 Theater. Harry Grant and Gene Crane in People Will Talk. Ladies and gentlemen, your producer, Mr. Irving Cummings. Ladies and gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen. If you saw Twentieth Century Fox's fine drama, People Will Talk, I'm sure you continued to talk about it long after you left the theater. Above is unusual dramatic ingredients. The mysterious and romantic Dr. Praetorius. And a frightened and desperate girl who turned to him for help and understanding. And of course you recall the outstanding performances of the stars who portrayed these two central figures. The week we have invited Harry Grant and Gene Crane to recreate their exceptional roles in People Will Talk. Now act one of People Will Talk, starring Harry Grant as Dr. Noah Praetorius and Gene Crane as Deborah. Several years ago, a young and wealthy doctor came to the university. He came for two purposes. To teach medicine and to open his own hospital clinic near the counter. In both endeavors, Dr. Praetorius has attained remarkable success. But he remains very much a man of mystery. Well, it's early evening. At his clinic, Dr. Praetorius has just completed the rounds of his patients. And now in his office... I'll have the other reports from the lab in the morning, doctor. What about Mrs. Adams? She's running on the test. How was she when you made this one? Depressed? Excited also. Well, when you run it again, call me. We'll make a laugh through the next one. See what happens with a different set of emotional factors. Well, if you like. May I see you now, Dr. Praetorius? Well, nurse. It's Mrs. Fawcett. She's nearly ready to go home, but she wants to take her gallbladder with her in a bottle of alcohol. I think that's quite touching that I have it. But you know we don't keep gallbladders lying about once they've been removed. This peg whistle is highly unlikely that Mrs. Fawcett would recognize her own, so why don't you just give her any old gallbladder and make her happy? Oh, very well. If those are your orders. Oh, what about the girl in 204? Deborah Higgins? I've just been in to see her. I've left full instructions with the charge, nurse. I'll see her again first thing in the morning. Thank you, doctor. Now, may I see you, doctor? Come in, Miss Fillmore. Rebellion in the diet kitchen, I presume? Doctor, unless all the patients have served breakfast at the same time, I simply cannot run the kitchen without present personnel. Then hire more help. But it is common practice in hospitals. Miss Fillmore, in my clinic, no patient shall be awakened from a health-giving sleep and forced to eat breakfast at a time which happens to please a culinary union. But in the interest of good economy... Bad therapy is never good economy. Now, if you must economize, do it in the doctor's dining room. Oh, and while I think of it, Mrs. Fawcett. Yes, sir. I would not have all the patients bathed at the stroke of a gong for the convenience of the nurses. Now, one of the reasons for my founding this clinic is a firm conviction that patients are sick people, not inmates. Oh, of course, Dr. Petorius. All right. If anything comes up, you can reach me at the University Orchestra rehearsal till 10.30. I'll be home at 11. Good night, all. Thank you. You can get the car, Mr. Shundersfield. Orchestra rehearsal? Someday I'll discover something he can't do. He conducts the orchestra. Wouldn't miss it for the world. Thank you, gentlemen. Tonight, for the first time your attack was not pre-medical. The horns did not sound as if they'd been sterilized and our violins at long last indicate a realization that cat-cuts can create notes as well as sutures. Now, if it were not for the gentleman in back of the bull fiddle, well, Dr. Barger, now, is there any reason why you, who live so intimately with millions of neutrons and know them all by name, cannot maintain a simple beat on a bull fiddle? My only mistake is that I follow your beat religiously. I do not mean to impugn your academic standing, of course. My dear Dr. Petorius, I would willingly entrust my life to your skill as a surgeon, but I would not permit you to conduct my three-year-old nephew to the bathroom. The fact remains that I am the conductor and you pay no attention to me. I pay absolute attention. That's the trouble. Unfortunately, Dr. Barger, you are the only one in our group who possesses the bull fiddle. Now, let us hope that by next rehearsal the two of you will have become better acquainted. Well, that's all, gentlemen. Thank you very much. Shall I get the car? Drive it home, Mr. Shunderson. I'll ride with Dr. Barger. Oh, and, uh, don't wait up. You'll make me very unhappy unless you go straight to bed. Good night, Dr. Mr. Shunderson is not ill. No, just old. I keep forgetting he can't stand these long hours anymore. Noah, something I want to talk to you about. Here and now? Yes, while it's fresh in my mind, just for a minute. Well, sit down. Now, you behave as if you were about to propose. Now, first, I want you to know that I am your good and devoted friend. Now, I've been aware of that for some time, and I am yours. Then believe me, please, when I tell you there is trouble brewing. Professor Elwell and certain other members of the faculty, they've started to rummage about in your past. Noah, it's serious. Let them rummage. They're spitting into the wind. Noah, can Elwell dig up anything that conceivably would discredit you enough to justify a hearing before a faculty committee? How much discredit is enough? I have known you intimately for ten years, but I can't even guess at what you were up to the day