 Halls of Ivy starring Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Coleman. Venita Coleman. Inviting you to join us again on the campus of Ivy College. Ivy College, that is, in the town of Ivy, USA. When the endowments lag behind, boards of governors are quite justified in trimming their sales to the prevailing financial zeffers, which is what Ivy's governing board did at a budget meeting last night. As a result of which, Dr. William Todd Hunter Hall, president of Ivy, has come down to breakfast in what, for him, is a black mood. As he says to his beautiful wife Victoria, who has a community property approach to her husband's moods... I'd like another cup of coffee, please, Victoria. It might possibly serve to take the taste of last evening's fiasco out of my mind. I'm not against economy, mind you, but penny-pinching gets us nothing but bruised fingers. I'm sorry I was asleep when you got home last night, dear. I take it the budget meeting didn't go your way, huh? Went Mr. Wellman's way for the most part. And Mr. Wellman, however charitable he may be as a private citizen, is, as chairman of the board of governors, a veritable miser. I'd be curious to know how his manicurist could work on such a tight-fisted customer. The cream, please, my love. Yes, here you are, sugar. Yes, sugar, syrup, saccharine, anything. I crave sweetness this morning. And what did our spin-thrift Clarence do as watchdog of the treasury? Fight the mailman? No, our Clarence, in a fit of obstinacy and parsimony, spear-headed a move to cut $2,000 from the appropriation of a college study. Perhaps pin-headed is a better word. Yes, yes, he pin-headed the movement. And who would be better equipped? I'll fight to Ivey's last cheque-stub any expenditure which I consider unjustified. I deplore the wasteful... What did I do with my napkin? Your napkin is that piece of twisted linen you're waving in your left hand. Oh, yes. Don't worry about it. I only hope your problem can be armed out as easily. I hope so too. But isn't the college study a special branch of the main library? Yes, books of reference, special research material, rare and valuable volumes, and penalties for their late return are drastic. There's a long list of greatly needed books for this section, which, failing a new appropriation, we must do without. Or was yours the only protesting voice? Where was Mr. Merryweather? He'd be on your side if you asked for $6 million for starter seminar and safe-cracking. Well, unfortunately, Mr. Merryweather was not present. Oh. No, he phoned, but he was laid up with a dislocated vertebra, sustained in Asheville, North Carolina, while trying to blast a golf ball out of a sand trap with a 25-cent bet on the outcome. He told the board not to annoy him with budget problems, as he had, in his own words, just broken his back trying to save two bits. Poor Mr. Merryweather. If he'd known how much you needed him, he'd have come to the meeting on a stretcher. I know he would, but as it was, the board seems to have been spellbound by Mr. Wellman's anguished pleas for economy. His eloquence is nothing short of inspired when it concerns money. Had money instead of heresy been the issue, he could have saved Joan of Arc from burning. For money, he could have had sitting bull playing beanbag with Custer in the seventh capital. I've heard of people talking through their hats, and Mr. Wellman talks through his pocket. In fact, I've... Oh, Louise is out shopping. Cardi, shall I answer it? No, darling, I'll do it. And I hope it is, Mr. Wellman. I'm in exactly the proper mood to... Dr. Hall's residence. Oh, who did you say? Oh, Mr. Lundquist. Yes, I... Yes, I feel as badly about it as you do. No, I'm afraid it's irrevocable. The budget has been officially passed. Oh, yes, Mr. Lundquist, please do. Maybe between us we can find a solution. Yes, yes, I'll be waiting. Goodbye. Mr. Lundquist, you mean the little man in the library? Yes, dear. He's so small, I always think of him as an unabridged, I should say, bookman. Yeah, well, he's been the librarian for the college study for 20 years or more. His right forefinger is spatula. Due to marking his place in books while talking to people. Oh, yeah. He has a sort of friendly pappier as if he was waiting to have his tummy scratched. Is he on his way over here? Yes, he is. He is hoping, in vain, I'm afraid, that we might concoct some miracle of