Datasets:

AIRI-NLP

/

quality_counter_new_1536

like 0

Alien Nation Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Alien Nation - by Rochne O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron ALIEN NATION Original Screenplay by Rockne S. O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron October 1987 FADE IN: EXT. MOJAVE DESERT - DAY (TELEVISION IMAGE) A LONG LENS SHOT of a far distant metallic object hovering just above the ground -- maybe two or three miles away. The heat waves and the light refraction off the desert- scape make the object undulate rhythmically, keeping its true shape and appearance indistinct. The VIDEO CAMERA recording this scene zooms back, then pans over -- revealing a semicircle of US Army vehicles and personnel. Army Engineers with their tripod-mounted scopes and binoculars are shoulder to shoulder with the armed infantry. Everyone stares off at the same point on the horizon. Waiting. The VIDEO CAMERA movements are HANDHELD, unsteady, as it moves through the line of Army personnel to reveal a second, less organized semicircle of observers fifty yards behind the Army. LOCALS from nearby towns perch in truck beds and on car roofs, Budweiser and Fritos at hand, eyes glued to the distant object. The VIDEO CAMERA image climbs up onto the roof of a parked local TV van, finds the object again in the distance, zooms in, and waits, like everyone else. Abruptly the VIDEO IMAGE contracts, becoming a box CHROMAKEYED behind CNN reporter DUNCAN CRAIS. CRAIS That was the scene in California's Mojave Desert three years ago today -- the historic first view of the Newcomer ship upon its dramatic arrival. As with the assassination of John Kennedy, who among us does not remember exactly where he was that October nineteenth morning, when news first broke: that people have landed... from another star. We PULL BACK from a large television set to reveal... INT. A CROWDED BAR - LOS ANGELES - NIGHT The Hollowpoint Lounge -- a cop bar. The off-duty uniformed and plainclothes cops are mostly ignoring the TV, except for two detectives, FEDORCHUK and ALTEREZ, who are waiting for the ball scores. FEDORCHUK I remember where I was -- pissing off my balcony at the neighbor's dog! Others laugh. ALTEREZ (yells at Crais on TV) Get to the goddamn ball scores! ON THE TV SCREEN, an on-location interview with a CAL-TECH PROFESSOR comes up. Her name and title appear across the bottom of the screen. CAL-TECH PROFESSOR From the time mankind first gazed up at the stars there had been speculation about a visit by people from "out there." How ironic that when that first contact was made, the two hundred and sixty thousand occupants aboard the craft were as surprised as we were about their arrival. That they awakened from frozen hibernation to find their malfunctioning autopilot had landed them here by mistake. The CNN reporter, Duncan Crais, appears again. CRAIS These "Newcomers," we soon learned, were a genetically-engineered race, adapted for hard labor in almost any environmental condition. In effect, their ship was a slave ship... washed ashore on Earth with no way to get back to where they came from... A dishwasher tray filled with beer glasses CUTS ACROSS FRAME, and we PAN WITH IT as it is slammed down on the countertop. Now an interview with a FRESNO HOUSEWIFE standing outside a supermarket comes on the TV SCREEN. FRESNO HOUSEWIFE When the Newcomers were first let out of the ship, they were quarantined in a camp not ten miles from the town here. You can imagine how the people around here felt about that. But once they were releases from the camp and we got a chance to know them, we saw what nice, quiet people they really are... WIDER revealing a MASSIVE ALIEN FIGURE in a filthy white busboy's uniform. His back is to us as he picks up two trays from the counter. The bartender is dwarfed by this Newcomer, but works around him without apparent concern. Fedorchuk addresses the alien busboy. FEDORCHUK Hey, Henry, how you doin' tonight? Workin' hard? The Newcomer turns -- his face is humanoid, but disturbingly alien. FEDORCHUK You got your green card, buddy? You didn't leave home without it? The cops at the bar crack up. Henry looks at Fedorchuk -- his eyes carrying no malice... or pain. He merely blinks. CUT TO: INT./ EXT. SLUG-MOBILE - STREET - NIGHT An explosion of color and movement as OPENING TITLES PLAY very quickly. We're TRAVELING the streets in a n.d. sedan, getting MOVING GLIMPSES of the aliens living among us now: -- A coffee shop where aliens eat at some window tables. -- A Newcomer leaving a night school with an armload of books. -- A city park where a number of alien families have gathered to play some arcane alien game. SYKES Jeez... they call that gang-bang a game...? -- A billboard for Pepsi featuring an alien. -- The sedan has pulled to a stop at a red light. Suddenly a hand thumps against the glass next to Sykes' head... and alien hand. Sykes jumps. It's a NEWCOMER DERELICT standing there, weaving, mumbling in his own language. In one filthy hand holds a quart carton of milk. We know immediately what he wants. Sykes rolls down the window. SYKES Take a hike. Sykes gets a whiff of the derelict's breath as the light changes and the sedan pulls away, leaving him in the street. Sykes grimaces at the smell. SYKES Why's it have to be sour milk that these guys get wasted on? What the hell's wrong with Jack Daniels, or Thunderbird for chrissakes? (beat; disgusted) Slagtown. Shit... -- Aliens hanging around outside their homes. -- Alien hookers plying their trade. SYKES Hope their plumbing's the same. TUGGLE It is. (and Sykes gives him a look) -- A Newcomer lowrider pulls up beside the slug-mobile. -- An alien couple exit a theater playing "Terminator III". -- An alien wig shop. ANGLE TITLES END, and we start to PULL BACK into the slug-mobile and HEAR: TUGGLE (O.S.) So you gonna go, or you not gonna go? INT. SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT The dashboard is littered with fast-food detritus and two coffees in styrofoam cups making fog circles on the windshield. A hand picks up one of the coffees and we FOLLOW IT to a face, a forty-year-old cop face that's seen some wear and tear -- behind the wheel is MATT SYKES. Beside him is his partner of nine years, BILL TUGGLE. Tuggle expertly munches on a slice of pizza as he talks. SYKES How can I go? TUGGLE Put on your wash-and-wear suit and your clip-on tie, have your landlady tie your shoes for you, and show up at the church. Simple. (beat) Me and Carol are going. SYKES What? TUGGLE Hey, look -- we've known Kristin since... since she was conceived in that cabin up in Big Bear. Remember? You and Edie banged the wall so hard, me and Carol were picking plaster out of our hair for a week... SYKES Goddammit, Tug -- I want to see Kristin get married, okay? But-- TUGGLE But you're bummed because your ex and her new husband are paying for the whole thing. SYKES Shit, if Kristin had to get married where I could afford it, we'd be holding the reception at Buddy's Burgers. Sykes stares out the window, wallowing in his pissed-off mood. Then he spots something that twinges his street-cop radar. SYKES Uh-oh... Check it out. THROUGH THE WINDOW Tuggle sees what Sykes sees: two ALIENS in long coats moving down the sidewalk, entering a mom- and-pop mini-mart on the corner. One of them wears dark glasses and a red bandana (KIPLING): the other has on a black vinyl raincoat. SYKES Does that look at all suspicious to you? TUGGLE Whatever gave you that idea? EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes continues up a quarter of a block, pulls to the curb among other parked cars. INT. SEDAN - NIGHT Sykes is already pulling his gun. Tuggle quickly reaches for the radio in the glovebox. TUGGLE This is one-Henry-seven, we've got a possible two-eleven in progress at Porter's Mini-Mart, corner of Court and Alvarado. Requesting backup. Impulsive Sykes is already opening his door and climbing out. SYKES Let's do it, partner. Tuggle drops the radio mike and follows Sykes as the Radio Dispatcher confirms the call. EXT. STREET - NIGHT The two cops, guns in hand, move along the row of parked cars across the street from the mini-mart. Through the store window they see the old alien PROPRIETOR behind the counter. His eyes go wide as Kipling whips back his coat and yanks out a short combat pump-shotgun and aims it right at him. The Raincoat alien pulls an identical gun and covers the door. Sykes and Tuggle react to the firepower inside. SYKES You got your vest? TUGGLE Of course. Right in the trunk of the car. SYKES Yeah, that's comforting. Mine, too. Through the store window the robbery continues in pantomime. Kipling gestures viciously with the shotgun, yelling orders in the alien language. The Proprietor is quickly filling a paper bag with cash from the register. The PROPRIETOR'S WIFE, a middle-aged alien woman, stands in the doorway from the back, frozen in fear. The Raincoat alien dances from foot to foot, antsy, wired. Sykes and Tuggle crouch at the car directly across the street from the store entrance. TUGGLE Watch the driver. I'm going for a better angle on the door. SYKES I got him. Don't get pinned. Tuggle leaves the cover provided by the car, runs cater- corner across the intersection. Through the store window Sykes sees Kipling grab the bag of cash, shove it in his coat pocket. Bills fall out, but he doesn't care. Then, without warning, Kipling whips up the twelve gauge and blows a hole in the Proprietor's chest! The Proprietor slams back against the shelves, slides to the floor. Kipling leans over the counter and FIRES another round into the Proprietor. SYKES (under his breath) Aw, shit. Tuggle is almost across the street when he hears the shots. The human DRIVER of the getaway car (parked at the curb a few doors down from the mini-mart) glances up, spots Tuggle. He leans on the HORN, reaches for a machine pistol on the seat next to him. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling and Raincoat alien react to the horn honk. They spot Tuggle through the store window and open fire -- BLASTING THROUGH THE GLASS. A civilian car enters the intersection. The engine is hit by shotgun fire, and the car skids to a stop in the intersection, steam rising from the radiator. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Tuggle dives behind a lamp post. The Driver is out of the car now, brings up the machine pistol to fire at Tuggle. Sykes sees this and opens fire at the Driver. The Driver turns and fires at Sykes. Sykes ducks down, and the car he's hiding behind is sprayed with bullets. A forty-foot moving van pulls down the street between Sykes and the Driver. Once the truck is past, Sykes is standing behind the bullet-riddled car, gun ready. He rapid-fires -- creaming the human Driver. Tuggle is pinned down behind the thin lamp post by the shotgun fire from Kipling and Raincoat alien. SYKES Get outta there! TUGGLE I can't! Do you mind! SYKES I'll cover you! Get outta there!! Sykes rises and runs across the street toward the getaway car, firing toward the store as he goes. Kipling and Raincoat dodge behind cover. Tuggle seizes the opportunity, jumps from behind the lamp post and runs to the stalled civilian car. He slides across the hood and drops behind the car for cover. Tuggle slowly pokes his head up to peer through the car window. His gaze is met by the face of the OLD MAN driver who is still inside the car. OLD MAN Can I get out now? TUGGLE Move it! Sykes doesn't have a clear firing line on the aliens in the store. As he considers his next move-- Tuggle fires at the two aliens. They return fire and he slides down to safety behind the car. Or so he thinks. Glass rains down on him as the car windows are cremated by the shotgun blasts. He flinches as another blast hits the car. He looks over. There's a big exit hole in the fender beside him. THE SHOT WENT RIGHT THROUGH THE CAR. Another exit hole is BLASTED, inches from his shoulder. Panicked, he scrambles along the side of the car -- BLASTS and exit holes following him until he reaches the front of the car. He has nowhere left to go and-- -- a BLAST comes through the car and catches him squarely in the chest throwing him back onto the street. Sykes' head jerks around -- in time to see his partner of nine years blown away. Kipling keeps firing in Tuggle's direction until his shotgun CLICKS empty. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling grabs Raincoat and throws him toward the back exit of the store. The shotgun falls from Raincoat's hands. The two of them run out the back. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes runs to Tuggle's spread-eagled body. One glance is enough. Nobody ever looked deader. SYKES Aw shit, Tug, Jesus! Goddamn it! He stares, shocked and incredulous. He can't find a way to think or feel about this. Then we see him going crazy right before our eyes, the rage revving. He takes off toward the store as SIRENS are HEARD rapidly approaching in background. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Sykes moves through like a locomotive skidding on broken glass, bangs through the exit. EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT Sykes catches sight of the two aliens just as they round the corner at the far end of the alley. He takes off, quickly cranking up to full speed. EXT. BACK STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds the corner. Doesn't see them anymore. He slows... moves along this street with some caution. Lots of shadows, lots of hiding places. Sykes HEARS a NOISE, looks up... just in time to see Raincoat on a high, huge billboard. He cuts loose with the shotgun. Sykes dives. Huge chunks of the crate he dives behind fly off into the night. Sykes, on his belly, scrambles deeper among the crates. Raincoat's shotgun CLICKS empty now. He drops it, swings down off the fire escape, runs off. Sykes is up again in a flash, pounding after him. EXT. TUNNEL STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds this second corner, races down the street. The only route they could've taken is through a tunnel up ahead. Sykes approaches the tunnel, all senses wide open. INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT The murkiness of the tunnel engulfs him as he moves through the mouth. He tries to control his breathing so he can hear. The only SOUND is his own shoes scuffing along the asphalt. Then he HEARS -- another set of FOOTSTEPS. Rapid footsteps, coming toward him, ECHOING. He can't tell from which direction! He spins, just as a LARGE SHAPE lunges for him with an alien CRY. It's the wired Raincoat alien. Sykes gets his gun up just in time and FIRES -- once, twice, three times. Raincoat alien is knocked backwards to the wet asphalt by the blasts. Sykes approaches the body slowly. With an inhuman ROAR, the alien snaps forward, lunging at Sykes with outstretched arms. Sykes jumps back, startled, and FIRES twice more at the pale figure. Raincoat goes down and stays down. Sykes relaxes for the briefest moment. Then he HEARS it... a distinctive CLICKING SOUND, metal on metal. Sykes looks up and -- Kipling drops down on him from directly above! Sykes goes down in a heap. He's managed to hold onto the gun and as Kipling comes for him, he swings the gun hand around. Kipling sees it, lashes out, slamming the gun from Sykes' hand. Sykes tries to get to his feet, but the alien grabs him and flings him down the tunnel. A SIREN is HEARD approaching in background. Kipling moves in to deliver the coup de grace. As he draws near, Sykes HEARS that distinctive CLICKING SOUND again. SYKES' P.O.V. Though his vision is BLURRED, Sykes still gets a good look at an exotic silver bracelet on the alien's wrist. The strands of this bracelet are what make the CLINKING NOISE. ANGLE The alien rears back, and as he does, the approaching SIREN suddenly WAILS louder as a backup patrol car swings onto the street heading this way. Kipling sees this and leaves Sykes, running off down the dark tunnel. ON SYKES dazed, struggling to rise. WE HEAR running FOOTSTEPS approaching. Sykes turns, his eyes wild and unfocused. SYKES' P.O.V. An OUT-OF-FOCUS ALIEN FACE looming over him. ANGLE Sykes whips around in a roundhouse swing with all his weight on it, pistoning his fist straight into the alien face. The alien, caught by surprise and off balance, sprawls backward OUT OF FRAME. Sykes is grabbed by a human uniformed cop, as he tries to swing again. HUMAN COP Whoa, whoa... hold it. Take it easy. (to alien on the ground) You okay? Sykes stops struggling, and his eyes focus. He looks at the alien he just decked, sprawled on his ass ten feet away. The alien is a uniformed cop... his name is JETSON. JETSON I am all right. He gets up. A trickle of purple blood runs from his nose. HUMAN COP I better call in. He moves off. Jetson moves toward Sykes and the Raincoat alien's body. Sykes tenses, thinking Jetson might retaliate in some way. But Jetson simply steps past him to kneel beside the dead alien. He checks for a pulse on the underside of the dead alien's upper arm. Nothing. Sykes is holding his punching hand in obvious pain. He struggles to rise. Jetson gets an arm around him to help him up. JETSON Your hand will require attention. Sykes roughly jerks himself free of Jetson's grip. SYKES Get the hell away from me! I don't need your goddamn help. He almost loses his balance and has to steady himself against the tunnel wall. Sykes leans there, the picture of impotent rage and frustration. Jetson looks at him, with that slight inquisitive expression aliens exhibit when trying to understand human nature. EXT. MINI-MART - NIGHT OPEN on Tuggle's body, as the body bag is zipped up over his face, and the litter is lifted into the back of the Coroner's wagon. WIDEN to reveal Sykes, standing nearby, watching. The Wagon pulls out, and Sykes turns, moving past all the LAPD black-and-whites and forensics wagons, and COPS (two of them aliens) and DETECTIVES, and RUBBERNECKERS (some alien). He moves into: INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT The CRIME SCENE TEAM is checking for prints, digging slugs out of the wall, photographing everything. Several UNIFORMED COPS mill around. Sykes moves aimlessly around the room like a stranger at a party. The Proprietor's Wife stands near the body in a strange rigid posture, a thin, mournful KEENING SOUND coming from her lips. A harried female uniformed cop is trying to get her away from the body, but can't get her to budge. MINKLER, a ballistics guy, is tagging the pump-shotgun the Raincoat alien dropped here. NATUZZI, a mean-looking veteran uniform cop is with him. NATUZZI Looks like a standard combat pump- action. MINKLER It is. NATUZZI So what punched holes clear through that car out there? Minkler pulls an evidence baggie from his work box. Inside are four unfired twelve gauge shells. MINKLER BRI Sabot slugs. These puppies are nasty. Two plastic sabots fall away in flight leaving a fifty-caliber slug going two thousand feet per second. Tug might as well've been hiding behind a rosebush. Minkler senses somebody has just stepped up beside him. He looks. It's Sykes. NATUZZI Pretty heavy artillery for knocking over a liquor store. A new voice enters the conversation. JETSON (O.S.) An identical round was used in the shooting of a Newcomer named Hubley, two days ago. Sykes turns -- surprised, and not especially pleased to see the voice is Jetson's. MINKLER Yeah? So why the extra fire power? JETSON Perhaps because even the larger caliber handguns aren't always effective against my people. SYKES (mulls this, then) You saying there's some connection to this other homicide? Before Jetson can say, the female cop who was talking to the Proprietor's Wife steps up. FEMALE COP Hey, give me a hand with this woman, will ya Jetson? We've got to get her to Division for her statement and she won't budge. JETSON (to Sykes) Excuse me. And he moves off with his partner. Sykes calls after him, but Jetson is already approaching the woman and doesn't turn. SYKES So, you think there's a connection, or what? Hey! CUT TO: EXT. SYKES' APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT The slug-mobile pulls up. A drained Sykes moves up the walk to his front door. INT. SYKES' APARTMENT - NIGHT Sykes enters his apartment, an untidy bachelor place decorated with negative taste. It's obviously the maid's decade off. By rote, he hits the rewind switch on the answering machine on his way into the kitchen. The tape rewinds. He opens the fridge. Not much here. Left-over take-out pizza carton. Left-over take-out Chinese food cartons. Left-over take-out burger wrappers. The answering machine message begins -- he glances over his shoulder as he HEARS his daughter's VOICE. During the following, he reaches the fridge. Brings out a milk carton that's in his way, sets it on the counter. Reaches in again and this time brings out a bottle of Stoly. Then searches for a semi-clean glass. KRISTIN'S VOICE (bouncy, bride-to-be happy) Hi, Daddy, it's me. I'm over at Danny's parents' house... talking about Sunday. I thought maybe you'd be home by now. Anyway, uh, nothing really. I just wanted to call and say I love you. I love you, Daddy. (she giggles) Uh-oh, I shouldn't'a done that. Knowing you, you'll probably pull this tape out of your machine and save it -- in that drawer where you keep every card I ever gave you, and all of my old baby teeth... gross! Anyway, Daddy, don't save this tape -- but I do love you, and I'll talk to you before Sunday. (beat) Oh, Tug and Carol came by and met Danny last week. (Sykes stiffens) Danny thought Tug was the greatest -- but, then, who doesn't? Anyway, love you, talk to you soon. 'Bye. The machine BEEPS and HISSES. Sykes take the glass and the bottle of vodka, crosses back toward the living room, switching off the answering machine as he goes. Then he stops, turns back, takes the message tape out of the machine and tosses it into a drawer. FADE TO: INT. DETECTIVE SQUAD ROOM - DAY Sykes enters, stirring a jumbo coffee. He's slept about four hours, and his face looks like he went a few with Hagler. He crosses straight to Fedorchuk's desk. SYKES So what've you got on Tuggle's killers? FEDORCHUK Jesus, Sykes -- it's been less than ten hours. Me and Alterez are on it, okay? SYKES You don't have squat. FEDORCHUK You ever try to make a case in Slagtown? The list of Newcomer informants is about as long as the list of Mexican war heroes... ALTEREZ Up yours. FEDORCHUK ... Nobody talks to nobody down there. Half of them don't speak English and the other half only when it suits them. It's gonna take some time. SYKES Yeah, I know it's gonna take time. Like until the Ice Capades opens in Hell, with you two on it. Across the room, the Captain's door BANGS open and CAPTAIN WARNER pounds out, his deep voice booming through the squad room. WARNER Nobody wanders off! I got an announcement. Get your asses back in here. Two detectives on their way out, stop, and head back into the room. Everybody gathers around, curious, as Warner stands holding a sheet of paper. WARNER I'll make this short. This is a directive from Chief Evaner, who is acting on orders from the Mayor, who is under mandate from the Federal Bureau of Newcomer Relations. As of nine o'clock this morning, one Newcomer uniform officer has been promoted to the rank of Detective, third grade. The detectives GROAN... some angrier ones grumble, "This is bullshit!", etc. WARNER And we've got him, gentleman. (more groans) Volunteers for duty with the new detective should see me in my office... otherwise I will choose a volunteer myself. That is all. He turns and heads back to his office in the wake of continued grumbling from the detectives. Sykes, standing to one side, absently watches Warner return to his glass- walled office. Waiting inside are a balding man and an alien in a grey suit. Sykes reacts. The alien in the suit is Jetson. The grumbling continues around him as Sykes considers something. FEDORCHUK Unbelievable bullshit. ALTEREZ How long has this Slag been on the force? A year, max -- right? DETECTIVE I don't know about the rest of you, but I sure as hell ain't gonna sit still for this. I'm calling the union, pronto. Others grumble. "Yeah!". Meanwhile, Sykes has decided something. He heads toward Warner's office. Fedorchuk sees this. FEDORCHUK Where the hell is he going? INT. WARNER'S OFFICE - DAY Sykes KNOCKS and enters. WARNER Yeah, Sykes? SYKES Captain. I'd like to volunteer for duty with the new detective. Warner is surprised. He never expected Sykes. WARNER ... All right. Detective Sergeant Sykes, this is Detective... Jetson. JETSON We have met. Warner looks up, clocking this. He looks at Sykes, starting to smell something fishy. The balding man, GOLDRUP, rises to shake their hands. GOLDRUP Victor Goldrup, Mayor's office. Congratulations, gentlemen. Warner is starting to suspect what Sykes is up to. WARNER (to Sykes) You are to have nothing to do with the investigation into Bill Tuggle's death. You know that. Leave that for Fedorchuk. SYKES (nodding) Departmental policy. WARNER (to Jetson) You? JETSON Yes, sir. WARNER Good. SYKES There's another case I'd like to take. A homicide -- a Newcomer named Hubley. Jetson looks over at Sykes, knows he's up to something. Sykes avoids his look. WARNER Granger and Pitts are already on it. SYKES Granger and Pitts have one hell of a caseload... and I would have thought with Jetson here being the first Newcomer plainclothes, and Hubley's body being found over in the Newcomer community... WARNER Don't tell me what to think. GOLDRUP He's got a point. That's the sort of thing we should be doing with this early advancement program... Long-suffering Warner looks up at Goldrup, then finally sighs with resignation. Sykes grins. CUT TO: INT. STAIRWELL - FIRST FLOOR HALLWAY - DAY The steel door BANGS open and Sykes and Jetson exit. Next to Sykes' slept-in look, Jetson in his grey suit looks like a Jehovah's Witness canvasser. They move past all the black-and-whites pulling out on p.m. watch during: SYKES ... and we work my hours. I'll do the driving, you do the paperwork. You gotta learn it so you might as well do it all. JETSON (after a moment) Sergeant... I'd like to thank you for what you're doing. SYKES What's that? (then realizing) Look, Jetson. Get this straight in your head. We're not pals, we're not married, and we ain't gonna take long moonlight walks together... We're just partners. And don't call me Sergeant. Call me Sykes... or Matt if you have to. JETSON I am George. Sykes nods absently, and they walk on... four and a half steps to be exact. Then it hits Sykes. He seizes up cold. SYKES Wait a minute. George? George Jetson? Jetson nods... he's used to this. Sykes cracks up. SYKES (between laughs) Man, somebody really hung one on you! I've heard some good ones for you guys... Humphrey Bogart, Harley Davidson. I guess the people at immigration got a little punchy after a while, coming up with names for a quarter of a million of you. You weren't at the back of the line, were you, George? JETSON My true name is Ss'tangya T'ssorentsa'. SYKES Gesundheit. You don't mind if I stick to George, do you? EXT. POLICE STATION PARKING AREA - DAY They approach Sykes' ugly sedan, the slug-mobile. SYKES Anyway, what's it matter to you if we think it's funny, right? Whatta you care? JETSON That is exactly so. (completely deadpan) It is like your name... Sykes. I'm sure it doesn't bother you at all that it sounds like "ss'ai k'ss", two words in my language which mean "excrement" and "cranium". Sykes looks at him, perplexed. JETSON "Shit... head". Jetson gets in and slams the door, leaving Sykes standing there, the smirk dropping from his face. CUT TO: INT. SLUG-MOBILE - DAY They're cruising along in downtown traffic. Sykes drives. Jetson is somewhat cramped in the passenger seat. SYKES Let's talk Hubley. JETSON (refers to a folder he holds) His body was discovered three days ago, in an alley off of Central Avenue, near downtown. SYKES With two

muscles

How many times the word 'muscles' appears in the text?

Alien Nation Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Alien Nation - by Rochne O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron ALIEN NATION Original Screenplay by Rockne S. O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron October 1987 FADE IN: EXT. MOJAVE DESERT - DAY (TELEVISION IMAGE) A LONG LENS SHOT of a far distant metallic object hovering just above the ground -- maybe two or three miles away. The heat waves and the light refraction off the desert- scape make the object undulate rhythmically, keeping its true shape and appearance indistinct. The VIDEO CAMERA recording this scene zooms back, then pans over -- revealing a semicircle of US Army vehicles and personnel. Army Engineers with their tripod-mounted scopes and binoculars are shoulder to shoulder with the armed infantry. Everyone stares off at the same point on the horizon. Waiting. The VIDEO CAMERA movements are HANDHELD, unsteady, as it moves through the line of Army personnel to reveal a second, less organized semicircle of observers fifty yards behind the Army. LOCALS from nearby towns perch in truck beds and on car roofs, Budweiser and Fritos at hand, eyes glued to the distant object. The VIDEO CAMERA image climbs up onto the roof of a parked local TV van, finds the object again in the distance, zooms in, and waits, like everyone else. Abruptly the VIDEO IMAGE contracts, becoming a box CHROMAKEYED behind CNN reporter DUNCAN CRAIS. CRAIS That was the scene in California's Mojave Desert three years ago today -- the historic first view of the Newcomer ship upon its dramatic arrival. As with the assassination of John Kennedy, who among us does not remember exactly where he was that October nineteenth morning, when news first broke: that people have landed... from another star. We PULL BACK from a large television set to reveal... INT. A CROWDED BAR - LOS ANGELES - NIGHT The Hollowpoint Lounge -- a cop bar. The off-duty uniformed and plainclothes cops are mostly ignoring the TV, except for two detectives, FEDORCHUK and ALTEREZ, who are waiting for the ball scores. FEDORCHUK I remember where I was -- pissing off my balcony at the neighbor's dog! Others laugh. ALTEREZ (yells at Crais on TV) Get to the goddamn ball scores! ON THE TV SCREEN, an on-location interview with a CAL-TECH PROFESSOR comes up. Her name and title appear across the bottom of the screen. CAL-TECH PROFESSOR From the time mankind first gazed up at the stars there had been speculation about a visit by people from "out there." How ironic that when that first contact was made, the two hundred and sixty thousand occupants aboard the craft were as surprised as we were about their arrival. That they awakened from frozen hibernation to find their malfunctioning autopilot had landed them here by mistake. The CNN reporter, Duncan Crais, appears again. CRAIS These "Newcomers," we soon learned, were a genetically-engineered race, adapted for hard labor in almost any environmental condition. In effect, their ship was a slave ship... washed ashore on Earth with no way to get back to where they came from... A dishwasher tray filled with beer glasses CUTS ACROSS FRAME, and we PAN WITH IT as it is slammed down on the countertop. Now an interview with a FRESNO HOUSEWIFE standing outside a supermarket comes on the TV SCREEN. FRESNO HOUSEWIFE When the Newcomers were first let out of the ship, they were quarantined in a camp not ten miles from the town here. You can imagine how the people around here felt about that. But once they were releases from the camp and we got a chance to know them, we saw what nice, quiet people they really are... WIDER revealing a MASSIVE ALIEN FIGURE in a filthy white busboy's uniform. His back is to us as he picks up two trays from the counter. The bartender is dwarfed by this Newcomer, but works around him without apparent concern. Fedorchuk addresses the alien busboy. FEDORCHUK Hey, Henry, how you doin' tonight? Workin' hard? The Newcomer turns -- his face is humanoid, but disturbingly alien. FEDORCHUK You got your green card, buddy? You didn't leave home without it? The cops at the bar crack up. Henry looks at Fedorchuk -- his eyes carrying no malice... or pain. He merely blinks. CUT TO: INT./ EXT. SLUG-MOBILE - STREET - NIGHT An explosion of color and movement as OPENING TITLES PLAY very quickly. We're TRAVELING the streets in a n.d. sedan, getting MOVING GLIMPSES of the aliens living among us now: -- A coffee shop where aliens eat at some window tables. -- A Newcomer leaving a night school with an armload of books. -- A city park where a number of alien families have gathered to play some arcane alien game. SYKES Jeez... they call that gang-bang a game...? -- A billboard for Pepsi featuring an alien. -- The sedan has pulled to a stop at a red light. Suddenly a hand thumps against the glass next to Sykes' head... and alien hand. Sykes jumps. It's a NEWCOMER DERELICT standing there, weaving, mumbling in his own language. In one filthy hand holds a quart carton of milk. We know immediately what he wants. Sykes rolls down the window. SYKES Take a hike. Sykes gets a whiff of the derelict's breath as the light changes and the sedan pulls away, leaving him in the street. Sykes grimaces at the smell. SYKES Why's it have to be sour milk that these guys get wasted on? What the hell's wrong with Jack Daniels, or Thunderbird for chrissakes? (beat; disgusted) Slagtown. Shit... -- Aliens hanging around outside their homes. -- Alien hookers plying their trade. SYKES Hope their plumbing's the same. TUGGLE It is. (and Sykes gives him a look) -- A Newcomer lowrider pulls up beside the slug-mobile. -- An alien couple exit a theater playing "Terminator III". -- An alien wig shop. ANGLE TITLES END, and we start to PULL BACK into the slug-mobile and HEAR: TUGGLE (O.S.) So you gonna go, or you not gonna go? INT. SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT The dashboard is littered with fast-food detritus and two coffees in styrofoam cups making fog circles on the windshield. A hand picks up one of the coffees and we FOLLOW IT to a face, a forty-year-old cop face that's seen some wear and tear -- behind the wheel is MATT SYKES. Beside him is his partner of nine years, BILL TUGGLE. Tuggle expertly munches on a slice of pizza as he talks. SYKES How can I go? TUGGLE Put on your wash-and-wear suit and your clip-on tie, have your landlady tie your shoes for you, and show up at the church. Simple. (beat) Me and Carol are going. SYKES What? TUGGLE Hey, look -- we've known Kristin since... since she was conceived in that cabin up in Big Bear. Remember? You and Edie banged the wall so hard, me and Carol were picking plaster out of our hair for a week... SYKES Goddammit, Tug -- I want to see Kristin get married, okay? But-- TUGGLE But you're bummed because your ex and her new husband are paying for the whole thing. SYKES Shit, if Kristin had to get married where I could afford it, we'd be holding the reception at Buddy's Burgers. Sykes stares out the window, wallowing in his pissed-off mood. Then he spots something that twinges his street-cop radar. SYKES Uh-oh... Check it out. THROUGH THE WINDOW Tuggle sees what Sykes sees: two ALIENS in long coats moving down the sidewalk, entering a mom- and-pop mini-mart on the corner. One of them wears dark glasses and a red bandana (KIPLING): the other has on a black vinyl raincoat. SYKES Does that look at all suspicious to you? TUGGLE Whatever gave you that idea? EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes continues up a quarter of a block, pulls to the curb among other parked cars. INT. SEDAN - NIGHT Sykes is already pulling his gun. Tuggle quickly reaches for the radio in the glovebox. TUGGLE This is one-Henry-seven, we've got a possible two-eleven in progress at Porter's Mini-Mart, corner of Court and Alvarado. Requesting backup. Impulsive Sykes is already opening his door and climbing out. SYKES Let's do it, partner. Tuggle drops the radio mike and follows Sykes as the Radio Dispatcher confirms the call. EXT. STREET - NIGHT The two cops, guns in hand, move along the row of parked cars across the street from the mini-mart. Through the store window they see the old alien PROPRIETOR behind the counter. His eyes go wide as Kipling whips back his coat and yanks out a short combat pump-shotgun and aims it right at him. The Raincoat alien pulls an identical gun and covers the door. Sykes and Tuggle react to the firepower inside. SYKES You got your vest? TUGGLE Of course. Right in the trunk of the car. SYKES Yeah, that's comforting. Mine, too. Through the store window the robbery continues in pantomime. Kipling gestures viciously with the shotgun, yelling orders in the alien language. The Proprietor is quickly filling a paper bag with cash from the register. The PROPRIETOR'S WIFE, a middle-aged alien woman, stands in the doorway from the back, frozen in fear. The Raincoat alien dances from foot to foot, antsy, wired. Sykes and Tuggle crouch at the car directly across the street from the store entrance. TUGGLE Watch the driver. I'm going for a better angle on the door. SYKES I got him. Don't get pinned. Tuggle leaves the cover provided by the car, runs cater- corner across the intersection. Through the store window Sykes sees Kipling grab the bag of cash, shove it in his coat pocket. Bills fall out, but he doesn't care. Then, without warning, Kipling whips up the twelve gauge and blows a hole in the Proprietor's chest! The Proprietor slams back against the shelves, slides to the floor. Kipling leans over the counter and FIRES another round into the Proprietor. SYKES (under his breath) Aw, shit. Tuggle is almost across the street when he hears the shots. The human DRIVER of the getaway car (parked at the curb a few doors down from the mini-mart) glances up, spots Tuggle. He leans on the HORN, reaches for a machine pistol on the seat next to him. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling and Raincoat alien react to the horn honk. They spot Tuggle through the store window and open fire -- BLASTING THROUGH THE GLASS. A civilian car enters the intersection. The engine is hit by shotgun fire, and the car skids to a stop in the intersection, steam rising from the radiator. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Tuggle dives behind a lamp post. The Driver is out of the car now, brings up the machine pistol to fire at Tuggle. Sykes sees this and opens fire at the Driver. The Driver turns and fires at Sykes. Sykes ducks down, and the car he's hiding behind is sprayed with bullets. A forty-foot moving van pulls down the street between Sykes and the Driver. Once the truck is past, Sykes is standing behind the bullet-riddled car, gun ready. He rapid-fires -- creaming the human Driver. Tuggle is pinned down behind the thin lamp post by the shotgun fire from Kipling and Raincoat alien. SYKES Get outta there! TUGGLE I can't! Do you mind! SYKES I'll cover you! Get outta there!! Sykes rises and runs across the street toward the getaway car, firing toward the store as he goes. Kipling and Raincoat dodge behind cover. Tuggle seizes the opportunity, jumps from behind the lamp post and runs to the stalled civilian car. He slides across the hood and drops behind the car for cover. Tuggle slowly pokes his head up to peer through the car window. His gaze is met by the face of the OLD MAN driver who is still inside the car. OLD MAN Can I get out now? TUGGLE Move it! Sykes doesn't have a clear firing line on the aliens in the store. As he considers his next move-- Tuggle fires at the two aliens. They return fire and he slides down to safety behind the car. Or so he thinks. Glass rains down on him as the car windows are cremated by the shotgun blasts. He flinches as another blast hits the car. He looks over. There's a big exit hole in the fender beside him. THE SHOT WENT RIGHT THROUGH THE CAR. Another exit hole is BLASTED, inches from his shoulder. Panicked, he scrambles along the side of the car -- BLASTS and exit holes following him until he reaches the front of the car. He has nowhere left to go and-- -- a BLAST comes through the car and catches him squarely in the chest throwing him back onto the street. Sykes' head jerks around -- in time to see his partner of nine years blown away. Kipling keeps firing in Tuggle's direction until his shotgun CLICKS empty. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling grabs Raincoat and throws him toward the back exit of the store. The shotgun falls from Raincoat's hands. The two of them run out the back. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes runs to Tuggle's spread-eagled body. One glance is enough. Nobody ever looked deader. SYKES Aw shit, Tug, Jesus! Goddamn it! He stares, shocked and incredulous. He can't find a way to think or feel about this. Then we see him going crazy right before our eyes, the rage revving. He takes off toward the store as SIRENS are HEARD rapidly approaching in background. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Sykes moves through like a locomotive skidding on broken glass, bangs through the exit. EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT Sykes catches sight of the two aliens just as they round the corner at the far end of the alley. He takes off, quickly cranking up to full speed. EXT. BACK STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds the corner. Doesn't see them anymore. He slows... moves along this street with some caution. Lots of shadows, lots of hiding places. Sykes HEARS a NOISE, looks up... just in time to see Raincoat on a high, huge billboard. He cuts loose with the shotgun. Sykes dives. Huge chunks of the crate he dives behind fly off into the night. Sykes, on his belly, scrambles deeper among the crates. Raincoat's shotgun CLICKS empty now. He drops it, swings down off the fire escape, runs off. Sykes is up again in a flash, pounding after him. EXT. TUNNEL STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds this second corner, races down the street. The only route they could've taken is through a tunnel up ahead. Sykes approaches the tunnel, all senses wide open. INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT The murkiness of the tunnel engulfs him as he moves through the mouth. He tries to control his breathing so he can hear. The only SOUND is his own shoes scuffing along the asphalt. Then he HEARS -- another set of FOOTSTEPS. Rapid footsteps, coming toward him, ECHOING. He can't tell from which direction! He spins, just as a LARGE SHAPE lunges for him with an alien CRY. It's the wired Raincoat alien. Sykes gets his gun up just in time and FIRES -- once, twice, three times. Raincoat alien is knocked backwards to the wet asphalt by the blasts. Sykes approaches the body slowly. With an inhuman ROAR, the alien snaps forward, lunging at Sykes with outstretched arms. Sykes jumps back, startled, and FIRES twice more at the pale figure. Raincoat goes down and stays down. Sykes relaxes for the briefest moment. Then he HEARS it... a distinctive CLICKING SOUND, metal on metal. Sykes looks up and -- Kipling drops down on him from directly above! Sykes goes down in a heap. He's managed to hold onto the gun and as Kipling comes for him, he swings the gun hand around. Kipling sees it, lashes out, slamming the gun from Sykes' hand. Sykes tries to get to his feet, but the alien grabs him and flings him down the tunnel. A SIREN is HEARD approaching in background. Kipling moves in to deliver the coup de grace. As he draws near, Sykes HEARS that distinctive CLICKING SOUND again. SYKES' P.O.V. Though his vision is BLURRED, Sykes still gets a good look at an exotic silver bracelet on the alien's wrist. The strands of this bracelet are what make the CLINKING NOISE. ANGLE The alien rears back, and as he does, the approaching SIREN suddenly WAILS louder as a backup patrol car swings onto the street heading this way. Kipling sees this and leaves Sykes, running off down the dark tunnel. ON SYKES dazed, struggling to rise. WE HEAR running FOOTSTEPS approaching. Sykes turns, his eyes wild and unfocused. SYKES' P.O.V. An OUT-OF-FOCUS ALIEN FACE looming over him. ANGLE Sykes whips around in a roundhouse swing with all his weight on it, pistoning his fist straight into the alien face. The alien, caught by surprise and off balance, sprawls backward OUT OF FRAME. Sykes is grabbed by a human uniformed cop, as he tries to swing again. HUMAN COP Whoa, whoa... hold it. Take it easy. (to alien on the ground) You okay? Sykes stops struggling, and his eyes focus. He looks at the alien he just decked, sprawled on his ass ten feet away. The alien is a uniformed cop... his name is JETSON. JETSON I am all right. He gets up. A trickle of purple blood runs from his nose. HUMAN COP I better call in. He moves off. Jetson moves toward Sykes and the Raincoat alien's body. Sykes tenses, thinking Jetson might retaliate in some way. But Jetson simply steps past him to kneel beside the dead alien. He checks for a pulse on the underside of the dead alien's upper arm. Nothing. Sykes is holding his punching hand in obvious pain. He struggles to rise. Jetson gets an arm around him to help him up. JETSON Your hand will require attention. Sykes roughly jerks himself free of Jetson's grip. SYKES Get the hell away from me! I don't need your goddamn help. He almost loses his balance and has to steady himself against the tunnel wall. Sykes leans there, the picture of impotent rage and frustration. Jetson looks at him, with that slight inquisitive expression aliens exhibit when trying to understand human nature. EXT. MINI-MART - NIGHT OPEN on Tuggle's body, as the body bag is zipped up over his face, and the litter is lifted into the back of the Coroner's wagon. WIDEN to reveal Sykes, standing nearby, watching. The Wagon pulls out, and Sykes turns, moving past all the LAPD black-and-whites and forensics wagons, and COPS (two of them aliens) and DETECTIVES, and RUBBERNECKERS (some alien). He moves into: INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT The CRIME SCENE TEAM is checking for prints, digging slugs out of the wall, photographing everything. Several UNIFORMED COPS mill around. Sykes moves aimlessly around the room like a stranger at a party. The Proprietor's Wife stands near the body in a strange rigid posture, a thin, mournful KEENING SOUND coming from her lips. A harried female uniformed cop is trying to get her away from the body, but can't get her to budge. MINKLER, a ballistics guy, is tagging the pump-shotgun the Raincoat alien dropped here. NATUZZI, a mean-looking veteran uniform cop is with him. NATUZZI Looks like a standard combat pump- action. MINKLER It is. NATUZZI So what punched holes clear through that car out there? Minkler pulls an evidence baggie from his work box. Inside are four unfired twelve gauge shells. MINKLER BRI Sabot slugs. These puppies are nasty. Two plastic sabots fall away in flight leaving a fifty-caliber slug going two thousand feet per second. Tug might as well've been hiding behind a rosebush. Minkler senses somebody has just stepped up beside him. He looks. It's Sykes. NATUZZI Pretty heavy artillery for knocking over a liquor store. A new voice enters the conversation. JETSON (O.S.) An identical round was used in the shooting of a Newcomer named Hubley, two days ago. Sykes turns -- surprised, and not especially pleased to see the voice is Jetson's. MINKLER Yeah? So why the extra fire power? JETSON Perhaps because even the larger caliber handguns aren't always effective against my people. SYKES (mulls this, then) You saying there's some connection to this other homicide? Before Jetson can say, the female cop who was talking to the Proprietor's Wife steps up. FEMALE COP Hey, give me a hand with this woman, will ya Jetson? We've got to get her to Division for her statement and she won't budge. JETSON (to Sykes) Excuse me. And he moves off with his partner. Sykes calls after him, but Jetson is already approaching the woman and doesn't turn. SYKES So, you think there's a connection, or what? Hey! CUT TO: EXT. SYKES' APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT The slug-mobile pulls up. A drained Sykes moves up the walk to his front door. INT. SYKES' APARTMENT - NIGHT Sykes enters his apartment, an untidy bachelor place decorated with negative taste. It's obviously the maid's decade off. By rote, he hits the rewind switch on the answering machine on his way into the kitchen. The tape rewinds. He opens the fridge. Not much here. Left-over take-out pizza carton. Left-over take-out Chinese food cartons. Left-over take-out burger wrappers. The answering machine message begins -- he glances over his shoulder as he HEARS his daughter's VOICE. During the following, he reaches the fridge. Brings out a milk carton that's in his way, sets it on the counter. Reaches in again and this time brings out a bottle of Stoly. Then searches for a semi-clean glass. KRISTIN'S VOICE (bouncy, bride-to-be happy) Hi, Daddy, it's me. I'm over at Danny's parents' house... talking about Sunday. I thought maybe you'd be home by now. Anyway, uh, nothing really. I just wanted to call and say I love you. I love you, Daddy. (she giggles) Uh-oh, I shouldn't'a done that. Knowing you, you'll probably pull this tape out of your machine and save it -- in that drawer where you keep every card I ever gave you, and all of my old baby teeth... gross! Anyway, Daddy, don't save this tape -- but I do love you, and I'll talk to you before Sunday. (beat) Oh, Tug and Carol came by and met Danny last week. (Sykes stiffens) Danny thought Tug was the greatest -- but, then, who doesn't? Anyway, love you, talk to you soon. 'Bye. The machine BEEPS and HISSES. Sykes take the glass and the bottle of vodka, crosses back toward the living room, switching off the answering machine as he goes. Then he stops, turns back, takes the message tape out of the machine and tosses it into a drawer. FADE TO: INT. DETECTIVE SQUAD ROOM - DAY Sykes enters, stirring a jumbo coffee. He's slept about four hours, and his face looks like he went a few with Hagler. He crosses straight to Fedorchuk's desk. SYKES So what've you got on Tuggle's killers? FEDORCHUK Jesus, Sykes -- it's been less than ten hours. Me and Alterez are on it, okay? SYKES You don't have squat. FEDORCHUK You ever try to make a case in Slagtown? The list of Newcomer informants is about as long as the list of Mexican war heroes... ALTEREZ Up yours. FEDORCHUK ... Nobody talks to nobody down there. Half of them don't speak English and the other half only when it suits them. It's gonna take some time. SYKES Yeah, I know it's gonna take time. Like until the Ice Capades opens in Hell, with you two on it. Across the room, the Captain's door BANGS open and CAPTAIN WARNER pounds out, his deep voice booming through the squad room. WARNER Nobody wanders off! I got an announcement. Get your asses back in here. Two detectives on their way out, stop, and head back into the room. Everybody gathers around, curious, as Warner stands holding a sheet of paper. WARNER I'll make this short. This is a directive from Chief Evaner, who is acting on orders from the Mayor, who is under mandate from the Federal Bureau of Newcomer Relations. As of nine o'clock this morning, one Newcomer uniform officer has been promoted to the rank of Detective, third grade. The detectives GROAN... some angrier ones grumble, "This is bullshit!", etc. WARNER And we've got him, gentleman. (more groans) Volunteers for duty with the new detective should see me in my office... otherwise I will choose a volunteer myself. That is all. He turns and heads back to his office in the wake of continued grumbling from the detectives. Sykes, standing to one side, absently watches Warner return to his glass- walled office. Waiting inside are a balding man and an alien in a grey suit. Sykes reacts. The alien in the suit is Jetson. The grumbling continues around him as Sykes considers something. FEDORCHUK Unbelievable bullshit. ALTEREZ How long has this Slag been on the force? A year, max -- right? DETECTIVE I don't know about the rest of you, but I sure as hell ain't gonna sit still for this. I'm calling the union, pronto. Others grumble. "Yeah!". Meanwhile, Sykes has decided something. He heads toward Warner's office. Fedorchuk sees this. FEDORCHUK Where the hell is he going? INT. WARNER'S OFFICE - DAY Sykes KNOCKS and enters. WARNER Yeah, Sykes? SYKES Captain. I'd like to volunteer for duty with the new detective. Warner is surprised. He never expected Sykes. WARNER ... All right. Detective Sergeant Sykes, this is Detective... Jetson. JETSON We have met. Warner looks up, clocking this. He looks at Sykes, starting to smell something fishy. The balding man, GOLDRUP, rises to shake their hands. GOLDRUP Victor Goldrup, Mayor's office. Congratulations, gentlemen. Warner is starting to suspect what Sykes is up to. WARNER (to Sykes) You are to have nothing to do with the investigation into Bill Tuggle's death. You know that. Leave that for Fedorchuk. SYKES (nodding) Departmental policy. WARNER (to Jetson) You? JETSON Yes, sir. WARNER Good. SYKES There's another case I'd like to take. A homicide -- a Newcomer named Hubley. Jetson looks over at Sykes, knows he's up to something. Sykes avoids his look. WARNER Granger and Pitts are already on it. SYKES Granger and Pitts have one hell of a caseload... and I would have thought with Jetson here being the first Newcomer plainclothes, and Hubley's body being found over in the Newcomer community... WARNER Don't tell me what to think. GOLDRUP He's got a point. That's the sort of thing we should be doing with this early advancement program... Long-suffering Warner looks up at Goldrup, then finally sighs with resignation. Sykes grins. CUT TO: INT. STAIRWELL - FIRST FLOOR HALLWAY - DAY The steel door BANGS open and Sykes and Jetson exit. Next to Sykes' slept-in look, Jetson in his grey suit looks like a Jehovah's Witness canvasser. They move past all the black-and-whites pulling out on p.m. watch during: SYKES ... and we work my hours. I'll do the driving, you do the paperwork. You gotta learn it so you might as well do it all. JETSON (after a moment) Sergeant... I'd like to thank you for what you're doing. SYKES What's that? (then realizing) Look, Jetson. Get this straight in your head. We're not pals, we're not married, and we ain't gonna take long moonlight walks together... We're just partners. And don't call me Sergeant. Call me Sykes... or Matt if you have to. JETSON I am George. Sykes nods absently, and they walk on... four and a half steps to be exact. Then it hits Sykes. He seizes up cold. SYKES Wait a minute. George? George Jetson? Jetson nods... he's used to this. Sykes cracks up. SYKES (between laughs) Man, somebody really hung one on you! I've heard some good ones for you guys... Humphrey Bogart, Harley Davidson. I guess the people at immigration got a little punchy after a while, coming up with names for a quarter of a million of you. You weren't at the back of the line, were you, George? JETSON My true name is Ss'tangya T'ssorentsa'. SYKES Gesundheit. You don't mind if I stick to George, do you? EXT. POLICE STATION PARKING AREA - DAY They approach Sykes' ugly sedan, the slug-mobile. SYKES Anyway, what's it matter to you if we think it's funny, right? Whatta you care? JETSON That is exactly so. (completely deadpan) It is like your name... Sykes. I'm sure it doesn't bother you at all that it sounds like "ss'ai k'ss", two words in my language which mean "excrement" and "cranium". Sykes looks at him, perplexed. JETSON "Shit... head". Jetson gets in and slams the door, leaving Sykes standing there, the smirk dropping from his face. CUT TO: INT. SLUG-MOBILE - DAY They're cruising along in downtown traffic. Sykes drives. Jetson is somewhat cramped in the passenger seat. SYKES Let's talk Hubley. JETSON (refers to a folder he holds) His body was discovered three days ago, in an alley off of Central Avenue, near downtown. SYKES With two