before I met you. I suppose I told you all. Could it affect our friendship? Oh, of course not. Well, then? Well, tell me just this then. Shunderson, who is he, Noah? Why is he with you day and night, everywhere you go? I've got no right to tell even you anything about Mr. Shunderson. Well, can Elwell uncover something about his past, or yours, or both, that he can use to make trouble? That depends. Well, shall we go? You can be very exasperating, you know. Drop me by the clinic first, will you? I want to look in on a patient. At this hour? No, I know. You don't happen to have a student by the name of Deborah Higgins, do you? Higgins. No. No Higgins is. Well, she stopped by this afternoon for a checkup, and as she was leaving, she paused in the corridor, took out a small revolver, and shot herself. She tried to kill herself? Yeah. That's a good thing most people have in their foggiest notions, where the heart is actually located. She'll be all right, just a superficial wound. Why did she try to kill herself? You know, I imagine that when people need help the most, it must sometimes seem as if they were all alone in the world. Isn't that true? That's no answer. However, if she is still all alone, you know, if there is still no one to help her, she'll try again. Won't she? As I said before, drop me by the clinic first. Who is it? Dr. Pretoy. See, don't turn on the light. You've been crying again. Is that it, Deborah? Have I? That's a pretty good guess, when a woman wants the light kept off. Either that or her face is none. You know all about women, don't you? Not nearly enough. I don't mean just as a doctor. Not even as a doctor. Deborah, I've got something to tell you. And as a pompous know-it-all... I didn't mean to call you that this afternoon, really. Even when I said it. As a pompous know-it-all, it isn't going to be easy. Now, when you came to see me and I told you that you were going to have a baby, I also mentioned the remote possibility that the laboratory diagnosis could be wrong. Those fog tests, remember? Well... Well, the diagnosis wasn't wrong. The fog reacted perfectly. You merely got the wrong report. I... I what? You see, two tests were being run at the same time. Through unforgivable negligence, you were given a Mrs. Bixby's report. And you mean I'm... I'm not having a baby after all. You're not having a baby after all. You've got nothing to worry about. Oh, that's what you think. Well now, what are you crying about? This is just awful. What is? I just think I had to go and tell you all about myself. And now it turns out I didn't really have to. Now, as a matter of fact, you told me very little. Something about a young man who used to be a student here. You were going to be married when he came back, but he was killed in Korea. Oh, it's all such a crazy nightmare. Well, it's good to have someone to tell it to. But not to you. Well, why not? Oh, never mind. Oh, but at least now my father won't have to know. From what you said about your father, I've got to understand why you'd be afraid of him. Afraid of him? Oh, no. He's the most gentle and understanding man in all the world. But you see, I'm all you've got. And if this had happened, it would have killed him. So rather than that, you'd prefer to kill yourself. Oh, and now you tell me it was all just a mistake in the laboratory. Well, I am. I'll see you in the morning. Dr. Pretorius. Yes? Are all your patients women? Almost. I guess they all fall in love with you. Not all of them? Just most. Not even most. Good night, Deborah. Sleep well. What a mess. Oh, what a mess. Now, help yourself, Lionel. Not first, sauerkraut and beer. Mmm, smells delicious. Believe me, if it were not for your knock for after rehearsals, I would resign from your orchestra. Now, tell me, you're patient at the clinic. Maybe now you'll tell me why she shot herself. Because of an unpremeditated baby. Can I stop by to tell her she was not pregnant after all? Oh, lost the baby, huh? Was it shock or when she fell? She was pregnant now as she ever was. Well, then why in the name of good sense tell her that she isn't? You know, having a baby, my dear boy, that's not the state of mind part of the pickles. I have two reasons. One, to get her a good night's sleep. And the second, to keep her from trying suicide again until I can find her father and talk with him. What has her father got to do with it? She's got an unshakable conviction that the knowledge of what she has done will kill him. And you intend to talk him into clicking his heels with joy? I intend to convince him either to be compassionate about it or to convince her that her father will survive and her chief responsibility is to the baby. Noah, has it ever occurred to you that most of this is none of your business? What is my business, Lionel? Oh, to diagnose physical ailments and to alleviate them? No. My business is to make sick people well. Now, there's a vast difference between curing an ailment and making a sick person well. Wonderful sauerkraut. That tastes like sauerkraut used to taste. Ah, tell me this, Jonathan, you'll be pleased. Hello? When? Oh, I see. No, no, no. Don't do that. Don't notify the police or anyone else. I'll take care of it in the morning. Keep looking, of course. Let me know if you find her. Good night. Who floored the coop, that young lady? Yes. Why? I don't know, but I've got to find her. Yes, I should think so. It seems you've got some important information about her that she hasn't got. But, Noah, be careful. Whatever you do, remember, Professor Elwell is going to find out about it, if he possibly can, he