 Halls of Ivy, starring Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Coleman. This is Ronald Coleman. And Benita Coleman. Inviting you to join us again on the campus of Ivy College. Ivy College, that is, in the town of Ivy, USA. The final weeks of any college semester are crowded ones. And Dr. William Todd Hunter-Hall, president of Ivy, has just put in a strenuous day at his office and returns home to number one faculty row and his wife, Victoria, with gratitude and relief. Vicky, Vicky, you home? I hope. Oh, hello, Lamb. You sound tired. Yes, your tired Lamb has returned to the fold and about ready to. Ready to what? The fold. Well, collapse in your chair, darling, and tell me all about it. If you don't mind, I'd rather not. That would require a recharging of my mental batteries. And at the moment, I would away with thinking. Which away? That away? No. I'll put it this away. I devoutly hope that we have nothing on the calendar for this evening. Not a thing, Louise is going out tonight to have a date alone with your wife. A date alone with my wife to the exclusion of the rest of the world is a unique and happy event. And when I think of the schedule for the next two weeks... Oh, I know. The faculty dinner Friday. And this weekend, we have the president's reception. Hey, oh, yes, a week from tonight. Next Wednesday, the Wellmans are coming here for dinner. Oh, yes. Now, why did I forget that? Freudian block, perhaps. I made the date a month ago. The Wellmans are the kind of people who can't invite at the last minute. They always think the people you really wanted suddenly dropped dead. And you only asked them out of desperation. Excuse me, Doctor Hoff. Oh, good evening, Louise. Is it all right now? I wasn't aware that anything was wrong. If I don't, the prices change. Of them, by all means, do. Thank you. Thank you. And Mrs. Hall, I cooked the chicken, but don't touch it. Well, at today's prices, I'm not surprised it's sensitive. I just don't know if I'm going to like it anyway since she's changed the color of her hair. Oh, the chicken? She's almost old enough to be his mother. Is that all, Doctor Hall? Oh, yes. I think that takes care of everything. I'll just a moment, Louise, before you go. Is the cooked chicken for tomorrow night's dinner? That's what I said, Mrs. Hall. Oh. But she'll never get me to believe she's doing the singing. Well, good night. Good night, Louise. It's in the green one. But don't let it stand too long or it'll fall. That's eggs for you. Lisa, for you. How did you do, Toddy? I thought she dropped more stitches than usual tonight. All I know is that I'm quite hungry and the chicken is for tomorrow night. By tomorrow I'll have to be fed intravenously. Oh. I'm sure that whatever is about to fall is in my new green casserole. It's probably one of her superb cheese souffle. Good. But what did you mean about the change in prices? Well, I expected she was going to the movies. But who is it that's changed the color of her hair? Oh, her name is Legion. Thanks to the... thanks to the amazing advances of our technological culture, the lady can now match her hair to her gloves, her purse, or her mood. Once found only on an automobile, the convertible top is now a mere matter of cosmetics. And the permanent, which is so ridiculously temporary, is one of the... Oh, I expect Louise has forgotten her key. I'll get it, darling, but you go right ahead with your beauty shop lecture. And by the way, do you think you could stick me in tomorrow afternoon about 4.30 for a shampoo and finger wave? I don't know. Professor Heastlip's coming in for manicure, too. I'll have to look at my appointment book. Why, Mr. Merryweather, come in. Well, thank you, ma'am. How nice of you to call. It's nice of you to say nice, ma'am, when we both know that this is an unholy hour for visiting. Oh, child's kind. Glad to see you. And sit down. You're just in time to hear Richard Hudnut Hall on the subject of modern makeup or what foundation cream to use when building a foundation for a creamer in. No, child's, I shall not subject you to my layman's opinions on such an esoteric aspect of American life. Oh, esoteric, maybe, but don't give your wife any lessons in lily-guilding. That schoolgirl complexion needs no more schooling. She has graduated magna cum wolf whistle. Finesse in flattery. Oh, not flattery, ma'am. Just honest, gasping admiration. Now, child's, you are a gratifying relic left over from the age of gallantry. Unfortunately, the art of praise has been neglected in this hard-bitten pungent period of ours when compliments are reduced to such frightening phrases as slick chick, dreamboat, and hot shot. You're gone, kid, real gone. I like to think of myself as a gallant character. In the secret life of Walter Mitty Merriweather, he sees himself in a scarlet cape and a plumed hat on rendered knee. It's an odd place to wear a plumed hat. Oh, I don't know. There's something so plebeian about a plain kneecap. Now, finish this revolting picture, child. I