arrival

How many times the word 'arrival' appears in the text?

Alien Nation Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Alien Nation - by Rochne O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron ALIEN NATION Original Screenplay by Rockne S. O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron October 1987 FADE IN: EXT. MOJAVE DESERT - DAY (TELEVISION IMAGE) A LONG LENS SHOT of a far distant metallic object hovering just above the ground -- maybe two or three miles away. The heat waves and the light refraction off the desert- scape make the object undulate rhythmically, keeping its true shape and appearance indistinct. The VIDEO CAMERA recording this scene zooms back, then pans over -- revealing a semicircle of US Army vehicles and personnel. Army Engineers with their tripod-mounted scopes and binoculars are shoulder to shoulder with the armed infantry. Everyone stares off at the same point on the horizon. Waiting. The VIDEO CAMERA movements are HANDHELD, unsteady, as it moves through the line of Army personnel to reveal a second, less organized semicircle of observers fifty yards behind the Army. LOCALS from nearby towns perch in truck beds and on car roofs, Budweiser and Fritos at hand, eyes glued to the distant object. The VIDEO CAMERA image climbs up onto the roof of a parked local TV van, finds the object again in the distance, zooms in, and waits, like everyone else. Abruptly the VIDEO IMAGE contracts, becoming a box CHROMAKEYED behind CNN reporter DUNCAN CRAIS. CRAIS That was the scene in California's Mojave Desert three years ago today -- the historic first view of the Newcomer ship upon its dramatic arrival. As with the assassination of John Kennedy, who among us does not remember exactly where he was that October nineteenth morning, when news first broke: that people have landed... from another star. We PULL BACK from a large television set to reveal... INT. A CROWDED BAR - LOS ANGELES - NIGHT The Hollowpoint Lounge -- a cop bar. The off-duty uniformed and plainclothes cops are mostly ignoring the TV, except for two detectives, FEDORCHUK and ALTEREZ, who are waiting for the ball scores. FEDORCHUK I remember where I was -- pissing off my balcony at the neighbor's dog! Others laugh. ALTEREZ (yells at Crais on TV) Get to the goddamn ball scores! ON THE TV SCREEN, an on-location interview with a CAL-TECH PROFESSOR comes up. Her name and title appear across the bottom of the screen. CAL-TECH PROFESSOR From the time mankind first gazed up at the stars there had been speculation about a visit by people from "out there." How ironic that when that first contact was made, the two hundred and sixty thousand occupants aboard the craft were as surprised as we were about their arrival. That they awakened from frozen hibernation to find their malfunctioning autopilot had landed them here by mistake. The CNN reporter, Duncan Crais, appears again. CRAIS These "Newcomers," we soon learned, were a genetically-engineered race, adapted for hard labor in almost any environmental condition. In effect, their ship was a slave ship... washed ashore on Earth with no way to get back to where they came from... A dishwasher tray filled with beer glasses CUTS ACROSS FRAME, and we PAN WITH IT as it is slammed down on the countertop. Now an interview with a FRESNO HOUSEWIFE standing outside a supermarket comes on the TV SCREEN. FRESNO HOUSEWIFE When the Newcomers were first let out of the ship, they were quarantined in a camp not ten miles from the town here. You can imagine how the people around here felt about that. But once they were releases from the camp and we got a chance to know them, we saw what nice, quiet people they really are... WIDER revealing a MASSIVE ALIEN FIGURE in a filthy white busboy's uniform. His back is to us as he picks up two trays from the counter. The bartender is dwarfed by this Newcomer, but works around him without apparent concern. Fedorchuk addresses the alien busboy. FEDORCHUK Hey, Henry, how you doin' tonight? Workin' hard? The Newcomer turns -- his face is humanoid, but disturbingly alien. FEDORCHUK You got your green card, buddy? You didn't leave home without it? The cops at the bar crack up. Henry looks at Fedorchuk -- his eyes carrying no malice... or pain. He merely blinks. CUT TO: INT./ EXT. SLUG-MOBILE - STREET - NIGHT An explosion of color and movement as OPENING TITLES PLAY very quickly. We're TRAVELING the streets in a n.d. sedan, getting MOVING GLIMPSES of the aliens living among us now: -- A coffee shop where aliens eat at some window tables. -- A Newcomer leaving a night school with an armload of books. -- A city park where a number of alien families have gathered to play some arcane alien game. SYKES Jeez... they call that gang-bang a game...? -- A billboard for Pepsi featuring an alien. -- The sedan has pulled to a stop at a red light. Suddenly a hand thumps against the glass next to Sykes' head... and alien hand. Sykes jumps. It's a NEWCOMER DERELICT standing there, weaving, mumbling in his own language. In one filthy hand holds a quart carton of milk. We know immediately what he wants. Sykes rolls down the window. SYKES Take a hike. Sykes gets a whiff of the derelict's breath as the light changes and the sedan pulls away, leaving him in the street. Sykes grimaces at the smell. SYKES Why's it have to be sour milk that these guys get wasted on? What the hell's wrong with Jack Daniels, or Thunderbird for chrissakes? (beat; disgusted) Slagtown. Shit... -- Aliens hanging around outside their homes. -- Alien hookers plying their trade. SYKES Hope their plumbing's the same. TUGGLE It is. (and Sykes gives him a look) -- A Newcomer lowrider pulls up beside the slug-mobile. -- An alien couple exit a theater playing "Terminator III". -- An alien wig shop. ANGLE TITLES END, and we start to PULL BACK into the slug-mobile and HEAR: TUGGLE (O.S.) So you gonna go, or you not gonna go? INT. SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT The dashboard is littered with fast-food detritus and two coffees in styrofoam cups making fog circles on the windshield. A hand picks up one of the coffees and we FOLLOW IT to a face, a forty-year-old cop face that's seen some wear and tear -- behind the wheel is MATT SYKES. Beside him is his partner of nine years, BILL TUGGLE. Tuggle expertly munches on a slice of pizza as he talks. SYKES How can I go? TUGGLE Put on your wash-and-wear suit and your clip-on tie, have your landlady tie your shoes for you, and show up at the church. Simple. (beat) Me and Carol are going. SYKES What? TUGGLE Hey, look -- we've known Kristin since... since she was conceived in that cabin up in Big Bear. Remember? You and Edie banged the wall so hard, me and Carol were picking plaster out of our hair for a week... SYKES Goddammit, Tug -- I want to see Kristin get married, okay? But-- TUGGLE But you're bummed because your ex and her new husband are paying for the whole thing. SYKES Shit, if Kristin had to get married where I could afford it, we'd be holding the reception at Buddy's Burgers. Sykes stares out the window, wallowing in his pissed-off mood. Then he spots something that twinges his street-cop radar. SYKES Uh-oh... Check it out. THROUGH THE WINDOW Tuggle sees what Sykes sees: two ALIENS in long coats moving down the sidewalk, entering a mom- and-pop mini-mart on the corner. One of them wears dark glasses and a red bandana (KIPLING): the other has on a black vinyl raincoat. SYKES Does that look at all suspicious to you? TUGGLE Whatever gave you that idea? EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes continues up a quarter of a block, pulls to the curb among other parked cars. INT. SEDAN - NIGHT Sykes is already pulling his gun. Tuggle quickly reaches for the radio in the glovebox. TUGGLE This is one-Henry-seven, we've got a possible two-eleven in progress at Porter's Mini-Mart, corner of Court and Alvarado. Requesting backup. Impulsive Sykes is already opening his door and climbing out. SYKES Let's do it, partner. Tuggle drops the radio mike and follows Sykes as the Radio Dispatcher confirms the call. EXT. STREET - NIGHT The two cops, guns in hand, move along the row of parked cars across the street from the mini-mart. Through the store window they see the old alien PROPRIETOR behind the counter. His eyes go wide as Kipling whips back his coat and yanks out a short combat pump-shotgun and aims it right at him. The Raincoat alien pulls an identical gun and covers the door. Sykes and Tuggle react to the firepower inside. SYKES You got your vest? TUGGLE Of course. Right in the trunk of the car. SYKES Yeah, that's comforting. Mine, too. Through the store window the robbery continues in pantomime. Kipling gestures viciously with the shotgun, yelling orders in the alien language. The Proprietor is quickly filling a paper bag with cash from the register. The PROPRIETOR'S WIFE, a middle-aged alien woman, stands in the doorway from the back, frozen in fear. The Raincoat alien dances from foot to foot, antsy, wired. Sykes and Tuggle crouch at the car directly across the street from the store entrance. TUGGLE Watch the driver. I'm going for a better angle on the door. SYKES I got him. Don't get pinned. Tuggle leaves the cover provided by the car, runs cater- corner across the intersection. Through the store window Sykes sees Kipling grab the bag of cash, shove it in his coat pocket. Bills fall out, but he doesn't care. Then, without warning, Kipling whips up the twelve gauge and blows a hole in the Proprietor's chest! The Proprietor slams back against the shelves, slides to the floor. Kipling leans over the counter and FIRES another round into the Proprietor. SYKES (under his breath) Aw, shit. Tuggle is almost across the street when he hears the shots. The human DRIVER of the getaway car (parked at the curb a few doors down from the mini-mart) glances up, spots Tuggle. He leans on the HORN, reaches for a machine pistol on the seat next to him. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling and Raincoat alien react to the horn honk. They spot Tuggle through the store window and open fire -- BLASTING THROUGH THE GLASS. A civilian car enters the intersection. The engine is hit by shotgun fire, and the car skids to a stop in the intersection, steam rising from the radiator. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Tuggle dives behind a lamp post. The Driver is out of the car now, brings up the machine pistol to fire at Tuggle. Sykes sees this and opens fire at the Driver. The Driver turns and fires at Sykes. Sykes ducks down, and the car he's hiding behind is sprayed with bullets. A forty-foot moving van pulls down the street between Sykes and the Driver. Once the truck is past, Sykes is standing behind the bullet-riddled car, gun ready. He rapid-fires -- creaming the human Driver. Tuggle is pinned down behind the thin lamp post by the shotgun fire from Kipling and Raincoat alien. SYKES Get outta there! TUGGLE I can't! Do you mind! SYKES I'll cover you! Get outta there!! Sykes rises and runs across the street toward the getaway car, firing toward the store as he goes. Kipling and Raincoat dodge behind cover. Tuggle seizes the opportunity, jumps from behind the lamp post and runs to the stalled civilian car. He slides across the hood and drops behind the car for cover. Tuggle slowly pokes his head up to peer through the car window. His gaze is met by the face of the OLD MAN driver who is still inside the car. OLD MAN Can I get out now? TUGGLE Move it! Sykes doesn't have a clear firing line on the aliens in the store. As he considers his next move-- Tuggle fires at the two aliens. They return fire and he slides down to safety behind the car. Or so he thinks. Glass rains down on him as the car windows are cremated by the shotgun blasts. He flinches as another blast hits the car. He looks over. There's a big exit hole in the fender beside him. THE SHOT WENT RIGHT THROUGH THE CAR. Another exit hole is BLASTED, inches from his shoulder. Panicked, he scrambles along the side of the car -- BLASTS and exit holes following him until he reaches the front of the car. He has nowhere left to go and-- -- a BLAST comes through the car and catches him squarely in the chest throwing him back onto the street. Sykes' head jerks around -- in time to see his partner of nine years blown away. Kipling keeps firing in Tuggle's direction until his shotgun CLICKS empty. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling grabs Raincoat and throws him toward the back exit of the store. The shotgun falls from Raincoat's hands. The two of them run out the back. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes runs to Tuggle's spread-eagled body. One glance is enough. Nobody ever looked deader. SYKES Aw shit, Tug, Jesus! Goddamn it! He stares, shocked and incredulous. He can't find a way to think or feel about this. Then we see him going crazy right before our eyes, the rage revving. He takes off toward the store as SIRENS are HEARD rapidly approaching in background. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Sykes moves through like a locomotive skidding on broken glass, bangs through the exit. EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT Sykes catches sight of the two aliens just as they round the corner at the far end of the alley. He takes off, quickly cranking up to full speed. EXT. BACK STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds the corner. Doesn't see them anymore. He slows... moves along this street with some caution. Lots of shadows, lots of hiding places. Sykes HEARS a NOISE, looks up... just in time to see Raincoat on a high, huge billboard. He cuts loose with the shotgun. Sykes dives. Huge chunks of the crate he dives behind fly off into the night. Sykes, on his belly, scrambles deeper among the crates. Raincoat's shotgun CLICKS empty now. He drops it, swings down off the fire escape, runs off. Sykes is up again in a flash, pounding after him. EXT. TUNNEL STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds this second corner, races down the street. The only route they could've taken is through a tunnel up ahead. Sykes approaches the tunnel, all senses wide open. INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT The murkiness of the tunnel engulfs him as he moves through the mouth. He tries to control his breathing so he can hear. The only SOUND is his own shoes scuffing along the asphalt. Then he HEARS -- another set of FOOTSTEPS. Rapid footsteps, coming toward him, ECHOING. He can't tell from which direction! He spins, just as a LARGE SHAPE lunges for him with an alien CRY. It's the wired Raincoat alien. Sykes gets his gun up just in time and FIRES -- once, twice, three times. Raincoat alien is knocked backwards to the wet asphalt by the blasts. Sykes approaches the body slowly. With an inhuman ROAR, the alien snaps forward, lunging at Sykes with outstretched arms. Sykes jumps back, startled, and FIRES twice more at the pale figure. Raincoat goes down and stays down. Sykes relaxes for the briefest moment. Then he HEARS it... a distinctive CLICKING SOUND, metal on metal. Sykes looks up and -- Kipling drops down on him from directly above! Sykes goes down in a heap. He's managed to hold onto the gun and as Kipling comes for him, he swings the gun hand around. Kipling sees it, lashes out, slamming the gun from Sykes' hand. Sykes tries to get to his feet, but the alien grabs him and flings him down the tunnel. A SIREN is HEARD approaching in background. Kipling moves in to deliver the coup de grace. As he draws near, Sykes HEARS that distinctive CLICKING SOUND again. SYKES' P.O.V. Though his vision is BLURRED, Sykes still gets a good look at an exotic silver bracelet on the alien's wrist. The strands of this bracelet are what make the CLINKING NOISE. ANGLE The alien rears back, and as he does, the approaching SIREN suddenly WAILS louder as a backup patrol car swings onto the street heading this way. Kipling sees this and leaves Sykes, running off down the dark tunnel. ON SYKES dazed, struggling to rise. WE HEAR running FOOTSTEPS approaching. Sykes turns, his eyes wild and unfocused. SYKES' P.O.V. An OUT-OF-FOCUS ALIEN FACE looming over him. ANGLE Sykes whips around in a roundhouse swing with all his weight on it, pistoning his fist straight into the alien face. The alien, caught by surprise and off balance, sprawls backward OUT OF FRAME. Sykes is grabbed by a human uniformed cop, as he tries to swing again. HUMAN COP Whoa, whoa... hold it. Take it easy. (to alien on the ground) You okay? Sykes stops struggling, and his eyes focus. He looks at the alien he just decked, sprawled on his ass ten feet away. The alien is a uniformed cop... his name is JETSON. JETSON I am all right. He gets up. A trickle of purple blood runs from his nose. HUMAN COP I better call in. He moves off. Jetson moves toward Sykes and the Raincoat alien's body. Sykes tenses, thinking Jetson might retaliate in some way. But Jetson simply steps past him to kneel beside the dead alien. He checks for a pulse on the underside of the dead alien's upper arm. Nothing. Sykes is holding his punching hand in obvious pain. He struggles to rise. Jetson gets an arm around him to help him up. JETSON Your hand will require attention. Sykes roughly jerks himself free of Jetson's grip. SYKES Get the hell away from me! I don't need your goddamn help. He almost loses his balance and has to steady himself against the tunnel wall. Sykes leans there, the picture of impotent rage and frustration. Jetson looks at him, with that slight inquisitive expression aliens exhibit when trying to understand human nature. EXT. MINI-MART - NIGHT OPEN on Tuggle's body, as the body bag is zipped up over his face, and the litter is lifted into the back of the Coroner's wagon. WIDEN to reveal Sykes, standing nearby, watching. The Wagon pulls out, and Sykes turns, moving past all the LAPD black-and-whites and forensics wagons, and COPS (two of them aliens) and DETECTIVES, and RUBBERNECKERS (some alien). He moves into: INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT The CRIME SCENE TEAM is checking for prints, digging slugs out of the wall, photographing everything. Several UNIFORMED COPS mill around. Sykes moves aimlessly around the room like a stranger at a party. The Proprietor's Wife stands near the body in a strange rigid posture, a thin, mournful KEENING SOUND coming from her lips. A harried female uniformed cop is trying to get her away from the body, but can't get her to budge. MINKLER, a ballistics guy, is tagging the pump-shotgun the Raincoat alien dropped here. NATUZZI, a mean-looking veteran uniform cop is with him. NATUZZI Looks like a standard combat pump- action. MINKLER It is. NATUZZI So what punched holes clear through that car out there? Minkler pulls an evidence baggie from his work box. Inside are four unfired twelve gauge shells. MINKLER BRI Sabot slugs. These puppies are nasty. Two plastic sabots fall away in flight leaving a fifty-caliber slug going two thousand feet per second. Tug might as well've been hiding behind a rosebush. Minkler senses somebody has just stepped up beside him. He looks. It's Sykes. NATUZZI Pretty heavy artillery for knocking over a liquor store. A new voice enters the conversation. JETSON (O.S.) An identical round was used in the shooting of a Newcomer named Hubley, two days ago. Sykes turns -- surprised, and not especially pleased to see the voice is Jetson's. MINKLER Yeah? So why the extra fire power? JETSON Perhaps because even the larger caliber handguns aren't always effective against my people. SYKES (mulls this, then) You saying there's some connection to this other homicide? Before Jetson can say, the female cop who was talking to the Proprietor's Wife steps up. FEMALE COP Hey, give me a hand with this woman, will ya Jetson? We've got to get her to Division for her statement and she won't budge. JETSON (to Sykes) Excuse me. And he moves off with his partner. Sykes calls after him, but Jetson is already approaching the woman and doesn't turn. SYKES So, you think there's a connection, or what? Hey! CUT TO: EXT. SYKES' APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT The slug-mobile pulls up. A drained Sykes moves up the walk to his front door. INT. SYKES' APARTMENT - NIGHT Sykes enters his apartment, an untidy bachelor place decorated with negative taste. It's obviously the maid's decade off. By rote, he hits the rewind switch on the answering machine on his way into the kitchen. The tape rewinds. He opens the fridge. Not much here. Left-over take-out pizza carton. Left-over take-out Chinese food cartons. Left-over take-out burger wrappers. The answering machine message begins -- he glances over his shoulder as he HEARS his daughter's VOICE. During the following, he reaches the fridge. Brings out a milk carton that's in his way, sets it on the counter. Reaches in again and this time brings out a bottle of Stoly. Then searches for a semi-clean glass. KRISTIN'S VOICE (bouncy, bride-to-be happy) Hi, Daddy, it's me. I'm over at Danny's parents' house... talking about Sunday. I thought maybe you'd be home by now. Anyway, uh, nothing really. I just wanted to call and say I love you. I love you, Daddy. (she giggles) Uh-oh, I shouldn't'a done that. Knowing you, you'll probably pull this tape out of your machine and save it -- in that drawer where you keep every card I ever gave you, and all of my old baby teeth... gross! Anyway, Daddy, don't save this tape -- but I do love you, and I'll talk to you before Sunday. (beat) Oh, Tug and Carol came by and met Danny last week. (Sykes stiffens) Danny thought Tug was the greatest -- but, then, who doesn't? Anyway, love you, talk to you soon. 'Bye. The machine BEEPS and HISSES. Sykes take the glass and the bottle of vodka, crosses back toward the living room, switching off the answering machine as he goes. Then he stops, turns back, takes the message tape out of the machine and tosses it into a drawer. FADE TO: INT. DETECTIVE SQUAD ROOM - DAY Sykes enters, stirring a jumbo coffee. He's slept about four hours, and his face looks like he went a few with Hagler. He crosses straight to Fedorchuk's desk. SYKES So what've you got on Tuggle's killers? FEDORCHUK Jesus, Sykes -- it's been less than ten hours. Me and Alterez are on it, okay? SYKES You don't have squat. FEDORCHUK You ever try to make a case in Slagtown? The list of Newcomer informants is about as long as the list of Mexican war heroes... ALTEREZ Up yours. FEDORCHUK ... Nobody talks to nobody down there. Half of them don't speak English and the other half only when it suits them. It's gonna take some time. SYKES Yeah, I know it's gonna take time. Like until the Ice Capades opens in Hell, with you two on it. Across the room, the Captain's door BANGS open and CAPTAIN WARNER pounds out, his deep voice booming through the squad room. WARNER Nobody wanders off! I got an announcement. Get your asses back in here. Two detectives on their way out, stop, and head back into the room. Everybody gathers around, curious, as Warner stands holding a sheet of paper. WARNER I'll make this short. This is a directive from Chief Evaner, who is acting on orders from the Mayor, who is under mandate from the Federal Bureau of Newcomer Relations. As of nine o'clock this morning, one Newcomer uniform officer has been promoted to the rank of Detective, third grade. The detectives GROAN... some angrier ones grumble, "This is bullshit!", etc. WARNER And we've got him, gentleman. (more groans) Volunteers for duty with the new detective should see me in my office... otherwise I will choose a volunteer myself. That is all. He turns and heads back to his office in the wake of continued grumbling from the detectives. Sykes, standing to one side, absently watches Warner return to his glass- walled office. Waiting inside are a balding man and an alien in a grey suit. Sykes reacts. The alien in the suit is Jetson. The grumbling continues around him as Sykes considers something. FEDORCHUK Unbelievable bullshit. ALTEREZ How long has this Slag been on the force? A year, max -- right? DETECTIVE I don't know about the rest of you, but I sure as hell ain't gonna sit still for this. I'm calling the union, pronto. Others grumble. "Yeah!". Meanwhile, Sykes has decided something. He heads toward Warner's office. Fedorchuk sees this. FEDORCHUK Where the hell is he going? INT. WARNER'S OFFICE - DAY Sykes KNOCKS and enters. WARNER Yeah, Sykes? SYKES Captain. I'd like to volunteer for duty with the new detective. Warner is surprised. He never expected Sykes. WARNER ... All right. Detective Sergeant Sykes, this is Detective... Jetson. JETSON We have met. Warner looks up, clocking this. He looks at Sykes, starting to smell something fishy. The balding man, GOLDRUP, rises to shake their hands. GOLDRUP Victor Goldrup, Mayor's office. Congratulations, gentlemen. Warner is starting to suspect what Sykes is up to. WARNER (to Sykes) You are to have nothing to do with the investigation into Bill Tuggle's death. You know that. Leave that for Fedorchuk. SYKES (nodding) Departmental policy. WARNER (to Jetson) You? JETSON Yes, sir. WARNER Good. SYKES There's another case I'd like to take. A homicide -- a Newcomer named Hubley. Jetson looks over at Sykes, knows he's up to something. Sykes avoids his look. WARNER Granger and Pitts are already on it. SYKES Granger and Pitts have one hell of a caseload... and I would have thought with Jetson here being the first Newcomer plainclothes, and Hubley's body being found over in the Newcomer community... WARNER Don't tell me what to think. GOLDRUP He's got a point. That's the sort of thing we should be doing with this early advancement program... Long-suffering Warner looks up at Goldrup, then finally sighs with resignation. Sykes grins. CUT TO: INT. STAIRWELL - FIRST FLOOR HALLWAY - DAY The steel door BANGS open and Sykes and Jetson exit. Next to Sykes' slept-in look, Jetson in his grey suit looks like a Jehovah's Witness canvasser. They move past all the black-and-whites pulling out on p.m. watch during: SYKES ... and we work my hours. I'll do the driving, you do the paperwork. You gotta learn it so you might as well do it all. JETSON (after a moment) Sergeant... I'd like to thank you for what you're doing. SYKES What's that? (then realizing) Look, Jetson. Get this straight in your head. We're not pals, we're not married, and we ain't gonna take long moonlight walks together... We're just partners. And don't call me Sergeant. Call me Sykes... or Matt if you have to. JETSON I am George. Sykes nods absently, and they walk on... four and a half steps to be exact. Then it hits Sykes. He seizes up cold. SYKES Wait a minute. George? George Jetson? Jetson nods... he's used to this. Sykes cracks up. SYKES (between laughs) Man, somebody really hung one on you! I've heard some good ones for you guys... Humphrey Bogart, Harley Davidson. I guess the people at immigration got a little punchy after a while, coming up with names for a quarter of a million of you. You weren't at the back of the line, were you, George? JETSON My true name is Ss'tangya T'ssorentsa'. SYKES Gesundheit. You don't mind if I stick to George, do you? EXT. POLICE STATION PARKING AREA - DAY They approach Sykes' ugly sedan, the slug-mobile. SYKES Anyway, what's it matter to you if we think it's funny, right? Whatta you care? JETSON That is exactly so. (completely deadpan) It is like your name... Sykes. I'm sure it doesn't bother you at all that it sounds like "ss'ai k'ss", two words in my language which mean "excrement" and "cranium". Sykes looks at him, perplexed. JETSON "Shit... head". Jetson gets in and slams the door, leaving Sykes standing there, the smirk dropping from his face. CUT TO: INT. SLUG-MOBILE - DAY They're cruising along in downtown traffic. Sykes drives. Jetson is somewhat cramped in the passenger seat. SYKES Let's talk Hubley. JETSON (refers to a folder he holds) His body was discovered three days ago, in an alley off of Central Avenue, near downtown. SYKES With two

bar

How many times the word 'bar' appears in the text?