will use it against you. Where would she go, Lionel? Where? Well, to her gentle and understanding father, of course. Yeah, yeah. You're right. We decided to take a Sunday morning drive out in the country, Mr. Shunderson and I. And, oddly enough, Mr. Higgins, we found ourselves. I can't tell you how delighted I am, Dr. I've heard so much about you from my daughter. Have you, Mr. Higgins? Well, won't you, Mr. Shunderson, come up on the porch and sit down? Thank you. Well, fortunate you and Deborah were such good friends when she had that ridiculous little accident. I still don't understand how a girl can accidentally burn a deep well on her side with a curling iron. Hmm? Well, it's not uncommon for women, female students in particular, to curl their hair, eat, read and telephone all at the same time. The results often are disastrous. Yes, I imagine it could have been worse. Much worse. I happen to be devoted to porch sitting here, but if you'd rather go inside... No, this is very pleasant. And I see that you're properly protected against too much fresh air. You don't believe in the benefits of fresh air? I do not. Nor do I believe that eating fish develops a brain. Oh, I could go on for days. You must tell that to Deborah. She's forever driving me out of the house. Father, I've been on time. Father, I see. Hello, Doctor. Hello, Mr. Shunderson. Good morning, Miss. I was wondering about that nasty little burn you got from the curling iron. Oh, it's, uh, fine. Well, it's been almost a week. And since we happen to be driving out this way... Surely you and Mr. Shunderson will join us for dinner. No, no, really. We couldn't impose upon you. Doctor Petorius must have more important matters. Nonsense! We can't let them drive miles to get here and come away on bed. We'll be happy to stay. Have you been here long? Your father and I have just been getting acquainted. Doctor Petorius has a way of knowing people very well, very quickly. After all, you've told me so much about him. Father, I'm not at all sure that it's good for you to be out of doors. There is nothing healthier than fresh air. Don't you have something to do in the kitchen? I haven't the slightest intention of leaving this porch. It also seems that Deborah's told me a great deal about you, Mr. Higgins. Well, there wasn't much to know, was there? The number of accomplishments in my life is one, Deborah. Quite an accomplishment. If you don't mind, I'd rather not be discussed this intimately on the front porch. On the front porch or in the test tube, it's obvious that you are going to be discussed. So why don't you insist on remaining where you're not wanted? Well, why should you want to discuss me? There's nothing to discuss. Is there? Deborah, it's quite apparent that Dr. Petorius has come to talk with me. Now go and tell Bella that there'll be two extra for dinner. Well, what about Uncle John? He's doing his books. I'll tell him later. I would like to help. Oh, no, no, please, Mr. Shunderson. It isn't necessary. Oh, let him. It's a good idea. He'd be of great help. May I ask, is Mr. Shunderson your servant? No, he's my friend. But he likes to help, I see. I referred to Deborah a moment ago as the only accomplishment of my life. I'm sure you were being modest. Well, he's more than my only accomplishment. If you'll permit a rather urethane allergy, Deborah is my heartbeat. Mr. Higgins, now, please don't feel, but you have to tell me anything. No, no, no, I want to tell you about myself for just a moment. Now, my brother John owns this farm. He owns the food I invited you to share and the beds we sleep in and the clothes we wear. Also, Deborah's tuition and the tobacco in my pipe. The pipe is mine. I have other possessions, some scrapbooks, a thin volume of poetry, mine, too. It was published, but it didn't sell, of course, and Deborah, the memory of my wife. I wondered about her. She died when Deborah was very little. And now, if you'll excuse me, I'll find brother John. Now, perhaps it would be better if we didn't fail. Oh, please, please, I'd consider it a favor. I won't be long. Now, Mr. Sanders, then, I thought you were helping in the kitchen. The woman didn't want me. It's not going to be easy what you came here for. I came here to... Oh, shit. Come on, let's go for a walk. Oh, now, that was a very fine meal, Mr. John. Then he ain't turning without chicken. Don't you ever eat chicken on weekdays? Only on Sundays. Have you liked chicken so much? Why not eat it more often? Because I only eat it on Sundays. Uncle John lives according to a very strict schedule. Two things I live by. The good book and the calendar. I get the day's work to do every day in the year. I take care of my work and the good book takes care of me. Then you do the same thing every day of the year. Is that it? Just like the cows and horses and vegetables. That's what the good lord and old mother nature put us here for. To do the job they set out for us. Well, I can't speak for the good lord, of course, but I know a little about old mother nature. If old mother nature had her way, there wouldn't be a human being alive. How do you mean that, John? I mean, among other things, that old mother nature tries to destroy us periodically by pestilence, disease and disaster. That's why the human race has been at war with old mother nature ever since it became the human race. What do you mean? Is that what you teach? That nearly happens to be my opinion. Well, I'm going back on working on my books, income tax. Ain't complaining at all, got more deductions than I thought. Doc, do you mind if I put you and your friend