholl will be back in just one moment. Meanwhile, our hearty thanks to her Butterfield, Joseph Kearns, Polly Bear, and to our entire company. The million-pound banknote based on the Samuel Clemens story was dramatized for the railroad hour by Lawrence and Lee. The railroad hour is brought to you each week at the same time by the American Railroads. Marvin, on Friday of this week, many veterans of Korea and World War II will gather in New Orleans for the eighth annual reunion of a highly important veterans group, the Military Railway Service Veterans. On this occasion, these former soldier railroaders will review again their service in practically every area of the world where American armies have fought, the building of new lines and the operational tactics that move vast amounts of military equipment and supplies into the hands of our fighting men. And in any future emergency, men like these will again be found doing their part of the big job of supplying our armed forces. For their key role in our national defense, the American Railroads are proud to salute these veterans and the thousands of other men in our military railway service. Thank you, Marvin. Well, Dorothy, you were wonderful tonight. As a matter of fact, you sang like a million dollars. Oh, I thank you, Gordon, the same to you. What are we singing next week? Well, you just give a listen. Tom Moore? Oh, you're so right. And there's an enduring story that goes with it called The Mr. Boy. So we'll all be meeting next Monday night in Dublin town to sing our Irish hearts out. I'll see you then, Miss O. Warrant-Schuld. It's a day, Gordon. Good night. Good night, Dorothy. Oh, boy. Well, folks, it looks as though ready to pull out. And so until next Monday night and The Mr. Boy, on behalf of the other members of the cast and the American Railroads, this is your friend Gordon O. McRae saying good night. Gordon McRae can soon be seen in three sailors and a girl in technicolor. Our choir is under the direction of Norman Luboff. Our music is prepared and conducted by Carmen Dragon. This is Marvin Miller saying goodbye until next week for the American Railroads. And reminding you that this week is Americanism Week, sponsored by the General Federation of Women's Clubs, and dedicated to perpetuating the freedom of enterprise and individual initiative which has made this nation great. Now stay tuned for your Monday night of music on NBC.