Alien Nation Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Alien Nation - by Rochne O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron ALIEN NATION Original Screenplay by Rockne S. O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron October 1987 FADE IN: EXT. MOJAVE DESERT - DAY (TELEVISION IMAGE) A LONG LENS SHOT of a far distant metallic object hovering just above the ground -- maybe two or three miles away. The heat waves and the light refraction off the desert- scape make the object undulate rhythmically, keeping its true shape and appearance indistinct. The VIDEO CAMERA recording this scene zooms back, then pans over -- revealing a semicircle of US Army vehicles and personnel. Army Engineers with their tripod-mounted scopes and binoculars are shoulder to shoulder with the armed infantry. Everyone stares off at the same point on the horizon. Waiting. The VIDEO CAMERA movements are HANDHELD, unsteady, as it moves through the line of Army personnel to reveal a second, less organized semicircle of observers fifty yards behind the Army. LOCALS from nearby towns perch in truck beds and on car roofs, Budweiser and Fritos at hand, eyes glued to the distant object. The VIDEO CAMERA image climbs up onto the roof of a parked local TV van, finds the object again in the distance, zooms in, and waits, like everyone else. Abruptly the VIDEO IMAGE contracts, becoming a box CHROMAKEYED behind CNN reporter DUNCAN CRAIS. CRAIS That was the scene in California's Mojave Desert three years ago today -- the historic first view of the Newcomer ship upon its dramatic arrival. As with the assassination of John Kennedy, who among us does not remember exactly where he was that October nineteenth morning, when news first broke: that people have landed... from another star. We PULL BACK from a large television set to reveal... INT. A CROWDED BAR - LOS ANGELES - NIGHT The Hollowpoint Lounge -- a cop bar. The off-duty uniformed and plainclothes cops are mostly ignoring the TV, except for two detectives, FEDORCHUK and ALTEREZ, who are waiting for the ball scores. FEDORCHUK I remember where I was -- pissing off my balcony at the neighbor's dog! Others laugh. ALTEREZ (yells at Crais on TV) Get to the goddamn ball scores! ON THE TV SCREEN, an on-location interview with a CAL-TECH PROFESSOR comes up. Her name and title appear across the bottom of the screen. CAL-TECH PROFESSOR From the time mankind first gazed up at the stars there had been speculation about a visit by people from "out there." How ironic that when that first contact was made, the two hundred and sixty thousand occupants aboard the craft were as surprised as we were about their arrival. That they awakened from frozen hibernation to find their malfunctioning autopilot had landed them here by mistake. The CNN reporter, Duncan Crais, appears again. CRAIS These "Newcomers," we soon learned, were a genetically-engineered race, adapted for hard labor in almost any environmental condition. In effect, their ship was a slave ship... washed ashore on Earth with no way to get back to where they came from... A dishwasher tray filled with beer glasses CUTS ACROSS FRAME, and we PAN WITH IT as it is slammed down on the countertop. Now an interview with a FRESNO HOUSEWIFE standing outside a supermarket comes on the TV SCREEN. FRESNO HOUSEWIFE When the Newcomers were first let out of the ship, they were quarantined in a camp not ten miles from the town here. You can imagine how the people around here felt about that. But once they were releases from the camp and we got a chance to know them, we saw what nice, quiet people they really are... WIDER revealing a MASSIVE ALIEN FIGURE in a filthy white busboy's uniform. His back is to us as he picks up two trays from the counter. The bartender is dwarfed by this Newcomer, but works around him without apparent concern. Fedorchuk addresses the alien busboy. FEDORCHUK Hey, Henry, how you doin' tonight? Workin' hard? The Newcomer turns -- his face is humanoid, but disturbingly alien. FEDORCHUK You got your green card, buddy? You didn't leave home without it? The cops at the bar crack up. Henry looks at Fedorchuk -- his eyes carrying no malice... or pain. He merely blinks. CUT TO: INT./ EXT. SLUG-MOBILE - STREET - NIGHT An explosion of color and movement as OPENING TITLES PLAY very quickly. We're TRAVELING the streets in a n.d. sedan, getting MOVING GLIMPSES of the aliens living among us now: -- A coffee shop where aliens eat at some window tables. -- A Newcomer leaving a night school with an armload of books. -- A city park where a number of alien families have gathered to play some arcane alien game. SYKES Jeez... they call that gang-bang a game...? -- A billboard for Pepsi featuring an alien. -- The sedan has pulled to a stop at a red light. Suddenly a hand thumps against the glass next to Sykes' head... and alien hand. Sykes jumps. It's a NEWCOMER DERELICT standing there, weaving, mumbling in his own language. In one filthy hand holds a quart carton of milk. We know immediately what he wants. Sykes rolls down the window. SYKES Take a hike. Sykes gets a whiff of the derelict's breath as the light changes and the sedan pulls away, leaving him in the street. Sykes grimaces at the smell. SYKES Why's it have to be sour milk that these guys get wasted on? What the hell's wrong with Jack Daniels, or Thunderbird for chrissakes? (beat; disgusted) Slagtown. Shit... -- Aliens hanging around outside their homes. -- Alien hookers plying their trade. SYKES Hope their plumbing's the same. TUGGLE It is. (and Sykes gives him a look) -- A Newcomer lowrider pulls up beside the slug-mobile. -- An alien couple exit a theater playing "Terminator III". -- An alien wig shop. ANGLE TITLES END, and we start to PULL BACK into the slug-mobile and HEAR: TUGGLE (O.S.) So you gonna go, or you not gonna go? INT. SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT The dashboard is littered with fast-food detritus and two coffees in styrofoam cups making fog circles on the windshield. A hand picks up one of the coffees and we FOLLOW IT to a face, a forty-year-old cop face that's seen some wear and tear -- behind the wheel is MATT SYKES. Beside him is his partner of nine years, BILL TUGGLE. Tuggle expertly munches on a slice of pizza as he talks. SYKES How can I go? TUGGLE Put on your wash-and-wear suit and your clip-on tie, have your landlady tie your shoes for you, and show up at the church. Simple. (beat) Me and Carol are going. SYKES What? TUGGLE Hey, look -- we've known Kristin since... since she was conceived in that cabin up in Big Bear. Remember? You and Edie banged the wall so hard, me and Carol were picking plaster out of our hair for a week... SYKES Goddammit, Tug -- I want to see Kristin get married, okay? But-- TUGGLE But you're bummed because your ex and her new husband are paying for the whole thing. SYKES Shit, if Kristin had to get married where I could afford it, we'd be holding the reception at Buddy's Burgers. Sykes stares out the window, wallowing in his pissed-off mood. Then he spots something that twinges his street-cop radar. SYKES Uh-oh... Check it out. THROUGH THE WINDOW Tuggle sees what Sykes sees: two ALIENS in long coats moving down the sidewalk, entering a mom- and-pop mini-mart on the corner. One of them wears dark glasses and a red bandana (KIPLING): the other has on a black vinyl raincoat. SYKES Does that look at all suspicious to you? TUGGLE Whatever gave you that idea? EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes continues up a quarter of a block, pulls to the curb among other parked cars. INT. SEDAN - NIGHT Sykes is already pulling his gun. Tuggle quickly reaches for the radio in the glovebox. TUGGLE This is one-Henry-seven, we've got a possible two-eleven in progress at Porter's Mini-Mart, corner of Court and Alvarado. Requesting backup. Impulsive Sykes is already opening his door and climbing out. SYKES Let's do it, partner. Tuggle drops the radio mike and follows Sykes as the Radio Dispatcher confirms the call. EXT. STREET - NIGHT The two cops, guns in hand, move along the row of parked cars across the street from the mini-mart. Through the store window they see the old alien PROPRIETOR behind the counter. His eyes go wide as Kipling whips back his coat and yanks out a short combat pump-shotgun and aims it right at him. The Raincoat alien pulls an identical gun and covers the door. Sykes and Tuggle react to the firepower inside. SYKES You got your vest? TUGGLE Of course. Right in the trunk of the car. SYKES Yeah, that's comforting. Mine, too. Through the store window the robbery continues in pantomime. Kipling gestures viciously with the shotgun, yelling orders in the alien language. The Proprietor is quickly filling a paper bag with cash from the register. The PROPRIETOR'S WIFE, a middle-aged alien woman, stands in the doorway from the back, frozen in fear. The Raincoat alien dances from foot to foot, antsy, wired. Sykes and Tuggle crouch at the car directly across the street from the store entrance. TUGGLE Watch the driver. I'm going for a better angle on the door. SYKES I got him. Don't get pinned. Tuggle leaves the cover provided by the car, runs cater- corner across the intersection. Through the store window Sykes sees Kipling grab the bag of cash, shove it in his coat pocket. Bills fall out, but he doesn't care. Then, without warning, Kipling whips up the twelve gauge and blows a hole in the Proprietor's chest! The Proprietor slams back against the shelves, slides to the floor. Kipling leans over the counter and FIRES another round into the Proprietor. SYKES (under his breath) Aw, shit. Tuggle is almost across the street when he hears the shots. The human DRIVER of the getaway car (parked at the curb a few doors down from the mini-mart) glances up, spots Tuggle. He leans on the HORN, reaches for a machine pistol on the seat next to him. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling and Raincoat alien react to the horn honk. They spot Tuggle through the store window and open fire -- BLASTING THROUGH THE GLASS. A civilian car enters the intersection. The engine is hit by shotgun fire, and the car skids to a stop in the intersection, steam rising from the radiator. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Tuggle dives behind a lamp post. The Driver is out of the car now, brings up the machine pistol to fire at Tuggle. Sykes sees this and opens fire at the Driver. The Driver turns and fires at Sykes. Sykes ducks down, and the car he's hiding behind is sprayed with bullets. A forty-foot moving van pulls down the street between Sykes and the Driver. Once the truck is past, Sykes is standing behind the bullet-riddled car, gun ready. He rapid-fires -- creaming the human Driver. Tuggle is pinned down behind the thin lamp post by the shotgun fire from Kipling and Raincoat alien. SYKES Get outta there! TUGGLE I can't! Do you mind! SYKES I'll cover you! Get outta there!! Sykes rises and runs across the street toward the getaway car, firing toward the store as he goes. Kipling and Raincoat dodge behind cover. Tuggle seizes the opportunity, jumps from behind the lamp post and runs to the stalled civilian car. He slides across the hood and drops behind the car for cover. Tuggle slowly pokes his head up to peer through the car window. His gaze is met by the face of the OLD MAN driver who is still inside the car. OLD MAN Can I get out now? TUGGLE Move it! Sykes doesn't have a clear firing line on the aliens in the store. As he considers his next move-- Tuggle fires at the two aliens. They return fire and he slides down to safety behind the car. Or so he thinks. Glass rains down on him as the car windows are cremated by the shotgun blasts. He flinches as another blast hits the car. He looks over. There's a big exit hole in the fender beside him. THE SHOT WENT RIGHT THROUGH THE CAR. Another exit hole is BLASTED, inches from his shoulder. Panicked, he scrambles along the side of the car -- BLASTS and exit holes following him until he reaches the front of the car. He has nowhere left to go and-- -- a BLAST comes through the car and catches him squarely in the chest throwing him back onto the street. Sykes' head jerks around -- in time to see his partner of nine years blown away. Kipling keeps firing in Tuggle's direction until his shotgun CLICKS empty. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling grabs Raincoat and throws him toward the back exit of the store. The shotgun falls from Raincoat's hands. The two of them run out the back. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes runs to Tuggle's spread-eagled body. One glance is enough. Nobody ever looked deader. SYKES Aw shit, Tug, Jesus! Goddamn it! He stares, shocked and incredulous. He can't find a way to think or feel about this. Then we see him going crazy right before our eyes, the rage revving. He takes off toward the store as SIRENS are HEARD rapidly approaching in background. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Sykes moves through like a locomotive skidding on broken glass, bangs through the exit. EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT Sykes catches sight of the two aliens just as they round the corner at the far end of the alley. He takes off, quickly cranking up to full speed. EXT. BACK STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds the corner. Doesn't see them anymore. He slows... moves along this street with some caution. Lots of shadows, lots of hiding places. Sykes HEARS a NOISE, looks up... just in time to see Raincoat on a high, huge billboard. He cuts loose with the shotgun. Sykes dives. Huge chunks of the crate he dives behind fly off into the night. Sykes, on his belly, scrambles deeper among the crates. Raincoat's shotgun CLICKS empty now. He drops it, swings down off the fire escape, runs off. Sykes is up again in a flash, pounding after him. EXT. TUNNEL STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds this second corner, races down the street. The only route they could've taken is through a tunnel up ahead. Sykes approaches the tunnel, all senses wide open. INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT The murkiness of the tunnel engulfs him as he moves through the mouth. He tries to control his breathing so he can hear. The only SOUND is his own shoes scuffing along the asphalt. Then he HEARS -- another set of FOOTSTEPS. Rapid footsteps, coming toward him, ECHOING. He can't tell from which direction! He spins, just as a LARGE SHAPE lunges for him with an alien CRY. It's the wired Raincoat alien. Sykes gets his gun up just in time and FIRES -- once, twice, three times. Raincoat alien is knocked backwards to the wet asphalt by the blasts. Sykes approaches the body slowly. With an inhuman ROAR, the alien snaps forward, lunging at Sykes with outstretched arms. Sykes jumps back, startled, and FIRES twice more at the pale figure. Raincoat goes down and stays down. Sykes relaxes for the briefest moment. Then he HEARS it... a distinctive CLICKING SOUND, metal on metal. Sykes looks up and -- Kipling drops down on him from directly above! Sykes goes down in a heap. He's managed to hold onto the gun and as Kipling comes for him, he swings the gun hand around. Kipling sees it, lashes out, slamming the gun from Sykes' hand. Sykes tries to get to his feet, but the alien grabs him and flings him down the tunnel. A SIREN is HEARD approaching in background. Kipling moves in to deliver the coup de grace. As he draws near, Sykes HEARS that distinctive CLICKING SOUND again. SYKES' P.O.V. Though his vision is BLURRED, Sykes still gets a good look at an exotic silver bracelet on the alien's wrist. The strands of this bracelet are what make the CLINKING NOISE. ANGLE The alien rears back, and as he does, the approaching SIREN suddenly WAILS louder as a backup patrol car swings onto the street heading this way. Kipling sees this and leaves Sykes, running off down the dark tunnel. ON SYKES dazed, struggling to rise. WE HEAR running FOOTSTEPS approaching. Sykes turns, his eyes wild and unfocused. SYKES' P.O.V. An OUT-OF-FOCUS ALIEN FACE looming over him. ANGLE Sykes whips around in a roundhouse swing with all his weight on it, pistoning his fist straight into the alien face. The alien, caught by surprise and off balance, sprawls backward OUT OF FRAME. Sykes is grabbed by a human uniformed cop, as he tries to swing again. HUMAN COP Whoa, whoa... hold it. Take it easy. (to alien on the ground) You okay? Sykes stops struggling, and his eyes focus. He looks at the alien he just decked, sprawled on his ass ten feet away. The alien is a uniformed cop... his name is JETSON. JETSON I am all right. He gets up. A trickle of purple blood runs from his nose. HUMAN COP I better call in. He moves off. Jetson moves toward Sykes and the Raincoat alien's body. Sykes tenses, thinking Jetson might retaliate in some way. But Jetson simply steps past him to kneel beside the dead alien. He checks for a pulse on the underside of the dead alien's upper arm. Nothing. Sykes is holding his punching hand in obvious pain. He struggles to rise. Jetson gets an arm around him to help him up. JETSON Your hand will require attention. Sykes roughly jerks himself free of Jetson's grip. SYKES Get the hell away from me! I don't need your goddamn help. He almost loses his balance and has to steady himself against the tunnel wall. Sykes leans there, the picture of impotent rage and frustration. Jetson looks at him, with that slight inquisitive expression aliens exhibit when trying to understand human nature. EXT. MINI-MART - NIGHT OPEN on Tuggle's body, as the body bag is zipped up over his face, and the litter is lifted into the back of the Coroner's wagon. WIDEN to reveal Sykes, standing nearby, watching. The Wagon pulls out, and Sykes turns, moving past all the LAPD black-and-whites and forensics wagons, and COPS (two of them aliens) and DETECTIVES, and RUBBERNECKERS (some alien). He moves into: INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT The CRIME SCENE TEAM is checking for prints, digging slugs out of the wall, photographing everything. Several UNIFORMED COPS mill around. Sykes moves aimlessly around the room like a stranger at a party. The Proprietor's Wife stands near the body in a strange rigid posture, a thin, mournful KEENING SOUND coming from her lips. A harried female uniformed cop is trying to get her away from the body, but can't get her to budge. MINKLER, a ballistics guy, is tagging the pump-shotgun the Raincoat alien dropped here. NATUZZI, a mean-looking veteran uniform cop is with him. NATUZZI Looks like a standard combat pump- action. MINKLER It is. NATUZZI So what punched holes clear through that car out there? Minkler pulls an evidence baggie from his work box. Inside are four unfired twelve gauge shells. MINKLER BRI Sabot slugs. These puppies are nasty. Two plastic sabots fall away in flight leaving a fifty-caliber slug going two thousand feet per second. Tug might as well've been hiding behind a rosebush. Minkler senses somebody has just stepped up beside him. He looks. It's Sykes. NATUZZI Pretty heavy artillery for knocking over a liquor store. A new voice enters the conversation. JETSON (O.S.) An identical round was used in the shooting of a Newcomer named Hubley, two days ago. Sykes turns -- surprised, and not especially pleased to see the voice is Jetson's. MINKLER Yeah? So why the extra fire power? JETSON Perhaps because even the larger caliber handguns aren't always effective against my people. SYKES (mulls this, then) You saying there's some connection to this other homicide? Before Jetson can say, the female cop who was talking to the Proprietor's Wife steps up. FEMALE COP Hey, give me a hand with this woman, will ya Jetson? We've got to get her to Division for her statement and she won't budge. JETSON (to Sykes) Excuse me. And he moves off with his partner. Sykes calls after him, but Jetson is already approaching the woman and doesn't turn. SYKES So, you think there's a connection, or what? Hey! CUT TO: EXT. SYKES' APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT The slug-mobile pulls up. A drained Sykes moves up the walk to his front door. INT. SYKES' APARTMENT - NIGHT Sykes enters his apartment, an untidy bachelor place decorated with negative taste. It's obviously the maid's decade off. By rote, he hits the rewind switch on the answering machine on his way into the kitchen. The tape rewinds. He opens the fridge. Not much here. Left-over take-out pizza carton. Left-over take-out Chinese food cartons. Left-over take-out burger wrappers. The answering machine message begins -- he glances over his shoulder as he HEARS his daughter's VOICE. During the following, he reaches the fridge. Brings out a milk carton that's in his way, sets it on the counter. Reaches in again and this time brings out a bottle of Stoly. Then searches for a semi-clean glass. KRISTIN'S VOICE (bouncy, bride-to-be happy) Hi, Daddy, it's me. I'm over at Danny's parents' house... talking about Sunday. I thought maybe you'd be home by now. Anyway, uh, nothing really. I just wanted to call and say I love you. I love you, Daddy. (she giggles) Uh-oh, I shouldn't'a done that. Knowing you, you'll probably pull this tape out of your machine and save it -- in that drawer where you keep every card I ever gave you, and all of my old baby teeth... gross! Anyway, Daddy, don't save this tape -- but I do love you, and I'll talk to you before Sunday. (beat) Oh, Tug and Carol came by and met Danny last week. (Sykes stiffens) Danny thought Tug was the greatest -- but, then, who doesn't? Anyway, love you, talk to you soon. 'Bye. The machine BEEPS and HISSES. Sykes take the glass and the bottle of vodka, crosses back toward the living room, switching off the answering machine as he goes. Then he stops, turns back, takes the message tape out of the machine and tosses it into a drawer. FADE TO: INT. DETECTIVE SQUAD ROOM - DAY Sykes enters, stirring a jumbo coffee. He's slept about four hours, and his face looks like he went a few with Hagler. He crosses straight to Fedorchuk's desk. SYKES So what've you got on Tuggle's killers? FEDORCHUK Jesus, Sykes -- it's been less than ten hours. Me and Alterez are on it, okay? SYKES You don't have squat. FEDORCHUK You ever try to make a case in Slagtown? The list of Newcomer informants is about as long as the list of Mexican war heroes... ALTEREZ Up yours. FEDORCHUK ... Nobody talks to nobody down there. Half of them don't speak English and the other half only when it suits them. It's gonna take some time. SYKES Yeah, I know it's gonna take time. Like until the Ice Capades opens in Hell, with you two on it. Across the room, the Captain's door BANGS open and CAPTAIN WARNER pounds out, his deep voice booming through the squad room. WARNER Nobody wanders off! I got an announcement. Get your asses back in here. Two detectives on their way out, stop, and head back into the room. Everybody gathers around, curious, as Warner stands holding a sheet of paper. WARNER I'll make this short. This is a directive from Chief Evaner, who is acting on orders from the Mayor, who is under mandate from the Federal Bureau of Newcomer Relations. As of nine o'clock this morning, one Newcomer uniform officer has been promoted to the rank of Detective, third grade. The detectives GROAN... some angrier ones grumble, "This is bullshit!", etc. WARNER And we've got him, gentleman. (more groans) Volunteers for duty with the new detective should see me in my office... otherwise I will choose a volunteer myself. That is all. He turns and heads back to his office in the wake of continued grumbling from the detectives. Sykes, standing to one side, absently watches Warner return to his glass- walled office. Waiting inside are a balding man and an alien in a grey suit. Sykes reacts. The alien in the suit is Jetson. The grumbling continues around him as Sykes considers something. FEDORCHUK Unbelievable bullshit. ALTEREZ How long has this Slag been on the force? A year, max -- right? DETECTIVE I don't know about the rest of you, but I sure as hell ain't gonna sit still for this. I'm calling the union, pronto. Others grumble. "Yeah!". Meanwhile, Sykes has decided something. He heads toward Warner's office. Fedorchuk sees this. FEDORCHUK Where the hell is he going? INT. WARNER'S OFFICE - DAY Sykes KNOCKS and enters. WARNER Yeah, Sykes? SYKES Captain. I'd like to volunteer for duty with the new detective. Warner is surprised. He never expected Sykes. WARNER ... All right. Detective Sergeant Sykes, this is Detective... Jetson. JETSON We have met. Warner looks up, clocking this. He looks at Sykes, starting to smell something fishy. The balding man, GOLDRUP, rises to shake their hands. GOLDRUP Victor Goldrup, Mayor's office. Congratulations, gentlemen. Warner is starting to suspect what Sykes is up to. WARNER (to Sykes) You are to have nothing to do with the investigation into Bill Tuggle's death. You know that. Leave that for Fedorchuk. SYKES (nodding) Departmental policy. WARNER (to Jetson) You? JETSON Yes, sir. WARNER Good. SYKES There's another case I'd like to take. A homicide -- a Newcomer named Hubley. Jetson looks over at Sykes, knows he's up to something. Sykes avoids his look. WARNER Granger and Pitts are already on it. SYKES Granger and Pitts have one hell of a caseload... and I would have thought with Jetson here being the first Newcomer plainclothes, and Hubley's body being found over in the Newcomer community... WARNER Don't tell me what to think. GOLDRUP He's got a point. That's the sort of thing we should be doing with this early advancement program... Long-suffering Warner looks up at Goldrup, then finally sighs with resignation. Sykes grins. CUT TO: INT. STAIRWELL - FIRST FLOOR HALLWAY - DAY The steel door BANGS open and Sykes and Jetson exit. Next to Sykes' slept-in look, Jetson in his grey suit looks like a Jehovah's Witness canvasser. They move past all the black-and-whites pulling out on p.m. watch during: SYKES ... and we work my hours. I'll do the driving, you do the paperwork. You gotta learn it so you might as well do it all. JETSON (after a moment) Sergeant... I'd like to thank you for what you're doing. SYKES What's that? (then realizing) Look, Jetson. Get this straight in your head. We're not pals, we're not married, and we ain't gonna take long moonlight walks together... We're just partners. And don't call me Sergeant. Call me Sykes... or Matt if you have to. JETSON I am George. Sykes nods absently, and they walk on... four and a half steps to be exact. Then it hits Sykes. He seizes up cold. SYKES Wait a minute. George? George Jetson? Jetson nods... he's used to this. Sykes cracks up. SYKES (between laughs) Man, somebody really hung one on you! I've heard some good ones for you guys... Humphrey Bogart, Harley Davidson. I guess the people at immigration got a little punchy after a while, coming up with names for a quarter of a million of you. You weren't at the back of the line, were you, George? JETSON My true name is Ss'tangya T'ssorentsa'. SYKES Gesundheit. You don't mind if I stick to George, do you? EXT. POLICE STATION PARKING AREA - DAY They approach Sykes' ugly sedan, the slug-mobile. SYKES Anyway, what's it matter to you if we think it's funny, right? Whatta you care? JETSON That is exactly so. (completely deadpan) It is like your name... Sykes. I'm sure it doesn't bother you at all that it sounds like "ss'ai k'ss", two words in my language which mean "excrement" and "cranium". Sykes looks at him, perplexed. JETSON "Shit... head". Jetson gets in and slams the door, leaving Sykes standing there, the smirk dropping from his face. CUT TO: INT. SLUG-MOBILE - DAY They're cruising along in downtown traffic. Sykes drives. Jetson is somewhat cramped in the passenger seat. SYKES Let's talk Hubley. JETSON (refers to a folder he holds) His body was discovered three days ago, in an alley off of Central Avenue, near downtown. SYKES With two

were

How many times the word 'were' appears in the text?

Alien Nation Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Alien Nation - by Rochne O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron ALIEN NATION Original Screenplay by Rockne S. O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron October 1987 FADE IN: EXT. MOJAVE DESERT - DAY (TELEVISION IMAGE) A LONG LENS SHOT of a far distant metallic object hovering just above the ground -- maybe two or three miles away. The heat waves and the light refraction off the desert- scape make the object undulate rhythmically, keeping its true shape and appearance indistinct. The VIDEO CAMERA recording this scene zooms back, then pans over -- revealing a semicircle of US Army vehicles and personnel. Army Engineers with their tripod-mounted scopes and binoculars are shoulder to shoulder with the armed infantry. Everyone stares off at the same point on the horizon. Waiting. The VIDEO CAMERA movements are HANDHELD, unsteady, as it moves through the line of Army personnel to reveal a second, less organized semicircle of observers fifty yards behind the Army. LOCALS from nearby towns perch in truck beds and on car roofs, Budweiser and Fritos at hand, eyes glued to the distant object. The VIDEO CAMERA image climbs up onto the roof of a parked local TV van, finds the object again in the distance, zooms in, and waits, like everyone else. Abruptly the VIDEO IMAGE contracts, becoming a box CHROMAKEYED behind CNN reporter DUNCAN CRAIS. CRAIS That was the scene in California's Mojave Desert three years ago today -- the historic first view of the Newcomer ship upon its dramatic arrival. As with the assassination of John Kennedy, who among us does not remember exactly where he was that October nineteenth morning, when news first broke: that people have landed... from another star. We PULL BACK from a large television set to reveal... INT. A CROWDED BAR - LOS ANGELES - NIGHT The Hollowpoint Lounge -- a cop bar. The off-duty uniformed and plainclothes cops are mostly ignoring the TV, except for two detectives, FEDORCHUK and ALTEREZ, who are waiting for the ball scores. FEDORCHUK I remember where I was -- pissing off my balcony at the neighbor's dog! Others laugh. ALTEREZ (yells at Crais on TV) Get to the goddamn ball scores! ON THE TV SCREEN, an on-location interview with a CAL-TECH PROFESSOR comes up. Her name and title appear across the bottom of the screen. CAL-TECH PROFESSOR From the time mankind first gazed up at the stars there had been speculation about a visit by people from "out there." How ironic that when that first contact was made, the two hundred and sixty thousand occupants aboard the craft were as surprised as we were about their arrival. That they awakened from frozen hibernation to find their malfunctioning autopilot had landed them here by mistake. The CNN reporter, Duncan Crais, appears again. CRAIS These "Newcomers," we soon learned, were a genetically-engineered race, adapted for hard labor in almost any environmental condition. In effect, their ship was a slave ship... washed ashore on Earth with no way to get back to where they came from... A dishwasher tray filled with beer glasses CUTS ACROSS FRAME, and we PAN WITH IT as it is slammed down on the countertop. Now an interview with a FRESNO HOUSEWIFE standing outside a supermarket comes on the TV SCREEN. FRESNO HOUSEWIFE When the Newcomers were first let out of the ship, they were quarantined in a camp not ten miles from the town here. You can imagine how the people around here felt about that. But once they were releases from the camp and we got a chance to know them, we saw what nice, quiet people they really are... WIDER revealing a MASSIVE ALIEN FIGURE in a filthy white busboy's uniform. His back is to us as he picks up two trays from the counter. The bartender is dwarfed by this Newcomer, but works around him without apparent concern. Fedorchuk addresses the alien busboy. FEDORCHUK Hey, Henry, how you doin' tonight? Workin' hard? The Newcomer turns -- his face is humanoid, but disturbingly alien. FEDORCHUK You got your green card, buddy? You didn't leave home without it? The cops at the bar crack up. Henry looks at Fedorchuk -- his eyes carrying no malice... or pain. He merely blinks. CUT TO: INT./ EXT. SLUG-MOBILE - STREET - NIGHT An explosion of color and movement as OPENING TITLES PLAY very quickly. We're TRAVELING the streets in a n.d. sedan, getting MOVING GLIMPSES of the aliens living among us now: -- A coffee shop where aliens eat at some window tables. -- A Newcomer leaving a night school with an armload of books. -- A city park where a number of alien families have gathered to play some arcane alien game. SYKES Jeez... they call that gang-bang a game...? -- A billboard for Pepsi featuring an alien. -- The sedan has pulled to a stop at a red light. Suddenly a hand thumps against the glass next to Sykes' head... and alien hand. Sykes jumps. It's a NEWCOMER DERELICT standing there, weaving, mumbling in his own language. In one filthy hand holds a quart carton of milk. We know immediately what he wants. Sykes rolls down the window. SYKES Take a hike. Sykes gets a whiff of the derelict's breath as the light changes and the sedan pulls away, leaving him in the street. Sykes grimaces at the smell. SYKES Why's it have to be sour milk that these guys get wasted on? What the hell's wrong with Jack Daniels, or Thunderbird for chrissakes? (beat; disgusted) Slagtown. Shit... -- Aliens hanging around outside their homes. -- Alien hookers plying their trade. SYKES Hope their plumbing's the same. TUGGLE It is. (and Sykes gives him a look) -- A Newcomer lowrider pulls up beside the slug-mobile. -- An alien couple exit a theater playing "Terminator III". -- An alien wig shop. ANGLE TITLES END, and we start to PULL BACK into the slug-mobile and HEAR: TUGGLE (O.S.) So you gonna go, or you not gonna go? INT. SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT The dashboard is littered with fast-food detritus and two coffees in styrofoam cups making fog circles on the windshield. A hand picks up one of the coffees and we FOLLOW IT to a face, a forty-year-old cop face that's seen some wear and tear -- behind the wheel is MATT SYKES. Beside him is his partner of nine years, BILL TUGGLE. Tuggle expertly munches on a slice of pizza as he talks. SYKES How can I go? TUGGLE Put on your wash-and-wear suit and your clip-on tie, have your landlady tie your shoes for you, and show up at the church. Simple. (beat) Me and Carol are going. SYKES What? TUGGLE Hey, look -- we've known Kristin since... since she was conceived in that cabin up in Big Bear. Remember? You and Edie banged the wall so hard, me and Carol were picking plaster out of our hair for a week... SYKES Goddammit, Tug -- I want to see Kristin get married, okay? But-- TUGGLE But you're bummed because your ex and her new husband are paying for the whole thing. SYKES Shit, if Kristin had to get married where I could afford it, we'd be holding the reception at Buddy's Burgers. Sykes stares out the window, wallowing in his pissed-off mood. Then he spots something that twinges his street-cop radar. SYKES Uh-oh... Check it out. THROUGH THE WINDOW Tuggle sees what Sykes sees: two ALIENS in long coats moving down the sidewalk, entering a mom- and-pop mini-mart on the corner. One of them wears dark glasses and a red bandana (KIPLING): the other has on a black vinyl raincoat. SYKES Does that look at all suspicious to you? TUGGLE Whatever gave you that idea? EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes continues up a quarter of a block, pulls to the curb among other parked cars. INT. SEDAN - NIGHT Sykes is already pulling his gun. Tuggle quickly reaches for the radio in the glovebox. TUGGLE This is one-Henry-seven, we've got a possible two-eleven in progress at Porter's Mini-Mart, corner of Court and Alvarado. Requesting backup. Impulsive Sykes is already opening his door and climbing out. SYKES Let's do it, partner. Tuggle drops the radio mike and follows Sykes as the Radio Dispatcher confirms the call. EXT. STREET - NIGHT The two cops, guns in hand, move along the row of parked cars across the street from the mini-mart. Through the store window they see the old alien PROPRIETOR behind the counter. His eyes go wide as Kipling whips back his coat and yanks out a short combat pump-shotgun and aims it right at him. The Raincoat alien pulls an identical gun and covers the door. Sykes and Tuggle react to the firepower inside. SYKES You got your vest? TUGGLE Of course. Right in the trunk of the car. SYKES Yeah, that's comforting. Mine, too. Through the store window the robbery continues in pantomime. Kipling gestures viciously with the shotgun, yelling orders in the alien language. The Proprietor is quickly filling a paper bag with cash from the register. The PROPRIETOR'S WIFE, a middle-aged alien woman, stands in the doorway from the back, frozen in fear. The Raincoat alien dances from foot to foot, antsy, wired. Sykes and Tuggle crouch at the car directly across the street from the store entrance. TUGGLE Watch the driver. I'm going for a better angle on the door. SYKES I got him. Don't get pinned. Tuggle leaves the cover provided by the car, runs cater- corner across the intersection. Through the store window Sykes sees Kipling grab the bag of cash, shove it in his coat pocket. Bills fall out, but he doesn't care. Then, without warning, Kipling whips up the twelve gauge and blows a hole in the Proprietor's chest! The Proprietor slams back against the shelves, slides to the floor. Kipling leans over the counter and FIRES another round into the Proprietor. SYKES (under his breath) Aw, shit. Tuggle is almost across the street when he hears the shots. The human DRIVER of the getaway car (parked at the curb a few doors down from the mini-mart) glances up, spots Tuggle. He leans on the HORN, reaches for a machine pistol on the seat next to him. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling and Raincoat alien react to the horn honk. They spot Tuggle through the store window and open fire -- BLASTING THROUGH THE GLASS. A civilian car enters the intersection. The engine is hit by shotgun fire, and the car skids to a stop in the intersection, steam rising from the radiator. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Tuggle dives behind a lamp post. The Driver is out of the car now, brings up the machine pistol to fire at Tuggle. Sykes sees this and opens fire at the Driver. The Driver turns and fires at Sykes. Sykes ducks down, and the car he's hiding behind is sprayed with bullets. A forty-foot moving van pulls down the street between Sykes and the Driver. Once the truck is past, Sykes is standing behind the bullet-riddled car, gun ready. He rapid-fires -- creaming the human Driver. Tuggle is pinned down behind the thin lamp post by the shotgun fire from Kipling and Raincoat alien. SYKES Get outta there! TUGGLE I can't! Do you mind! SYKES I'll cover you! Get outta there!! Sykes rises and runs across the street toward the getaway car, firing toward the store as he goes. Kipling and Raincoat dodge behind cover. Tuggle seizes the opportunity, jumps from behind the lamp post and runs to the stalled civilian car. He slides across the hood and drops behind the car for cover. Tuggle slowly pokes his head up to peer through the car window. His gaze is met by the face of the OLD MAN driver who is still inside the car. OLD MAN Can I get out now? TUGGLE Move it! Sykes doesn't have a clear firing line on the aliens in the store. As he considers his next move-- Tuggle fires at the two aliens. They return fire and he slides down to safety behind the car. Or so he thinks. Glass rains down on him as the car windows are cremated by the shotgun blasts. He flinches as another blast hits the car. He looks over. There's a big exit hole in the fender beside him. THE SHOT WENT RIGHT THROUGH THE CAR. Another exit hole is BLASTED, inches from his shoulder. Panicked, he scrambles along the side of the car -- BLASTS and exit holes following him until he reaches the front of the car. He has nowhere left to go and-- -- a BLAST comes through the car and catches him squarely in the chest throwing him back onto the street. Sykes' head jerks around -- in time to see his partner of nine years blown away. Kipling keeps firing in Tuggle's direction until his shotgun CLICKS empty. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling grabs Raincoat and throws him toward the back exit of the store. The shotgun falls from Raincoat's hands. The two of them run out the back. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes runs to Tuggle's spread-eagled body. One glance is enough. Nobody ever looked deader. SYKES Aw shit, Tug, Jesus! Goddamn it! He stares, shocked and incredulous. He can't find a way to think or feel about this. Then we see him going crazy right before our eyes, the rage revving. He takes off toward the store as SIRENS are HEARD rapidly approaching in background. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Sykes moves through like a locomotive skidding on broken glass, bangs through the exit. EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT Sykes catches sight of the two aliens just as they round the corner at the far end of the alley. He takes off, quickly cranking up to full speed. EXT. BACK STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds the corner. Doesn't see them anymore. He slows... moves along this street with some caution. Lots of shadows, lots of hiding places. Sykes HEARS a NOISE, looks up... just in time to see Raincoat on a high, huge billboard. He cuts loose with the shotgun. Sykes dives. Huge chunks of the crate he dives behind fly off into the night. Sykes, on his belly, scrambles deeper among the crates. Raincoat's shotgun CLICKS empty now. He drops it, swings down off the fire escape, runs off. Sykes is up again in a flash, pounding after him. EXT. TUNNEL STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds this second corner, races down the street. The only route they could've taken is through a tunnel up ahead. Sykes approaches the tunnel, all senses wide open. INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT The murkiness of the tunnel engulfs him as he moves through the mouth. He tries to control his breathing so he can hear. The only SOUND is his own shoes scuffing along the asphalt. Then he HEARS -- another set of FOOTSTEPS. Rapid footsteps, coming toward him, ECHOING. He can't tell from which direction! He spins, just as a LARGE SHAPE lunges for him with an alien CRY. It's the wired Raincoat alien. Sykes gets his gun up just in time and FIRES -- once, twice, three times. Raincoat alien is knocked backwards to the wet asphalt by the blasts. Sykes approaches the body slowly. With an inhuman ROAR, the alien snaps forward, lunging at Sykes with outstretched arms. Sykes jumps back, startled, and FIRES twice more at the pale figure. Raincoat goes down and stays down. Sykes relaxes for the briefest moment. Then he HEARS it... a distinctive CLICKING SOUND, metal on metal. Sykes looks up and -- Kipling drops down on him from directly above! Sykes goes down in a heap. He's managed to hold onto the gun and as Kipling comes for him, he swings the gun hand around. Kipling sees it, lashes out, slamming the gun from Sykes' hand. Sykes tries to get to his feet, but the alien grabs him and flings him down the tunnel. A SIREN is HEARD approaching in background. Kipling moves in to deliver the coup de grace. As he draws near, Sykes HEARS that distinctive CLICKING SOUND again. SYKES' P.O.V. Though his vision is BLURRED, Sykes still gets a good look at an exotic silver bracelet on the alien's wrist. The strands of this bracelet are what make the CLINKING NOISE. ANGLE The alien rears back, and as he does, the approaching SIREN suddenly WAILS louder as a backup patrol car swings onto the street heading this way. Kipling sees this and leaves Sykes, running off down the dark tunnel. ON SYKES dazed, struggling to rise. WE HEAR running FOOTSTEPS approaching. Sykes turns, his eyes wild and unfocused. SYKES' P.O.V. An OUT-OF-FOCUS ALIEN FACE looming over him. ANGLE Sykes whips around in a roundhouse swing with all his weight on it, pistoning his fist straight into the alien face. The alien, caught by surprise and off balance, sprawls backward OUT OF FRAME. Sykes is grabbed by a human uniformed cop, as he tries to swing again. HUMAN COP Whoa, whoa... hold it. Take it easy. (to alien on the ground) You okay? Sykes stops struggling, and his eyes focus. He looks at the alien he just decked, sprawled on his ass ten feet away. The alien is a uniformed cop... his name is JETSON. JETSON I am all right. He gets up. A trickle of purple blood runs from his nose. HUMAN COP I better call in. He moves off. Jetson moves toward Sykes and the Raincoat alien's body. Sykes tenses, thinking Jetson might retaliate in some way. But Jetson simply steps past him to kneel beside the dead alien. He checks for a pulse on the underside of the dead alien's upper arm. Nothing. Sykes is holding his punching hand in obvious pain. He struggles to rise. Jetson gets an arm around him to help him up. JETSON Your hand will require attention. Sykes roughly jerks himself free of Jetson's grip. SYKES Get the hell away from me! I don't need your goddamn help. He almost loses his balance and has to steady himself against the tunnel wall. Sykes leans there, the picture of impotent rage and frustration. Jetson looks at him, with that slight inquisitive expression aliens exhibit when trying to understand human nature. EXT. MINI-MART - NIGHT OPEN on Tuggle's body, as the body bag is zipped up over his face, and the litter is lifted into the back of the Coroner's wagon. WIDEN to reveal Sykes, standing nearby, watching. The Wagon pulls out, and Sykes turns, moving past all the LAPD black-and-whites and forensics wagons, and COPS (two of them aliens) and DETECTIVES, and RUBBERNECKERS (some alien). He moves into: INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT The CRIME SCENE TEAM is checking for prints, digging slugs out of the wall, photographing everything. Several UNIFORMED COPS mill around. Sykes moves aimlessly around the room like a stranger at a party. The Proprietor's Wife stands near the body in a strange rigid posture, a thin, mournful KEENING SOUND coming from her lips. A harried female uniformed cop is trying to get her away from the body, but can't get her to budge. MINKLER, a ballistics guy, is tagging the pump-shotgun the Raincoat alien dropped here. NATUZZI, a mean-looking veteran uniform cop is with him. NATUZZI Looks like a standard combat pump- action. MINKLER It is. NATUZZI So what punched holes clear through that car out there? Minkler pulls an evidence baggie from his work box. Inside are four unfired twelve gauge shells. MINKLER BRI Sabot slugs. These puppies are nasty. Two plastic sabots fall away in flight leaving a fifty-caliber slug going two thousand feet per second. Tug might as well've been hiding behind a rosebush. Minkler senses somebody has just stepped up beside him. He looks. It's Sykes. NATUZZI Pretty heavy artillery for knocking over a liquor store. A new voice enters the conversation. JETSON (O.S.) An identical round was used in the shooting of a Newcomer named Hubley, two days ago. Sykes turns -- surprised, and not especially pleased to see the voice is Jetson's. MINKLER Yeah? So why the extra fire power? JETSON Perhaps because even the larger caliber handguns aren't always effective against my people. SYKES (mulls this, then) You saying there's some connection to this other homicide? Before Jetson can say, the female cop who was talking to the Proprietor's Wife steps up. FEMALE COP Hey, give me a hand with this woman, will ya Jetson? We've got to get her to Division for her statement and she won't budge. JETSON (to Sykes) Excuse me. And he moves off with his partner. Sykes calls after him, but Jetson is already approaching the woman and doesn't turn. SYKES So, you think there's a connection, or what? Hey! CUT TO: EXT. SYKES' APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT The slug-mobile pulls up. A drained Sykes moves up the walk to his front door. INT. SYKES' APARTMENT - NIGHT Sykes enters his apartment, an untidy bachelor place decorated with negative taste. It's obviously the maid's decade off. By rote, he hits the rewind switch on the answering machine on his way into the kitchen. The tape rewinds. He opens the fridge. Not much here. Left-over take-out pizza carton. Left-over take-out Chinese food cartons. Left-over take-out burger wrappers. The answering machine message begins -- he glances over his shoulder as he HEARS his daughter's VOICE. During the following, he reaches the fridge. Brings out a milk carton that's in his way, sets it on the counter. Reaches in again and this time brings out a bottle of Stoly. Then searches for a semi-clean glass. KRISTIN'S VOICE (bouncy, bride-to-be happy) Hi, Daddy, it's me. I'm over at Danny's parents' house... talking about Sunday. I thought maybe you'd be home by now. Anyway, uh, nothing really. I just wanted to call and say I love you. I love you, Daddy. (she giggles) Uh-oh, I shouldn't'a done that. Knowing you, you'll probably pull this tape out of your machine and save it -- in that drawer where you keep every card I ever gave you, and all of my old baby teeth... gross! Anyway, Daddy, don't save this tape -- but I do love you, and I'll talk to you before Sunday. (beat) Oh, Tug and Carol came by and met Danny last week. (Sykes stiffens) Danny thought Tug was the greatest -- but, then, who doesn't? Anyway, love you, talk to you soon. 'Bye. The machine BEEPS and HISSES. Sykes take the glass and the bottle of vodka, crosses back toward the living room, switching off the answering machine as he goes. Then he stops, turns back, takes the message tape out of the machine and tosses it into a drawer. FADE TO: INT. DETECTIVE SQUAD ROOM - DAY Sykes enters, stirring a jumbo coffee. He's slept about four hours, and his face looks like he went a few with Hagler. He crosses straight to Fedorchuk's desk. SYKES So what've you got on Tuggle's killers? FEDORCHUK Jesus, Sykes -- it's been less than ten hours. Me and Alterez are on it, okay? SYKES You don't have squat. FEDORCHUK You ever try to make a case in Slagtown? The list of Newcomer informants is about as long as the list of Mexican war heroes... ALTEREZ Up yours. FEDORCHUK ... Nobody talks to nobody down there. Half of them don't speak English and the other half only when it suits them. It's gonna take some time. SYKES Yeah, I know it's gonna take time. Like until the Ice Capades opens in Hell, with you two on it. Across the room, the Captain's door BANGS open and CAPTAIN WARNER pounds out, his deep voice booming through the squad room. WARNER Nobody wanders off! I got an announcement. Get your asses back in here. Two detectives on their way out, stop, and head back into the room. Everybody gathers around, curious, as Warner stands holding a sheet of paper. WARNER I'll make this short. This is a directive from Chief Evaner, who is acting on orders from the Mayor, who is under mandate from the Federal Bureau of Newcomer Relations. As of nine o'clock this morning, one Newcomer uniform officer has been promoted to the rank of Detective, third grade. The detectives GROAN... some angrier ones grumble, "This is bullshit!", etc. WARNER And we've got him, gentleman. (more groans) Volunteers for duty with the new detective should see me in my office... otherwise I will choose a volunteer myself. That is all. He turns and heads back to his office in the wake of continued grumbling from the detectives. Sykes, standing to one side, absently watches Warner return to his glass- walled office. Waiting inside are a balding man and an alien in a grey suit. Sykes reacts. The alien in the suit is Jetson. The grumbling continues around him as Sykes considers something. FEDORCHUK Unbelievable bullshit. ALTEREZ How long has this Slag been on the force? A year, max -- right? DETECTIVE I don't know about the rest of you, but I sure as hell ain't gonna sit still for this. I'm calling the union, pronto. Others grumble. "Yeah!". Meanwhile, Sykes has decided something. He heads toward Warner's office. Fedorchuk sees this. FEDORCHUK Where the hell is he going? INT. WARNER'S OFFICE - DAY Sykes KNOCKS and enters. WARNER Yeah, Sykes? SYKES Captain. I'd like to volunteer for duty with the new detective. Warner is surprised. He never expected Sykes. WARNER ... All right. Detective Sergeant Sykes, this is Detective... Jetson. JETSON We have met. Warner looks up, clocking this. He looks at Sykes, starting to smell something fishy. The balding man, GOLDRUP, rises to shake their hands. GOLDRUP Victor Goldrup, Mayor's office. Congratulations, gentlemen. Warner is starting to suspect what Sykes is up to. WARNER (to Sykes) You are to have nothing to do with the investigation into Bill Tuggle's death. You know that. Leave that for Fedorchuk. SYKES (nodding) Departmental policy. WARNER (to Jetson) You? JETSON Yes, sir. WARNER Good. SYKES There's another case I'd like to take. A homicide -- a Newcomer named Hubley. Jetson looks over at Sykes, knows he's up to something. Sykes avoids his look. WARNER Granger and Pitts are already on it. SYKES Granger and Pitts have one hell of a caseload... and I would have thought with Jetson here being the first Newcomer plainclothes, and Hubley's body being found over in the Newcomer community... WARNER Don't tell me what to think. GOLDRUP He's got a point. That's the sort of thing we should be doing with this early advancement program... Long-suffering Warner looks up at Goldrup, then finally sighs with resignation. Sykes grins. CUT TO: INT. STAIRWELL - FIRST FLOOR HALLWAY - DAY The steel door BANGS open and Sykes and Jetson exit. Next to Sykes' slept-in look, Jetson in his grey suit looks like a Jehovah's Witness canvasser. They move past all the black-and-whites pulling out on p.m. watch during: SYKES ... and we work my hours. I'll do the driving, you do the paperwork. You gotta learn it so you might as well do it all. JETSON (after a moment) Sergeant... I'd like to thank you for what you're doing. SYKES What's that? (then realizing) Look, Jetson. Get this straight in your head. We're not pals, we're not married, and we ain't gonna take long moonlight walks together... We're just partners. And don't call me Sergeant. Call me Sykes... or Matt if you have to. JETSON I am George. Sykes nods absently, and they walk on... four and a half steps to be exact. Then it hits Sykes. He seizes up cold. SYKES Wait a minute. George? George Jetson? Jetson nods... he's used to this. Sykes cracks up. SYKES (between laughs) Man, somebody really hung one on you! I've heard some good ones for you guys... Humphrey Bogart, Harley Davidson. I guess the people at immigration got a little punchy after a while, coming up with names for a quarter of a million of you. You weren't at the back of the line, were you, George? JETSON My true name is Ss'tangya T'ssorentsa'. SYKES Gesundheit. You don't mind if I stick to George, do you? EXT. POLICE STATION PARKING AREA - DAY They approach Sykes' ugly sedan, the slug-mobile. SYKES Anyway, what's it matter to you if we think it's funny, right? Whatta you care? JETSON That is exactly so. (completely deadpan) It is like your name... Sykes. I'm sure it doesn't bother you at all that it sounds like "ss'ai k'ss", two words in my language which mean "excrement" and "cranium". Sykes looks at him, perplexed. JETSON "Shit... head". Jetson gets in and slams the door, leaving Sykes standing there, the smirk dropping from his face. CUT TO: INT. SLUG-MOBILE - DAY They're cruising along in downtown traffic. Sykes drives. Jetson is somewhat cramped in the passenger seat. SYKES Let's talk Hubley. JETSON (refers to a folder he holds) His body was discovered three days ago, in an alley off of Central Avenue, near downtown. SYKES With two