down as a couple of feed salesmen? Oh, no, Mr. Shunderson and I are flatter. Just don't call me Doc. That way I deduct the whole dinner. Just don't play the radio too loud while I'm working out there. No, John. Deborah, why don't you show Dr. Pretorius the farmer? I'm sure he'd be interesting. All right. I'll get a sweater and meet you outside. Tell me, Mr. Hagan, how old were you when you learned to walk? I did pretty well by the time I was four. When did you leave the farm? When I was sixteen. I couldn't have taken you twelve years to make up your mind. I'll wait for Deborah out on the floor. Do you enjoy music, Mr. Shunderson? More than anything. Good. I'll turn on the radio. Mr. Shunderson, Dr. Pretorius has come here to ask Deborah to marry him. Hasn't he? I wouldn't be surprised, Mr. Higgins. John, well, this is the dairy. The cows are out in the pasture. Doing the job, good old Mother Nature gave them, huh? Uncle John has eight cows. Of course, that's far more milk butter and cheese than we need, for we sell the rest in town. That makes it a commercial enterprise and he can ride off. The dairy and the equipment and the cows. Oh, my, all that book work. No, I think I like the dairy best of all. Now, down there is the room for the separator and things. Oh, I'd stay out of there if I were you. You might get caught in the room with a dead end. Now, why did you run away from the clinic? This, of course, is the separator where the cream gets separated from the milk. Why did you run away? It works by centrifugal action. The cream being lighter than the milk rises to the surface. Because I had to. Why? I had to, that's all. Why? Because... Why? I had reasons. What? They were private and personal. You know, I don't have to tell you everything. Why? I'm in love with you. What makes you think so? I can't give you symptoms. It's love, not measles. Hmm. Am I being pompous again? Well, there are some things you can't be scientific about. Even so. Now, why should that make you want to run away in the middle of the night and throw up in slippers? I didn't want to see you the next morning. I wanted to see you. Not if I knew about you, what you knew about me you wouldn't want to. Possibly. I don't know. A person just doesn't fall in love that fast for that often. I just couldn't lie there anymore and think about it. Oh, don't you see, if I do love you, then how could I have been in love with him? And if I didn't love him, then why? Oh, and anyway, I did. Why did I have to go and tell you about it? Turn around. Are you crying again? No. I just want to run away again. No, no more running away. You know you were right about your father. I couldn't have told him. You'd have understood but I couldn't have told him. Certainly you couldn't have. Now, you tell me something. Why did you come out here? Hmm? What do you mean? You couldn't have been to talk to my father. Well, as a matter of fact. There wasn't anything to tell him really, was there? Well, no, not really. Superficial flesh wound like mine. You certainly weren't worried about that, were you? Well, of course not. You're into all the trouble of finding me, searching the registrar's records and whatnot. Why did you come all the way out here? Oh, I don't know really. I think you do know. What's your first name? I can't go on calling you Dr. Pretoria. Uh, Noa. Oh, Noa's a cute name. Well, my real name is Ludwig. Cream is the oily part of the milk. It's not actually a separate product. Uh-huh, I prefer Noa. Now, in hemogenizing milk, for instance, the particles are fat because they're most revived. I do not want to appear on media like about this, but I can't think. Cream becomes part of the general body of the milk. You're a wrong man. You couldn't have come out here because you wanted to talk to my father. And you couldn't have come out because you were worried about my health. And there comes a time when a patient asks the doctor questions. Come on. Why did you come all this way just to see me, Noa? I did have a reason, you know. I know. No, no, you don't. But it doesn't seem to matter much at this moment. You're being pompous again at the moment. Oh, you'd be surprised how un-pompous I am. Then what are you doing? Come here. Well, things do have a way of happening, don't they? Old Mother Nature. Old Mother Nature knows best. Producer, Mr. Cummings. Act two while people will talk. Kerry Grant is Dr. Noa Pretorius. And Gene Crane has Deborah. Deborah, her father, and Dr. Pretorius are upstairs in the farmhouse. I still say this is just plain silly. Probably my suitcase is out the window. You know, there's no reason why we can't just walk out the front door. Come on. It's much more fun this way. When are you going to break the news to Uncle John? As soon as you've got. Uncle John is going to be awfully angry. I hope so. Of course he will. Much against everybody's better judgment, including my owner. I intend to live very happily with you. Golly, I'm scared. Well, if nothing John can do to any of us. No, she's not scared of John. She's scared of me. Pompous, no at all. It just so happens that what I'm afraid of is that you don't really want to marry me. But I won't make you a good enough wife. Well? Well, in the first place, I'm not in the habit of marrying women. I don't really want to marry. You know, Father, his first name isn't really no one. It's Ludwig. The woman has yet to be born who doesn't in her heart believe she'll make her husband a much better wife than he has any possible right to expect. I just don't want to get married tonight. I don't want a long engagement. But can't I