persuasion to get the board to allot him $2,000. What doesn't seem like much money when you think of new gymnasiums and things like that? Oh, Toddy, wouldn't it be just too grand if you could think of something? Too grand? Is that a joke, my love? Why? What's funny about it? Why just wonder $2,000, too grand? Huh? $2,000... Let it go, darling. It's just that I... I'm never quite sure to what extent you have absorbed American slang. Oh, oh, I don't try anymore. I can't keep up with it. You know, I told Mrs. Quincanon once that I had only $3 worth of Mazuma in my purse and she looked at me as if I was the village idiot. Slang itself, while it is occasionally sharp and graphic beyond the powers of conservative expression, too often indicates a paucity of conversational resources. You said it. Thanks, a stack. Oh, yes. You're welcome, a heap. Yes, dear. And now that we have disposed of slang, the slum area of the language, where were we? I mean, Mr. Lundquist, the librarian. You said he was coming over to see if the two of you couldn't weadle $2,000 out of Mr. Wellman. Well, weadling money out of Mr. Wellman in his official capacity is somewhat akin to coaxing hemoglobin out of a rutabaga. Incidentally, I think you'll like, Mr. Lundquist. He's a gentleman. A word defined in various ways, but never better than it defines itself. He is a gentle man. Well, you should know, Governor. Thanks, a gent and no agent, I always say. And if the likes of you like the likes of him, well, he's so skin off my nose, see? Um, remember what, my love? Why, that little costamunger in Covent Garden. The little costa... Oh, oh, yes. Yes, of course I do. Yes, I bought you some roast chestnuts from him. Roast chestnuts? Ah, didn't they smell wonderful? They weren't they nice and hot? Yeah, didn't they taste awful? Do you remember the little boy we finally gave him to outside St. Paul's Cathedral? Yes, the little mudlar. Ah, Vicky, that was one of my happiest memories of London. The day you first took me to St. Paul's. One of mine, too. But then seeing things with you was always like looking through a newly washed window. Fresh and exciting. Do you remember how cool it felt in the cathedral? After that day? The plain black slab. It's a Christopher Wren's tomb. Ah, just think of it. Buried in his own cathedral. Christopher Wren wrote poetry and stone with more grace than most men with ink and quill. Great architect, astronomer, physician, mathematician, inventor, as versatile a genius as Leonardo da Vinci himself. Look, there's the inscription. Yes. Reader, if you seek his monument, look around you. But it's in Latin and you're not even looking at it. Oh, I know it by heart. Besides, I'd rather look at you. To the whispering gallery. That's the Duke of Wellington. Yes, and next to him, Lord Nelson. England is grateful for its heroes. Just as I am grateful to England for you. Oh, William. I'm just Victoria Cromwell, not Oliver. Nevertheless, you have the beauty which Christopher Wren envisioned. And if you'll only marry me, the Courage of Nelson and Wellington. It doesn't take any Courage to surrender. But look, here's the whispering gallery. I'll stay right here. You walk round to the other side over there and whisper to me. Whisper from a hundred feet away? A hundred and eight feet, the book says. Very well. And I hope it's as far as we shall ever be separated. Keep our voices down. Even with such glad tidings as William loves Victoria and Victoria loves William. Victoria loves William. Lundquist. Lundquist. Ah, good morning, Mr. Lundquist. Ah, good morning, Dr. Hall. Hello, Mrs. Hall. It's nice to see you again, Mr. Lundquist. Won't you sit down? Can I get you some coffee? No, thank you. I can stay just a moment. Is it really a lost cause, Dr. Hall? Have we exhausted every possibility? Well... Maybe if we polled the individual members of the board and explained how necessary it is that we have this money, what a blow it is to our prestige. As I feel as badly as you do. But, short of blackmailing the board members, I can see no way out. Blackmail? I find myself rather handicapped in practicing blackmail, Dr. Hall. I know nothing bad about anybody. Oh, well, maybe you can remember something good about somebody that they're ashamed of. No, I'm afraid I couldn't lend myself to extortion, Mrs. Hall, even in this cause. Have you any ideas yourself, Mr. Lundquist? None. But the