gaq.push(['_trackpageview

How many times the word 'gaq.push(['_trackpageview' appears in the text?

Alien Nation Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Alien Nation - by Rochne O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron ALIEN NATION Original Screenplay by Rockne S. O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron October 1987 FADE IN: EXT. MOJAVE DESERT - DAY (TELEVISION IMAGE) A LONG LENS SHOT of a far distant metallic object hovering just above the ground -- maybe two or three miles away. The heat waves and the light refraction off the desert- scape make the object undulate rhythmically, keeping its true shape and appearance indistinct. The VIDEO CAMERA recording this scene zooms back, then pans over -- revealing a semicircle of US Army vehicles and personnel. Army Engineers with their tripod-mounted scopes and binoculars are shoulder to shoulder with the armed infantry. Everyone stares off at the same point on the horizon. Waiting. The VIDEO CAMERA movements are HANDHELD, unsteady, as it moves through the line of Army personnel to reveal a second, less organized semicircle of observers fifty yards behind the Army. LOCALS from nearby towns perch in truck beds and on car roofs, Budweiser and Fritos at hand, eyes glued to the distant object. The VIDEO CAMERA image climbs up onto the roof of a parked local TV van, finds the object again in the distance, zooms in, and waits, like everyone else. Abruptly the VIDEO IMAGE contracts, becoming a box CHROMAKEYED behind CNN reporter DUNCAN CRAIS. CRAIS That was the scene in California's Mojave Desert three years ago today -- the historic first view of the Newcomer ship upon its dramatic arrival. As with the assassination of John Kennedy, who among us does not remember exactly where he was that October nineteenth morning, when news first broke: that people have landed... from another star. We PULL BACK from a large television set to reveal... INT. A CROWDED BAR - LOS ANGELES - NIGHT The Hollowpoint Lounge -- a cop bar. The off-duty uniformed and plainclothes cops are mostly ignoring the TV, except for two detectives, FEDORCHUK and ALTEREZ, who are waiting for the ball scores. FEDORCHUK I remember where I was -- pissing off my balcony at the neighbor's dog! Others laugh. ALTEREZ (yells at Crais on TV) Get to the goddamn ball scores! ON THE TV SCREEN, an on-location interview with a CAL-TECH PROFESSOR comes up. Her name and title appear across the bottom of the screen. CAL-TECH PROFESSOR From the time mankind first gazed up at the stars there had been speculation about a visit by people from "out there." How ironic that when that first contact was made, the two hundred and sixty thousand occupants aboard the craft were as surprised as we were about their arrival. That they awakened from frozen hibernation to find their malfunctioning autopilot had landed them here by mistake. The CNN reporter, Duncan Crais, appears again. CRAIS These "Newcomers," we soon learned, were a genetically-engineered race, adapted for hard labor in almost any environmental condition. In effect, their ship was a slave ship... washed ashore on Earth with no way to get back to where they came from... A dishwasher tray filled with beer glasses CUTS ACROSS FRAME, and we PAN WITH IT as it is slammed down on the countertop. Now an interview with a FRESNO HOUSEWIFE standing outside a supermarket comes on the TV SCREEN. FRESNO HOUSEWIFE When the Newcomers were first let out of the ship, they were quarantined in a camp not ten miles from the town here. You can imagine how the people around here felt about that. But once they were releases from the camp and we got a chance to know them, we saw what nice, quiet people they really are... WIDER revealing a MASSIVE ALIEN FIGURE in a filthy white busboy's uniform. His back is to us as he picks up two trays from the counter. The bartender is dwarfed by this Newcomer, but works around him without apparent concern. Fedorchuk addresses the alien busboy. FEDORCHUK Hey, Henry, how you doin' tonight? Workin' hard? The Newcomer turns -- his face is humanoid, but disturbingly alien. FEDORCHUK You got your green card, buddy? You didn't leave home without it? The cops at the bar crack up. Henry looks at Fedorchuk -- his eyes carrying no malice... or pain. He merely blinks. CUT TO: INT./ EXT. SLUG-MOBILE - STREET - NIGHT An explosion of color and movement as OPENING TITLES PLAY very quickly. We're TRAVELING the streets in a n.d. sedan, getting MOVING GLIMPSES of the aliens living among us now: -- A coffee shop where aliens eat at some window tables. -- A Newcomer leaving a night school with an armload of books. -- A city park where a number of alien families have gathered to play some arcane alien game. SYKES Jeez... they call that gang-bang a game...? -- A billboard for Pepsi featuring an alien. -- The sedan has pulled to a stop at a red light. Suddenly a hand thumps against the glass next to Sykes' head... and alien hand. Sykes jumps. It's a NEWCOMER DERELICT standing there, weaving, mumbling in his own language. In one filthy hand holds a quart carton of milk. We know immediately what he wants. Sykes rolls down the window. SYKES Take a hike. Sykes gets a whiff of the derelict's breath as the light changes and the sedan pulls away, leaving him in the street. Sykes grimaces at the smell. SYKES Why's it have to be sour milk that these guys get wasted on? What the hell's wrong with Jack Daniels, or Thunderbird for chrissakes? (beat; disgusted) Slagtown. Shit... -- Aliens hanging around outside their homes. -- Alien hookers plying their trade. SYKES Hope their plumbing's the same. TUGGLE It is. (and Sykes gives him a look) -- A Newcomer lowrider pulls up beside the slug-mobile. -- An alien couple exit a theater playing "Terminator III". -- An alien wig shop. ANGLE TITLES END, and we start to PULL BACK into the slug-mobile and HEAR: TUGGLE (O.S.) So you gonna go, or you not gonna go? INT. SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT The dashboard is littered with fast-food detritus and two coffees in styrofoam cups making fog circles on the windshield. A hand picks up one of the coffees and we FOLLOW IT to a face, a forty-year-old cop face that's seen some wear and tear -- behind the wheel is MATT SYKES. Beside him is his partner of nine years, BILL TUGGLE. Tuggle expertly munches on a slice of pizza as he talks. SYKES How can I go? TUGGLE Put on your wash-and-wear suit and your clip-on tie, have your landlady tie your shoes for you, and show up at the church. Simple. (beat) Me and Carol are going. SYKES What? TUGGLE Hey, look -- we've known Kristin since... since she was conceived in that cabin up in Big Bear. Remember? You and Edie banged the wall so hard, me and Carol were picking plaster out of our hair for a week... SYKES Goddammit, Tug -- I want to see Kristin get married, okay? But-- TUGGLE But you're bummed because your ex and her new husband are paying for the whole thing. SYKES Shit, if Kristin had to get married where I could afford it, we'd be holding the reception at Buddy's Burgers. Sykes stares out the window, wallowing in his pissed-off mood. Then he spots something that twinges his street-cop radar. SYKES Uh-oh... Check it out. THROUGH THE WINDOW Tuggle sees what Sykes sees: two ALIENS in long coats moving down the sidewalk, entering a mom- and-pop mini-mart on the corner. One of them wears dark glasses and a red bandana (KIPLING): the other has on a black vinyl raincoat. SYKES Does that look at all suspicious to you? TUGGLE Whatever gave you that idea? EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes continues up a quarter of a block, pulls to the curb among other parked cars. INT. SEDAN - NIGHT Sykes is already pulling his gun. Tuggle quickly reaches for the radio in the glovebox. TUGGLE This is one-Henry-seven, we've got a possible two-eleven in progress at Porter's Mini-Mart, corner of Court and Alvarado. Requesting backup. Impulsive Sykes is already opening his door and climbing out. SYKES Let's do it, partner. Tuggle drops the radio mike and follows Sykes as the Radio Dispatcher confirms the call. EXT. STREET - NIGHT The two cops, guns in hand, move along the row of parked cars across the street from the mini-mart. Through the store window they see the old alien PROPRIETOR behind the counter. His eyes go wide as Kipling whips back his coat and yanks out a short combat pump-shotgun and aims it right at him. The Raincoat alien pulls an identical gun and covers the door. Sykes and Tuggle react to the firepower inside. SYKES You got your vest? TUGGLE Of course. Right in the trunk of the car. SYKES Yeah, that's comforting. Mine, too. Through the store window the robbery continues in pantomime. Kipling gestures viciously with the shotgun, yelling orders in the alien language. The Proprietor is quickly filling a paper bag with cash from the register. The PROPRIETOR'S WIFE, a middle-aged alien woman, stands in the doorway from the back, frozen in fear. The Raincoat alien dances from foot to foot, antsy, wired. Sykes and Tuggle crouch at the car directly across the street from the store entrance. TUGGLE Watch the driver. I'm going for a better angle on the door. SYKES I got him. Don't get pinned. Tuggle leaves the cover provided by the car, runs cater- corner across the intersection. Through the store window Sykes sees Kipling grab the bag of cash, shove it in his coat pocket. Bills fall out, but he doesn't care. Then, without warning, Kipling whips up the twelve gauge and blows a hole in the Proprietor's chest! The Proprietor slams back against the shelves, slides to the floor. Kipling leans over the counter and FIRES another round into the Proprietor. SYKES (under his breath) Aw, shit. Tuggle is almost across the street when he hears the shots. The human DRIVER of the getaway car (parked at the curb a few doors down from the mini-mart) glances up, spots Tuggle. He leans on the HORN, reaches for a machine pistol on the seat next to him. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling and Raincoat alien react to the horn honk. They spot Tuggle through the store window and open fire -- BLASTING THROUGH THE GLASS. A civilian car enters the intersection. The engine is hit by shotgun fire, and the car skids to a stop in the intersection, steam rising from the radiator. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Tuggle dives behind a lamp post. The Driver is out of the car now, brings up the machine pistol to fire at Tuggle. Sykes sees this and opens fire at the Driver. The Driver turns and fires at Sykes. Sykes ducks down, and the car he's hiding behind is sprayed with bullets. A forty-foot moving van pulls down the street between Sykes and the Driver. Once the truck is past, Sykes is standing behind the bullet-riddled car, gun ready. He rapid-fires -- creaming the human Driver. Tuggle is pinned down behind the thin lamp post by the shotgun fire from Kipling and Raincoat alien. SYKES Get outta there! TUGGLE I can't! Do you mind! SYKES I'll cover you! Get outta there!! Sykes rises and runs across the street toward the getaway car, firing toward the store as he goes. Kipling and Raincoat dodge behind cover. Tuggle seizes the opportunity, jumps from behind the lamp post and runs to the stalled civilian car. He slides across the hood and drops behind the car for cover. Tuggle slowly pokes his head up to peer through the car window. His gaze is met by the face of the OLD MAN driver who is still inside the car. OLD MAN Can I get out now? TUGGLE Move it! Sykes doesn't have a clear firing line on the aliens in the store. As he considers his next move-- Tuggle fires at the two aliens. They return fire and he slides down to safety behind the car. Or so he thinks. Glass rains down on him as the car windows are cremated by the shotgun blasts. He flinches as another blast hits the car. He looks over. There's a big exit hole in the fender beside him. THE SHOT WENT RIGHT THROUGH THE CAR. Another exit hole is BLASTED, inches from his shoulder. Panicked, he scrambles along the side of the car -- BLASTS and exit holes following him until he reaches the front of the car. He has nowhere left to go and-- -- a BLAST comes through the car and catches him squarely in the chest throwing him back onto the street. Sykes' head jerks around -- in time to see his partner of nine years blown away. Kipling keeps firing in Tuggle's direction until his shotgun CLICKS empty. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling grabs Raincoat and throws him toward the back exit of the store. The shotgun falls from Raincoat's hands. The two of them run out the back. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes runs to Tuggle's spread-eagled body. One glance is enough. Nobody ever looked deader. SYKES Aw shit, Tug, Jesus! Goddamn it! He stares, shocked and incredulous. He can't find a way to think or feel about this. Then we see him going crazy right before our eyes, the rage revving. He takes off toward the store as SIRENS are HEARD rapidly approaching in background. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Sykes moves through like a locomotive skidding on broken glass, bangs through the exit. EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT Sykes catches sight of the two aliens just as they round the corner at the far end of the alley. He takes off, quickly cranking up to full speed. EXT. BACK STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds the corner. Doesn't see them anymore. He slows... moves along this street with some caution. Lots of shadows, lots of hiding places. Sykes HEARS a NOISE, looks up... just in time to see Raincoat on a high, huge billboard. He cuts loose with the shotgun. Sykes dives. Huge chunks of the crate he dives behind fly off into the night. Sykes, on his belly, scrambles deeper among the crates. Raincoat's shotgun CLICKS empty now. He drops it, swings down off the fire escape, runs off. Sykes is up again in a flash, pounding after him. EXT. TUNNEL STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds this second corner, races down the street. The only route they could've taken is through a tunnel up ahead. Sykes approaches the tunnel, all senses wide open. INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT The murkiness of the tunnel engulfs him as he moves through the mouth. He tries to control his breathing so he can hear. The only SOUND is his own shoes scuffing along the asphalt. Then he HEARS -- another set of FOOTSTEPS. Rapid footsteps, coming toward him, ECHOING. He can't tell from which direction! He spins, just as a LARGE SHAPE lunges for him with an alien CRY. It's the wired Raincoat alien. Sykes gets his gun up just in time and FIRES -- once, twice, three times. Raincoat alien is knocked backwards to the wet asphalt by the blasts. Sykes approaches the body slowly. With an inhuman ROAR, the alien snaps forward, lunging at Sykes with outstretched arms. Sykes jumps back, startled, and FIRES twice more at the pale figure. Raincoat goes down and stays down. Sykes relaxes for the briefest moment. Then he HEARS it... a distinctive CLICKING SOUND, metal on metal. Sykes looks up and -- Kipling drops down on him from directly above! Sykes goes down in a heap. He's managed to hold onto the gun and as Kipling comes for him, he swings the gun hand around. Kipling sees it, lashes out, slamming the gun from Sykes' hand. Sykes tries to get to his feet, but the alien grabs him and flings him down the tunnel. A SIREN is HEARD approaching in background. Kipling moves in to deliver the coup de grace. As he draws near, Sykes HEARS that distinctive CLICKING SOUND again. SYKES' P.O.V. Though his vision is BLURRED, Sykes still gets a good look at an exotic silver bracelet on the alien's wrist. The strands of this bracelet are what make the CLINKING NOISE. ANGLE The alien rears back, and as he does, the approaching SIREN suddenly WAILS louder as a backup patrol car swings onto the street heading this way. Kipling sees this and leaves Sykes, running off down the dark tunnel. ON SYKES dazed, struggling to rise. WE HEAR running FOOTSTEPS approaching. Sykes turns, his eyes wild and unfocused. SYKES' P.O.V. An OUT-OF-FOCUS ALIEN FACE looming over him. ANGLE Sykes whips around in a roundhouse swing with all his weight on it, pistoning his fist straight into the alien face. The alien, caught by surprise and off balance, sprawls backward OUT OF FRAME. Sykes is grabbed by a human uniformed cop, as he tries to swing again. HUMAN COP Whoa, whoa... hold it. Take it easy. (to alien on the ground) You okay? Sykes stops struggling, and his eyes focus. He looks at the alien he just decked, sprawled on his ass ten feet away. The alien is a uniformed cop... his name is JETSON. JETSON I am all right. He gets up. A trickle of purple blood runs from his nose. HUMAN COP I better call in. He moves off. Jetson moves toward Sykes and the Raincoat alien's body. Sykes tenses, thinking Jetson might retaliate in some way. But Jetson simply steps past him to kneel beside the dead alien. He checks for a pulse on the underside of the dead alien's upper arm. Nothing. Sykes is holding his punching hand in obvious pain. He struggles to rise. Jetson gets an arm around him to help him up. JETSON Your hand will require attention. Sykes roughly jerks himself free of Jetson's grip. SYKES Get the hell away from me! I don't need your goddamn help. He almost loses his balance and has to steady himself against the tunnel wall. Sykes leans there, the picture of impotent rage and frustration. Jetson looks at him, with that slight inquisitive expression aliens exhibit when trying to understand human nature. EXT. MINI-MART - NIGHT OPEN on Tuggle's body, as the body bag is zipped up over his face, and the litter is lifted into the back of the Coroner's wagon. WIDEN to reveal Sykes, standing nearby, watching. The Wagon pulls out, and Sykes turns, moving past all the LAPD black-and-whites and forensics wagons, and COPS (two of them aliens) and DETECTIVES, and RUBBERNECKERS (some alien). He moves into: INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT The CRIME SCENE TEAM is checking for prints, digging slugs out of the wall, photographing everything. Several UNIFORMED COPS mill around. Sykes moves aimlessly around the room like a stranger at a party. The Proprietor's Wife stands near the body in a strange rigid posture, a thin, mournful KEENING SOUND coming from her lips. A harried female uniformed cop is trying to get her away from the body, but can't get her to budge. MINKLER, a ballistics guy, is tagging the pump-shotgun the Raincoat alien dropped here. NATUZZI, a mean-looking veteran uniform cop is with him. NATUZZI Looks like a standard combat pump- action. MINKLER It is. NATUZZI So what punched holes clear through that car out there? Minkler pulls an evidence baggie from his work box. Inside are four unfired twelve gauge shells. MINKLER BRI Sabot slugs. These puppies are nasty. Two plastic sabots fall away in flight leaving a fifty-caliber slug going two thousand feet per second. Tug might as well've been hiding behind a rosebush. Minkler senses somebody has just stepped up beside him. He looks. It's Sykes. NATUZZI Pretty heavy artillery for knocking over a liquor store. A new voice enters the conversation. JETSON (O.S.) An identical round was used in the shooting of a Newcomer named Hubley, two days ago. Sykes turns -- surprised, and not especially pleased to see the voice is Jetson's. MINKLER Yeah? So why the extra fire power? JETSON Perhaps because even the larger caliber handguns aren't always effective against my people. SYKES (mulls this, then) You saying there's some connection to this other homicide? Before Jetson can say, the female cop who was talking to the Proprietor's Wife steps up. FEMALE COP Hey, give me a hand with this woman, will ya Jetson? We've got to get her to Division for her statement and she won't budge. JETSON (to Sykes) Excuse me. And he moves off with his partner. Sykes calls after him, but Jetson is already approaching the woman and doesn't turn. SYKES So, you think there's a connection, or what? Hey! CUT TO: EXT. SYKES' APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT The slug-mobile pulls up. A drained Sykes moves up the walk to his front door. INT. SYKES' APARTMENT - NIGHT Sykes enters his apartment, an untidy bachelor place decorated with negative taste. It's obviously the maid's decade off. By rote, he hits the rewind switch on the answering machine on his way into the kitchen. The tape rewinds. He opens the fridge. Not much here. Left-over take-out pizza carton. Left-over take-out Chinese food cartons. Left-over take-out burger wrappers. The answering machine message begins -- he glances over his shoulder as he HEARS his daughter's VOICE. During the following, he reaches the fridge. Brings out a milk carton that's in his way, sets it on the counter. Reaches in again and this time brings out a bottle of Stoly. Then searches for a semi-clean glass. KRISTIN'S VOICE (bouncy, bride-to-be happy) Hi, Daddy, it's me. I'm over at Danny's parents' house... talking about Sunday. I thought maybe you'd be home by now. Anyway, uh, nothing really. I just wanted to call and say I love you. I love you, Daddy. (she giggles) Uh-oh, I shouldn't'a done that. Knowing you, you'll probably pull this tape out of your machine and save it -- in that drawer where you keep every card I ever gave you, and all of my old baby teeth... gross! Anyway, Daddy, don't save this tape -- but I do love you, and I'll talk to you before Sunday. (beat) Oh, Tug and Carol came by and met Danny last week. (Sykes stiffens) Danny thought Tug was the greatest -- but, then, who doesn't? Anyway, love you, talk to you soon. 'Bye. The machine BEEPS and HISSES. Sykes take the glass and the bottle of vodka, crosses back toward the living room, switching off the answering machine as he goes. Then he stops, turns back, takes the message tape out of the machine and tosses it into a drawer. FADE TO: INT. DETECTIVE SQUAD ROOM - DAY Sykes enters, stirring a jumbo coffee. He's slept about four hours, and his face looks like he went a few with Hagler. He crosses straight to Fedorchuk's desk. SYKES So what've you got on Tuggle's killers? FEDORCHUK Jesus, Sykes -- it's been less than ten hours. Me and Alterez are on it, okay? SYKES You don't have squat. FEDORCHUK You ever try to make a case in Slagtown? The list of Newcomer informants is about as long as the list of Mexican war heroes... ALTEREZ Up yours. FEDORCHUK ... Nobody talks to nobody down there. Half of them don't speak English and the other half only when it suits them. It's gonna take some time. SYKES Yeah, I know it's gonna take time. Like until the Ice Capades opens in Hell, with you two on it. Across the room, the Captain's door BANGS open and CAPTAIN WARNER pounds out, his deep voice booming through the squad room. WARNER Nobody wanders off! I got an announcement. Get your asses back in here. Two detectives on their way out, stop, and head back into the room. Everybody gathers around, curious, as Warner stands holding a sheet of paper. WARNER I'll make this short. This is a directive from Chief Evaner, who is acting on orders from the Mayor, who is under mandate from the Federal Bureau of Newcomer Relations. As of nine o'clock this morning, one Newcomer uniform officer has been promoted to the rank of Detective, third grade. The detectives GROAN... some angrier ones grumble, "This is bullshit!", etc. WARNER And we've got him, gentleman. (more groans) Volunteers for duty with the new detective should see me in my office... otherwise I will choose a volunteer myself. That is all. He turns and heads back to his office in the wake of continued grumbling from the detectives. Sykes, standing to one side, absently watches Warner return to his glass- walled office. Waiting inside are a balding man and an alien in a grey suit. Sykes reacts. The alien in the suit is Jetson. The grumbling continues around him as Sykes considers something. FEDORCHUK Unbelievable bullshit. ALTEREZ How long has this Slag been on the force? A year, max -- right? DETECTIVE I don't know about the rest of you, but I sure as hell ain't gonna sit still for this. I'm calling the union, pronto. Others grumble. "Yeah!". Meanwhile, Sykes has decided something. He heads toward Warner's office. Fedorchuk sees this. FEDORCHUK Where the hell is he going? INT. WARNER'S OFFICE - DAY Sykes KNOCKS and enters. WARNER Yeah, Sykes? SYKES Captain. I'd like to volunteer for duty with the new detective. Warner is surprised. He never expected Sykes. WARNER ... All right. Detective Sergeant Sykes, this is Detective... Jetson. JETSON We have met. Warner looks up, clocking this. He looks at Sykes, starting to smell something fishy. The balding man, GOLDRUP, rises to shake their hands. GOLDRUP Victor Goldrup, Mayor's office. Congratulations, gentlemen. Warner is starting to suspect what Sykes is up to. WARNER (to Sykes) You are to have nothing to do with the investigation into Bill Tuggle's death. You know that. Leave that for Fedorchuk. SYKES (nodding) Departmental policy. WARNER (to Jetson) You? JETSON Yes, sir. WARNER Good. SYKES There's another case I'd like to take. A homicide -- a Newcomer named Hubley. Jetson looks over at Sykes, knows he's up to something. Sykes avoids his look. WARNER Granger and Pitts are already on it. SYKES Granger and Pitts have one hell of a caseload... and I would have thought with Jetson here being the first Newcomer plainclothes, and Hubley's body being found over in the Newcomer community... WARNER Don't tell me what to think. GOLDRUP He's got a point. That's the sort of thing we should be doing with this early advancement program... Long-suffering Warner looks up at Goldrup, then finally sighs with resignation. Sykes grins. CUT TO: INT. STAIRWELL - FIRST FLOOR HALLWAY - DAY The steel door BANGS open and Sykes and Jetson exit. Next to Sykes' slept-in look, Jetson in his grey suit looks like a Jehovah's Witness canvasser. They move past all the black-and-whites pulling out on p.m. watch during: SYKES ... and we work my hours. I'll do the driving, you do the paperwork. You gotta learn it so you might as well do it all. JETSON (after a moment) Sergeant... I'd like to thank you for what you're doing. SYKES What's that? (then realizing) Look, Jetson. Get this straight in your head. We're not pals, we're not married, and we ain't gonna take long moonlight walks together... We're just partners. And don't call me Sergeant. Call me Sykes... or Matt if you have to. JETSON I am George. Sykes nods absently, and they walk on... four and a half steps to be exact. Then it hits Sykes. He seizes up cold. SYKES Wait a minute. George? George Jetson? Jetson nods... he's used to this. Sykes cracks up. SYKES (between laughs) Man, somebody really hung one on you! I've heard some good ones for you guys... Humphrey Bogart, Harley Davidson. I guess the people at immigration got a little punchy after a while, coming up with names for a quarter of a million of you. You weren't at the back of the line, were you, George? JETSON My true name is Ss'tangya T'ssorentsa'. SYKES Gesundheit. You don't mind if I stick to George, do you? EXT. POLICE STATION PARKING AREA - DAY They approach Sykes' ugly sedan, the slug-mobile. SYKES Anyway, what's it matter to you if we think it's funny, right? Whatta you care? JETSON That is exactly so. (completely deadpan) It is like your name... Sykes. I'm sure it doesn't bother you at all that it sounds like "ss'ai k'ss", two words in my language which mean "excrement" and "cranium". Sykes looks at him, perplexed. JETSON "Shit... head". Jetson gets in and slams the door, leaving Sykes standing there, the smirk dropping from his face. CUT TO: INT. SLUG-MOBILE - DAY They're cruising along in downtown traffic. Sykes drives. Jetson is somewhat cramped in the passenger seat. SYKES Let's talk Hubley. JETSON (refers to a folder he holds) His body was discovered three days ago, in an alley off of Central Avenue, near downtown. SYKES With two

first

How many times the word 'first' appears in the text?