find it quite cloak and sordid. Yes, proceed to Lancelot. Or go on, Gawain. Don't encourage me, ma'am. I'm just a lock-and-barred heart and love laughs at lock-and-bars of my age. But there's nothing romantic about my reason for dropping by this evening. Bill, does the name JB Radcliffe mean anything to you? Radcliffe? Oh, yes, I think Mr. Wellman did mention him. Well, I'll brief you briefly. Radcliffe is an Ivy alumnus who's been living for years in comparative obscurity until Clarence suddenly discovered he'd become a millionaire. Unhappily, Clarence was in my office a week ago and JB called to say he'd be going through Ivy tonight. Naturally, Clarence invited himself along for dinner. Naturally, Clarence saw the handwriting on the endowment, didn't he? Yes, ma'am. But Radcliffe is not what you might call the enamored of Wellman. In fact, he thinks Clarence is a clunk. I tried to tell him what a fine man he was, how the Wellman ancestors were good Mayflower stock, how the Wellmans founded a certain city in New England, and Radcliffe said, what city? Marblehead? That will give you an idea. Well, is there anything I can do to alleviate the situation? Then Mr. Wellman, a telegram, saying his soup factory's on fire, and the Malaga Tony got too hot. Yes, we might send it collect so he'd shoot the messenger boy and get arrested. We've got to gag Clarence somewhere. Oh, better just let him run his course and hope for the best. After all, with a possible million-dollar endowment in sight, he might be quite a graceful dinner companion. He'll be too graceful. He'll butter Radcliffe like a breakfast bun. Now, believe me, I can get more folding money out of him with a few friendly insults than Clarence could extract with flattery, prayer, cajolery, and asking to see snapshots of his grandchildren. Well, it's my problem, kiddies. Wish me well. Oh, we do, Mr. Merriweather. May the Radcliffe fountain pen run freely tonight. Yes, and please let us know what success you have. I shall. And if, in a moment of mad sanity, I stabbed Clarence with a lobster fork and they sent me up the river, use your influence for the governor to get me a low number. Mr. Merriweather, darling, but I am glad that he and not us has Mr. Wellman on his hands for dinner tonight. Dennis, Vicky, I'm starved. Lock the doors, barricade the windows, muttle the telephone, and let's have at the souffle. Was it hardy, yes, you and me, and lighted candles and a sink full of dishes? Want some more coffee? No, thank you, darling. I am surfited, satisfied, replete, and full. I doubt if I can eat again until sometime late in August. Well, you go in the other room and curl up with a chess problem, and I'll do the dishes. We'll do the dishes. No, no, my goodness. Only a few thousand of them said she with a grave little smile. Oh, very well, if you don't mind. But if you insist, of course, here's an apron for you. Apron? Well, haven't you something not quite so dready? These ruffles, after all. Well, very becoming to you. Turn around, I'll tidy up for you. Thank you, dear. I've met to a certain inability to attire bonus. Oh, no, not visitors. Well, I'll chase them away. I'll tell them Dr. Hall is not at home. You just poke your head out of the door and say, your mother doesn't want any. No, with this apron on, they'll think I'm my mother. Good evening, Dr. Hall. Well, the hair. Mr. Wellman. Oh, I hope we're not late. Oh, Mrs. Wellman. Clarence and I have been looking forward to this evening. Well, good evening. Come in. Thank you. See, the little woman has put you to work, Dr. Hall. Lending a helping hand in the kitchen? Oh, no, Bunny. I think we have a treat in store for us tonight. I'll bet, Dr. Hall, that you're preparing the dinner yourself. Dinner? Well, I... Yes, indeed. I put a ring around this date on my calendar. Dinner June 11th. There's a little verse at the top of that calendar, too, says, Breaking of engagements is for the socially inept. An appointment is a promise and a promise must be kept. Yes. That's a very... But where's Mrs. Hall? Why, she's out in the kitchen. Fixing up some little curlicues and doodads, huh? Well, that's for me. Always eat so many appetizers, never can eat any dinner. Host always has the roast left for Sunday night supper. Left all the wellmen, they call me. The man who came to dinner couldn't eat any. You can help, Mrs. Hall. I'll just trot out to the kitchen. No, no, no, no, no, please, please. We only put our guests to work when there is something really difficult to do. You know, like fixing the plumbing or painting the... No, no, no, no, no, please, sit down. No, I'll go and see what I can do to save the situation. I mean, you'll help me with the... Well, we'll make yourselves comfortable, won't you? I'll be with you in a moment. Take your time, man. Take your time. Good all evening, you know. Vicki. Did you get rid of whoever it was? Vicki, it's the wellmen's. They've come for dinner. But they can't. I'll be with you until next week. And