even have one day? You'll be married in New York. That takes three days. I must say, you're the only man I ever heard of a wife. Well, exactly like some poor girl who's got to get married. Hmm. I imagine that as a man, I've come as close to it as any other man who ever lived. Now, let's get out of here. Professor Elwell? Yes, yes. This is Conan, Professor, from the detective agency. I got news about Dr. Pretoria. Well? Just stay in your office, Professor. I'll be right over. Professor Elwell? He just got married. Dr. Pretoria's and a girl named Higgins. They got married in New York this morning. I don't require a detective agency to tell me that. They posted that news on the faculty bulletin board. Oh. Well, here's something that ain't on the bulletin board. See this newspaper? Take a look at this picture. Now, whose picture would you say this is, Professor? Shunderson. You bet it is. Right on the front page. Shunderson. But this newspaper? What? Why, it stated March 12, 1921. That's right, Professor. Only there's no doubt about whose picture it is. Is there, now? No, I'm positive. This is Shunderson. But why is his picture in this newspaper? Start reading, Professor. It makes some very interesting reading, Madam. Very interesting indeed. Well, Mr. Shunderson, I thought rehearsal went very well tonight, didn't you? Yes, sir, very well. How is Deborah and her father's come along? Give them a chance to get settled in the house, sir. You didn't forget to invite Dr. Parker to dinner tomorrow night. He invited himself. Lionel never forgets my birthday. It will be a wonderful birthday for you, with a fine wife at the table. It's been quite a week, Mr. Shunderson, quite a week. Doctor, before we get home, there's something you should know. Someone's been following me today, a detective. How do you know? I have a gift for such things. Perhaps it would be better if I went away now. You've made a great career. You have your home, your wife. Responsibilities. No. What should I do, Doctor? Exactly what I shall do. Wait and see what happens. There's someone at the front door. Professor Elwell from the university. At this time of day? Professor Elwell? I told him you'd be sitting down to dinner soon, but he said it's very urgent that he see the doctor, ma'am. Shall I call him? What are they doing upstairs? The three of them, ma'am. Your father, Dr. Barker and Dr. Pretorius, they're playing with what you got him for his birthday. The electric trains, ma'am. Good. Then I'm not going to disturb him. I'll talk to Professor Elwell. I'm sorry that you insist, Mrs. Pretorius. Oh, believe me, I have no wish to upset you. But I want to know, Professor Elwell. I want to know why you're here. Very well then. Dean Brockwell has asked me to give Dr. Pretorius this envelope. It contains a list of charges that have been brought against him. Charges? By whom? What charges? I am not privileged to reveal them. But you know what they are. Unhappily, I do. Well, I must be going. I admire your courage, Mrs. Pretorius. Most women would be, shall we say, apprehensives. Most women are not married to my husband. That's true. Whatever he did, he did for good and sufficient reason. Even if it turns out that he murdered somebody. Your devotion moves me, Mrs. Pretorius. Mr. Shunderson? Yes, ma'am. Will you show the professor to the door, please? He's leaving. You see this envelope, Shunderson? Yes, sir. Give it to the miracle man. Let me have it, Mr. Shunderson. I'll take it up. He was very disappointed knowing that he couldn't hand you this in person, this envelope. Oh, anyway, he's gone now. Oh, well, um, envelope. Have you read this? No. Then why are you crying? That's just it. I don't know why I'm crying. And whatever it says, I don't believe it anyway. Well, nevertheless, according to this document, I am not the picture of innocence you imagine me to be. Do you want me to tell you about it? Not if you think you shouldn't. Not if you think you shouldn't. Now, you know, that's a phrase you use exclusively by women who assume a man's guilty without having the guts to come out and say so. Nothing could be less important to me than if whole business of rumors and charges against you. That's my girl. No, I knew you haven't done anything you shouldn't have. Have you? Many times. But not as a doctor. Now, don't ever worry about it. I won't. Noah? Hmm? Does it seem to you that I cry a lot? No, you know, truthfully, darling, there's never been anything like it since the little Dutch boy took his finger out of the diaper. You never took it out. That's why you were so brave. Do you ever think that your mom doesn't know it all? I never used to cry at all, you know. But now, the least little thing, and I start shedding buckets. Why do you suppose it is? Why do you suppose it is? Well, I guess what sets easily these days, and I used to be, well, is that even sort of calm, even positive about things? What did you say the name of that frog was? Frog? What frog? The one you told me about when I first went to the clinic. The one who gets pregnant in two hours. The frog does know it's that thing now. I think it merely shows certain helpful indications. Well, I'm beginning to show certain indications. Anyway, I think I am. I feel so silly talking to you about it. I know just what you mean. It's the sort of thing you'd rather discuss with a doctor. What seems to be your trouble, Mrs. Victoria? Well, right now, I feel a little like Elsie did this morning. I'm all confused. Heaven knows after I've been through these past few weeks, I have a right to be, but not this confused. No, darling, forgive