Alien Nation Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Alien Nation - by Rochne O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron ALIEN NATION Original Screenplay by Rockne S. O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron October 1987 FADE IN: EXT. MOJAVE DESERT - DAY (TELEVISION IMAGE) A LONG LENS SHOT of a far distant metallic object hovering just above the ground -- maybe two or three miles away. The heat waves and the light refraction off the desert- scape make the object undulate rhythmically, keeping its true shape and appearance indistinct. The VIDEO CAMERA recording this scene zooms back, then pans over -- revealing a semicircle of US Army vehicles and personnel. Army Engineers with their tripod-mounted scopes and binoculars are shoulder to shoulder with the armed infantry. Everyone stares off at the same point on the horizon. Waiting. The VIDEO CAMERA movements are HANDHELD, unsteady, as it moves through the line of Army personnel to reveal a second, less organized semicircle of observers fifty yards behind the Army. LOCALS from nearby towns perch in truck beds and on car roofs, Budweiser and Fritos at hand, eyes glued to the distant object. The VIDEO CAMERA image climbs up onto the roof of a parked local TV van, finds the object again in the distance, zooms in, and waits, like everyone else. Abruptly the VIDEO IMAGE contracts, becoming a box CHROMAKEYED behind CNN reporter DUNCAN CRAIS. CRAIS That was the scene in California's Mojave Desert three years ago today -- the historic first view of the Newcomer ship upon its dramatic arrival. As with the assassination of John Kennedy, who among us does not remember exactly where he was that October nineteenth morning, when news first broke: that people have landed... from another star. We PULL BACK from a large television set to reveal... INT. A CROWDED BAR - LOS ANGELES - NIGHT The Hollowpoint Lounge -- a cop bar. The off-duty uniformed and plainclothes cops are mostly ignoring the TV, except for two detectives, FEDORCHUK and ALTEREZ, who are waiting for the ball scores. FEDORCHUK I remember where I was -- pissing off my balcony at the neighbor's dog! Others laugh. ALTEREZ (yells at Crais on TV) Get to the goddamn ball scores! ON THE TV SCREEN, an on-location interview with a CAL-TECH PROFESSOR comes up. Her name and title appear across the bottom of the screen. CAL-TECH PROFESSOR From the time mankind first gazed up at the stars there had been speculation about a visit by people from "out there." How ironic that when that first contact was made, the two hundred and sixty thousand occupants aboard the craft were as surprised as we were about their arrival. That they awakened from frozen hibernation to find their malfunctioning autopilot had landed them here by mistake. The CNN reporter, Duncan Crais, appears again. CRAIS These "Newcomers," we soon learned, were a genetically-engineered race, adapted for hard labor in almost any environmental condition. In effect, their ship was a slave ship... washed ashore on Earth with no way to get back to where they came from... A dishwasher tray filled with beer glasses CUTS ACROSS FRAME, and we PAN WITH IT as it is slammed down on the countertop. Now an interview with a FRESNO HOUSEWIFE standing outside a supermarket comes on the TV SCREEN. FRESNO HOUSEWIFE When the Newcomers were first let out of the ship, they were quarantined in a camp not ten miles from the town here. You can imagine how the people around here felt about that. But once they were releases from the camp and we got a chance to know them, we saw what nice, quiet people they really are... WIDER revealing a MASSIVE ALIEN FIGURE in a filthy white busboy's uniform. His back is to us as he picks up two trays from the counter. The bartender is dwarfed by this Newcomer, but works around him without apparent concern. Fedorchuk addresses the alien busboy. FEDORCHUK Hey, Henry, how you doin' tonight? Workin' hard? The Newcomer turns -- his face is humanoid, but disturbingly alien. FEDORCHUK You got your green card, buddy? You didn't leave home without it? The cops at the bar crack up. Henry looks at Fedorchuk -- his eyes carrying no malice... or pain. He merely blinks. CUT TO: INT./ EXT. SLUG-MOBILE - STREET - NIGHT An explosion of color and movement as OPENING TITLES PLAY very quickly. We're TRAVELING the streets in a n.d. sedan, getting MOVING GLIMPSES of the aliens living among us now: -- A coffee shop where aliens eat at some window tables. -- A Newcomer leaving a night school with an armload of books. -- A city park where a number of alien families have gathered to play some arcane alien game. SYKES Jeez... they call that gang-bang a game...? -- A billboard for Pepsi featuring an alien. -- The sedan has pulled to a stop at a red light. Suddenly a hand thumps against the glass next to Sykes' head... and alien hand. Sykes jumps. It's a NEWCOMER DERELICT standing there, weaving, mumbling in his own language. In one filthy hand holds a quart carton of milk. We know immediately what he wants. Sykes rolls down the window. SYKES Take a hike. Sykes gets a whiff of the derelict's breath as the light changes and the sedan pulls away, leaving him in the street. Sykes grimaces at the smell. SYKES Why's it have to be sour milk that these guys get wasted on? What the hell's wrong with Jack Daniels, or Thunderbird for chrissakes? (beat; disgusted) Slagtown. Shit... -- Aliens hanging around outside their homes. -- Alien hookers plying their trade. SYKES Hope their plumbing's the same. TUGGLE It is. (and Sykes gives him a look) -- A Newcomer lowrider pulls up beside the slug-mobile. -- An alien couple exit a theater playing "Terminator III". -- An alien wig shop. ANGLE TITLES END, and we start to PULL BACK into the slug-mobile and HEAR: TUGGLE (O.S.) So you gonna go, or you not gonna go? INT. SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT The dashboard is littered with fast-food detritus and two coffees in styrofoam cups making fog circles on the windshield. A hand picks up one of the coffees and we FOLLOW IT to a face, a forty-year-old cop face that's seen some wear and tear -- behind the wheel is MATT SYKES. Beside him is his partner of nine years, BILL TUGGLE. Tuggle expertly munches on a slice of pizza as he talks. SYKES How can I go? TUGGLE Put on your wash-and-wear suit and your clip-on tie, have your landlady tie your shoes for you, and show up at the church. Simple. (beat) Me and Carol are going. SYKES What? TUGGLE Hey, look -- we've known Kristin since... since she was conceived in that cabin up in Big Bear. Remember? You and Edie banged the wall so hard, me and Carol were picking plaster out of our hair for a week... SYKES Goddammit, Tug -- I want to see Kristin get married, okay? But-- TUGGLE But you're bummed because your ex and her new husband are paying for the whole thing. SYKES Shit, if Kristin had to get married where I could afford it, we'd be holding the reception at Buddy's Burgers. Sykes stares out the window, wallowing in his pissed-off mood. Then he spots something that twinges his street-cop radar. SYKES Uh-oh... Check it out. THROUGH THE WINDOW Tuggle sees what Sykes sees: two ALIENS in long coats moving down the sidewalk, entering a mom- and-pop mini-mart on the corner. One of them wears dark glasses and a red bandana (KIPLING): the other has on a black vinyl raincoat. SYKES Does that look at all suspicious to you? TUGGLE Whatever gave you that idea? EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes continues up a quarter of a block, pulls to the curb among other parked cars. INT. SEDAN - NIGHT Sykes is already pulling his gun. Tuggle quickly reaches for the radio in the glovebox. TUGGLE This is one-Henry-seven, we've got a possible two-eleven in progress at Porter's Mini-Mart, corner of Court and Alvarado. Requesting backup. Impulsive Sykes is already opening his door and climbing out. SYKES Let's do it, partner. Tuggle drops the radio mike and follows Sykes as the Radio Dispatcher confirms the call. EXT. STREET - NIGHT The two cops, guns in hand, move along the row of parked cars across the street from the mini-mart. Through the store window they see the old alien PROPRIETOR behind the counter. His eyes go wide as Kipling whips back his coat and yanks out a short combat pump-shotgun and aims it right at him. The Raincoat alien pulls an identical gun and covers the door. Sykes and Tuggle react to the firepower inside. SYKES You got your vest? TUGGLE Of course. Right in the trunk of the car. SYKES Yeah, that's comforting. Mine, too. Through the store window the robbery continues in pantomime. Kipling gestures viciously with the shotgun, yelling orders in the alien language. The Proprietor is quickly filling a paper bag with cash from the register. The PROPRIETOR'S WIFE, a middle-aged alien woman, stands in the doorway from the back, frozen in fear. The Raincoat alien dances from foot to foot, antsy, wired. Sykes and Tuggle crouch at the car directly across the street from the store entrance. TUGGLE Watch the driver. I'm going for a better angle on the door. SYKES I got him. Don't get pinned. Tuggle leaves the cover provided by the car, runs cater- corner across the intersection. Through the store window Sykes sees Kipling grab the bag of cash, shove it in his coat pocket. Bills fall out, but he doesn't care. Then, without warning, Kipling whips up the twelve gauge and blows a hole in the Proprietor's chest! The Proprietor slams back against the shelves, slides to the floor. Kipling leans over the counter and FIRES another round into the Proprietor. SYKES (under his breath) Aw, shit. Tuggle is almost across the street when he hears the shots. The human DRIVER of the getaway car (parked at the curb a few doors down from the mini-mart) glances up, spots Tuggle. He leans on the HORN, reaches for a machine pistol on the seat next to him. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling and Raincoat alien react to the horn honk. They spot Tuggle through the store window and open fire -- BLASTING THROUGH THE GLASS. A civilian car enters the intersection. The engine is hit by shotgun fire, and the car skids to a stop in the intersection, steam rising from the radiator. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Tuggle dives behind a lamp post. The Driver is out of the car now, brings up the machine pistol to fire at Tuggle. Sykes sees this and opens fire at the Driver. The Driver turns and fires at Sykes. Sykes ducks down, and the car he's hiding behind is sprayed with bullets. A forty-foot moving van pulls down the street between Sykes and the Driver. Once the truck is past, Sykes is standing behind the bullet-riddled car, gun ready. He rapid-fires -- creaming the human Driver. Tuggle is pinned down behind the thin lamp post by the shotgun fire from Kipling and Raincoat alien. SYKES Get outta there! TUGGLE I can't! Do you mind! SYKES I'll cover you! Get outta there!! Sykes rises and runs across the street toward the getaway car, firing toward the store as he goes. Kipling and Raincoat dodge behind cover. Tuggle seizes the opportunity, jumps from behind the lamp post and runs to the stalled civilian car. He slides across the hood and drops behind the car for cover. Tuggle slowly pokes his head up to peer through the car window. His gaze is met by the face of the OLD MAN driver who is still inside the car. OLD MAN Can I get out now? TUGGLE Move it! Sykes doesn't have a clear firing line on the aliens in the store. As he considers his next move-- Tuggle fires at the two aliens. They return fire and he slides down to safety behind the car. Or so he thinks. Glass rains down on him as the car windows are cremated by the shotgun blasts. He flinches as another blast hits the car. He looks over. There's a big exit hole in the fender beside him. THE SHOT WENT RIGHT THROUGH THE CAR. Another exit hole is BLASTED, inches from his shoulder. Panicked, he scrambles along the side of the car -- BLASTS and exit holes following him until he reaches the front of the car. He has nowhere left to go and-- -- a BLAST comes through the car and catches him squarely in the chest throwing him back onto the street. Sykes' head jerks around -- in time to see his partner of nine years blown away. Kipling keeps firing in Tuggle's direction until his shotgun CLICKS empty. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling grabs Raincoat and throws him toward the back exit of the store. The shotgun falls from Raincoat's hands. The two of them run out the back. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes runs to Tuggle's spread-eagled body. One glance is enough. Nobody ever looked deader. SYKES Aw shit, Tug, Jesus! Goddamn it! He stares, shocked and incredulous. He can't find a way to think or feel about this. Then we see him going crazy right before our eyes, the rage revving. He takes off toward the store as SIRENS are HEARD rapidly approaching in background. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Sykes moves through like a locomotive skidding on broken glass, bangs through the exit. EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT Sykes catches sight of the two aliens just as they round the corner at the far end of the alley. He takes off, quickly cranking up to full speed. EXT. BACK STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds the corner. Doesn't see them anymore. He slows... moves along this street with some caution. Lots of shadows, lots of hiding places. Sykes HEARS a NOISE, looks up... just in time to see Raincoat on a high, huge billboard. He cuts loose with the shotgun. Sykes dives. Huge chunks of the crate he dives behind fly off into the night. Sykes, on his belly, scrambles deeper among the crates. Raincoat's shotgun CLICKS empty now. He drops it, swings down off the fire escape, runs off. Sykes is up again in a flash, pounding after him. EXT. TUNNEL STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds this second corner, races down the street. The only route they could've taken is through a tunnel up ahead. Sykes approaches the tunnel, all senses wide open. INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT The murkiness of the tunnel engulfs him as he moves through the mouth. He tries to control his breathing so he can hear. The only SOUND is his own shoes scuffing along the asphalt. Then he HEARS -- another set of FOOTSTEPS. Rapid footsteps, coming toward him, ECHOING. He can't tell from which direction! He spins, just as a LARGE SHAPE lunges for him with an alien CRY. It's the wired Raincoat alien. Sykes gets his gun up just in time and FIRES -- once, twice, three times. Raincoat alien is knocked backwards to the wet asphalt by the blasts. Sykes approaches the body slowly. With an inhuman ROAR, the alien snaps forward, lunging at Sykes with outstretched arms. Sykes jumps back, startled, and FIRES twice more at the pale figure. Raincoat goes down and stays down. Sykes relaxes for the briefest moment. Then he HEARS it... a distinctive CLICKING SOUND, metal on metal. Sykes looks up and -- Kipling drops down on him from directly above! Sykes goes down in a heap. He's managed to hold onto the gun and as Kipling comes for him, he swings the gun hand around. Kipling sees it, lashes out, slamming the gun from Sykes' hand. Sykes tries to get to his feet, but the alien grabs him and flings him down the tunnel. A SIREN is HEARD approaching in background. Kipling moves in to deliver the coup de grace. As he draws near, Sykes HEARS that distinctive CLICKING SOUND again. SYKES' P.O.V. Though his vision is BLURRED, Sykes still gets a good look at an exotic silver bracelet on the alien's wrist. The strands of this bracelet are what make the CLINKING NOISE. ANGLE The alien rears back, and as he does, the approaching SIREN suddenly WAILS louder as a backup patrol car swings onto the street heading this way. Kipling sees this and leaves Sykes, running off down the dark tunnel. ON SYKES dazed, struggling to rise. WE HEAR running FOOTSTEPS approaching. Sykes turns, his eyes wild and unfocused. SYKES' P.O.V. An OUT-OF-FOCUS ALIEN FACE looming over him. ANGLE Sykes whips around in a roundhouse swing with all his weight on it, pistoning his fist straight into the alien face. The alien, caught by surprise and off balance, sprawls backward OUT OF FRAME. Sykes is grabbed by a human uniformed cop, as he tries to swing again. HUMAN COP Whoa, whoa... hold it. Take it easy. (to alien on the ground) You okay? Sykes stops struggling, and his eyes focus. He looks at the alien he just decked, sprawled on his ass ten feet away. The alien is a uniformed cop... his name is JETSON. JETSON I am all right. He gets up. A trickle of purple blood runs from his nose. HUMAN COP I better call in. He moves off. Jetson moves toward Sykes and the Raincoat alien's body. Sykes tenses, thinking Jetson might retaliate in some way. But Jetson simply steps past him to kneel beside the dead alien. He checks for a pulse on the underside of the dead alien's upper arm. Nothing. Sykes is holding his punching hand in obvious pain. He struggles to rise. Jetson gets an arm around him to help him up. JETSON Your hand will require attention. Sykes roughly jerks himself free of Jetson's grip. SYKES Get the hell away from me! I don't need your goddamn help. He almost loses his balance and has to steady himself against the tunnel wall. Sykes leans there, the picture of impotent rage and frustration. Jetson looks at him, with that slight inquisitive expression aliens exhibit when trying to understand human nature. EXT. MINI-MART - NIGHT OPEN on Tuggle's body, as the body bag is zipped up over his face, and the litter is lifted into the back of the Coroner's wagon. WIDEN to reveal Sykes, standing nearby, watching. The Wagon pulls out, and Sykes turns, moving past all the LAPD black-and-whites and forensics wagons, and COPS (two of them aliens) and DETECTIVES, and RUBBERNECKERS (some alien). He moves into: INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT The CRIME SCENE TEAM is checking for prints, digging slugs out of the wall, photographing everything. Several UNIFORMED COPS mill around. Sykes moves aimlessly around the room like a stranger at a party. The Proprietor's Wife stands near the body in a strange rigid posture, a thin, mournful KEENING SOUND coming from her lips. A harried female uniformed cop is trying to get her away from the body, but can't get her to budge. MINKLER, a ballistics guy, is tagging the pump-shotgun the Raincoat alien dropped here. NATUZZI, a mean-looking veteran uniform cop is with him. NATUZZI Looks like a standard combat pump- action. MINKLER It is. NATUZZI So what punched holes clear through that car out there? Minkler pulls an evidence baggie from his work box. Inside are four unfired twelve gauge shells. MINKLER BRI Sabot slugs. These puppies are nasty. Two plastic sabots fall away in flight leaving a fifty-caliber slug going two thousand feet per second. Tug might as well've been hiding behind a rosebush. Minkler senses somebody has just stepped up beside him. He looks. It's Sykes. NATUZZI Pretty heavy artillery for knocking over a liquor store. A new voice enters the conversation. JETSON (O.S.) An identical round was used in the shooting of a Newcomer named Hubley, two days ago. Sykes turns -- surprised, and not especially pleased to see the voice is Jetson's. MINKLER Yeah? So why the extra fire power? JETSON Perhaps because even the larger caliber handguns aren't always effective against my people. SYKES (mulls this, then) You saying there's some connection to this other homicide? Before Jetson can say, the female cop who was talking to the Proprietor's Wife steps up. FEMALE COP Hey, give me a hand with this woman, will ya Jetson? We've got to get her to Division for her statement and she won't budge. JETSON (to Sykes) Excuse me. And he moves off with his partner. Sykes calls after him, but Jetson is already approaching the woman and doesn't turn. SYKES So, you think there's a connection, or what? Hey! CUT TO: EXT. SYKES' APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT The slug-mobile pulls up. A drained Sykes moves up the walk to his front door. INT. SYKES' APARTMENT - NIGHT Sykes enters his apartment, an untidy bachelor place decorated with negative taste. It's obviously the maid's decade off. By rote, he hits the rewind switch on the answering machine on his way into the kitchen. The tape rewinds. He opens the fridge. Not much here. Left-over take-out pizza carton. Left-over take-out Chinese food cartons. Left-over take-out burger wrappers. The answering machine message begins -- he glances over his shoulder as he HEARS his daughter's VOICE. During the following, he reaches the fridge. Brings out a milk carton that's in his way, sets it on the counter. Reaches in again and this time brings out a bottle of Stoly. Then searches for a semi-clean glass. KRISTIN'S VOICE (bouncy, bride-to-be happy) Hi, Daddy, it's me. I'm over at Danny's parents' house... talking about Sunday. I thought maybe you'd be home by now. Anyway, uh, nothing really. I just wanted to call and say I love you. I love you, Daddy. (she giggles) Uh-oh, I shouldn't'a done that. Knowing you, you'll probably pull this tape out of your machine and save it -- in that drawer where you keep every card I ever gave you, and all of my old baby teeth... gross! Anyway, Daddy, don't save this tape -- but I do love you, and I'll talk to you before Sunday. (beat) Oh, Tug and Carol came by and met Danny last week. (Sykes stiffens) Danny thought Tug was the greatest -- but, then, who doesn't? Anyway, love you, talk to you soon. 'Bye. The machine BEEPS and HISSES. Sykes take the glass and the bottle of vodka, crosses back toward the living room, switching off the answering machine as he goes. Then he stops, turns back, takes the message tape out of the machine and tosses it into a drawer. FADE TO: INT. DETECTIVE SQUAD ROOM - DAY Sykes enters, stirring a jumbo coffee. He's slept about four hours, and his face looks like he went a few with Hagler. He crosses straight to Fedorchuk's desk. SYKES So what've you got on Tuggle's killers? FEDORCHUK Jesus, Sykes -- it's been less than ten hours. Me and Alterez are on it, okay? SYKES You don't have squat. FEDORCHUK You ever try to make a case in Slagtown? The list of Newcomer informants is about as long as the list of Mexican war heroes... ALTEREZ Up yours. FEDORCHUK ... Nobody talks to nobody down there. Half of them don't speak English and the other half only when it suits them. It's gonna take some time. SYKES Yeah, I know it's gonna take time. Like until the Ice Capades opens in Hell, with you two on it. Across the room, the Captain's door BANGS open and CAPTAIN WARNER pounds out, his deep voice booming through the squad room. WARNER Nobody wanders off! I got an announcement. Get your asses back in here. Two detectives on their way out, stop, and head back into the room. Everybody gathers around, curious, as Warner stands holding a sheet of paper. WARNER I'll make this short. This is a directive from Chief Evaner, who is acting on orders from the Mayor, who is under mandate from the Federal Bureau of Newcomer Relations. As of nine o'clock this morning, one Newcomer uniform officer has been promoted to the rank of Detective, third grade. The detectives GROAN... some angrier ones grumble, "This is bullshit!", etc. WARNER And we've got him, gentleman. (more groans) Volunteers for duty with the new detective should see me in my office... otherwise I will choose a volunteer myself. That is all. He turns and heads back to his office in the wake of continued grumbling from the detectives. Sykes, standing to one side, absently watches Warner return to his glass- walled office. Waiting inside are a balding man and an alien in a grey suit. Sykes reacts. The alien in the suit is Jetson. The grumbling continues around him as Sykes considers something. FEDORCHUK Unbelievable bullshit. ALTEREZ How long has this Slag been on the force? A year, max -- right? DETECTIVE I don't know about the rest of you, but I sure as hell ain't gonna sit still for this. I'm calling the union, pronto. Others grumble. "Yeah!". Meanwhile, Sykes has decided something. He heads toward Warner's office. Fedorchuk sees this. FEDORCHUK Where the hell is he going? INT. WARNER'S OFFICE - DAY Sykes KNOCKS and enters. WARNER Yeah, Sykes? SYKES Captain. I'd like to volunteer for duty with the new detective. Warner is surprised. He never expected Sykes. WARNER ... All right. Detective Sergeant Sykes, this is Detective... Jetson. JETSON We have met. Warner looks up, clocking this. He looks at Sykes, starting to smell something fishy. The balding man, GOLDRUP, rises to shake their hands. GOLDRUP Victor Goldrup, Mayor's office. Congratulations, gentlemen. Warner is starting to suspect what Sykes is up to. WARNER (to Sykes) You are to have nothing to do with the investigation into Bill Tuggle's death. You know that. Leave that for Fedorchuk. SYKES (nodding) Departmental policy. WARNER (to Jetson) You? JETSON Yes, sir. WARNER Good. SYKES There's another case I'd like to take. A homicide -- a Newcomer named Hubley. Jetson looks over at Sykes, knows he's up to something. Sykes avoids his look. WARNER Granger and Pitts are already on it. SYKES Granger and Pitts have one hell of a caseload... and I would have thought with Jetson here being the first Newcomer plainclothes, and Hubley's body being found over in the Newcomer community... WARNER Don't tell me what to think. GOLDRUP He's got a point. That's the sort of thing we should be doing with this early advancement program... Long-suffering Warner looks up at Goldrup, then finally sighs with resignation. Sykes grins. CUT TO: INT. STAIRWELL - FIRST FLOOR HALLWAY - DAY The steel door BANGS open and Sykes and Jetson exit. Next to Sykes' slept-in look, Jetson in his grey suit looks like a Jehovah's Witness canvasser. They move past all the black-and-whites pulling out on p.m. watch during: SYKES ... and we work my hours. I'll do the driving, you do the paperwork. You gotta learn it so you might as well do it all. JETSON (after a moment) Sergeant... I'd like to thank you for what you're doing. SYKES What's that? (then realizing) Look, Jetson. Get this straight in your head. We're not pals, we're not married, and we ain't gonna take long moonlight walks together... We're just partners. And don't call me Sergeant. Call me Sykes... or Matt if you have to. JETSON I am George. Sykes nods absently, and they walk on... four and a half steps to be exact. Then it hits Sykes. He seizes up cold. SYKES Wait a minute. George? George Jetson? Jetson nods... he's used to this. Sykes cracks up. SYKES (between laughs) Man, somebody really hung one on you! I've heard some good ones for you guys... Humphrey Bogart, Harley Davidson. I guess the people at immigration got a little punchy after a while, coming up with names for a quarter of a million of you. You weren't at the back of the line, were you, George? JETSON My true name is Ss'tangya T'ssorentsa'. SYKES Gesundheit. You don't mind if I stick to George, do you? EXT. POLICE STATION PARKING AREA - DAY They approach Sykes' ugly sedan, the slug-mobile. SYKES Anyway, what's it matter to you if we think it's funny, right? Whatta you care? JETSON That is exactly so. (completely deadpan) It is like your name... Sykes. I'm sure it doesn't bother you at all that it sounds like "ss'ai k'ss", two words in my language which mean "excrement" and "cranium". Sykes looks at him, perplexed. JETSON "Shit... head". Jetson gets in and slams the door, leaving Sykes standing there, the smirk dropping from his face. CUT TO: INT. SLUG-MOBILE - DAY They're cruising along in downtown traffic. Sykes drives. Jetson is somewhat cramped in the passenger seat. SYKES Let's talk Hubley. JETSON (refers to a folder he holds) His body was discovered three days ago, in an alley off of Central Avenue, near downtown. SYKES With two

image

How many times the word 'image' appears in the text?

Alien Nation Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Alien Nation - by Rochne O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron ALIEN NATION Original Screenplay by Rockne S. O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron October 1987 FADE IN: EXT. MOJAVE DESERT - DAY (TELEVISION IMAGE) A LONG LENS SHOT of a far distant metallic object hovering just above the ground -- maybe two or three miles away. The heat waves and the light refraction off the desert- scape make the object undulate rhythmically, keeping its true shape and appearance indistinct. The VIDEO CAMERA recording this scene zooms back, then pans over -- revealing a semicircle of US Army vehicles and personnel. Army Engineers with their tripod-mounted scopes and binoculars are shoulder to shoulder with the armed infantry. Everyone stares off at the same point on the horizon. Waiting. The VIDEO CAMERA movements are HANDHELD, unsteady, as it moves through the line of Army personnel to reveal a second, less organized semicircle of observers fifty yards behind the Army. LOCALS from nearby towns perch in truck beds and on car roofs, Budweiser and Fritos at hand, eyes glued to the distant object. The VIDEO CAMERA image climbs up onto the roof of a parked local TV van, finds the object again in the distance, zooms in, and waits, like everyone else. Abruptly the VIDEO IMAGE contracts, becoming a box CHROMAKEYED behind CNN reporter DUNCAN CRAIS. CRAIS That was the scene in California's Mojave Desert three years ago today -- the historic first view of the Newcomer ship upon its dramatic arrival. As with the assassination of John Kennedy, who among us does not remember exactly where he was that October nineteenth morning, when news first broke: that people have landed... from another star. We PULL BACK from a large television set to reveal... INT. A CROWDED BAR - LOS ANGELES - NIGHT The Hollowpoint Lounge -- a cop bar. The off-duty uniformed and plainclothes cops are mostly ignoring the TV, except for two detectives, FEDORCHUK and ALTEREZ, who are waiting for the ball scores. FEDORCHUK I remember where I was -- pissing off my balcony at the neighbor's dog! Others laugh. ALTEREZ (yells at Crais on TV) Get to the goddamn ball scores! ON THE TV SCREEN, an on-location interview with a CAL-TECH PROFESSOR comes up. Her name and title appear across the bottom of the screen. CAL-TECH PROFESSOR From the time mankind first gazed up at the stars there had been speculation about a visit by people from "out there." How ironic that when that first contact was made, the two hundred and sixty thousand occupants aboard the craft were as surprised as we were about their arrival. That they awakened from frozen hibernation to find their malfunctioning autopilot had landed them here by mistake. The CNN reporter, Duncan Crais, appears again. CRAIS These "Newcomers," we soon learned, were a genetically-engineered race, adapted for hard labor in almost any environmental condition. In effect, their ship was a slave ship... washed ashore on Earth with no way to get back to where they came from... A dishwasher tray filled with beer glasses CUTS ACROSS FRAME, and we PAN WITH IT as it is slammed down on the countertop. Now an interview with a FRESNO HOUSEWIFE standing outside a supermarket comes on the TV SCREEN. FRESNO HOUSEWIFE When the Newcomers were first let out of the ship, they were quarantined in a camp not ten miles from the town here. You can imagine how the people around here felt about that. But once they were releases from the camp and we got a chance to know them, we saw what nice, quiet people they really are... WIDER revealing a MASSIVE ALIEN FIGURE in a filthy white busboy's uniform. His back is to us as he picks up two trays from the counter. The bartender is dwarfed by this Newcomer, but works around him without apparent concern. Fedorchuk addresses the alien busboy. FEDORCHUK Hey, Henry, how you doin' tonight? Workin' hard? The Newcomer turns -- his face is humanoid, but disturbingly alien. FEDORCHUK You got your green card, buddy? You didn't leave home without it? The cops at the bar crack up. Henry looks at Fedorchuk -- his eyes carrying no malice... or pain. He merely blinks. CUT TO: INT./ EXT. SLUG-MOBILE - STREET - NIGHT An explosion of color and movement as OPENING TITLES PLAY very quickly. We're TRAVELING the streets in a n.d. sedan, getting MOVING GLIMPSES of the aliens living among us now: -- A coffee shop where aliens eat at some window tables. -- A Newcomer leaving a night school with an armload of books. -- A city park where a number of alien families have gathered to play some arcane alien game. SYKES Jeez... they call that gang-bang a game...? -- A billboard for Pepsi featuring an alien. -- The sedan has pulled to a stop at a red light. Suddenly a hand thumps against the glass next to Sykes' head... and alien hand. Sykes jumps. It's a NEWCOMER DERELICT standing there, weaving, mumbling in his own language. In one filthy hand holds a quart carton of milk. We know immediately what he wants. Sykes rolls down the window. SYKES Take a hike. Sykes gets a whiff of the derelict's breath as the light changes and the sedan pulls away, leaving him in the street. Sykes grimaces at the smell. SYKES Why's it have to be sour milk that these guys get wasted on? What the hell's wrong with Jack Daniels, or Thunderbird for chrissakes? (beat; disgusted) Slagtown. Shit... -- Aliens hanging around outside their homes. -- Alien hookers plying their trade. SYKES Hope their plumbing's the same. TUGGLE It is. (and Sykes gives him a look) -- A Newcomer lowrider pulls up beside the slug-mobile. -- An alien couple exit a theater playing "Terminator III". -- An alien wig shop. ANGLE TITLES END, and we start to PULL BACK into the slug-mobile and HEAR: TUGGLE (O.S.) So you gonna go, or you not gonna go? INT. SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT The dashboard is littered with fast-food detritus and two coffees in styrofoam cups making fog circles on the windshield. A hand picks up one of the coffees and we FOLLOW IT to a face, a forty-year-old cop face that's seen some wear and tear -- behind the wheel is MATT SYKES. Beside him is his partner of nine years, BILL TUGGLE. Tuggle expertly munches on a slice of pizza as he talks. SYKES How can I go? TUGGLE Put on your wash-and-wear suit and your clip-on tie, have your landlady tie your shoes for you, and show up at the church. Simple. (beat) Me and Carol are going. SYKES What? TUGGLE Hey, look -- we've known Kristin since... since she was conceived in that cabin up in Big Bear. Remember? You and Edie banged the wall so hard, me and Carol were picking plaster out of our hair for a week... SYKES Goddammit, Tug -- I want to see Kristin get married, okay? But-- TUGGLE But you're bummed because your ex and her new husband are paying for the whole thing. SYKES Shit, if Kristin had to get married where I could afford it, we'd be holding the reception at Buddy's Burgers. Sykes stares out the window, wallowing in his pissed-off mood. Then he spots something that twinges his street-cop radar. SYKES Uh-oh... Check it out. THROUGH THE WINDOW Tuggle sees what Sykes sees: two ALIENS in long coats moving down the sidewalk, entering a mom- and-pop mini-mart on the corner. One of them wears dark glasses and a red bandana (KIPLING): the other has on a black vinyl raincoat. SYKES Does that look at all suspicious to you? TUGGLE Whatever gave you that idea? EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes continues up a quarter of a block, pulls to the curb among other parked cars. INT. SEDAN - NIGHT Sykes is already pulling his gun. Tuggle quickly reaches for the radio in the glovebox. TUGGLE This is one-Henry-seven, we've got a possible two-eleven in progress at Porter's Mini-Mart, corner of Court and Alvarado. Requesting backup. Impulsive Sykes is already opening his door and climbing out. SYKES Let's do it, partner. Tuggle drops the radio mike and follows Sykes as the Radio Dispatcher confirms the call. EXT. STREET - NIGHT The two cops, guns in hand, move along the row of parked cars across the street from the mini-mart. Through the store window they see the old alien PROPRIETOR behind the counter. His eyes go wide as Kipling whips back his coat and yanks out a short combat pump-shotgun and aims it right at him. The Raincoat alien pulls an identical gun and covers the door. Sykes and Tuggle react to the firepower inside. SYKES You got your vest? TUGGLE Of course. Right in the trunk of the car. SYKES Yeah, that's comforting. Mine, too. Through the store window the robbery continues in pantomime. Kipling gestures viciously with the shotgun, yelling orders in the alien language. The Proprietor is quickly filling a paper bag with cash from the register. The PROPRIETOR'S WIFE, a middle-aged alien woman, stands in the doorway from the back, frozen in fear. The Raincoat alien dances from foot to foot, antsy, wired. Sykes and Tuggle crouch at the car directly across the street from the store entrance. TUGGLE Watch the driver. I'm going for a better angle on the door. SYKES I got him. Don't get pinned. Tuggle leaves the cover provided by the car, runs cater- corner across the intersection. Through the store window Sykes sees Kipling grab the bag of cash, shove it in his coat pocket. Bills fall out, but he doesn't care. Then, without warning, Kipling whips up the twelve gauge and blows a hole in the Proprietor's chest! The Proprietor slams back against the shelves, slides to the floor. Kipling leans over the counter and FIRES another round into the Proprietor. SYKES (under his breath) Aw, shit. Tuggle is almost across the street when he hears the shots. The human DRIVER of the getaway car (parked at the curb a few doors down from the mini-mart) glances up, spots Tuggle. He leans on the HORN, reaches for a machine pistol on the seat next to him. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling and Raincoat alien react to the horn honk. They spot Tuggle through the store window and open fire -- BLASTING THROUGH THE GLASS. A civilian car enters the intersection. The engine is hit by shotgun fire, and the car skids to a stop in the intersection, steam rising from the radiator. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Tuggle dives behind a lamp post. The Driver is out of the car now, brings up the machine pistol to fire at Tuggle. Sykes sees this and opens fire at the Driver. The Driver turns and fires at Sykes. Sykes ducks down, and the car he's hiding behind is sprayed with bullets. A forty-foot moving van pulls down the street between Sykes and the Driver. Once the truck is past, Sykes is standing behind the bullet-riddled car, gun ready. He rapid-fires -- creaming the human Driver. Tuggle is pinned down behind the thin lamp post by the shotgun fire from Kipling and Raincoat alien. SYKES Get outta there! TUGGLE I can't! Do you mind! SYKES I'll cover you! Get outta there!! Sykes rises and runs across the street toward the getaway car, firing toward the store as he goes. Kipling and Raincoat dodge behind cover. Tuggle seizes the opportunity, jumps from behind the lamp post and runs to the stalled civilian car. He slides across the hood and drops behind the car for cover. Tuggle slowly pokes his head up to peer through the car window. His gaze is met by the face of the OLD MAN driver who is still inside the car. OLD MAN Can I get out now? TUGGLE Move it! Sykes doesn't have a clear firing line on the aliens in the store. As he considers his next move-- Tuggle fires at the two aliens. They return fire and he slides down to safety behind the car. Or so he thinks. Glass rains down on him as the car windows are cremated by the shotgun blasts. He flinches as another blast hits the car. He looks over. There's a big exit hole in the fender beside him. THE SHOT WENT RIGHT THROUGH THE CAR. Another exit hole is BLASTED, inches from his shoulder. Panicked, he scrambles along the side of the car -- BLASTS and exit holes following him until he reaches the front of the car. He has nowhere left to go and-- -- a BLAST comes through the car and catches him squarely in the chest throwing him back onto the street. Sykes' head jerks around -- in time to see his partner of nine years blown away. Kipling keeps firing in Tuggle's direction until his shotgun CLICKS empty. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling grabs Raincoat and throws him toward the back exit of the store. The shotgun falls from Raincoat's hands. The two of them run out the back. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes runs to Tuggle's spread-eagled body. One glance is enough. Nobody ever looked deader. SYKES Aw shit, Tug, Jesus! Goddamn it! He stares, shocked and incredulous. He can't find a way to think or feel about this. Then we see him going crazy right before our eyes, the rage revving. He takes off toward the store as SIRENS are HEARD rapidly approaching in background. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Sykes moves through like a locomotive skidding on broken glass, bangs through the exit. EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT Sykes catches sight of the two aliens just as they round the corner at the far end of the alley. He takes off, quickly cranking up to full speed. EXT. BACK STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds the corner. Doesn't see them anymore. He slows... moves along this street with some caution. Lots of shadows, lots of hiding places. Sykes HEARS a NOISE, looks up... just in time to see Raincoat on a high, huge billboard. He cuts loose with the shotgun. Sykes dives. Huge chunks of the crate he dives behind fly off into the night. Sykes, on his belly, scrambles deeper among the crates. Raincoat's shotgun CLICKS empty now. He drops it, swings down off the fire escape, runs off. Sykes is up again in a flash, pounding after him. EXT. TUNNEL STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds this second corner, races down the street. The only route they could've taken is through a tunnel up ahead. Sykes approaches the tunnel, all senses wide open. INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT The murkiness of the tunnel engulfs him as he moves through the mouth. He tries to control his breathing so he can hear. The only SOUND is his own shoes scuffing along the asphalt. Then he HEARS -- another set of FOOTSTEPS. Rapid footsteps, coming toward him, ECHOING. He can't tell from which direction! He spins, just as a LARGE SHAPE lunges for him with an alien CRY. It's the wired Raincoat alien. Sykes gets his gun up just in time and FIRES -- once, twice, three times. Raincoat alien is knocked backwards to the wet asphalt by the blasts. Sykes approaches the body slowly. With an inhuman ROAR, the alien snaps forward, lunging at Sykes with outstretched arms. Sykes jumps back, startled, and FIRES twice more at the pale figure. Raincoat goes down and stays down. Sykes relaxes for the briefest moment. Then he HEARS it... a distinctive CLICKING SOUND, metal on metal. Sykes looks up and -- Kipling drops down on him from directly above! Sykes goes down in a heap. He's managed to hold onto the gun and as Kipling comes for him, he swings the gun hand around. Kipling sees it, lashes out, slamming the gun from Sykes' hand. Sykes tries to get to his feet, but the alien grabs him and flings him down the tunnel. A SIREN is HEARD approaching in background. Kipling moves in to deliver the coup de grace. As he draws near, Sykes HEARS that distinctive CLICKING SOUND again. SYKES' P.O.V. Though his vision is BLURRED, Sykes still gets a good look at an exotic silver bracelet on the alien's wrist. The strands of this bracelet are what make the CLINKING NOISE. ANGLE The alien rears back, and as he does, the approaching SIREN suddenly WAILS louder as a backup patrol car swings onto the street heading this way. Kipling sees this and leaves Sykes, running off down the dark tunnel. ON SYKES dazed, struggling to rise. WE HEAR running FOOTSTEPS approaching. Sykes turns, his eyes wild and unfocused. SYKES' P.O.V. An OUT-OF-FOCUS ALIEN FACE looming over him. ANGLE Sykes whips around in a roundhouse swing with all his weight on it, pistoning his fist straight into the alien face. The alien, caught by surprise and off balance, sprawls backward OUT OF FRAME. Sykes is grabbed by a human uniformed cop, as he tries to swing again. HUMAN COP Whoa, whoa... hold it. Take it easy. (to alien on the ground) You okay? Sykes stops struggling, and his eyes focus. He looks at the alien he just decked, sprawled on his ass ten feet away. The alien is a uniformed cop... his name is JETSON. JETSON I am all right. He gets up. A trickle of purple blood runs from his nose. HUMAN COP I better call in. He moves off. Jetson moves toward Sykes and the Raincoat alien's body. Sykes tenses, thinking Jetson might retaliate in some way. But Jetson simply steps past him to kneel beside the dead alien. He checks for a pulse on the underside of the dead alien's upper arm. Nothing. Sykes is holding his punching hand in obvious pain. He struggles to rise. Jetson gets an arm around him to help him up. JETSON Your hand will require attention. Sykes roughly jerks himself free of Jetson's grip. SYKES Get the hell away from me! I don't need your goddamn help. He almost loses his balance and has to steady himself against the tunnel wall. Sykes leans there, the picture of impotent rage and frustration. Jetson looks at him, with that slight inquisitive expression aliens exhibit when trying to understand human nature. EXT. MINI-MART - NIGHT OPEN on Tuggle's body, as the body bag is zipped up over his face, and the litter is lifted into the back of the Coroner's wagon. WIDEN to reveal Sykes, standing nearby, watching. The Wagon pulls out, and Sykes turns, moving past all the LAPD black-and-whites and forensics wagons, and COPS (two of them aliens) and DETECTIVES, and RUBBERNECKERS (some alien). He moves into: INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT The CRIME SCENE TEAM is checking for prints, digging slugs out of the wall, photographing everything. Several UNIFORMED COPS mill around. Sykes moves aimlessly around the room like a stranger at a party. The Proprietor's Wife stands near the body in a strange rigid posture, a thin, mournful KEENING SOUND coming from her lips. A harried female uniformed cop is trying to get her away from the body, but can't get her to budge. MINKLER, a ballistics guy, is tagging the pump-shotgun the Raincoat alien dropped here. NATUZZI, a mean-looking veteran uniform cop is with him. NATUZZI Looks like a standard combat pump- action. MINKLER It is. NATUZZI So what punched holes clear through that car out there? Minkler pulls an evidence baggie from his work box. Inside are four unfired twelve gauge shells. MINKLER BRI Sabot slugs. These puppies are nasty. Two plastic sabots fall away in flight leaving a fifty-caliber slug going two thousand feet per second. Tug might as well've been hiding behind a rosebush. Minkler senses somebody has just stepped up beside him. He looks. It's Sykes. NATUZZI Pretty heavy artillery for knocking over a liquor store. A new voice enters the conversation. JETSON (O.S.) An identical round was used in the shooting of a Newcomer named Hubley, two days ago. Sykes turns -- surprised, and not especially pleased to see the voice is Jetson's. MINKLER Yeah? So why the extra fire power? JETSON Perhaps because even the larger caliber handguns aren't always effective against my people. SYKES (mulls this, then) You saying there's some connection to this other homicide? Before Jetson can say, the female cop who was talking to the Proprietor's Wife steps up. FEMALE COP Hey, give me a hand with this woman, will ya Jetson? We've got to get her to Division for her statement and she won't budge. JETSON (to Sykes) Excuse me. And he moves off with his partner. Sykes calls after him, but Jetson is already approaching the woman and doesn't turn. SYKES So, you think there's a connection, or what? Hey! CUT TO: EXT. SYKES' APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT The slug-mobile pulls up. A drained Sykes moves up the walk to his front door. INT. SYKES' APARTMENT - NIGHT Sykes enters his apartment, an untidy bachelor place decorated with negative taste. It's obviously the maid's decade off. By rote, he hits the rewind switch on the answering machine on his way into the kitchen. The tape rewinds. He opens the fridge. Not much here. Left-over take-out pizza carton. Left-over take-out Chinese food cartons. Left-over take-out burger wrappers. The answering machine message begins -- he glances over his shoulder as he HEARS his daughter's VOICE. During the following, he reaches the fridge. Brings out a milk carton that's in his way, sets it on the counter. Reaches in again and this time brings out a bottle of Stoly. Then searches for a semi-clean glass. KRISTIN'S VOICE (bouncy, bride-to-be happy) Hi, Daddy, it's me. I'm over at Danny's parents' house... talking about Sunday. I thought maybe you'd be home by now. Anyway, uh, nothing really. I just wanted to call and say I love you. I love you, Daddy. (she giggles) Uh-oh, I shouldn't'a done that. Knowing you, you'll probably pull this tape out of your machine and save it -- in that drawer where you keep every card I ever gave you, and all of my old baby teeth... gross! Anyway, Daddy, don't save this tape -- but I do love you, and I'll talk to you before Sunday. (beat) Oh, Tug and Carol came by and met Danny last week. (Sykes stiffens) Danny thought Tug was the greatest -- but, then, who doesn't? Anyway, love you, talk to you soon. 'Bye. The machine BEEPS and HISSES. Sykes take the glass and the bottle of vodka, crosses back toward the living room, switching off the answering machine as he goes. Then he stops, turns back, takes the message tape out of the machine and tosses it into a drawer. FADE TO: INT. DETECTIVE SQUAD ROOM - DAY Sykes enters, stirring a jumbo coffee. He's slept about four hours, and his face looks like he went a few with Hagler. He crosses straight to Fedorchuk's desk. SYKES So what've you got on Tuggle's killers? FEDORCHUK Jesus, Sykes -- it's been less than ten hours. Me and Alterez are on it, okay? SYKES You don't have squat. FEDORCHUK You ever try to make a case in Slagtown? The list of Newcomer informants is about as long as the list of Mexican war heroes... ALTEREZ Up yours. FEDORCHUK ... Nobody talks to nobody down there. Half of them don't speak English and the other half only when it suits them. It's gonna take some time. SYKES Yeah, I know it's gonna take time. Like until the Ice Capades opens in Hell, with you two on it. Across the room, the Captain's door BANGS open and CAPTAIN WARNER pounds out, his deep voice booming through the squad room. WARNER Nobody wanders off! I got an announcement. Get your asses back in here. Two detectives on their way out, stop, and head back into the room. Everybody gathers around, curious, as Warner stands holding a sheet of paper. WARNER I'll make this short. This is a directive from Chief Evaner, who is acting on orders from the Mayor, who is under mandate from the Federal Bureau of Newcomer Relations. As of nine o'clock this morning, one Newcomer uniform officer has been promoted to the rank of Detective, third grade. The detectives GROAN... some angrier ones grumble, "This is bullshit!", etc. WARNER And we've got him, gentleman. (more groans) Volunteers for duty with the new detective should see me in my office... otherwise I will choose a volunteer myself. That is all. He turns and heads back to his office in the wake of continued grumbling from the detectives. Sykes, standing to one side, absently watches Warner return to his glass- walled office. Waiting inside are a balding man and an alien in a grey suit. Sykes reacts. The alien in the suit is Jetson. The grumbling continues around him as Sykes considers something. FEDORCHUK Unbelievable bullshit. ALTEREZ How long has this Slag been on the force? A year, max -- right? DETECTIVE I don't know about the rest of you, but I sure as hell ain't gonna sit still for this. I'm calling the union, pronto. Others grumble. "Yeah!". Meanwhile, Sykes has decided something. He heads toward Warner's office. Fedorchuk sees this. FEDORCHUK Where the hell is he going? INT. WARNER'S OFFICE - DAY Sykes KNOCKS and enters. WARNER Yeah, Sykes? SYKES Captain. I'd like to volunteer for duty with the new detective. Warner is surprised. He never expected Sykes. WARNER ... All right. Detective Sergeant Sykes, this is Detective... Jetson. JETSON We have met. Warner looks up, clocking this. He looks at Sykes, starting to smell something fishy. The balding man, GOLDRUP, rises to shake their hands. GOLDRUP Victor Goldrup, Mayor's office. Congratulations, gentlemen. Warner is starting to suspect what Sykes is up to. WARNER (to Sykes) You are to have nothing to do with the investigation into Bill Tuggle's death. You know that. Leave that for Fedorchuk. SYKES (nodding) Departmental policy. WARNER (to Jetson) You? JETSON Yes, sir. WARNER Good. SYKES There's another case I'd like to take. A homicide -- a Newcomer named Hubley. Jetson looks over at Sykes, knows he's up to something. Sykes avoids his look. WARNER Granger and Pitts are already on it. SYKES Granger and Pitts have one hell of a caseload... and I would have thought with Jetson here being the first Newcomer plainclothes, and Hubley's body being found over in the Newcomer community... WARNER Don't tell me what to think. GOLDRUP He's got a point. That's the sort of thing we should be doing with this early advancement program... Long-suffering Warner looks up at Goldrup, then finally sighs with resignation. Sykes grins. CUT TO: INT. STAIRWELL - FIRST FLOOR HALLWAY - DAY The steel door BANGS open and Sykes and Jetson exit. Next to Sykes' slept-in look, Jetson in his grey suit looks like a Jehovah's Witness canvasser. They move past all the black-and-whites pulling out on p.m. watch during: SYKES ... and we work my hours. I'll do the driving, you do the paperwork. You gotta learn it so you might as well do it all. JETSON (after a moment) Sergeant... I'd like to thank you for what you're doing. SYKES What's that? (then realizing) Look, Jetson. Get this straight in your head. We're not pals, we're not married, and we ain't gonna take long moonlight walks together... We're just partners. And don't call me Sergeant. Call me Sykes... or Matt if you have to. JETSON I am George. Sykes nods absently, and they walk on... four and a half steps to be exact. Then it hits Sykes. He seizes up cold. SYKES Wait a minute. George? George Jetson? Jetson nods... he's used to this. Sykes cracks up. SYKES (between laughs) Man, somebody really hung one on you! I've heard some good ones for you guys... Humphrey Bogart, Harley Davidson. I guess the people at immigration got a little punchy after a while, coming up with names for a quarter of a million of you. You weren't at the back of the line, were you, George? JETSON My true name is Ss'tangya T'ssorentsa'. SYKES Gesundheit. You don't mind if I stick to George, do you? EXT. POLICE STATION PARKING AREA - DAY They approach Sykes' ugly sedan, the slug-mobile. SYKES Anyway, what's it matter to you if we think it's funny, right? Whatta you care? JETSON That is exactly so. (completely deadpan) It is like your name... Sykes. I'm sure it doesn't bother you at all that it sounds like "ss'ai k'ss", two words in my language which mean "excrement" and "cranium". Sykes looks at him, perplexed. JETSON "Shit... head". Jetson gets in and slams the door, leaving Sykes standing there, the smirk dropping from his face. CUT TO: INT. SLUG-MOBILE - DAY They're cruising along in downtown traffic. Sykes drives. Jetson is somewhat cramped in the passenger seat. SYKES Let's talk Hubley. JETSON (refers to a folder he holds) His body was discovered three days ago, in an alley off of Central Avenue, near downtown. SYKES With two