books have to pay for themselves somehow. We could possibly increase the systems of fines and penalties, but they're already pretty steep. Fines and penalties, eh? Hmm. Tell me, Mr. Lundquist, how far back to the records of the library study go? Good heavens, long before my time, and I'd been librarian for 24 years, we must have records covering 35 years at least. What did you have in mind, Dr. Hall? Nothing specific, I'm afraid. But he has one of those open minds that things can get into. Well, I've often found that we can get a new slant from old transactions. Come, Mr. Lundquist, let's go over to the library. I'd like to go through the old records. Who knows? Out of the worthless past, we may win a valuable present. This presentation of the Halls of Ivy, starring Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Coleman. He returned to the Halls of Ivy. Dr. Hall is just entering the house after a perusal of the records in the library study. His wife, Victoria, takes one look at his smiling face and says, Oh, look at my beamish boy. You've found something. Ah, your beamish boy did indeed, my darling. He returns laden down with metaphorical apples, peaches, pears, plums, pomegranates, pineapples, and prunes. You mean it was a fruitful visit? Ha ha, fruitful. Fruitful is the word. Yes. Although the effect on one of my fruit stand customers will be that of the green persimmon. If you mean Mr. Wellman, and I hope you do, he always looks as though he just finished eating one anyway. What did you find? Well, I found, I think, the chink in the armor. But to make the affair worthwhile from a standpoint of official action and personal gratification, I shall require the services of Mr. Francis X Grogan, the campus cop. Has he been here yet? No, not yet. As a matter of fact, I haven't seen Mr. Grogan for months, testimony, I suppose, to my law abiding life. Is he going to pinch somebody for you? No, no, I'm just using Grogan as a symbol of law and order. The mace of authority and the whip of power. Grogan, as you know, is one... Triggers, the cops. Fear not, my love. I'll explain that while you did steal my heart, not larceny, but a fair exchange. Wait a minute, Louisa, what's your night off? Who asked you for a date? I just want to keep a good watch in the house when it helps away. Okay, okay. So much for romance. It seems to have been arrested and without a warrant. But that's it. Oh, hello, Mr. Grogan. Hello, Officer Grogan. Come on in. Hi, Mrs. Well, hello, Doc. I got the word you want me for something special. Home to why shoot. Now, it isn't quite that special, Grogan. I merely want you in your official capacity in full uniform and badge to enforce a certain regulation. The uniform's a cinch, Doc, because my official costume is my entire wardrobe. With a school furnishing the best quality of broadcloth, wouldn't I be a marvel head to go out and make like a civilian at 75 bucks a suit? Not always in uniform. That's me. Thereby, getting a reputation of good old Grogan always on duty. I wish you boys would get down to business. I want to know what regulation Officer Grogan is going to enforce and against whom. Don't matter whom against Mrs. Hall, Grogan treats them all the same. Big potatoes, little potatoes, no fear, no favor. Regulations is regulation. I'm here to see that they can enforce, and all you gotta do is break me. Point me the way to go and with no regards for personal danger or political influence. Who'd you say it was, Doc? Mr. Clarence Wellman. Clarence Wellman, I'll go right over and pick... Oh, no! Please, not him. Oh, not the chairman at a board. No fear, no failure, Mr. Grogan, remember? Oh, do I understand, Francis Xavier Grogan, that you, the representative of law and order on this campus? I know, but Wellman, he ain't a student. He ain't on the campus. He's out of my jurisdiction. He's out of my territory. Do I understand that you, a sworn officer of the peace, who willfully and deliberately refused to accept an assignment, which falls within the normal scope of your position? Thus violating the sacred terms of your employment? Which read in part, and I quote, Cressi di Undo, demotuous, nil-nice Ibonum, chef de cuisine, Errare humanumist, and Omnia Gaglia, Estin Pate's trez divisa. You got me, Doc. I didn't read a small print. I never know what I was saying. Well, it must have been a very interesting oath of office. I like