me for being little Mel from the country, but is it possible? Little Mel, Elsie Dinsmore, or Catherine the Great, it is entirely possible. Well, if it's possible, then you should be the first to know. It is also probable. Do you mind? Comes the dawn, I'll stand on that window sill and crow. Come the dawn next December, you'll be walking the floor with it. Uh, next September. December, dear. September. Now you're getting mixed up. December. September. My dear Dr. Pretoya, since they've changed the rules about how long it takes, I make it December. Well, the rules still hold. You're just not starting back far enough. But don't be silly. How can I possibly start any farther back then? No. Oh, no. You're quite a noble character, aren't you? I never thought of myself as one particular... Oh, no, really. I mean, I've heard of doctors who were self-sacrificing and unselfish, but apparently there's no limit to yours. December, you couldn't be more wrong. Well, you're that afraid I'd kill myself. Now, how afraid is that afraid? Afraid enough to marry me to keep me from it? Is it conceivable to use the right word? Then why did you marry me? Because I'm in love with you. You fell in love all of a sudden, didn't you? All of a sudden I was still falling. Let me know when you hit bottom. Anytime within the next 30 or 40 years. You came out to the farm that day because you knew I was going to have a baby. Then you met my father and my uncle, and you understood why I tried to kill myself. Did I? I mean, by that time, you were all mixed up in it because you'd told me that silly lie about the wrong frog. But I was so obviously in love with you, it was all over me like a tattoo. And so it's no possible way out for anybody. All of a sudden you fell in love with me, and that solved everything, and everybody lived happily ever after. For two weeks, that is. For two weeks and three days. Until I found out that my baby isn't going to be yours. Funny, this calls for tears, and I haven't thought about it. Now, what makes you think this isn't going to be my baby? Because it isn't, because it's... Yes, yes, I know. And however true, it has nothing to do with our baby. Now, his interest in this world will begin as it does with all babies, when suddenly, through no fault of his own, he's rudely deprived of a warm, secure, and well-fed existence, which he has every reason to believe will go on forever, and finds himself upside down in the air being smacked on the backside. Now, are you going to love him? Of course I am. Then we'll keep him warm, and we'll feed him, and make him feel secure again, and give him brothers to play with. Oh, boy, huh? Well, it's time you stopped thinking about yourself and started thinking about my baby. No, if you really suddenly fell in love with me... No, it's... Why? I couldn't say why. Haven't you ever wondered? Falling as fast as I am, I don't have time. A man has adapted you with a reason for everything? Then I'll find it. Any time in the next 30 or 40 years, I'll start wondering. I won't be doing much else, it looks like, except wondering, about you and me, about you and the baby, me and my fine character. Are you feeling sorry for yourself? I'm feeling sorry for you. Don't be. I love you. Be that. Forgive me. Shut up. Love me. Do the guests ever eat the world here? Oh, good heavens, dear, you're briefly dinnered. Right away, Lionel. Many happy returns now. I thank you. As with this, Professor Elwell's greeting, may I? You may indeed. What will they do? Call a meeting. You'll ignore it. Down the country, darling. There's very little I can tell, but get it over with. What can they do to you? Considerable. Will they? I wish I knew it. We'll talk. Starring Kerry Grant as Dr. Norah Pretorius and Jean Crane as Deborah. Two events are scheduled on the campus of the School of Medicine. In the crowded auditorium, a restless audience, and a group of bewildered musicians await the arrival of their conductor, Dr. Pretorius. But Dr. Pretorius suddenly has been summoned to a closed hearing in the office of the dean. My intention, Dr. Pretorius, to conduct this hearing informally, wouldn't you care to join us at the this end of the table? Thank you, Dean. I would prefer to remain as remote as possible. I suggested it merely to avoid having our discussion take on the appearance of a trial. I appreciate your profanities, but I have no intention of regarding an investigation in my methods as a cozy little chat among devoted friends. Here, here. Dr. Barker, no one speaks without being recognized by the chair. I am by nature a man who interrupts. However I shall try. Thank you. Dr. Pretorius, may I suggest that you give us a brief account of your activities prior to your arrival at this university? I prefer to be questioned. Why? Because I do not intend to tell things about myself and my own volition, which are nobody's business, but my own. They are the concern of the entire medical profession. I, I, I be recognized, Professor. Your objection is understandable, Dr. Pretorius. Professor Elwell, you may begin. Thank you. Dr. Pretorius, will you agree to abide by the verdict of this committee? I will do nothing of the kind. Why not? I don't know what the verdict will be. The verdict will affect you seriously, whether you agree to abide by it or not. Then why ask idiotic questions to which you already know the answers? Yeah, why not, Elwell? Will you admit that in 1939 you were a highly successful quack and miracle healer practicing in a remote little village in the southern part of the state? I will admit nothing of the kind. Very