james

How many times the word 'james' appears in the text?

Alien Nation Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Alien Nation - by Rochne O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron ALIEN NATION Original Screenplay by Rockne S. O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron October 1987 FADE IN: EXT. MOJAVE DESERT - DAY (TELEVISION IMAGE) A LONG LENS SHOT of a far distant metallic object hovering just above the ground -- maybe two or three miles away. The heat waves and the light refraction off the desert- scape make the object undulate rhythmically, keeping its true shape and appearance indistinct. The VIDEO CAMERA recording this scene zooms back, then pans over -- revealing a semicircle of US Army vehicles and personnel. Army Engineers with their tripod-mounted scopes and binoculars are shoulder to shoulder with the armed infantry. Everyone stares off at the same point on the horizon. Waiting. The VIDEO CAMERA movements are HANDHELD, unsteady, as it moves through the line of Army personnel to reveal a second, less organized semicircle of observers fifty yards behind the Army. LOCALS from nearby towns perch in truck beds and on car roofs, Budweiser and Fritos at hand, eyes glued to the distant object. The VIDEO CAMERA image climbs up onto the roof of a parked local TV van, finds the object again in the distance, zooms in, and waits, like everyone else. Abruptly the VIDEO IMAGE contracts, becoming a box CHROMAKEYED behind CNN reporter DUNCAN CRAIS. CRAIS That was the scene in California's Mojave Desert three years ago today -- the historic first view of the Newcomer ship upon its dramatic arrival. As with the assassination of John Kennedy, who among us does not remember exactly where he was that October nineteenth morning, when news first broke: that people have landed... from another star. We PULL BACK from a large television set to reveal... INT. A CROWDED BAR - LOS ANGELES - NIGHT The Hollowpoint Lounge -- a cop bar. The off-duty uniformed and plainclothes cops are mostly ignoring the TV, except for two detectives, FEDORCHUK and ALTEREZ, who are waiting for the ball scores. FEDORCHUK I remember where I was -- pissing off my balcony at the neighbor's dog! Others laugh. ALTEREZ (yells at Crais on TV) Get to the goddamn ball scores! ON THE TV SCREEN, an on-location interview with a CAL-TECH PROFESSOR comes up. Her name and title appear across the bottom of the screen. CAL-TECH PROFESSOR From the time mankind first gazed up at the stars there had been speculation about a visit by people from "out there." How ironic that when that first contact was made, the two hundred and sixty thousand occupants aboard the craft were as surprised as we were about their arrival. That they awakened from frozen hibernation to find their malfunctioning autopilot had landed them here by mistake. The CNN reporter, Duncan Crais, appears again. CRAIS These "Newcomers," we soon learned, were a genetically-engineered race, adapted for hard labor in almost any environmental condition. In effect, their ship was a slave ship... washed ashore on Earth with no way to get back to where they came from... A dishwasher tray filled with beer glasses CUTS ACROSS FRAME, and we PAN WITH IT as it is slammed down on the countertop. Now an interview with a FRESNO HOUSEWIFE standing outside a supermarket comes on the TV SCREEN. FRESNO HOUSEWIFE When the Newcomers were first let out of the ship, they were quarantined in a camp not ten miles from the town here. You can imagine how the people around here felt about that. But once they were releases from the camp and we got a chance to know them, we saw what nice, quiet people they really are... WIDER revealing a MASSIVE ALIEN FIGURE in a filthy white busboy's uniform. His back is to us as he picks up two trays from the counter. The bartender is dwarfed by this Newcomer, but works around him without apparent concern. Fedorchuk addresses the alien busboy. FEDORCHUK Hey, Henry, how you doin' tonight? Workin' hard? The Newcomer turns -- his face is humanoid, but disturbingly alien. FEDORCHUK You got your green card, buddy? You didn't leave home without it? The cops at the bar crack up. Henry looks at Fedorchuk -- his eyes carrying no malice... or pain. He merely blinks. CUT TO: INT./ EXT. SLUG-MOBILE - STREET - NIGHT An explosion of color and movement as OPENING TITLES PLAY very quickly. We're TRAVELING the streets in a n.d. sedan, getting MOVING GLIMPSES of the aliens living among us now: -- A coffee shop where aliens eat at some window tables. -- A Newcomer leaving a night school with an armload of books. -- A city park where a number of alien families have gathered to play some arcane alien game. SYKES Jeez... they call that gang-bang a game...? -- A billboard for Pepsi featuring an alien. -- The sedan has pulled to a stop at a red light. Suddenly a hand thumps against the glass next to Sykes' head... and alien hand. Sykes jumps. It's a NEWCOMER DERELICT standing there, weaving, mumbling in his own language. In one filthy hand holds a quart carton of milk. We know immediately what he wants. Sykes rolls down the window. SYKES Take a hike. Sykes gets a whiff of the derelict's breath as the light changes and the sedan pulls away, leaving him in the street. Sykes grimaces at the smell. SYKES Why's it have to be sour milk that these guys get wasted on? What the hell's wrong with Jack Daniels, or Thunderbird for chrissakes? (beat; disgusted) Slagtown. Shit... -- Aliens hanging around outside their homes. -- Alien hookers plying their trade. SYKES Hope their plumbing's the same. TUGGLE It is. (and Sykes gives him a look) -- A Newcomer lowrider pulls up beside the slug-mobile. -- An alien couple exit a theater playing "Terminator III". -- An alien wig shop. ANGLE TITLES END, and we start to PULL BACK into the slug-mobile and HEAR: TUGGLE (O.S.) So you gonna go, or you not gonna go? INT. SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT The dashboard is littered with fast-food detritus and two coffees in styrofoam cups making fog circles on the windshield. A hand picks up one of the coffees and we FOLLOW IT to a face, a forty-year-old cop face that's seen some wear and tear -- behind the wheel is MATT SYKES. Beside him is his partner of nine years, BILL TUGGLE. Tuggle expertly munches on a slice of pizza as he talks. SYKES How can I go? TUGGLE Put on your wash-and-wear suit and your clip-on tie, have your landlady tie your shoes for you, and show up at the church. Simple. (beat) Me and Carol are going. SYKES What? TUGGLE Hey, look -- we've known Kristin since... since she was conceived in that cabin up in Big Bear. Remember? You and Edie banged the wall so hard, me and Carol were picking plaster out of our hair for a week... SYKES Goddammit, Tug -- I want to see Kristin get married, okay? But-- TUGGLE But you're bummed because your ex and her new husband are paying for the whole thing. SYKES Shit, if Kristin had to get married where I could afford it, we'd be holding the reception at Buddy's Burgers. Sykes stares out the window, wallowing in his pissed-off mood. Then he spots something that twinges his street-cop radar. SYKES Uh-oh... Check it out. THROUGH THE WINDOW Tuggle sees what Sykes sees: two ALIENS in long coats moving down the sidewalk, entering a mom- and-pop mini-mart on the corner. One of them wears dark glasses and a red bandana (KIPLING): the other has on a black vinyl raincoat. SYKES Does that look at all suspicious to you? TUGGLE Whatever gave you that idea? EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes continues up a quarter of a block, pulls to the curb among other parked cars. INT. SEDAN - NIGHT Sykes is already pulling his gun. Tuggle quickly reaches for the radio in the glovebox. TUGGLE This is one-Henry-seven, we've got a possible two-eleven in progress at Porter's Mini-Mart, corner of Court and Alvarado. Requesting backup. Impulsive Sykes is already opening his door and climbing out. SYKES Let's do it, partner. Tuggle drops the radio mike and follows Sykes as the Radio Dispatcher confirms the call. EXT. STREET - NIGHT The two cops, guns in hand, move along the row of parked cars across the street from the mini-mart. Through the store window they see the old alien PROPRIETOR behind the counter. His eyes go wide as Kipling whips back his coat and yanks out a short combat pump-shotgun and aims it right at him. The Raincoat alien pulls an identical gun and covers the door. Sykes and Tuggle react to the firepower inside. SYKES You got your vest? TUGGLE Of course. Right in the trunk of the car. SYKES Yeah, that's comforting. Mine, too. Through the store window the robbery continues in pantomime. Kipling gestures viciously with the shotgun, yelling orders in the alien language. The Proprietor is quickly filling a paper bag with cash from the register. The PROPRIETOR'S WIFE, a middle-aged alien woman, stands in the doorway from the back, frozen in fear. The Raincoat alien dances from foot to foot, antsy, wired. Sykes and Tuggle crouch at the car directly across the street from the store entrance. TUGGLE Watch the driver. I'm going for a better angle on the door. SYKES I got him. Don't get pinned. Tuggle leaves the cover provided by the car, runs cater- corner across the intersection. Through the store window Sykes sees Kipling grab the bag of cash, shove it in his coat pocket. Bills fall out, but he doesn't care. Then, without warning, Kipling whips up the twelve gauge and blows a hole in the Proprietor's chest! The Proprietor slams back against the shelves, slides to the floor. Kipling leans over the counter and FIRES another round into the Proprietor. SYKES (under his breath) Aw, shit. Tuggle is almost across the street when he hears the shots. The human DRIVER of the getaway car (parked at the curb a few doors down from the mini-mart) glances up, spots Tuggle. He leans on the HORN, reaches for a machine pistol on the seat next to him. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling and Raincoat alien react to the horn honk. They spot Tuggle through the store window and open fire -- BLASTING THROUGH THE GLASS. A civilian car enters the intersection. The engine is hit by shotgun fire, and the car skids to a stop in the intersection, steam rising from the radiator. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Tuggle dives behind a lamp post. The Driver is out of the car now, brings up the machine pistol to fire at Tuggle. Sykes sees this and opens fire at the Driver. The Driver turns and fires at Sykes. Sykes ducks down, and the car he's hiding behind is sprayed with bullets. A forty-foot moving van pulls down the street between Sykes and the Driver. Once the truck is past, Sykes is standing behind the bullet-riddled car, gun ready. He rapid-fires -- creaming the human Driver. Tuggle is pinned down behind the thin lamp post by the shotgun fire from Kipling and Raincoat alien. SYKES Get outta there! TUGGLE I can't! Do you mind! SYKES I'll cover you! Get outta there!! Sykes rises and runs across the street toward the getaway car, firing toward the store as he goes. Kipling and Raincoat dodge behind cover. Tuggle seizes the opportunity, jumps from behind the lamp post and runs to the stalled civilian car. He slides across the hood and drops behind the car for cover. Tuggle slowly pokes his head up to peer through the car window. His gaze is met by the face of the OLD MAN driver who is still inside the car. OLD MAN Can I get out now? TUGGLE Move it! Sykes doesn't have a clear firing line on the aliens in the store. As he considers his next move-- Tuggle fires at the two aliens. They return fire and he slides down to safety behind the car. Or so he thinks. Glass rains down on him as the car windows are cremated by the shotgun blasts. He flinches as another blast hits the car. He looks over. There's a big exit hole in the fender beside him. THE SHOT WENT RIGHT THROUGH THE CAR. Another exit hole is BLASTED, inches from his shoulder. Panicked, he scrambles along the side of the car -- BLASTS and exit holes following him until he reaches the front of the car. He has nowhere left to go and-- -- a BLAST comes through the car and catches him squarely in the chest throwing him back onto the street. Sykes' head jerks around -- in time to see his partner of nine years blown away. Kipling keeps firing in Tuggle's direction until his shotgun CLICKS empty. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling grabs Raincoat and throws him toward the back exit of the store. The shotgun falls from Raincoat's hands. The two of them run out the back. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes runs to Tuggle's spread-eagled body. One glance is enough. Nobody ever looked deader. SYKES Aw shit, Tug, Jesus! Goddamn it! He stares, shocked and incredulous. He can't find a way to think or feel about this. Then we see him going crazy right before our eyes, the rage revving. He takes off toward the store as SIRENS are HEARD rapidly approaching in background. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Sykes moves through like a locomotive skidding on broken glass, bangs through the exit. EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT Sykes catches sight of the two aliens just as they round the corner at the far end of the alley. He takes off, quickly cranking up to full speed. EXT. BACK STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds the corner. Doesn't see them anymore. He slows... moves along this street with some caution. Lots of shadows, lots of hiding places. Sykes HEARS a NOISE, looks up... just in time to see Raincoat on a high, huge billboard. He cuts loose with the shotgun. Sykes dives. Huge chunks of the crate he dives behind fly off into the night. Sykes, on his belly, scrambles deeper among the crates. Raincoat's shotgun CLICKS empty now. He drops it, swings down off the fire escape, runs off. Sykes is up again in a flash, pounding after him. EXT. TUNNEL STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds this second corner, races down the street. The only route they could've taken is through a tunnel up ahead. Sykes approaches the tunnel, all senses wide open. INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT The murkiness of the tunnel engulfs him as he moves through the mouth. He tries to control his breathing so he can hear. The only SOUND is his own shoes scuffing along the asphalt. Then he HEARS -- another set of FOOTSTEPS. Rapid footsteps, coming toward him, ECHOING. He can't tell from which direction! He spins, just as a LARGE SHAPE lunges for him with an alien CRY. It's the wired Raincoat alien. Sykes gets his gun up just in time and FIRES -- once, twice, three times. Raincoat alien is knocked backwards to the wet asphalt by the blasts. Sykes approaches the body slowly. With an inhuman ROAR, the alien snaps forward, lunging at Sykes with outstretched arms. Sykes jumps back, startled, and FIRES twice more at the pale figure. Raincoat goes down and stays down. Sykes relaxes for the briefest moment. Then he HEARS it... a distinctive CLICKING SOUND, metal on metal. Sykes looks up and -- Kipling drops down on him from directly above! Sykes goes down in a heap. He's managed to hold onto the gun and as Kipling comes for him, he swings the gun hand around. Kipling sees it, lashes out, slamming the gun from Sykes' hand. Sykes tries to get to his feet, but the alien grabs him and flings him down the tunnel. A SIREN is HEARD approaching in background. Kipling moves in to deliver the coup de grace. As he draws near, Sykes HEARS that distinctive CLICKING SOUND again. SYKES' P.O.V. Though his vision is BLURRED, Sykes still gets a good look at an exotic silver bracelet on the alien's wrist. The strands of this bracelet are what make the CLINKING NOISE. ANGLE The alien rears back, and as he does, the approaching SIREN suddenly WAILS louder as a backup patrol car swings onto the street heading this way. Kipling sees this and leaves Sykes, running off down the dark tunnel. ON SYKES dazed, struggling to rise. WE HEAR running FOOTSTEPS approaching. Sykes turns, his eyes wild and unfocused. SYKES' P.O.V. An OUT-OF-FOCUS ALIEN FACE looming over him. ANGLE Sykes whips around in a roundhouse swing with all his weight on it, pistoning his fist straight into the alien face. The alien, caught by surprise and off balance, sprawls backward OUT OF FRAME. Sykes is grabbed by a human uniformed cop, as he tries to swing again. HUMAN COP Whoa, whoa... hold it. Take it easy. (to alien on the ground) You okay? Sykes stops struggling, and his eyes focus. He looks at the alien he just decked, sprawled on his ass ten feet away. The alien is a uniformed cop... his name is JETSON. JETSON I am all right. He gets up. A trickle of purple blood runs from his nose. HUMAN COP I better call in. He moves off. Jetson moves toward Sykes and the Raincoat alien's body. Sykes tenses, thinking Jetson might retaliate in some way. But Jetson simply steps past him to kneel beside the dead alien. He checks for a pulse on the underside of the dead alien's upper arm. Nothing. Sykes is holding his punching hand in obvious pain. He struggles to rise. Jetson gets an arm around him to help him up. JETSON Your hand will require attention. Sykes roughly jerks himself free of Jetson's grip. SYKES Get the hell away from me! I don't need your goddamn help. He almost loses his balance and has to steady himself against the tunnel wall. Sykes leans there, the picture of impotent rage and frustration. Jetson looks at him, with that slight inquisitive expression aliens exhibit when trying to understand human nature. EXT. MINI-MART - NIGHT OPEN on Tuggle's body, as the body bag is zipped up over his face, and the litter is lifted into the back of the Coroner's wagon. WIDEN to reveal Sykes, standing nearby, watching. The Wagon pulls out, and Sykes turns, moving past all the LAPD black-and-whites and forensics wagons, and COPS (two of them aliens) and DETECTIVES, and RUBBERNECKERS (some alien). He moves into: INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT The CRIME SCENE TEAM is checking for prints, digging slugs out of the wall, photographing everything. Several UNIFORMED COPS mill around. Sykes moves aimlessly around the room like a stranger at a party. The Proprietor's Wife stands near the body in a strange rigid posture, a thin, mournful KEENING SOUND coming from her lips. A harried female uniformed cop is trying to get her away from the body, but can't get her to budge. MINKLER, a ballistics guy, is tagging the pump-shotgun the Raincoat alien dropped here. NATUZZI, a mean-looking veteran uniform cop is with him. NATUZZI Looks like a standard combat pump- action. MINKLER It is. NATUZZI So what punched holes clear through that car out there? Minkler pulls an evidence baggie from his work box. Inside are four unfired twelve gauge shells. MINKLER BRI Sabot slugs. These puppies are nasty. Two plastic sabots fall away in flight leaving a fifty-caliber slug going two thousand feet per second. Tug might as well've been hiding behind a rosebush. Minkler senses somebody has just stepped up beside him. He looks. It's Sykes. NATUZZI Pretty heavy artillery for knocking over a liquor store. A new voice enters the conversation. JETSON (O.S.) An identical round was used in the shooting of a Newcomer named Hubley, two days ago. Sykes turns -- surprised, and not especially pleased to see the voice is Jetson's. MINKLER Yeah? So why the extra fire power? JETSON Perhaps because even the larger caliber handguns aren't always effective against my people. SYKES (mulls this, then) You saying there's some connection to this other homicide? Before Jetson can say, the female cop who was talking to the Proprietor's Wife steps up. FEMALE COP Hey, give me a hand with this woman, will ya Jetson? We've got to get her to Division for her statement and she won't budge. JETSON (to Sykes) Excuse me. And he moves off with his partner. Sykes calls after him, but Jetson is already approaching the woman and doesn't turn. SYKES So, you think there's a connection, or what? Hey! CUT TO: EXT. SYKES' APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT The slug-mobile pulls up. A drained Sykes moves up the walk to his front door. INT. SYKES' APARTMENT - NIGHT Sykes enters his apartment, an untidy bachelor place decorated with negative taste. It's obviously the maid's decade off. By rote, he hits the rewind switch on the answering machine on his way into the kitchen. The tape rewinds. He opens the fridge. Not much here. Left-over take-out pizza carton. Left-over take-out Chinese food cartons. Left-over take-out burger wrappers. The answering machine message begins -- he glances over his shoulder as he HEARS his daughter's VOICE. During the following, he reaches the fridge. Brings out a milk carton that's in his way, sets it on the counter. Reaches in again and this time brings out a bottle of Stoly. Then searches for a semi-clean glass. KRISTIN'S VOICE (bouncy, bride-to-be happy) Hi, Daddy, it's me. I'm over at Danny's parents' house... talking about Sunday. I thought maybe you'd be home by now. Anyway, uh, nothing really. I just wanted to call and say I love you. I love you, Daddy. (she giggles) Uh-oh, I shouldn't'a done that. Knowing you, you'll probably pull this tape out of your machine and save it -- in that drawer where you keep every card I ever gave you, and all of my old baby teeth... gross! Anyway, Daddy, don't save this tape -- but I do love you, and I'll talk to you before Sunday. (beat) Oh, Tug and Carol came by and met Danny last week. (Sykes stiffens) Danny thought Tug was the greatest -- but, then, who doesn't? Anyway, love you, talk to you soon. 'Bye. The machine BEEPS and HISSES. Sykes take the glass and the bottle of vodka, crosses back toward the living room, switching off the answering machine as he goes. Then he stops, turns back, takes the message tape out of the machine and tosses it into a drawer. FADE TO: INT. DETECTIVE SQUAD ROOM - DAY Sykes enters, stirring a jumbo coffee. He's slept about four hours, and his face looks like he went a few with Hagler. He crosses straight to Fedorchuk's desk. SYKES So what've you got on Tuggle's killers? FEDORCHUK Jesus, Sykes -- it's been less than ten hours. Me and Alterez are on it, okay? SYKES You don't have squat. FEDORCHUK You ever try to make a case in Slagtown? The list of Newcomer informants is about as long as the list of Mexican war heroes... ALTEREZ Up yours. FEDORCHUK ... Nobody talks to nobody down there. Half of them don't speak English and the other half only when it suits them. It's gonna take some time. SYKES Yeah, I know it's gonna take time. Like until the Ice Capades opens in Hell, with you two on it. Across the room, the Captain's door BANGS open and CAPTAIN WARNER pounds out, his deep voice booming through the squad room. WARNER Nobody wanders off! I got an announcement. Get your asses back in here. Two detectives on their way out, stop, and head back into the room. Everybody gathers around, curious, as Warner stands holding a sheet of paper. WARNER I'll make this short. This is a directive from Chief Evaner, who is acting on orders from the Mayor, who is under mandate from the Federal Bureau of Newcomer Relations. As of nine o'clock this morning, one Newcomer uniform officer has been promoted to the rank of Detective, third grade. The detectives GROAN... some angrier ones grumble, "This is bullshit!", etc. WARNER And we've got him, gentleman. (more groans) Volunteers for duty with the new detective should see me in my office... otherwise I will choose a volunteer myself. That is all. He turns and heads back to his office in the wake of continued grumbling from the detectives. Sykes, standing to one side, absently watches Warner return to his glass- walled office. Waiting inside are a balding man and an alien in a grey suit. Sykes reacts. The alien in the suit is Jetson. The grumbling continues around him as Sykes considers something. FEDORCHUK Unbelievable bullshit. ALTEREZ How long has this Slag been on the force? A year, max -- right? DETECTIVE I don't know about the rest of you, but I sure as hell ain't gonna sit still for this. I'm calling the union, pronto. Others grumble. "Yeah!". Meanwhile, Sykes has decided something. He heads toward Warner's office. Fedorchuk sees this. FEDORCHUK Where the hell is he going? INT. WARNER'S OFFICE - DAY Sykes KNOCKS and enters. WARNER Yeah, Sykes? SYKES Captain. I'd like to volunteer for duty with the new detective. Warner is surprised. He never expected Sykes. WARNER ... All right. Detective Sergeant Sykes, this is Detective... Jetson. JETSON We have met. Warner looks up, clocking this. He looks at Sykes, starting to smell something fishy. The balding man, GOLDRUP, rises to shake their hands. GOLDRUP Victor Goldrup, Mayor's office. Congratulations, gentlemen. Warner is starting to suspect what Sykes is up to. WARNER (to Sykes) You are to have nothing to do with the investigation into Bill Tuggle's death. You know that. Leave that for Fedorchuk. SYKES (nodding) Departmental policy. WARNER (to Jetson) You? JETSON Yes, sir. WARNER Good. SYKES There's another case I'd like to take. A homicide -- a Newcomer named Hubley. Jetson looks over at Sykes, knows he's up to something. Sykes avoids his look. WARNER Granger and Pitts are already on it. SYKES Granger and Pitts have one hell of a caseload... and I would have thought with Jetson here being the first Newcomer plainclothes, and Hubley's body being found over in the Newcomer community... WARNER Don't tell me what to think. GOLDRUP He's got a point. That's the sort of thing we should be doing with this early advancement program... Long-suffering Warner looks up at Goldrup, then finally sighs with resignation. Sykes grins. CUT TO: INT. STAIRWELL - FIRST FLOOR HALLWAY - DAY The steel door BANGS open and Sykes and Jetson exit. Next to Sykes' slept-in look, Jetson in his grey suit looks like a Jehovah's Witness canvasser. They move past all the black-and-whites pulling out on p.m. watch during: SYKES ... and we work my hours. I'll do the driving, you do the paperwork. You gotta learn it so you might as well do it all. JETSON (after a moment) Sergeant... I'd like to thank you for what you're doing. SYKES What's that? (then realizing) Look, Jetson. Get this straight in your head. We're not pals, we're not married, and we ain't gonna take long moonlight walks together... We're just partners. And don't call me Sergeant. Call me Sykes... or Matt if you have to. JETSON I am George. Sykes nods absently, and they walk on... four and a half steps to be exact. Then it hits Sykes. He seizes up cold. SYKES Wait a minute. George? George Jetson? Jetson nods... he's used to this. Sykes cracks up. SYKES (between laughs) Man, somebody really hung one on you! I've heard some good ones for you guys... Humphrey Bogart, Harley Davidson. I guess the people at immigration got a little punchy after a while, coming up with names for a quarter of a million of you. You weren't at the back of the line, were you, George? JETSON My true name is Ss'tangya T'ssorentsa'. SYKES Gesundheit. You don't mind if I stick to George, do you? EXT. POLICE STATION PARKING AREA - DAY They approach Sykes' ugly sedan, the slug-mobile. SYKES Anyway, what's it matter to you if we think it's funny, right? Whatta you care? JETSON That is exactly so. (completely deadpan) It is like your name... Sykes. I'm sure it doesn't bother you at all that it sounds like "ss'ai k'ss", two words in my language which mean "excrement" and "cranium". Sykes looks at him, perplexed. JETSON "Shit... head". Jetson gets in and slams the door, leaving Sykes standing there, the smirk dropping from his face. CUT TO: INT. SLUG-MOBILE - DAY They're cruising along in downtown traffic. Sykes drives. Jetson is somewhat cramped in the passenger seat. SYKES Let's talk Hubley. JETSON (refers to a folder he holds) His body was discovered three days ago, in an alley off of Central Avenue, near downtown. SYKES With two

cussy

How many times the word 'cussy' appears in the text?