besides, we've had dinner. We'll have to eat another. They're all dressed up for the occasion. But I do. What do we have? There's nothing in the... Oh, yes, there's Louise's chicken. Well, well, if you can stall them, maybe I can sneak upstairs and get dressed. Mr. Wellman obviously confused our invitation for next week with the merry-weather Radcliffe dinner tonight. Then we've got to keep them here if I was going to get that endowment. Yes, we'd better. I'm appalled at the prospect of another dinner, but, as Byron said, all history attests that happen is for man the hungry sinner since Eve ate apples. Much depends on dinner. The Hall of Survival, starring Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Paulman. It's a few moments later, and Dr. and Mrs. Hall are in their kitchen feverishly trying to throw a dinner together for their unexpected guests, Mr. and Mrs. Wellman, who are sitting in the living room. Bertha Wellman is saying... It's an old room, but really quite lovely, Bunny. Of course, I could never live with those drinks. Why not? What's the matter with them? Oh, they're much too busy. Busy? Doing what? Just hanging there? Well, I mean, Bunny, a quieter pattern. Oh, and I should think she'd have more flowers around. I've heard so much about her roses. What's the matter with that clump on the piano? Very pretty. Yes, but for a party, Bunny, what do you suppose has happened to their maid? Don't know and don't care much. Can't understand her anyway. Always talks like she was skipping rope at the same time. Well, they probably let her off for tonight to make it more intimate. Oh, usually knows what he's doing. Hello, Mr. Wellman. How do you do, Mrs. Wellman? I'm so sorry you had to wait, but this has been one of those days when everything got mixed up. Oh, I know just how that is, Mrs. Hall. And then something unexpected came up for our housekeeper, so I hope you won't mind having potluck. Don't be modest, Mrs. Hall. We've been here before. We know all about what kind of a dinner you serve. Ah, here we are. Everything finally seems to be organized in the culinary department. I have a few hors d'oeuvres here that may help to assuage the pangs of hunger. Mrs. Wellman? Thank you. Now, let me see. What's that intriguing little one there in the middle? Oh, hors d'oeuvres like magic tricks. If you tell how they're done, everybody says, oh, if I haven't saved anybody could do that. I love them and don't care how they're made. I'd eat the cap off a beer bottle if it had a piece of cheese and a slice of olive on it. A visual appeal, I suppose. Oh, in my soup advertising, I insist on full color. How can you sell beautiful tomato soup in black and white ads? Looks like a bowl of melted golf balls. You know, I've always wondered why they're called hors d'oeuvres. Well, it's from the French and means literally outside of the work. Oh, how interesting. You mean outside of work I hate hors d'oeuvres most? No, no, Vicky. The origin of the phrase is not generally known. It seems there was a pastry cook in the royal kitchens of Louis the Pious. His name was Gaston Flambeau and his specialty was serving tremendous pastries which when opened revealed beautiful peasant girls with lutes. Lutes? You mean lutenants? A lute was a musical instrument. How did Gaston go from big pastries to hors d'oeuvres? Did he run out of peasant girls? No, no, no, it was... Well, it was all due to the famine of the year 823. You see, in desperation, the royal kitchens had to satisfy the royal appetite with reduced but tasty novelties. And Gaston Flambeau was so successful at utilizing leftovers that he was made a duke. Yes, this, of course, broke his spirit because his heart was in the kitchen. He spent his last years hanging about the scullery maturing hors d'oeuvres, hors d'oeuvres, out of work, out of work. You see, Bertha, what did I tell you? This man knows everything. Oh, what a delightful bit of history. Well, when better history is made, my boy'll make it. Thank you, my darling. Why can't you ever remember little facts like that, Bunny? Well, you know, just a little nickname. We met on Easter. Across the churchyard, I called her Bertie. The halls aren't interested in hearing them, the whole story. Oh, on the contrary, Mrs. Willman, I'm delighted to hear about such personal history. Yes, Dr. Hall, I may be a bear as chairman of the Board of Governors, but when the day is done, after office hours. You're a lamb, Mr. Willman. Well, thank you, Mrs. Hall. Well, you too. Don't know what Dr. Hall would do without you. Charm, balance, common sense, and taste. Taste? Oh, well, thank you, Mr. Willman. That's a perfect cue. Dinner is served. Have a cup of coffee, Mr. Willman. No, thank you. Now, where was I? Oh, yes, it was in the spring of 1911 when George Usher... No, nobody. It was the fall of 1912. And it wasn't George. It was his cousin, John. You see, Dr. Hall, John Usher was an old friend of my family. You remember the Usher's of North Platte, Nebraska? Well, no, I