well. Where did you live in 1939? In Goose Creek. Would you describe Goose Creek as a thriving metropolis? It is a remote little village in the southern part of this state. Exactly. And what was your source of income in Goose Creek? My practice. You practiced openly? I was available to anyone at any time. I mean to say, did you set up a practice as doctor of medicine? When I came to Goose Creek, I had my degree. I did not, however, display it on my door. On your shop door? His shop door? Isn't it true, Dr. Pretorius, that in that remote village you opened a butcher shop? It was an honorable trade, if ever there was one. Well, in itself, unimpeachable. But what did you sell in your butcher shop? Beef, chops, and poultry at cost. Fish on Fridays. At cost? Then how did you make your living? I made sick people well. Now, why should that start, you professor? I still do. Your practice flourished in Goose Creek because of the pathetic willingness of those poor people to rely upon a belief and miraculous cure because of the readiness with which so many people will prefer the glamorous quack to the licensed physician. Professor LL, despite your definition of a quack, as someone who does not practice medicine according to your rules, the fact remains that a quack is an unqualified person who pretends to be a doctor. I was a licensed practitioner and therefore not a quack. As for the willingness of those so-called backward people to rely upon the curative powers of faith, I consider faith properly injected into a patient as effective in maintaining life as adrenaline. And the belief in miracles has been the difference between the living and dying as often as any scalpel. Now, that is not the issue under discussion. It is precisely the issue. Whether the practice of medicine should become more and more intimately involved with the human beings it treats, or whether it is to go on in this present way of becoming more and more a thing of pills, serums, and knives until eventually we should produce no doubt an electronic doctor. The issue at hand quite simply is that you are masterfortune by treating sick people who believe that you are a miracle-working butcher. I could not have amassed that fortune unless I had made an enormous number of sick people well. Oh, all these folder-old. It has nothing to do with the ethics and honor of our profession, but it has everything to do with the envy of one man's genius for healing the sick. Corporatorious is a psychiatrist, high priest, voodoo, medicine man, witch doctor, anything you like. But don't investigate him, gentlemen. Learn from him. Professor Bach, it was understood that you would not interrupt. I'm sorry you can strike my remarks from the record. I'm sure you all agree with me anyway. So why don't we call off these monkey-shines and start the concert? It would interest me, Dr. Picorio, to know why you ever left this lucrative practice in Goose Creek and under what circumstances? I had always intended to leave when I had acquired enough money to start a clinic of my own. As it turned out, I departed the little settlement planned. I had a housekeeper, an inquisitive maiden lady who discovered my medical diploma in a bottom drawer of my desk. In a matter of hours, the entire village knew that I was not a butcher at all, but a licensed MD. I was confronted by a crowd of angry townspeople and forced to admit the truth. I narrowly escaped being run out of town on a rail. Any more questions, Professor Elvo? A great many more. Thank you. Dr. Petorius, who is Shunderson? I take it you mean Mr. Shunderson. Mr. Shunderson is a friend of mine. Is he associated with you professionally? No. He helped him whatever he can. Where and when he pleaded. Well, he's never very far from your side for long, it seems. Rarely. And what was Mr. Shunderson before you knew him? Well, you refuse to answer? I certainly refuse. You have always evidenced a remarkable tolerance for this strange and mysterious man. His blundering and slow wittiness, of course, constant complaint, and yet you persist in protecting him at all times. Now why? Perhaps because I know the reason for his so-called slow wittiness. And is the reason of so delicate a nature that you can't disclose it? I have no right to disclose it. Gentlemen, Mr. Shunderson is a convicted murderer. Who is it? Shunderson, sir. What are you doing here? I was listening through the door. I put test against his highly irregular and probably pre-arranged eavesdropping. Oh, Alva, you can use more words, more unpleasantly than any other tips Greek I have ever known. I want to tell my story, sir. Dr. Platorius will never tell it. Well, let us hear it by all means. Okay, doctor. It's up to you. I'm not a fancy talker. I don't know a lot of words. Now, that alone is a welcome relief. Well, now I don't start with well now. Where should I begin? Tell me when you were condemned to death for murder. The first time? Of course. Well, the first time was in 1921 in Canada. It was Christmas. It wasn't a very merry... I had a sweetheart, a friend. We were very close, the three of us. Well, this one time we were mountain climbing. My friend and I, we didn't get very far before we started to argue. I don't remember what about... We always argued, as friends do, but this time he hit me with a rock. So I hit him with one. Not too much detail. Anyway, we had a bloody fight and he ran away, so I went back to my sweetheart. She took one look at the blood on my clothes and saw that I was alone and started to scream, murderer, murderer. That was how I found out that my sweetheart and my friend