Alien Nation Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Alien Nation - by Rochne O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron ALIEN NATION Original Screenplay by Rockne S. O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron October 1987 FADE IN: EXT. MOJAVE DESERT - DAY (TELEVISION IMAGE) A LONG LENS SHOT of a far distant metallic object hovering just above the ground -- maybe two or three miles away. The heat waves and the light refraction off the desert- scape make the object undulate rhythmically, keeping its true shape and appearance indistinct. The VIDEO CAMERA recording this scene zooms back, then pans over -- revealing a semicircle of US Army vehicles and personnel. Army Engineers with their tripod-mounted scopes and binoculars are shoulder to shoulder with the armed infantry. Everyone stares off at the same point on the horizon. Waiting. The VIDEO CAMERA movements are HANDHELD, unsteady, as it moves through the line of Army personnel to reveal a second, less organized semicircle of observers fifty yards behind the Army. LOCALS from nearby towns perch in truck beds and on car roofs, Budweiser and Fritos at hand, eyes glued to the distant object. The VIDEO CAMERA image climbs up onto the roof of a parked local TV van, finds the object again in the distance, zooms in, and waits, like everyone else. Abruptly the VIDEO IMAGE contracts, becoming a box CHROMAKEYED behind CNN reporter DUNCAN CRAIS. CRAIS That was the scene in California's Mojave Desert three years ago today -- the historic first view of the Newcomer ship upon its dramatic arrival. As with the assassination of John Kennedy, who among us does not remember exactly where he was that October nineteenth morning, when news first broke: that people have landed... from another star. We PULL BACK from a large television set to reveal... INT. A CROWDED BAR - LOS ANGELES - NIGHT The Hollowpoint Lounge -- a cop bar. The off-duty uniformed and plainclothes cops are mostly ignoring the TV, except for two detectives, FEDORCHUK and ALTEREZ, who are waiting for the ball scores. FEDORCHUK I remember where I was -- pissing off my balcony at the neighbor's dog! Others laugh. ALTEREZ (yells at Crais on TV) Get to the goddamn ball scores! ON THE TV SCREEN, an on-location interview with a CAL-TECH PROFESSOR comes up. Her name and title appear across the bottom of the screen. CAL-TECH PROFESSOR From the time mankind first gazed up at the stars there had been speculation about a visit by people from "out there." How ironic that when that first contact was made, the two hundred and sixty thousand occupants aboard the craft were as surprised as we were about their arrival. That they awakened from frozen hibernation to find their malfunctioning autopilot had landed them here by mistake. The CNN reporter, Duncan Crais, appears again. CRAIS These "Newcomers," we soon learned, were a genetically-engineered race, adapted for hard labor in almost any environmental condition. In effect, their ship was a slave ship... washed ashore on Earth with no way to get back to where they came from... A dishwasher tray filled with beer glasses CUTS ACROSS FRAME, and we PAN WITH IT as it is slammed down on the countertop. Now an interview with a FRESNO HOUSEWIFE standing outside a supermarket comes on the TV SCREEN. FRESNO HOUSEWIFE When the Newcomers were first let out of the ship, they were quarantined in a camp not ten miles from the town here. You can imagine how the people around here felt about that. But once they were releases from the camp and we got a chance to know them, we saw what nice, quiet people they really are... WIDER revealing a MASSIVE ALIEN FIGURE in a filthy white busboy's uniform. His back is to us as he picks up two trays from the counter. The bartender is dwarfed by this Newcomer, but works around him without apparent concern. Fedorchuk addresses the alien busboy. FEDORCHUK Hey, Henry, how you doin' tonight? Workin' hard? The Newcomer turns -- his face is humanoid, but disturbingly alien. FEDORCHUK You got your green card, buddy? You didn't leave home without it? The cops at the bar crack up. Henry looks at Fedorchuk -- his eyes carrying no malice... or pain. He merely blinks. CUT TO: INT./ EXT. SLUG-MOBILE - STREET - NIGHT An explosion of color and movement as OPENING TITLES PLAY very quickly. We're TRAVELING the streets in a n.d. sedan, getting MOVING GLIMPSES of the aliens living among us now: -- A coffee shop where aliens eat at some window tables. -- A Newcomer leaving a night school with an armload of books. -- A city park where a number of alien families have gathered to play some arcane alien game. SYKES Jeez... they call that gang-bang a game...? -- A billboard for Pepsi featuring an alien. -- The sedan has pulled to a stop at a red light. Suddenly a hand thumps against the glass next to Sykes' head... and alien hand. Sykes jumps. It's a NEWCOMER DERELICT standing there, weaving, mumbling in his own language. In one filthy hand holds a quart carton of milk. We know immediately what he wants. Sykes rolls down the window. SYKES Take a hike. Sykes gets a whiff of the derelict's breath as the light changes and the sedan pulls away, leaving him in the street. Sykes grimaces at the smell. SYKES Why's it have to be sour milk that these guys get wasted on? What the hell's wrong with Jack Daniels, or Thunderbird for chrissakes? (beat; disgusted) Slagtown. Shit... -- Aliens hanging around outside their homes. -- Alien hookers plying their trade. SYKES Hope their plumbing's the same. TUGGLE It is. (and Sykes gives him a look) -- A Newcomer lowrider pulls up beside the slug-mobile. -- An alien couple exit a theater playing "Terminator III". -- An alien wig shop. ANGLE TITLES END, and we start to PULL BACK into the slug-mobile and HEAR: TUGGLE (O.S.) So you gonna go, or you not gonna go? INT. SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT The dashboard is littered with fast-food detritus and two coffees in styrofoam cups making fog circles on the windshield. A hand picks up one of the coffees and we FOLLOW IT to a face, a forty-year-old cop face that's seen some wear and tear -- behind the wheel is MATT SYKES. Beside him is his partner of nine years, BILL TUGGLE. Tuggle expertly munches on a slice of pizza as he talks. SYKES How can I go? TUGGLE Put on your wash-and-wear suit and your clip-on tie, have your landlady tie your shoes for you, and show up at the church. Simple. (beat) Me and Carol are going. SYKES What? TUGGLE Hey, look -- we've known Kristin since... since she was conceived in that cabin up in Big Bear. Remember? You and Edie banged the wall so hard, me and Carol were picking plaster out of our hair for a week... SYKES Goddammit, Tug -- I want to see Kristin get married, okay? But-- TUGGLE But you're bummed because your ex and her new husband are paying for the whole thing. SYKES Shit, if Kristin had to get married where I could afford it, we'd be holding the reception at Buddy's Burgers. Sykes stares out the window, wallowing in his pissed-off mood. Then he spots something that twinges his street-cop radar. SYKES Uh-oh... Check it out. THROUGH THE WINDOW Tuggle sees what Sykes sees: two ALIENS in long coats moving down the sidewalk, entering a mom- and-pop mini-mart on the corner. One of them wears dark glasses and a red bandana (KIPLING): the other has on a black vinyl raincoat. SYKES Does that look at all suspicious to you? TUGGLE Whatever gave you that idea? EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes continues up a quarter of a block, pulls to the curb among other parked cars. INT. SEDAN - NIGHT Sykes is already pulling his gun. Tuggle quickly reaches for the radio in the glovebox. TUGGLE This is one-Henry-seven, we've got a possible two-eleven in progress at Porter's Mini-Mart, corner of Court and Alvarado. Requesting backup. Impulsive Sykes is already opening his door and climbing out. SYKES Let's do it, partner. Tuggle drops the radio mike and follows Sykes as the Radio Dispatcher confirms the call. EXT. STREET - NIGHT The two cops, guns in hand, move along the row of parked cars across the street from the mini-mart. Through the store window they see the old alien PROPRIETOR behind the counter. His eyes go wide as Kipling whips back his coat and yanks out a short combat pump-shotgun and aims it right at him. The Raincoat alien pulls an identical gun and covers the door. Sykes and Tuggle react to the firepower inside. SYKES You got your vest? TUGGLE Of course. Right in the trunk of the car. SYKES Yeah, that's comforting. Mine, too. Through the store window the robbery continues in pantomime. Kipling gestures viciously with the shotgun, yelling orders in the alien language. The Proprietor is quickly filling a paper bag with cash from the register. The PROPRIETOR'S WIFE, a middle-aged alien woman, stands in the doorway from the back, frozen in fear. The Raincoat alien dances from foot to foot, antsy, wired. Sykes and Tuggle crouch at the car directly across the street from the store entrance. TUGGLE Watch the driver. I'm going for a better angle on the door. SYKES I got him. Don't get pinned. Tuggle leaves the cover provided by the car, runs cater- corner across the intersection. Through the store window Sykes sees Kipling grab the bag of cash, shove it in his coat pocket. Bills fall out, but he doesn't care. Then, without warning, Kipling whips up the twelve gauge and blows a hole in the Proprietor's chest! The Proprietor slams back against the shelves, slides to the floor. Kipling leans over the counter and FIRES another round into the Proprietor. SYKES (under his breath) Aw, shit. Tuggle is almost across the street when he hears the shots. The human DRIVER of the getaway car (parked at the curb a few doors down from the mini-mart) glances up, spots Tuggle. He leans on the HORN, reaches for a machine pistol on the seat next to him. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling and Raincoat alien react to the horn honk. They spot Tuggle through the store window and open fire -- BLASTING THROUGH THE GLASS. A civilian car enters the intersection. The engine is hit by shotgun fire, and the car skids to a stop in the intersection, steam rising from the radiator. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Tuggle dives behind a lamp post. The Driver is out of the car now, brings up the machine pistol to fire at Tuggle. Sykes sees this and opens fire at the Driver. The Driver turns and fires at Sykes. Sykes ducks down, and the car he's hiding behind is sprayed with bullets. A forty-foot moving van pulls down the street between Sykes and the Driver. Once the truck is past, Sykes is standing behind the bullet-riddled car, gun ready. He rapid-fires -- creaming the human Driver. Tuggle is pinned down behind the thin lamp post by the shotgun fire from Kipling and Raincoat alien. SYKES Get outta there! TUGGLE I can't! Do you mind! SYKES I'll cover you! Get outta there!! Sykes rises and runs across the street toward the getaway car, firing toward the store as he goes. Kipling and Raincoat dodge behind cover. Tuggle seizes the opportunity, jumps from behind the lamp post and runs to the stalled civilian car. He slides across the hood and drops behind the car for cover. Tuggle slowly pokes his head up to peer through the car window. His gaze is met by the face of the OLD MAN driver who is still inside the car. OLD MAN Can I get out now? TUGGLE Move it! Sykes doesn't have a clear firing line on the aliens in the store. As he considers his next move-- Tuggle fires at the two aliens. They return fire and he slides down to safety behind the car. Or so he thinks. Glass rains down on him as the car windows are cremated by the shotgun blasts. He flinches as another blast hits the car. He looks over. There's a big exit hole in the fender beside him. THE SHOT WENT RIGHT THROUGH THE CAR. Another exit hole is BLASTED, inches from his shoulder. Panicked, he scrambles along the side of the car -- BLASTS and exit holes following him until he reaches the front of the car. He has nowhere left to go and-- -- a BLAST comes through the car and catches him squarely in the chest throwing him back onto the street. Sykes' head jerks around -- in time to see his partner of nine years blown away. Kipling keeps firing in Tuggle's direction until his shotgun CLICKS empty. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling grabs Raincoat and throws him toward the back exit of the store. The shotgun falls from Raincoat's hands. The two of them run out the back. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes runs to Tuggle's spread-eagled body. One glance is enough. Nobody ever looked deader. SYKES Aw shit, Tug, Jesus! Goddamn it! He stares, shocked and incredulous. He can't find a way to think or feel about this. Then we see him going crazy right before our eyes, the rage revving. He takes off toward the store as SIRENS are HEARD rapidly approaching in background. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Sykes moves through like a locomotive skidding on broken glass, bangs through the exit. EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT Sykes catches sight of the two aliens just as they round the corner at the far end of the alley. He takes off, quickly cranking up to full speed. EXT. BACK STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds the corner. Doesn't see them anymore. He slows... moves along this street with some caution. Lots of shadows, lots of hiding places. Sykes HEARS a NOISE, looks up... just in time to see Raincoat on a high, huge billboard. He cuts loose with the shotgun. Sykes dives. Huge chunks of the crate he dives behind fly off into the night. Sykes, on his belly, scrambles deeper among the crates. Raincoat's shotgun CLICKS empty now. He drops it, swings down off the fire escape, runs off. Sykes is up again in a flash, pounding after him. EXT. TUNNEL STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds this second corner, races down the street. The only route they could've taken is through a tunnel up ahead. Sykes approaches the tunnel, all senses wide open. INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT The murkiness of the tunnel engulfs him as he moves through the mouth. He tries to control his breathing so he can hear. The only SOUND is his own shoes scuffing along the asphalt. Then he HEARS -- another set of FOOTSTEPS. Rapid footsteps, coming toward him, ECHOING. He can't tell from which direction! He spins, just as a LARGE SHAPE lunges for him with an alien CRY. It's the wired Raincoat alien. Sykes gets his gun up just in time and FIRES -- once, twice, three times. Raincoat alien is knocked backwards to the wet asphalt by the blasts. Sykes approaches the body slowly. With an inhuman ROAR, the alien snaps forward, lunging at Sykes with outstretched arms. Sykes jumps back, startled, and FIRES twice more at the pale figure. Raincoat goes down and stays down. Sykes relaxes for the briefest moment. Then he HEARS it... a distinctive CLICKING SOUND, metal on metal. Sykes looks up and -- Kipling drops down on him from directly above! Sykes goes down in a heap. He's managed to hold onto the gun and as Kipling comes for him, he swings the gun hand around. Kipling sees it, lashes out, slamming the gun from Sykes' hand. Sykes tries to get to his feet, but the alien grabs him and flings him down the tunnel. A SIREN is HEARD approaching in background. Kipling moves in to deliver the coup de grace. As he draws near, Sykes HEARS that distinctive CLICKING SOUND again. SYKES' P.O.V. Though his vision is BLURRED, Sykes still gets a good look at an exotic silver bracelet on the alien's wrist. The strands of this bracelet are what make the CLINKING NOISE. ANGLE The alien rears back, and as he does, the approaching SIREN suddenly WAILS louder as a backup patrol car swings onto the street heading this way. Kipling sees this and leaves Sykes, running off down the dark tunnel. ON SYKES dazed, struggling to rise. WE HEAR running FOOTSTEPS approaching. Sykes turns, his eyes wild and unfocused. SYKES' P.O.V. An OUT-OF-FOCUS ALIEN FACE looming over him. ANGLE Sykes whips around in a roundhouse swing with all his weight on it, pistoning his fist straight into the alien face. The alien, caught by surprise and off balance, sprawls backward OUT OF FRAME. Sykes is grabbed by a human uniformed cop, as he tries to swing again. HUMAN COP Whoa, whoa... hold it. Take it easy. (to alien on the ground) You okay? Sykes stops struggling, and his eyes focus. He looks at the alien he just decked, sprawled on his ass ten feet away. The alien is a uniformed cop... his name is JETSON. JETSON I am all right. He gets up. A trickle of purple blood runs from his nose. HUMAN COP I better call in. He moves off. Jetson moves toward Sykes and the Raincoat alien's body. Sykes tenses, thinking Jetson might retaliate in some way. But Jetson simply steps past him to kneel beside the dead alien. He checks for a pulse on the underside of the dead alien's upper arm. Nothing. Sykes is holding his punching hand in obvious pain. He struggles to rise. Jetson gets an arm around him to help him up. JETSON Your hand will require attention. Sykes roughly jerks himself free of Jetson's grip. SYKES Get the hell away from me! I don't need your goddamn help. He almost loses his balance and has to steady himself against the tunnel wall. Sykes leans there, the picture of impotent rage and frustration. Jetson looks at him, with that slight inquisitive expression aliens exhibit when trying to understand human nature. EXT. MINI-MART - NIGHT OPEN on Tuggle's body, as the body bag is zipped up over his face, and the litter is lifted into the back of the Coroner's wagon. WIDEN to reveal Sykes, standing nearby, watching. The Wagon pulls out, and Sykes turns, moving past all the LAPD black-and-whites and forensics wagons, and COPS (two of them aliens) and DETECTIVES, and RUBBERNECKERS (some alien). He moves into: INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT The CRIME SCENE TEAM is checking for prints, digging slugs out of the wall, photographing everything. Several UNIFORMED COPS mill around. Sykes moves aimlessly around the room like a stranger at a party. The Proprietor's Wife stands near the body in a strange rigid posture, a thin, mournful KEENING SOUND coming from her lips. A harried female uniformed cop is trying to get her away from the body, but can't get her to budge. MINKLER, a ballistics guy, is tagging the pump-shotgun the Raincoat alien dropped here. NATUZZI, a mean-looking veteran uniform cop is with him. NATUZZI Looks like a standard combat pump- action. MINKLER It is. NATUZZI So what punched holes clear through that car out there? Minkler pulls an evidence baggie from his work box. Inside are four unfired twelve gauge shells. MINKLER BRI Sabot slugs. These puppies are nasty. Two plastic sabots fall away in flight leaving a fifty-caliber slug going two thousand feet per second. Tug might as well've been hiding behind a rosebush. Minkler senses somebody has just stepped up beside him. He looks. It's Sykes. NATUZZI Pretty heavy artillery for knocking over a liquor store. A new voice enters the conversation. JETSON (O.S.) An identical round was used in the shooting of a Newcomer named Hubley, two days ago. Sykes turns -- surprised, and not especially pleased to see the voice is Jetson's. MINKLER Yeah? So why the extra fire power? JETSON Perhaps because even the larger caliber handguns aren't always effective against my people. SYKES (mulls this, then) You saying there's some connection to this other homicide? Before Jetson can say, the female cop who was talking to the Proprietor's Wife steps up. FEMALE COP Hey, give me a hand with this woman, will ya Jetson? We've got to get her to Division for her statement and she won't budge. JETSON (to Sykes) Excuse me. And he moves off with his partner. Sykes calls after him, but Jetson is already approaching the woman and doesn't turn. SYKES So, you think there's a connection, or what? Hey! CUT TO: EXT. SYKES' APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT The slug-mobile pulls up. A drained Sykes moves up the walk to his front door. INT. SYKES' APARTMENT - NIGHT Sykes enters his apartment, an untidy bachelor place decorated with negative taste. It's obviously the maid's decade off. By rote, he hits the rewind switch on the answering machine on his way into the kitchen. The tape rewinds. He opens the fridge. Not much here. Left-over take-out pizza carton. Left-over take-out Chinese food cartons. Left-over take-out burger wrappers. The answering machine message begins -- he glances over his shoulder as he HEARS his daughter's VOICE. During the following, he reaches the fridge. Brings out a milk carton that's in his way, sets it on the counter. Reaches in again and this time brings out a bottle of Stoly. Then searches for a semi-clean glass. KRISTIN'S VOICE (bouncy, bride-to-be happy) Hi, Daddy, it's me. I'm over at Danny's parents' house... talking about Sunday. I thought maybe you'd be home by now. Anyway, uh, nothing really. I just wanted to call and say I love you. I love you, Daddy. (she giggles) Uh-oh, I shouldn't'a done that. Knowing you, you'll probably pull this tape out of your machine and save it -- in that drawer where you keep every card I ever gave you, and all of my old baby teeth... gross! Anyway, Daddy, don't save this tape -- but I do love you, and I'll talk to you before Sunday. (beat) Oh, Tug and Carol came by and met Danny last week. (Sykes stiffens) Danny thought Tug was the greatest -- but, then, who doesn't? Anyway, love you, talk to you soon. 'Bye. The machine BEEPS and HISSES. Sykes take the glass and the bottle of vodka, crosses back toward the living room, switching off the answering machine as he goes. Then he stops, turns back, takes the message tape out of the machine and tosses it into a drawer. FADE TO: INT. DETECTIVE SQUAD ROOM - DAY Sykes enters, stirring a jumbo coffee. He's slept about four hours, and his face looks like he went a few with Hagler. He crosses straight to Fedorchuk's desk. SYKES So what've you got on Tuggle's killers? FEDORCHUK Jesus, Sykes -- it's been less than ten hours. Me and Alterez are on it, okay? SYKES You don't have squat. FEDORCHUK You ever try to make a case in Slagtown? The list of Newcomer informants is about as long as the list of Mexican war heroes... ALTEREZ Up yours. FEDORCHUK ... Nobody talks to nobody down there. Half of them don't speak English and the other half only when it suits them. It's gonna take some time. SYKES Yeah, I know it's gonna take time. Like until the Ice Capades opens in Hell, with you two on it. Across the room, the Captain's door BANGS open and CAPTAIN WARNER pounds out, his deep voice booming through the squad room. WARNER Nobody wanders off! I got an announcement. Get your asses back in here. Two detectives on their way out, stop, and head back into the room. Everybody gathers around, curious, as Warner stands holding a sheet of paper. WARNER I'll make this short. This is a directive from Chief Evaner, who is acting on orders from the Mayor, who is under mandate from the Federal Bureau of Newcomer Relations. As of nine o'clock this morning, one Newcomer uniform officer has been promoted to the rank of Detective, third grade. The detectives GROAN... some angrier ones grumble, "This is bullshit!", etc. WARNER And we've got him, gentleman. (more groans) Volunteers for duty with the new detective should see me in my office... otherwise I will choose a volunteer myself. That is all. He turns and heads back to his office in the wake of continued grumbling from the detectives. Sykes, standing to one side, absently watches Warner return to his glass- walled office. Waiting inside are a balding man and an alien in a grey suit. Sykes reacts. The alien in the suit is Jetson. The grumbling continues around him as Sykes considers something. FEDORCHUK Unbelievable bullshit. ALTEREZ How long has this Slag been on the force? A year, max -- right? DETECTIVE I don't know about the rest of you, but I sure as hell ain't gonna sit still for this. I'm calling the union, pronto. Others grumble. "Yeah!". Meanwhile, Sykes has decided something. He heads toward Warner's office. Fedorchuk sees this. FEDORCHUK Where the hell is he going? INT. WARNER'S OFFICE - DAY Sykes KNOCKS and enters. WARNER Yeah, Sykes? SYKES Captain. I'd like to volunteer for duty with the new detective. Warner is surprised. He never expected Sykes. WARNER ... All right. Detective Sergeant Sykes, this is Detective... Jetson. JETSON We have met. Warner looks up, clocking this. He looks at Sykes, starting to smell something fishy. The balding man, GOLDRUP, rises to shake their hands. GOLDRUP Victor Goldrup, Mayor's office. Congratulations, gentlemen. Warner is starting to suspect what Sykes is up to. WARNER (to Sykes) You are to have nothing to do with the investigation into Bill Tuggle's death. You know that. Leave that for Fedorchuk. SYKES (nodding) Departmental policy. WARNER (to Jetson) You? JETSON Yes, sir. WARNER Good. SYKES There's another case I'd like to take. A homicide -- a Newcomer named Hubley. Jetson looks over at Sykes, knows he's up to something. Sykes avoids his look. WARNER Granger and Pitts are already on it. SYKES Granger and Pitts have one hell of a caseload... and I would have thought with Jetson here being the first Newcomer plainclothes, and Hubley's body being found over in the Newcomer community... WARNER Don't tell me what to think. GOLDRUP He's got a point. That's the sort of thing we should be doing with this early advancement program... Long-suffering Warner looks up at Goldrup, then finally sighs with resignation. Sykes grins. CUT TO: INT. STAIRWELL - FIRST FLOOR HALLWAY - DAY The steel door BANGS open and Sykes and Jetson exit. Next to Sykes' slept-in look, Jetson in his grey suit looks like a Jehovah's Witness canvasser. They move past all the black-and-whites pulling out on p.m. watch during: SYKES ... and we work my hours. I'll do the driving, you do the paperwork. You gotta learn it so you might as well do it all. JETSON (after a moment) Sergeant... I'd like to thank you for what you're doing. SYKES What's that? (then realizing) Look, Jetson. Get this straight in your head. We're not pals, we're not married, and we ain't gonna take long moonlight walks together... We're just partners. And don't call me Sergeant. Call me Sykes... or Matt if you have to. JETSON I am George. Sykes nods absently, and they walk on... four and a half steps to be exact. Then it hits Sykes. He seizes up cold. SYKES Wait a minute. George? George Jetson? Jetson nods... he's used to this. Sykes cracks up. SYKES (between laughs) Man, somebody really hung one on you! I've heard some good ones for you guys... Humphrey Bogart, Harley Davidson. I guess the people at immigration got a little punchy after a while, coming up with names for a quarter of a million of you. You weren't at the back of the line, were you, George? JETSON My true name is Ss'tangya T'ssorentsa'. SYKES Gesundheit. You don't mind if I stick to George, do you? EXT. POLICE STATION PARKING AREA - DAY They approach Sykes' ugly sedan, the slug-mobile. SYKES Anyway, what's it matter to you if we think it's funny, right? Whatta you care? JETSON That is exactly so. (completely deadpan) It is like your name... Sykes. I'm sure it doesn't bother you at all that it sounds like "ss'ai k'ss", two words in my language which mean "excrement" and "cranium". Sykes looks at him, perplexed. JETSON "Shit... head". Jetson gets in and slams the door, leaving Sykes standing there, the smirk dropping from his face. CUT TO: INT. SLUG-MOBILE - DAY They're cruising along in downtown traffic. Sykes drives. Jetson is somewhat cramped in the passenger seat. SYKES Let's talk Hubley. JETSON (refers to a folder he holds) His body was discovered three days ago, in an alley off of Central Avenue, near downtown. SYKES With two

international

How many times the word 'international' appears in the text?

Alien Nation Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Alien Nation - by Rochne O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron ALIEN NATION Original Screenplay by Rockne S. O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron October 1987 FADE IN: EXT. MOJAVE DESERT - DAY (TELEVISION IMAGE) A LONG LENS SHOT of a far distant metallic object hovering just above the ground -- maybe two or three miles away. The heat waves and the light refraction off the desert- scape make the object undulate rhythmically, keeping its true shape and appearance indistinct. The VIDEO CAMERA recording this scene zooms back, then pans over -- revealing a semicircle of US Army vehicles and personnel. Army Engineers with their tripod-mounted scopes and binoculars are shoulder to shoulder with the armed infantry. Everyone stares off at the same point on the horizon. Waiting. The VIDEO CAMERA movements are HANDHELD, unsteady, as it moves through the line of Army personnel to reveal a second, less organized semicircle of observers fifty yards behind the Army. LOCALS from nearby towns perch in truck beds and on car roofs, Budweiser and Fritos at hand, eyes glued to the distant object. The VIDEO CAMERA image climbs up onto the roof of a parked local TV van, finds the object again in the distance, zooms in, and waits, like everyone else. Abruptly the VIDEO IMAGE contracts, becoming a box CHROMAKEYED behind CNN reporter DUNCAN CRAIS. CRAIS That was the scene in California's Mojave Desert three years ago today -- the historic first view of the Newcomer ship upon its dramatic arrival. As with the assassination of John Kennedy, who among us does not remember exactly where he was that October nineteenth morning, when news first broke: that people have landed... from another star. We PULL BACK from a large television set to reveal... INT. A CROWDED BAR - LOS ANGELES - NIGHT The Hollowpoint Lounge -- a cop bar. The off-duty uniformed and plainclothes cops are mostly ignoring the TV, except for two detectives, FEDORCHUK and ALTEREZ, who are waiting for the ball scores. FEDORCHUK I remember where I was -- pissing off my balcony at the neighbor's dog! Others laugh. ALTEREZ (yells at Crais on TV) Get to the goddamn ball scores! ON THE TV SCREEN, an on-location interview with a CAL-TECH PROFESSOR comes up. Her name and title appear across the bottom of the screen. CAL-TECH PROFESSOR From the time mankind first gazed up at the stars there had been speculation about a visit by people from "out there." How ironic that when that first contact was made, the two hundred and sixty thousand occupants aboard the craft were as surprised as we were about their arrival. That they awakened from frozen hibernation to find their malfunctioning autopilot had landed them here by mistake. The CNN reporter, Duncan Crais, appears again. CRAIS These "Newcomers," we soon learned, were a genetically-engineered race, adapted for hard labor in almost any environmental condition. In effect, their ship was a slave ship... washed ashore on Earth with no way to get back to where they came from... A dishwasher tray filled with beer glasses CUTS ACROSS FRAME, and we PAN WITH IT as it is slammed down on the countertop. Now an interview with a FRESNO HOUSEWIFE standing outside a supermarket comes on the TV SCREEN. FRESNO HOUSEWIFE When the Newcomers were first let out of the ship, they were quarantined in a camp not ten miles from the town here. You can imagine how the people around here felt about that. But once they were releases from the camp and we got a chance to know them, we saw what nice, quiet people they really are... WIDER revealing a MASSIVE ALIEN FIGURE in a filthy white busboy's uniform. His back is to us as he picks up two trays from the counter. The bartender is dwarfed by this Newcomer, but works around him without apparent concern. Fedorchuk addresses the alien busboy. FEDORCHUK Hey, Henry, how you doin' tonight? Workin' hard? The Newcomer turns -- his face is humanoid, but disturbingly alien. FEDORCHUK You got your green card, buddy? You didn't leave home without it? The cops at the bar crack up. Henry looks at Fedorchuk -- his eyes carrying no malice... or pain. He merely blinks. CUT TO: INT./ EXT. SLUG-MOBILE - STREET - NIGHT An explosion of color and movement as OPENING TITLES PLAY very quickly. We're TRAVELING the streets in a n.d. sedan, getting MOVING GLIMPSES of the aliens living among us now: -- A coffee shop where aliens eat at some window tables. -- A Newcomer leaving a night school with an armload of books. -- A city park where a number of alien families have gathered to play some arcane alien game. SYKES Jeez... they call that gang-bang a game...? -- A billboard for Pepsi featuring an alien. -- The sedan has pulled to a stop at a red light. Suddenly a hand thumps against the glass next to Sykes' head... and alien hand. Sykes jumps. It's a NEWCOMER DERELICT standing there, weaving, mumbling in his own language. In one filthy hand holds a quart carton of milk. We know immediately what he wants. Sykes rolls down the window. SYKES Take a hike. Sykes gets a whiff of the derelict's breath as the light changes and the sedan pulls away, leaving him in the street. Sykes grimaces at the smell. SYKES Why's it have to be sour milk that these guys get wasted on? What the hell's wrong with Jack Daniels, or Thunderbird for chrissakes? (beat; disgusted) Slagtown. Shit... -- Aliens hanging around outside their homes. -- Alien hookers plying their trade. SYKES Hope their plumbing's the same. TUGGLE It is. (and Sykes gives him a look) -- A Newcomer lowrider pulls up beside the slug-mobile. -- An alien couple exit a theater playing "Terminator III". -- An alien wig shop. ANGLE TITLES END, and we start to PULL BACK into the slug-mobile and HEAR: TUGGLE (O.S.) So you gonna go, or you not gonna go? INT. SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT The dashboard is littered with fast-food detritus and two coffees in styrofoam cups making fog circles on the windshield. A hand picks up one of the coffees and we FOLLOW IT to a face, a forty-year-old cop face that's seen some wear and tear -- behind the wheel is MATT SYKES. Beside him is his partner of nine years, BILL TUGGLE. Tuggle expertly munches on a slice of pizza as he talks. SYKES How can I go? TUGGLE Put on your wash-and-wear suit and your clip-on tie, have your landlady tie your shoes for you, and show up at the church. Simple. (beat) Me and Carol are going. SYKES What? TUGGLE Hey, look -- we've known Kristin since... since she was conceived in that cabin up in Big Bear. Remember? You and Edie banged the wall so hard, me and Carol were picking plaster out of our hair for a week... SYKES Goddammit, Tug -- I want to see Kristin get married, okay? But-- TUGGLE But you're bummed because your ex and her new husband are paying for the whole thing. SYKES Shit, if Kristin had to get married where I could afford it, we'd be holding the reception at Buddy's Burgers. Sykes stares out the window, wallowing in his pissed-off mood. Then he spots something that twinges his street-cop radar. SYKES Uh-oh... Check it out. THROUGH THE WINDOW Tuggle sees what Sykes sees: two ALIENS in long coats moving down the sidewalk, entering a mom- and-pop mini-mart on the corner. One of them wears dark glasses and a red bandana (KIPLING): the other has on a black vinyl raincoat. SYKES Does that look at all suspicious to you? TUGGLE Whatever gave you that idea? EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes continues up a quarter of a block, pulls to the curb among other parked cars. INT. SEDAN - NIGHT Sykes is already pulling his gun. Tuggle quickly reaches for the radio in the glovebox. TUGGLE This is one-Henry-seven, we've got a possible two-eleven in progress at Porter's Mini-Mart, corner of Court and Alvarado. Requesting backup. Impulsive Sykes is already opening his door and climbing out. SYKES Let's do it, partner. Tuggle drops the radio mike and follows Sykes as the Radio Dispatcher confirms the call. EXT. STREET - NIGHT The two cops, guns in hand, move along the row of parked cars across the street from the mini-mart. Through the store window they see the old alien PROPRIETOR behind the counter. His eyes go wide as Kipling whips back his coat and yanks out a short combat pump-shotgun and aims it right at him. The Raincoat alien pulls an identical gun and covers the door. Sykes and Tuggle react to the firepower inside. SYKES You got your vest? TUGGLE Of course. Right in the trunk of the car. SYKES Yeah, that's comforting. Mine, too. Through the store window the robbery continues in pantomime. Kipling gestures viciously with the shotgun, yelling orders in the alien language. The Proprietor is quickly filling a paper bag with cash from the register. The PROPRIETOR'S WIFE, a middle-aged alien woman, stands in the doorway from the back, frozen in fear. The Raincoat alien dances from foot to foot, antsy, wired. Sykes and Tuggle crouch at the car directly across the street from the store entrance. TUGGLE Watch the driver. I'm going for a better angle on the door. SYKES I got him. Don't get pinned. Tuggle leaves the cover provided by the car, runs cater- corner across the intersection. Through the store window Sykes sees Kipling grab the bag of cash, shove it in his coat pocket. Bills fall out, but he doesn't care. Then, without warning, Kipling whips up the twelve gauge and blows a hole in the Proprietor's chest! The Proprietor slams back against the shelves, slides to the floor. Kipling leans over the counter and FIRES another round into the Proprietor. SYKES (under his breath) Aw, shit. Tuggle is almost across the street when he hears the shots. The human DRIVER of the getaway car (parked at the curb a few doors down from the mini-mart) glances up, spots Tuggle. He leans on the HORN, reaches for a machine pistol on the seat next to him. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling and Raincoat alien react to the horn honk. They spot Tuggle through the store window and open fire -- BLASTING THROUGH THE GLASS. A civilian car enters the intersection. The engine is hit by shotgun fire, and the car skids to a stop in the intersection, steam rising from the radiator. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Tuggle dives behind a lamp post. The Driver is out of the car now, brings up the machine pistol to fire at Tuggle. Sykes sees this and opens fire at the Driver. The Driver turns and fires at Sykes. Sykes ducks down, and the car he's hiding behind is sprayed with bullets. A forty-foot moving van pulls down the street between Sykes and the Driver. Once the truck is past, Sykes is standing behind the bullet-riddled car, gun ready. He rapid-fires -- creaming the human Driver. Tuggle is pinned down behind the thin lamp post by the shotgun fire from Kipling and Raincoat alien. SYKES Get outta there! TUGGLE I can't! Do you mind! SYKES I'll cover you! Get outta there!! Sykes rises and runs across the street toward the getaway car, firing toward the store as he goes. Kipling and Raincoat dodge behind cover. Tuggle seizes the opportunity, jumps from behind the lamp post and runs to the stalled civilian car. He slides across the hood and drops behind the car for cover. Tuggle slowly pokes his head up to peer through the car window. His gaze is met by the face of the OLD MAN driver who is still inside the car. OLD MAN Can I get out now? TUGGLE Move it! Sykes doesn't have a clear firing line on the aliens in the store. As he considers his next move-- Tuggle fires at the two aliens. They return fire and he slides down to safety behind the car. Or so he thinks. Glass rains down on him as the car windows are cremated by the shotgun blasts. He flinches as another blast hits the car. He looks over. There's a big exit hole in the fender beside him. THE SHOT WENT RIGHT THROUGH THE CAR. Another exit hole is BLASTED, inches from his shoulder. Panicked, he scrambles along the side of the car -- BLASTS and exit holes following him until he reaches the front of the car. He has nowhere left to go and-- -- a BLAST comes through the car and catches him squarely in the chest throwing him back onto the street. Sykes' head jerks around -- in time to see his partner of nine years blown away. Kipling keeps firing in Tuggle's direction until his shotgun CLICKS empty. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling grabs Raincoat and throws him toward the back exit of the store. The shotgun falls from Raincoat's hands. The two of them run out the back. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes runs to Tuggle's spread-eagled body. One glance is enough. Nobody ever looked deader. SYKES Aw shit, Tug, Jesus! Goddamn it! He stares, shocked and incredulous. He can't find a way to think or feel about this. Then we see him going crazy right before our eyes, the rage revving. He takes off toward the store as SIRENS are HEARD rapidly approaching in background. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Sykes moves through like a locomotive skidding on broken glass, bangs through the exit. EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT Sykes catches sight of the two aliens just as they round the corner at the far end of the alley. He takes off, quickly cranking up to full speed. EXT. BACK STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds the corner. Doesn't see them anymore. He slows... moves along this street with some caution. Lots of shadows, lots of hiding places. Sykes HEARS a NOISE, looks up... just in time to see Raincoat on a high, huge billboard. He cuts loose with the shotgun. Sykes dives. Huge chunks of the crate he dives behind fly off into the night. Sykes, on his belly, scrambles deeper among the crates. Raincoat's shotgun CLICKS empty now. He drops it, swings down off the fire escape, runs off. Sykes is up again in a flash, pounding after him. EXT. TUNNEL STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds this second corner, races down the street. The only route they could've taken is through a tunnel up ahead. Sykes approaches the tunnel, all senses wide open. INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT The murkiness of the tunnel engulfs him as he moves through the mouth. He tries to control his breathing so he can hear. The only SOUND is his own shoes scuffing along the asphalt. Then he HEARS -- another set of FOOTSTEPS. Rapid footsteps, coming toward him, ECHOING. He can't tell from which direction! He spins, just as a LARGE SHAPE lunges for him with an alien CRY. It's the wired Raincoat alien. Sykes gets his gun up just in time and FIRES -- once, twice, three times. Raincoat alien is knocked backwards to the wet asphalt by the blasts. Sykes approaches the body slowly. With an inhuman ROAR, the alien snaps forward, lunging at Sykes with outstretched arms. Sykes jumps back, startled, and FIRES twice more at the pale figure. Raincoat goes down and stays down. Sykes relaxes for the briefest moment. Then he HEARS it... a distinctive CLICKING SOUND, metal on metal. Sykes looks up and -- Kipling drops down on him from directly above! Sykes goes down in a heap. He's managed to hold onto the gun and as Kipling comes for him, he swings the gun hand around. Kipling sees it, lashes out, slamming the gun from Sykes' hand. Sykes tries to get to his feet, but the alien grabs him and flings him down the tunnel. A SIREN is HEARD approaching in background. Kipling moves in to deliver the coup de grace. As he draws near, Sykes HEARS that distinctive CLICKING SOUND again. SYKES' P.O.V. Though his vision is BLURRED, Sykes still gets a good look at an exotic silver bracelet on the alien's wrist. The strands of this bracelet are what make the CLINKING NOISE. ANGLE The alien rears back, and as he does, the approaching SIREN suddenly WAILS louder as a backup patrol car swings onto the street heading this way. Kipling sees this and leaves Sykes, running off down the dark tunnel. ON SYKES dazed, struggling to rise. WE HEAR running FOOTSTEPS approaching. Sykes turns, his eyes wild and unfocused. SYKES' P.O.V. An OUT-OF-FOCUS ALIEN FACE looming over him. ANGLE Sykes whips around in a roundhouse swing with all his weight on it, pistoning his fist straight into the alien face. The alien, caught by surprise and off balance, sprawls backward OUT OF FRAME. Sykes is grabbed by a human uniformed cop, as he tries to swing again. HUMAN COP Whoa, whoa... hold it. Take it easy. (to alien on the ground) You okay? Sykes stops struggling, and his eyes focus. He looks at the alien he just decked, sprawled on his ass ten feet away. The alien is a uniformed cop... his name is JETSON. JETSON I am all right. He gets up. A trickle of purple blood runs from his nose. HUMAN COP I better call in. He moves off. Jetson moves toward Sykes and the Raincoat alien's body. Sykes tenses, thinking Jetson might retaliate in some way. But Jetson simply steps past him to kneel beside the dead alien. He checks for a pulse on the underside of the dead alien's upper arm. Nothing. Sykes is holding his punching hand in obvious pain. He struggles to rise. Jetson gets an arm around him to help him up. JETSON Your hand will require attention. Sykes roughly jerks himself free of Jetson's grip. SYKES Get the hell away from me! I don't need your goddamn help. He almost loses his balance and has to steady himself against the tunnel wall. Sykes leans there, the picture of impotent rage and frustration. Jetson looks at him, with that slight inquisitive expression aliens exhibit when trying to understand human nature. EXT. MINI-MART - NIGHT OPEN on Tuggle's body, as the body bag is zipped up over his face, and the litter is lifted into the back of the Coroner's wagon. WIDEN to reveal Sykes, standing nearby, watching. The Wagon pulls out, and Sykes turns, moving past all the LAPD black-and-whites and forensics wagons, and COPS (two of them aliens) and DETECTIVES, and RUBBERNECKERS (some alien). He moves into: INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT The CRIME SCENE TEAM is checking for prints, digging slugs out of the wall, photographing everything. Several UNIFORMED COPS mill around. Sykes moves aimlessly around the room like a stranger at a party. The Proprietor's Wife stands near the body in a strange rigid posture, a thin, mournful KEENING SOUND coming from her lips. A harried female uniformed cop is trying to get her away from the body, but can't get her to budge. MINKLER, a ballistics guy, is tagging the pump-shotgun the Raincoat alien dropped here. NATUZZI, a mean-looking veteran uniform cop is with him. NATUZZI Looks like a standard combat pump- action. MINKLER It is. NATUZZI So what punched holes clear through that car out there? Minkler pulls an evidence baggie from his work box. Inside are four unfired twelve gauge shells. MINKLER BRI Sabot slugs. These puppies are nasty. Two plastic sabots fall away in flight leaving a fifty-caliber slug going two thousand feet per second. Tug might as well've been hiding behind a rosebush. Minkler senses somebody has just stepped up beside him. He looks. It's Sykes. NATUZZI Pretty heavy artillery for knocking over a liquor store. A new voice enters the conversation. JETSON (O.S.) An identical round was used in the shooting of a Newcomer named Hubley, two days ago. Sykes turns -- surprised, and not especially pleased to see the voice is Jetson's. MINKLER Yeah? So why the extra fire power? JETSON Perhaps because even the larger caliber handguns aren't always effective against my people. SYKES (mulls this, then) You saying there's some connection to this other homicide? Before Jetson can say, the female cop who was talking to the Proprietor's Wife steps up. FEMALE COP Hey, give me a hand with this woman, will ya Jetson? We've got to get her to Division for her statement and she won't budge. JETSON (to Sykes) Excuse me. And he moves off with his partner. Sykes calls after him, but Jetson is already approaching the woman and doesn't turn. SYKES So, you think there's a connection, or what? Hey! CUT TO: EXT. SYKES' APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT The slug-mobile pulls up. A drained Sykes moves up the walk to his front door. INT. SYKES' APARTMENT - NIGHT Sykes enters his apartment, an untidy bachelor place decorated with negative taste. It's obviously the maid's decade off. By rote, he hits the rewind switch on the answering machine on his way into the kitchen. The tape rewinds. He opens the fridge. Not much here. Left-over take-out pizza carton. Left-over take-out Chinese food cartons. Left-over take-out burger wrappers. The answering machine message begins -- he glances over his shoulder as he HEARS his daughter's VOICE. During the following, he reaches the fridge. Brings out a milk carton that's in his way, sets it on the counter. Reaches in again and this time brings out a bottle of Stoly. Then searches for a semi-clean glass. KRISTIN'S VOICE (bouncy, bride-to-be happy) Hi, Daddy, it's me. I'm over at Danny's parents' house... talking about Sunday. I thought maybe you'd be home by now. Anyway, uh, nothing really. I just wanted to call and say I love you. I love you, Daddy. (she giggles) Uh-oh, I shouldn't'a done that. Knowing you, you'll probably pull this tape out of your machine and save it -- in that drawer where you keep every card I ever gave you, and all of my old baby teeth... gross! Anyway, Daddy, don't save this tape -- but I do love you, and I'll talk to you before Sunday. (beat) Oh, Tug and Carol came by and met Danny last week. (Sykes stiffens) Danny thought Tug was the greatest -- but, then, who doesn't? Anyway, love you, talk to you soon. 'Bye. The machine BEEPS and HISSES. Sykes take the glass and the bottle of vodka, crosses back toward the living room, switching off the answering machine as he goes. Then he stops, turns back, takes the message tape out of the machine and tosses it into a drawer. FADE TO: INT. DETECTIVE SQUAD ROOM - DAY Sykes enters, stirring a jumbo coffee. He's slept about four hours, and his face looks like he went a few with Hagler. He crosses straight to Fedorchuk's desk. SYKES So what've you got on Tuggle's killers? FEDORCHUK Jesus, Sykes -- it's been less than ten hours. Me and Alterez are on it, okay? SYKES You don't have squat. FEDORCHUK You ever try to make a case in Slagtown? The list of Newcomer informants is about as long as the list of Mexican war heroes... ALTEREZ Up yours. FEDORCHUK ... Nobody talks to nobody down there. Half of them don't speak English and the other half only when it suits them. It's gonna take some time. SYKES Yeah, I know it's gonna take time. Like until the Ice Capades opens in Hell, with you two on it. Across the room, the Captain's door BANGS open and CAPTAIN WARNER pounds out, his deep voice booming through the squad room. WARNER Nobody wanders off! I got an announcement. Get your asses back in here. Two detectives on their way out, stop, and head back into the room. Everybody gathers around, curious, as Warner stands holding a sheet of paper. WARNER I'll make this short. This is a directive from Chief Evaner, who is acting on orders from the Mayor, who is under mandate from the Federal Bureau of Newcomer Relations. As of nine o'clock this morning, one Newcomer uniform officer has been promoted to the rank of Detective, third grade. The detectives GROAN... some angrier ones grumble, "This is bullshit!", etc. WARNER And we've got him, gentleman. (more groans) Volunteers for duty with the new detective should see me in my office... otherwise I will choose a volunteer myself. That is all. He turns and heads back to his office in the wake of continued grumbling from the detectives. Sykes, standing to one side, absently watches Warner return to his glass- walled office. Waiting inside are a balding man and an alien in a grey suit. Sykes reacts. The alien in the suit is Jetson. The grumbling continues around him as Sykes considers something. FEDORCHUK Unbelievable bullshit. ALTEREZ How long has this Slag been on the force? A year, max -- right? DETECTIVE I don't know about the rest of you, but I sure as hell ain't gonna sit still for this. I'm calling the union, pronto. Others grumble. "Yeah!". Meanwhile, Sykes has decided something. He heads toward Warner's office. Fedorchuk sees this. FEDORCHUK Where the hell is he going? INT. WARNER'S OFFICE - DAY Sykes KNOCKS and enters. WARNER Yeah, Sykes? SYKES Captain. I'd like to volunteer for duty with the new detective. Warner is surprised. He never expected Sykes. WARNER ... All right. Detective Sergeant Sykes, this is Detective... Jetson. JETSON We have met. Warner looks up, clocking this. He looks at Sykes, starting to smell something fishy. The balding man, GOLDRUP, rises to shake their hands. GOLDRUP Victor Goldrup, Mayor's office. Congratulations, gentlemen. Warner is starting to suspect what Sykes is up to. WARNER (to Sykes) You are to have nothing to do with the investigation into Bill Tuggle's death. You know that. Leave that for Fedorchuk. SYKES (nodding) Departmental policy. WARNER (to Jetson) You? JETSON Yes, sir. WARNER Good. SYKES There's another case I'd like to take. A homicide -- a Newcomer named Hubley. Jetson looks over at Sykes, knows he's up to something. Sykes avoids his look. WARNER Granger and Pitts are already on it. SYKES Granger and Pitts have one hell of a caseload... and I would have thought with Jetson here being the first Newcomer plainclothes, and Hubley's body being found over in the Newcomer community... WARNER Don't tell me what to think. GOLDRUP He's got a point. That's the sort of thing we should be doing with this early advancement program... Long-suffering Warner looks up at Goldrup, then finally sighs with resignation. Sykes grins. CUT TO: INT. STAIRWELL - FIRST FLOOR HALLWAY - DAY The steel door BANGS open and Sykes and Jetson exit. Next to Sykes' slept-in look, Jetson in his grey suit looks like a Jehovah's Witness canvasser. They move past all the black-and-whites pulling out on p.m. watch during: SYKES ... and we work my hours. I'll do the driving, you do the paperwork. You gotta learn it so you might as well do it all. JETSON (after a moment) Sergeant... I'd like to thank you for what you're doing. SYKES What's that? (then realizing) Look, Jetson. Get this straight in your head. We're not pals, we're not married, and we ain't gonna take long moonlight walks together... We're just partners. And don't call me Sergeant. Call me Sykes... or Matt if you have to. JETSON I am George. Sykes nods absently, and they walk on... four and a half steps to be exact. Then it hits Sykes. He seizes up cold. SYKES Wait a minute. George? George Jetson? Jetson nods... he's used to this. Sykes cracks up. SYKES (between laughs) Man, somebody really hung one on you! I've heard some good ones for you guys... Humphrey Bogart, Harley Davidson. I guess the people at immigration got a little punchy after a while, coming up with names for a quarter of a million of you. You weren't at the back of the line, were you, George? JETSON My true name is Ss'tangya T'ssorentsa'. SYKES Gesundheit. You don't mind if I stick to George, do you? EXT. POLICE STATION PARKING AREA - DAY They approach Sykes' ugly sedan, the slug-mobile. SYKES Anyway, what's it matter to you if we think it's funny, right? Whatta you care? JETSON That is exactly so. (completely deadpan) It is like your name... Sykes. I'm sure it doesn't bother you at all that it sounds like "ss'ai k'ss", two words in my language which mean "excrement" and "cranium". Sykes looks at him, perplexed. JETSON "Shit... head". Jetson gets in and slams the door, leaving Sykes standing there, the smirk dropping from his face. CUT TO: INT. SLUG-MOBILE - DAY They're cruising along in downtown traffic. Sykes drives. Jetson is somewhat cramped in the passenger seat. SYKES Let's talk Hubley. JETSON (refers to a folder he holds) His body was discovered three days ago, in an alley off of Central Avenue, near downtown. SYKES With two