don't believe that. Oh, they were very prominent people. They had the largest sporting goods store in North Platte, and it was no time at all before Clarence became manager. Birdie, will you let me tell it, please? You're getting it all backwards. Now, Dr. Hall, I don't know whether I ever told you before, but I began my career by tying flies. Flies? What did you tie them to? The art of tying flies is strictly pescatorial. But what about the humane society? The idea of tying up little flies, Mrs. Hall? Well, a trout fly makes it even worse. A house fly might not mind being tied up in the house, but a trout fly used to the great outdoors. Mrs. Hall, these were artificial flies. I don't think their social attitudes are important, Mr. Willman. Maybe they just acted artificial. I mean... Victoria, dear, they were imitation flies made of silk and thread used by fishermen as lures. Yes, darling. Thank you. And now we're even for Gaston Flambeau. But now tell us, Mr. Willman, what happened after your successful career as a tie flyer? A try fly tie, my dear. As a tie flyer? It doesn't sound right, does it, a tie flyer? Let's try forgetting it. Excuse me. Dr. Hall speaking. Hello, Bill. Merryweather. Hello, Mr. Merryweather. I hope I didn't get you up. Oh, no. As a matter of fact, we have company. Oh, well, then I'll make just a short report. Radcliffe is in the bag. Gave me a whopping big check private. Three quarters of a million. And that ain't cold slaw, brother. No, it's definitely more nourishing. By the way, what do you suppose happened to Clarence? He never showed up. Oh, it's been a delightful evening. Yes, the Wellmans were here for dinner, you know. As a matter of fact, we're just sitting around chatting. Is Mr. Merryweather feeling now? Splendid, Victoria, just splendid. Oh, oh, has he been sick? That's too bad. He's such a nice man. Sick nonsense. I just saw him this morning. Looked perfectly all right to me. As a matter of fact, we were supposed to be together. That is, I distinctly marked the calendar. I put the ring around the rosy. I mean, this is a date. I shouldn't be here. By what do you mean, Mr. Wellman? Who would trick you and for what? Merryweather had dinner with Radcliffe tonight, didn't he? Well, yes, Mr. Wellman. He did mention something. Mention? That's where I was supposed to be. But you made me make a mistake. That is, you misled. I got my mixed. That is my date. I was short. Good night, Mr. Wellman, remember? Oh, you mean you weren't expecting us until next Wednesday. Oh, how dreadful of us, Mrs. Hall. Oh, not at all, Mr. Wellman. By Bernie, how could you? Me? What did I do? I suppose I... Well, Mr. Wellman, you were so emphatic about the fact that you had ringed this date that... that we thought perhaps we were the ones who had made the mistake. Don't you try to crawl out of it now, Dr. Hall. I did. All I want to know is, why did you let me do it? You knew Merryweather and Radcliffe were expecting me. You knew I had no business being here. So why did you throw me out? Suddenly tonight, Toddie, despite all that panic and mixed up and... incidentally, darling, was the dinner too bad? Your which dinner? The one we ate or the one the Wellman ate? Oh, excuse me. Hello, Louisa. You too, stiller. Did you have a nice evening? I don't know why I bothered. I couldn't see any difference in her hair. Oh, that's too bad. After all, you're worrying. It wasn't intact in color, so how could you tell? Well... Good night, darling. You know, I'm kind of done in myself. Yes, our nice quiet evening. But it was well spent, Vicki. And may I say that you came through in the crisis magnificently. Well, you know me. Quick study. And if you haven't got a script, you have to add lib. Excuse me, Mrs. Hall. What happened to the chicken? Oh, Louisa, we forgot to tell you. We had it for dinner. But the souffle, that's gone too. Well, we had two dinners, Louisa. Were you that hungry, Dr. Hall? I don't know, but our guests were... Well, it's not that I'm mind that the chicken was for tomorrow night. Yes, we know, but you may sleep tonight in the happy knowledge that your chicken may be listed with man's other feathered friends of history. Such as which? Well, such as these eagles which saved the Mormon crops in Utah. The ravens which fed Elijah. The geese whose cackling warned an ancient city of an impending invasion. What about my chicken? That fly connected historically. Well, Louisa, having your chicken on hand tonight made it possible for us to feed Mr. and Mrs. Wellman. Thus setting Mr. Meriwether free to catch a benevolent goose which laid this college a golden egg. Louisa is played by Elizabeth Patterson. Mr. Wellman is Herbert Butterfield. Mr. Meriwether is Gail Gordon. And Mrs. Wellman is Sarah Selden. Tonight's script was written by Barbara, Milton Merlin, and Don Quill. Music was composed and conducted by Henry Russell. Ken Carpenter speaking. This production of The Halls of Ivy was broadcast with an actual audience present in the studio.