were sweethearts. Who saw to it that you were arrested and charged with murder? My sweetheart, of course. I was found guilty of murdering my friend and I was condemned to death. But because nobody could produce the corpse of my friend, my sentence was commuted to 15 years of hard labor. And was the corpse of your friend never found, Mr. Sheldon? Oh, I found it myself, Dr. Barthel. After I served my 15 years, I went to Toronto. I happened to look into a window of a restaurant and there was the corpse of my friend sitting at the table eating a bowl of soup. I think it was pea soup. In material and irrelevant. Well, I went in and spoke to my friend in a very friendly fashion. I asked him very nicely where he had been for 15 years and why he never admitted that I had not killed him. His answer, gentlemen, was unsatisfactory. So I hit him in the face with his bowl of soup. Then I hit him with the chair. Then somebody called a policeman and I took the club away from the policeman and I used it to finish up on my friend. When they arrested me, I tried to explain that if I was committing a crime, it was a crime for which I had already paid the penalty. They arrested me anyway. You were released, of course. Oh, no. I was sentenced to death again. How could you be tried twice for the murder of the same man? Oh, the prosecutor was very fair about it. He was willing to admit that my first conviction was probably a miscarriage of justice. But he said I didn't have the right to commit a murder just to correct that mistake. And I was condemned to be hanged. But this time you were pardoned. Oh, no. You see, the fact that I had killed my friend with the policeman's club made it a very serious crime. Then will you tell us, please, how you managed to escape? I didn't escape. I was executed. Why, this is absurd. It was on the morning of February 29th, 1936. Alepia. It was a gray and rainy morning. The hangman's assistant held an umbrella over my head so I wouldn't get wet. The minister said a prayer and I closed my eyes and thought of my mother. Then the floor went out from under me and that was that. Oh, I must protest against this childish assault upon our intelligence. You be quiet. Then what happened? The next thing I felt was a finger. It was in my mouth, pressing down on my tongue. I bit it and somebody yelled. I opened my eyes and that was the first time I saw Dr. Pretorius. I think I can make the next part of the story clear to you. At the time all this happened, I was just finishing my studies as a medical student. I was also keeping company, as they say, for the young lady who happened to be the hangman's daughter. Both the hangman and his daughter were generous and sympathetic. The hangman in particular was sympathetic to my desire as a student of anatomy to have a cadaver I could call my own. Well, knowing that Mr. Shunderson's body would go on clean, because certainly no one was ever more alone in this world than poor Mr. Shunderson was, the hangman managed to send it to me immediately after the ceremony, along with a sweet note from his daughter. I was delighted of course, but not for long. I soon found out that Mr. Shunderson was still alive. Oh, you must have been furious. He told me his story and we put some pig iron in the cheap wooden coffin that he'd arrived in and we had it buried in a charity graveyard. From that day on, Mr. Shunderson has never left me. And I think it's understandable that from time to time he may seem a little confused and perhaps even a little dull-witted. But to say that he was... Deborah, you're interrupting us there. Mrs. Pretorius, it's customary to at least knock before... I know and I don't mean to include too much gentlemen, but I'm sure that by now you must have made up your mind. A wife simply does not come barging into a room where her husband is being investigated. After all gentlemen, if he's innocent, he's late for the concert. And if he isn't, well, he'd better start conducting anyway because he may have to run his living method. I am of the opinion that the hearing is at an end. Do you agree, Professor Elwell? My opinion no longer seems to matter, does it? The trouble with you, Elwell, is that you never had a cadaver of your own. Much less one that bit your finger. And as for this incredible evening, gentlemen, the sooner we forget it, the better for all concerned. I think we've held up the concert far too long. Come along, Mr. Shunderson. Yes, sir. I haven't said so many words in years. All in a bunch. You did very well. I'm proud of you. Professor Elwell, that little man. That poor little man. Are they? Yes, dear. He's a terrible conductor, isn't he? Yes, dear. But is he so happy of them? I honestly believe he's the happiest man I've ever known. He's glowing on a window sill. And what's that mean? Old Mother Nature. Old Mother Nature knows. The stars will return. Please step forward for your curtain call. Cary Grant and Gene Crave. What's the next week, Eddie? Well, next week we have another charming star who has just returned from abroad. Gene Tierney. Miss Tierney will co-star with one of the most handsome actors in Hollywood, Victor Matured. We will present them with one of plenty of Century Fox's all-time screen hits, The Unforgettable Laura. That's one of my favorites. Good night. Good night. Good night. And hurray back. Irving Cummings. Our orchestra directed by Rudy Shrager. This is Ken Carpenter inviting you to be with us again next week for another worldwide presentation of the Hollywood Radio Theater. Welcome to you through the facilities of the United States Armed Forces...