that chef de cuisine touch. So what's cooking? Okay. What a war. What do I pinch Mr. Wellman for, Doc? Oh, it won't be necessary to arrest or incarcerate him, Grogan. I just want you to collect this bill. Oh. It seems that some years ago, Mr. Wellman withdrew a reference book from the college study and did not return it. Knowing full well, the fines and penalties are accruing to such a malfeasance. Oh, wow. Just to collect a couple of parts, and I'm the guy that... What? $1,999.65 for what? Mr. Wellman must have borrowed Dr. Elliot's five-foot shelf. Tell Mr. Wellman the book must be returned also. All the price of replacement will be added to the bill. Hey, look, Doc, you sure you don't want I should kick his dog or install his money or bust a few windows as you... Oh, no, no, don't worry, Grogan. This is a legal bill. It is my duty to send it. Yours to collect it, and Mr. Wellman's to pay it. Now, thank you, Officer, and Godspeed. Okay, Doc. Mine is not the reason why. Mine's just the goal, sit down and cry. I don't think Mr. Wellman will be so angry he'll resort to violence against Francis X. No, no, no. Obviously, my love. You have never seen Grogan in action. He's not a large man, but... But I have seen him bounce an exuberant half back around with one hand, strangle an obstinate weightlifter with the other, while directing a house mother to chapel for pre-Easter services. Oh, no, no, no, no. Don't worry about Grogan. I wonder what's happening. He's had time now to make Mr. Wellman count out $2,000 in pennies. Yes, my eye is on the telephone and my ear is on the doorbell. I think that at any moment... One guest. Too easy. Come in, Mr. Wellman. This is an outbreak. This is the most ridiculous. Undignified badly. Good evening, Mrs. Hall. Isn't it, though? Won't you be seated, Mr. Wellman? I should say not to accept the hospitality of a person who... Well, I must say that digging up an old account and sending a policeman, a campus cop to collect from the chairman of the bottom of... and $2,000. Are you out of your mind, Dr. Hall? Why, Mr. Wellman? What do you mean, why? I mean, expecting to collect a forgotten old account that after 31 years is... Oh, look, fantastic, idiot. And besides, a bill that old is alcohol, Dr. Law. Alcohol. Stand uncollective. Non-collective, anti-collective. You can't do it. Somebody forged your name at the library, Mr. Wellman. Maybe you never even borrowed the book. Of course I borrowed the book, but good heavens, just because I absolutely minded the... Does that justify sending a policeman to my home? Mr. Wellman, what is it, Dr. Hall? You did borrow the book? I just said I did. You never returned the book? Evidently not, but my goodness, a slight oversight like that. You have never paid the legitimate fine for an overdue book? Well, I... Or paid for the book? No, I did not, but after 31 years, does it matter so much? Mr. Wellman, do I understand that you repudiate the debt? Well, now, that's a pretty nasty thing to say, Dr. Hall. It's a pretty nasty thing to do, Mr. Wellman. Sometimes referred to as welching. I told you it was outlawed 31 years. Imagine having a thing like that on your conscience for 31 years. I didn't have any conscience. I mean it didn't. Look, I mean I'd forgotten all about the silly old. Well, let's forget all about it, Mr. Wellman. Let's just consider the incident closed. All right, but... Oh, well, fine. That's very handsome of you, Dr. Hall. Thank you. I'll just report that $2,000, which the college study needs so badly, is uncollectable. Naturally, the accountants who will audit the library next month will have to make public all shortages with the names of the debtors. For 31 years back? From the very beginning, Mr. Wellman. It looked pretty bad, wouldn't it? Yes, it would, Mr. Wellman. The chairman of the board of governors. The watchdog of the treasury. Refusing to okay $2,000 for the library when he himself owed it almost the same amount. Well, when that reporter called this afternoon... You mean the newspapers? They wouldn't dare. Would they? It might make quite an amusing story. You know, between the football and baseball seasons, they have to fill space some way. Look, how about half? $1,000? That's fair, isn't it? Oh, my dear Mr. Wellman, if you're so hard-pressed that another $1,000... Vicky, Vicky, get my checkbook, will you? I'll pay the other half of Mr. Wellman's bill. Oh, no, you don't. I pay my own bills. And I am not hard-pressed. I was merely standing on a principle of... On what principle were you standing, Mr. Wellman? Freedom of speech. That's the right of every man to... I mean... Okay, I give up. I'll mail the college study my check in the morning, Dr. Hall. No, can't you write it now, Mr. Wellman? Here's a blank check, Mr. Wellman. Thank you, Vicky. It's a little tear stain, but that happened when I thought you were going to have to write one for $1,000. You don't trust me, Dr. Hall? Well, any man who forgets a book for 31 years can certainly forget a check in 12 hours, Mr. Wellman. Simple logic. Here, use my pen. Oh, there you are. I added $3, price of the book. And I'd remind me to do something about that fellow Grogan. Oh, oh, he was just obeying orders, Mr. Wellman. You can't... Of course he was. And anybody with the nerve to bang on my door and try to collect $2,000 takes what it's got. I mean, he's got what it takes. He'd been like him. Courage, integrity, grit. Who'd that? Vicky, did you say a reporter called today about this matter? Oh, no. She wanted the guest list for Mrs. Quincannon's teen ex, right? Well, that was what finally built the fire under Clarence Wellman. He saw himself smeared in headlines from Maine to Mexico as Wellman the Welsher. Well, anyway, you beat him again. Oh, no, my love, he beat himself. In this case, he was defeated by his own conscience. After you had prodded it. Nevertheless, it was there to be prodded. Although I doubt if Mr. Wellman ever saw the little rule of life found written in George Washington's copybook, labor to keep alive in your breast that little spark of celestial fire conscience. Unfortunately, Mr. Merriweather was not present. Oh. No, he phoned that he was laid up with a dislocated vertebra, in Nashville, North Carolina, while trying to blast the golf ball out of a sand trap with a 25 cent bet on the outcome. He told the board not to annoy him with budget problems, as he had, in his own words, just broken his back trying to save two bits. Poor Mr. Merriweather. If he'd known how much you needed him, he'd have come to the meeting on a stretcher. I know he would, but as it was, the board seems to have been spellbound by Mr. Wellman's anguished pleas for economy. His eloquence is nothing short of inspired when it concerns money. Had money instead of heresy been the issue, he could have saved Joan of Arc from burning. For money, he could have had sitting bull playing beanbag with custard in the seventh scaffolding. I've heard of people talking through their hats and Mr. Wellman talks through his pocket. In fact, I've... Oh, Louise is out shopping. Shall I answer it? No, I'll do it. And I hope it is, Mr. Wellman. I'm in exactly the proper mood to... Dr. Hall's residence. Oh, who did you say it? Oh, Mr. Lunkwist. Yes, I... Yes, I feel as badly about it as you do. No, I'm afraid it's irrevocable. The budget has been officially passed. I take it the budget meeting didn't go your way, huh? Went Mr. Wellman's way for the most part. And Mr. Wellman, however charitable, he may be as a private citizen, is, as chairman of the Board of Governors, a veritable miser. I'd be curious to know how his manicurist could work on such a tight-fisted customer. The cream, please, my love. Yes, here you are, sugar. Yes, sugar, syrup, saccharine, anything. I crave sweetness this morning. And what did our spin-thrift Clarence do as watchdog of the Treasury? Bite the mailman? Our Clarence, in a fit of obstinacy and parsimony, spearheaded a move to cut $2,000 from the appropriation of a college study. Perhaps pin-headed is a better word. Yes, yes, he pin-headed the movement. And who would be better equipped? I'll fight to Ivey's last cheque-stub, any expenditure which I consider unjustified. I deplore the wasteful... What did I do with my napkin? Your napkin is that piece of twisted linen you're waving in your left hand, Doc. Don't worry about it. The problem can be armed out as easily. I hope so, too. Isn't the college study a special branch of the main library? Yes, books of reference, special research material, rare and valuable volumes, and penalties for their late return are drastic. There's a long list of greatly-needed books for this section, which, failing a new appropriation, we must do without. Or was yours the only protesting voice? Where was Mr. Merryweather?