semicircle

How many times the word 'semicircle' appears in the text?

Alien Nation Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Alien Nation - by Rochne O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron ALIEN NATION Original Screenplay by Rockne S. O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron October 1987 FADE IN: EXT. MOJAVE DESERT - DAY (TELEVISION IMAGE) A LONG LENS SHOT of a far distant metallic object hovering just above the ground -- maybe two or three miles away. The heat waves and the light refraction off the desert- scape make the object undulate rhythmically, keeping its true shape and appearance indistinct. The VIDEO CAMERA recording this scene zooms back, then pans over -- revealing a semicircle of US Army vehicles and personnel. Army Engineers with their tripod-mounted scopes and binoculars are shoulder to shoulder with the armed infantry. Everyone stares off at the same point on the horizon. Waiting. The VIDEO CAMERA movements are HANDHELD, unsteady, as it moves through the line of Army personnel to reveal a second, less organized semicircle of observers fifty yards behind the Army. LOCALS from nearby towns perch in truck beds and on car roofs, Budweiser and Fritos at hand, eyes glued to the distant object. The VIDEO CAMERA image climbs up onto the roof of a parked local TV van, finds the object again in the distance, zooms in, and waits, like everyone else. Abruptly the VIDEO IMAGE contracts, becoming a box CHROMAKEYED behind CNN reporter DUNCAN CRAIS. CRAIS That was the scene in California's Mojave Desert three years ago today -- the historic first view of the Newcomer ship upon its dramatic arrival. As with the assassination of John Kennedy, who among us does not remember exactly where he was that October nineteenth morning, when news first broke: that people have landed... from another star. We PULL BACK from a large television set to reveal... INT. A CROWDED BAR - LOS ANGELES - NIGHT The Hollowpoint Lounge -- a cop bar. The off-duty uniformed and plainclothes cops are mostly ignoring the TV, except for two detectives, FEDORCHUK and ALTEREZ, who are waiting for the ball scores. FEDORCHUK I remember where I was -- pissing off my balcony at the neighbor's dog! Others laugh. ALTEREZ (yells at Crais on TV) Get to the goddamn ball scores! ON THE TV SCREEN, an on-location interview with a CAL-TECH PROFESSOR comes up. Her name and title appear across the bottom of the screen. CAL-TECH PROFESSOR From the time mankind first gazed up at the stars there had been speculation about a visit by people from "out there." How ironic that when that first contact was made, the two hundred and sixty thousand occupants aboard the craft were as surprised as we were about their arrival. That they awakened from frozen hibernation to find their malfunctioning autopilot had landed them here by mistake. The CNN reporter, Duncan Crais, appears again. CRAIS These "Newcomers," we soon learned, were a genetically-engineered race, adapted for hard labor in almost any environmental condition. In effect, their ship was a slave ship... washed ashore on Earth with no way to get back to where they came from... A dishwasher tray filled with beer glasses CUTS ACROSS FRAME, and we PAN WITH IT as it is slammed down on the countertop. Now an interview with a FRESNO HOUSEWIFE standing outside a supermarket comes on the TV SCREEN. FRESNO HOUSEWIFE When the Newcomers were first let out of the ship, they were quarantined in a camp not ten miles from the town here. You can imagine how the people around here felt about that. But once they were releases from the camp and we got a chance to know them, we saw what nice, quiet people they really are... WIDER revealing a MASSIVE ALIEN FIGURE in a filthy white busboy's uniform. His back is to us as he picks up two trays from the counter. The bartender is dwarfed by this Newcomer, but works around him without apparent concern. Fedorchuk addresses the alien busboy. FEDORCHUK Hey, Henry, how you doin' tonight? Workin' hard? The Newcomer turns -- his face is humanoid, but disturbingly alien. FEDORCHUK You got your green card, buddy? You didn't leave home without it? The cops at the bar crack up. Henry looks at Fedorchuk -- his eyes carrying no malice... or pain. He merely blinks. CUT TO: INT./ EXT. SLUG-MOBILE - STREET - NIGHT An explosion of color and movement as OPENING TITLES PLAY very quickly. We're TRAVELING the streets in a n.d. sedan, getting MOVING GLIMPSES of the aliens living among us now: -- A coffee shop where aliens eat at some window tables. -- A Newcomer leaving a night school with an armload of books. -- A city park where a number of alien families have gathered to play some arcane alien game. SYKES Jeez... they call that gang-bang a game...? -- A billboard for Pepsi featuring an alien. -- The sedan has pulled to a stop at a red light. Suddenly a hand thumps against the glass next to Sykes' head... and alien hand. Sykes jumps. It's a NEWCOMER DERELICT standing there, weaving, mumbling in his own language. In one filthy hand holds a quart carton of milk. We know immediately what he wants. Sykes rolls down the window. SYKES Take a hike. Sykes gets a whiff of the derelict's breath as the light changes and the sedan pulls away, leaving him in the street. Sykes grimaces at the smell. SYKES Why's it have to be sour milk that these guys get wasted on? What the hell's wrong with Jack Daniels, or Thunderbird for chrissakes? (beat; disgusted) Slagtown. Shit... -- Aliens hanging around outside their homes. -- Alien hookers plying their trade. SYKES Hope their plumbing's the same. TUGGLE It is. (and Sykes gives him a look) -- A Newcomer lowrider pulls up beside the slug-mobile. -- An alien couple exit a theater playing "Terminator III". -- An alien wig shop. ANGLE TITLES END, and we start to PULL BACK into the slug-mobile and HEAR: TUGGLE (O.S.) So you gonna go, or you not gonna go? INT. SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT The dashboard is littered with fast-food detritus and two coffees in styrofoam cups making fog circles on the windshield. A hand picks up one of the coffees and we FOLLOW IT to a face, a forty-year-old cop face that's seen some wear and tear -- behind the wheel is MATT SYKES. Beside him is his partner of nine years, BILL TUGGLE. Tuggle expertly munches on a slice of pizza as he talks. SYKES How can I go? TUGGLE Put on your wash-and-wear suit and your clip-on tie, have your landlady tie your shoes for you, and show up at the church. Simple. (beat) Me and Carol are going. SYKES What? TUGGLE Hey, look -- we've known Kristin since... since she was conceived in that cabin up in Big Bear. Remember? You and Edie banged the wall so hard, me and Carol were picking plaster out of our hair for a week... SYKES Goddammit, Tug -- I want to see Kristin get married, okay? But-- TUGGLE But you're bummed because your ex and her new husband are paying for the whole thing. SYKES Shit, if Kristin had to get married where I could afford it, we'd be holding the reception at Buddy's Burgers. Sykes stares out the window, wallowing in his pissed-off mood. Then he spots something that twinges his street-cop radar. SYKES Uh-oh... Check it out. THROUGH THE WINDOW Tuggle sees what Sykes sees: two ALIENS in long coats moving down the sidewalk, entering a mom- and-pop mini-mart on the corner. One of them wears dark glasses and a red bandana (KIPLING): the other has on a black vinyl raincoat. SYKES Does that look at all suspicious to you? TUGGLE Whatever gave you that idea? EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes continues up a quarter of a block, pulls to the curb among other parked cars. INT. SEDAN - NIGHT Sykes is already pulling his gun. Tuggle quickly reaches for the radio in the glovebox. TUGGLE This is one-Henry-seven, we've got a possible two-eleven in progress at Porter's Mini-Mart, corner of Court and Alvarado. Requesting backup. Impulsive Sykes is already opening his door and climbing out. SYKES Let's do it, partner. Tuggle drops the radio mike and follows Sykes as the Radio Dispatcher confirms the call. EXT. STREET - NIGHT The two cops, guns in hand, move along the row of parked cars across the street from the mini-mart. Through the store window they see the old alien PROPRIETOR behind the counter. His eyes go wide as Kipling whips back his coat and yanks out a short combat pump-shotgun and aims it right at him. The Raincoat alien pulls an identical gun and covers the door. Sykes and Tuggle react to the firepower inside. SYKES You got your vest? TUGGLE Of course. Right in the trunk of the car. SYKES Yeah, that's comforting. Mine, too. Through the store window the robbery continues in pantomime. Kipling gestures viciously with the shotgun, yelling orders in the alien language. The Proprietor is quickly filling a paper bag with cash from the register. The PROPRIETOR'S WIFE, a middle-aged alien woman, stands in the doorway from the back, frozen in fear. The Raincoat alien dances from foot to foot, antsy, wired. Sykes and Tuggle crouch at the car directly across the street from the store entrance. TUGGLE Watch the driver. I'm going for a better angle on the door. SYKES I got him. Don't get pinned. Tuggle leaves the cover provided by the car, runs cater- corner across the intersection. Through the store window Sykes sees Kipling grab the bag of cash, shove it in his coat pocket. Bills fall out, but he doesn't care. Then, without warning, Kipling whips up the twelve gauge and blows a hole in the Proprietor's chest! The Proprietor slams back against the shelves, slides to the floor. Kipling leans over the counter and FIRES another round into the Proprietor. SYKES (under his breath) Aw, shit. Tuggle is almost across the street when he hears the shots. The human DRIVER of the getaway car (parked at the curb a few doors down from the mini-mart) glances up, spots Tuggle. He leans on the HORN, reaches for a machine pistol on the seat next to him. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling and Raincoat alien react to the horn honk. They spot Tuggle through the store window and open fire -- BLASTING THROUGH THE GLASS. A civilian car enters the intersection. The engine is hit by shotgun fire, and the car skids to a stop in the intersection, steam rising from the radiator. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Tuggle dives behind a lamp post. The Driver is out of the car now, brings up the machine pistol to fire at Tuggle. Sykes sees this and opens fire at the Driver. The Driver turns and fires at Sykes. Sykes ducks down, and the car he's hiding behind is sprayed with bullets. A forty-foot moving van pulls down the street between Sykes and the Driver. Once the truck is past, Sykes is standing behind the bullet-riddled car, gun ready. He rapid-fires -- creaming the human Driver. Tuggle is pinned down behind the thin lamp post by the shotgun fire from Kipling and Raincoat alien. SYKES Get outta there! TUGGLE I can't! Do you mind! SYKES I'll cover you! Get outta there!! Sykes rises and runs across the street toward the getaway car, firing toward the store as he goes. Kipling and Raincoat dodge behind cover. Tuggle seizes the opportunity, jumps from behind the lamp post and runs to the stalled civilian car. He slides across the hood and drops behind the car for cover. Tuggle slowly pokes his head up to peer through the car window. His gaze is met by the face of the OLD MAN driver who is still inside the car. OLD MAN Can I get out now? TUGGLE Move it! Sykes doesn't have a clear firing line on the aliens in the store. As he considers his next move-- Tuggle fires at the two aliens. They return fire and he slides down to safety behind the car. Or so he thinks. Glass rains down on him as the car windows are cremated by the shotgun blasts. He flinches as another blast hits the car. He looks over. There's a big exit hole in the fender beside him. THE SHOT WENT RIGHT THROUGH THE CAR. Another exit hole is BLASTED, inches from his shoulder. Panicked, he scrambles along the side of the car -- BLASTS and exit holes following him until he reaches the front of the car. He has nowhere left to go and-- -- a BLAST comes through the car and catches him squarely in the chest throwing him back onto the street. Sykes' head jerks around -- in time to see his partner of nine years blown away. Kipling keeps firing in Tuggle's direction until his shotgun CLICKS empty. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling grabs Raincoat and throws him toward the back exit of the store. The shotgun falls from Raincoat's hands. The two of them run out the back. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes runs to Tuggle's spread-eagled body. One glance is enough. Nobody ever looked deader. SYKES Aw shit, Tug, Jesus! Goddamn it! He stares, shocked and incredulous. He can't find a way to think or feel about this. Then we see him going crazy right before our eyes, the rage revving. He takes off toward the store as SIRENS are HEARD rapidly approaching in background. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Sykes moves through like a locomotive skidding on broken glass, bangs through the exit. EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT Sykes catches sight of the two aliens just as they round the corner at the far end of the alley. He takes off, quickly cranking up to full speed. EXT. BACK STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds the corner. Doesn't see them anymore. He slows... moves along this street with some caution. Lots of shadows, lots of hiding places. Sykes HEARS a NOISE, looks up... just in time to see Raincoat on a high, huge billboard. He cuts loose with the shotgun. Sykes dives. Huge chunks of the crate he dives behind fly off into the night. Sykes, on his belly, scrambles deeper among the crates. Raincoat's shotgun CLICKS empty now. He drops it, swings down off the fire escape, runs off. Sykes is up again in a flash, pounding after him. EXT. TUNNEL STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds this second corner, races down the street. The only route they could've taken is through a tunnel up ahead. Sykes approaches the tunnel, all senses wide open. INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT The murkiness of the tunnel engulfs him as he moves through the mouth. He tries to control his breathing so he can hear. The only SOUND is his own shoes scuffing along the asphalt. Then he HEARS -- another set of FOOTSTEPS. Rapid footsteps, coming toward him, ECHOING. He can't tell from which direction! He spins, just as a LARGE SHAPE lunges for him with an alien CRY. It's the wired Raincoat alien. Sykes gets his gun up just in time and FIRES -- once, twice, three times. Raincoat alien is knocked backwards to the wet asphalt by the blasts. Sykes approaches the body slowly. With an inhuman ROAR, the alien snaps forward, lunging at Sykes with outstretched arms. Sykes jumps back, startled, and FIRES twice more at the pale figure. Raincoat goes down and stays down. Sykes relaxes for the briefest moment. Then he HEARS it... a distinctive CLICKING SOUND, metal on metal. Sykes looks up and -- Kipling drops down on him from directly above! Sykes goes down in a heap. He's managed to hold onto the gun and as Kipling comes for him, he swings the gun hand around. Kipling sees it, lashes out, slamming the gun from Sykes' hand. Sykes tries to get to his feet, but the alien grabs him and flings him down the tunnel. A SIREN is HEARD approaching in background. Kipling moves in to deliver the coup de grace. As he draws near, Sykes HEARS that distinctive CLICKING SOUND again. SYKES' P.O.V. Though his vision is BLURRED, Sykes still gets a good look at an exotic silver bracelet on the alien's wrist. The strands of this bracelet are what make the CLINKING NOISE. ANGLE The alien rears back, and as he does, the approaching SIREN suddenly WAILS louder as a backup patrol car swings onto the street heading this way. Kipling sees this and leaves Sykes, running off down the dark tunnel. ON SYKES dazed, struggling to rise. WE HEAR running FOOTSTEPS approaching. Sykes turns, his eyes wild and unfocused. SYKES' P.O.V. An OUT-OF-FOCUS ALIEN FACE looming over him. ANGLE Sykes whips around in a roundhouse swing with all his weight on it, pistoning his fist straight into the alien face. The alien, caught by surprise and off balance, sprawls backward OUT OF FRAME. Sykes is grabbed by a human uniformed cop, as he tries to swing again. HUMAN COP Whoa, whoa... hold it. Take it easy. (to alien on the ground) You okay? Sykes stops struggling, and his eyes focus. He looks at the alien he just decked, sprawled on his ass ten feet away. The alien is a uniformed cop... his name is JETSON. JETSON I am all right. He gets up. A trickle of purple blood runs from his nose. HUMAN COP I better call in. He moves off. Jetson moves toward Sykes and the Raincoat alien's body. Sykes tenses, thinking Jetson might retaliate in some way. But Jetson simply steps past him to kneel beside the dead alien. He checks for a pulse on the underside of the dead alien's upper arm. Nothing. Sykes is holding his punching hand in obvious pain. He struggles to rise. Jetson gets an arm around him to help him up. JETSON Your hand will require attention. Sykes roughly jerks himself free of Jetson's grip. SYKES Get the hell away from me! I don't need your goddamn help. He almost loses his balance and has to steady himself against the tunnel wall. Sykes leans there, the picture of impotent rage and frustration. Jetson looks at him, with that slight inquisitive expression aliens exhibit when trying to understand human nature. EXT. MINI-MART - NIGHT OPEN on Tuggle's body, as the body bag is zipped up over his face, and the litter is lifted into the back of the Coroner's wagon. WIDEN to reveal Sykes, standing nearby, watching. The Wagon pulls out, and Sykes turns, moving past all the LAPD black-and-whites and forensics wagons, and COPS (two of them aliens) and DETECTIVES, and RUBBERNECKERS (some alien). He moves into: INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT The CRIME SCENE TEAM is checking for prints, digging slugs out of the wall, photographing everything. Several UNIFORMED COPS mill around. Sykes moves aimlessly around the room like a stranger at a party. The Proprietor's Wife stands near the body in a strange rigid posture, a thin, mournful KEENING SOUND coming from her lips. A harried female uniformed cop is trying to get her away from the body, but can't get her to budge. MINKLER, a ballistics guy, is tagging the pump-shotgun the Raincoat alien dropped here. NATUZZI, a mean-looking veteran uniform cop is with him. NATUZZI Looks like a standard combat pump- action. MINKLER It is. NATUZZI So what punched holes clear through that car out there? Minkler pulls an evidence baggie from his work box. Inside are four unfired twelve gauge shells. MINKLER BRI Sabot slugs. These puppies are nasty. Two plastic sabots fall away in flight leaving a fifty-caliber slug going two thousand feet per second. Tug might as well've been hiding behind a rosebush. Minkler senses somebody has just stepped up beside him. He looks. It's Sykes. NATUZZI Pretty heavy artillery for knocking over a liquor store. A new voice enters the conversation. JETSON (O.S.) An identical round was used in the shooting of a Newcomer named Hubley, two days ago. Sykes turns -- surprised, and not especially pleased to see the voice is Jetson's. MINKLER Yeah? So why the extra fire power? JETSON Perhaps because even the larger caliber handguns aren't always effective against my people. SYKES (mulls this, then) You saying there's some connection to this other homicide? Before Jetson can say, the female cop who was talking to the Proprietor's Wife steps up. FEMALE COP Hey, give me a hand with this woman, will ya Jetson? We've got to get her to Division for her statement and she won't budge. JETSON (to Sykes) Excuse me. And he moves off with his partner. Sykes calls after him, but Jetson is already approaching the woman and doesn't turn. SYKES So, you think there's a connection, or what? Hey! CUT TO: EXT. SYKES' APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT The slug-mobile pulls up. A drained Sykes moves up the walk to his front door. INT. SYKES' APARTMENT - NIGHT Sykes enters his apartment, an untidy bachelor place decorated with negative taste. It's obviously the maid's decade off. By rote, he hits the rewind switch on the answering machine on his way into the kitchen. The tape rewinds. He opens the fridge. Not much here. Left-over take-out pizza carton. Left-over take-out Chinese food cartons. Left-over take-out burger wrappers. The answering machine message begins -- he glances over his shoulder as he HEARS his daughter's VOICE. During the following, he reaches the fridge. Brings out a milk carton that's in his way, sets it on the counter. Reaches in again and this time brings out a bottle of Stoly. Then searches for a semi-clean glass. KRISTIN'S VOICE (bouncy, bride-to-be happy) Hi, Daddy, it's me. I'm over at Danny's parents' house... talking about Sunday. I thought maybe you'd be home by now. Anyway, uh, nothing really. I just wanted to call and say I love you. I love you, Daddy. (she giggles) Uh-oh, I shouldn't'a done that. Knowing you, you'll probably pull this tape out of your machine and save it -- in that drawer where you keep every card I ever gave you, and all of my old baby teeth... gross! Anyway, Daddy, don't save this tape -- but I do love you, and I'll talk to you before Sunday. (beat) Oh, Tug and Carol came by and met Danny last week. (Sykes stiffens) Danny thought Tug was the greatest -- but, then, who doesn't? Anyway, love you, talk to you soon. 'Bye. The machine BEEPS and HISSES. Sykes take the glass and the bottle of vodka, crosses back toward the living room, switching off the answering machine as he goes. Then he stops, turns back, takes the message tape out of the machine and tosses it into a drawer. FADE TO: INT. DETECTIVE SQUAD ROOM - DAY Sykes enters, stirring a jumbo coffee. He's slept about four hours, and his face looks like he went a few with Hagler. He crosses straight to Fedorchuk's desk. SYKES So what've you got on Tuggle's killers? FEDORCHUK Jesus, Sykes -- it's been less than ten hours. Me and Alterez are on it, okay? SYKES You don't have squat. FEDORCHUK You ever try to make a case in Slagtown? The list of Newcomer informants is about as long as the list of Mexican war heroes... ALTEREZ Up yours. FEDORCHUK ... Nobody talks to nobody down there. Half of them don't speak English and the other half only when it suits them. It's gonna take some time. SYKES Yeah, I know it's gonna take time. Like until the Ice Capades opens in Hell, with you two on it. Across the room, the Captain's door BANGS open and CAPTAIN WARNER pounds out, his deep voice booming through the squad room. WARNER Nobody wanders off! I got an announcement. Get your asses back in here. Two detectives on their way out, stop, and head back into the room. Everybody gathers around, curious, as Warner stands holding a sheet of paper. WARNER I'll make this short. This is a directive from Chief Evaner, who is acting on orders from the Mayor, who is under mandate from the Federal Bureau of Newcomer Relations. As of nine o'clock this morning, one Newcomer uniform officer has been promoted to the rank of Detective, third grade. The detectives GROAN... some angrier ones grumble, "This is bullshit!", etc. WARNER And we've got him, gentleman. (more groans) Volunteers for duty with the new detective should see me in my office... otherwise I will choose a volunteer myself. That is all. He turns and heads back to his office in the wake of continued grumbling from the detectives. Sykes, standing to one side, absently watches Warner return to his glass- walled office. Waiting inside are a balding man and an alien in a grey suit. Sykes reacts. The alien in the suit is Jetson. The grumbling continues around him as Sykes considers something. FEDORCHUK Unbelievable bullshit. ALTEREZ How long has this Slag been on the force? A year, max -- right? DETECTIVE I don't know about the rest of you, but I sure as hell ain't gonna sit still for this. I'm calling the union, pronto. Others grumble. "Yeah!". Meanwhile, Sykes has decided something. He heads toward Warner's office. Fedorchuk sees this. FEDORCHUK Where the hell is he going? INT. WARNER'S OFFICE - DAY Sykes KNOCKS and enters. WARNER Yeah, Sykes? SYKES Captain. I'd like to volunteer for duty with the new detective. Warner is surprised. He never expected Sykes. WARNER ... All right. Detective Sergeant Sykes, this is Detective... Jetson. JETSON We have met. Warner looks up, clocking this. He looks at Sykes, starting to smell something fishy. The balding man, GOLDRUP, rises to shake their hands. GOLDRUP Victor Goldrup, Mayor's office. Congratulations, gentlemen. Warner is starting to suspect what Sykes is up to. WARNER (to Sykes) You are to have nothing to do with the investigation into Bill Tuggle's death. You know that. Leave that for Fedorchuk. SYKES (nodding) Departmental policy. WARNER (to Jetson) You? JETSON Yes, sir. WARNER Good. SYKES There's another case I'd like to take. A homicide -- a Newcomer named Hubley. Jetson looks over at Sykes, knows he's up to something. Sykes avoids his look. WARNER Granger and Pitts are already on it. SYKES Granger and Pitts have one hell of a caseload... and I would have thought with Jetson here being the first Newcomer plainclothes, and Hubley's body being found over in the Newcomer community... WARNER Don't tell me what to think. GOLDRUP He's got a point. That's the sort of thing we should be doing with this early advancement program... Long-suffering Warner looks up at Goldrup, then finally sighs with resignation. Sykes grins. CUT TO: INT. STAIRWELL - FIRST FLOOR HALLWAY - DAY The steel door BANGS open and Sykes and Jetson exit. Next to Sykes' slept-in look, Jetson in his grey suit looks like a Jehovah's Witness canvasser. They move past all the black-and-whites pulling out on p.m. watch during: SYKES ... and we work my hours. I'll do the driving, you do the paperwork. You gotta learn it so you might as well do it all. JETSON (after a moment) Sergeant... I'd like to thank you for what you're doing. SYKES What's that? (then realizing) Look, Jetson. Get this straight in your head. We're not pals, we're not married, and we ain't gonna take long moonlight walks together... We're just partners. And don't call me Sergeant. Call me Sykes... or Matt if you have to. JETSON I am George. Sykes nods absently, and they walk on... four and a half steps to be exact. Then it hits Sykes. He seizes up cold. SYKES Wait a minute. George? George Jetson? Jetson nods... he's used to this. Sykes cracks up. SYKES (between laughs) Man, somebody really hung one on you! I've heard some good ones for you guys... Humphrey Bogart, Harley Davidson. I guess the people at immigration got a little punchy after a while, coming up with names for a quarter of a million of you. You weren't at the back of the line, were you, George? JETSON My true name is Ss'tangya T'ssorentsa'. SYKES Gesundheit. You don't mind if I stick to George, do you? EXT. POLICE STATION PARKING AREA - DAY They approach Sykes' ugly sedan, the slug-mobile. SYKES Anyway, what's it matter to you if we think it's funny, right? Whatta you care? JETSON That is exactly so. (completely deadpan) It is like your name... Sykes. I'm sure it doesn't bother you at all that it sounds like "ss'ai k'ss", two words in my language which mean "excrement" and "cranium". Sykes looks at him, perplexed. JETSON "Shit... head". Jetson gets in and slams the door, leaving Sykes standing there, the smirk dropping from his face. CUT TO: INT. SLUG-MOBILE - DAY They're cruising along in downtown traffic. Sykes drives. Jetson is somewhat cramped in the passenger seat. SYKES Let's talk Hubley. JETSON (refers to a folder he holds) His body was discovered three days ago, in an alley off of Central Avenue, near downtown. SYKES With two

vehicles

How many times the word 'vehicles' appears in the text?

Alien Nation Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Alien Nation - by Rochne O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron ALIEN NATION Original Screenplay by Rockne S. O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron October 1987 FADE IN: EXT. MOJAVE DESERT - DAY (TELEVISION IMAGE) A LONG LENS SHOT of a far distant metallic object hovering just above the ground -- maybe two or three miles away. The heat waves and the light refraction off the desert- scape make the object undulate rhythmically, keeping its true shape and appearance indistinct. The VIDEO CAMERA recording this scene zooms back, then pans over -- revealing a semicircle of US Army vehicles and personnel. Army Engineers with their tripod-mounted scopes and binoculars are shoulder to shoulder with the armed infantry. Everyone stares off at the same point on the horizon. Waiting. The VIDEO CAMERA movements are HANDHELD, unsteady, as it moves through the line of Army personnel to reveal a second, less organized semicircle of observers fifty yards behind the Army. LOCALS from nearby towns perch in truck beds and on car roofs, Budweiser and Fritos at hand, eyes glued to the distant object. The VIDEO CAMERA image climbs up onto the roof of a parked local TV van, finds the object again in the distance, zooms in, and waits, like everyone else. Abruptly the VIDEO IMAGE contracts, becoming a box CHROMAKEYED behind CNN reporter DUNCAN CRAIS. CRAIS That was the scene in California's Mojave Desert three years ago today -- the historic first view of the Newcomer ship upon its dramatic arrival. As with the assassination of John Kennedy, who among us does not remember exactly where he was that October nineteenth morning, when news first broke: that people have landed... from another star. We PULL BACK from a large television set to reveal... INT. A CROWDED BAR - LOS ANGELES - NIGHT The Hollowpoint Lounge -- a cop bar. The off-duty uniformed and plainclothes cops are mostly ignoring the TV, except for two detectives, FEDORCHUK and ALTEREZ, who are waiting for the ball scores. FEDORCHUK I remember where I was -- pissing off my balcony at the neighbor's dog! Others laugh. ALTEREZ (yells at Crais on TV) Get to the goddamn ball scores! ON THE TV SCREEN, an on-location interview with a CAL-TECH PROFESSOR comes up. Her name and title appear across the bottom of the screen. CAL-TECH PROFESSOR From the time mankind first gazed up at the stars there had been speculation about a visit by people from "out there." How ironic that when that first contact was made, the two hundred and sixty thousand occupants aboard the craft were as surprised as we were about their arrival. That they awakened from frozen hibernation to find their malfunctioning autopilot had landed them here by mistake. The CNN reporter, Duncan Crais, appears again. CRAIS These "Newcomers," we soon learned, were a genetically-engineered race, adapted for hard labor in almost any environmental condition. In effect, their ship was a slave ship... washed ashore on Earth with no way to get back to where they came from... A dishwasher tray filled with beer glasses CUTS ACROSS FRAME, and we PAN WITH IT as it is slammed down on the countertop. Now an interview with a FRESNO HOUSEWIFE standing outside a supermarket comes on the TV SCREEN. FRESNO HOUSEWIFE When the Newcomers were first let out of the ship, they were quarantined in a camp not ten miles from the town here. You can imagine how the people around here felt about that. But once they were releases from the camp and we got a chance to know them, we saw what nice, quiet people they really are... WIDER revealing a MASSIVE ALIEN FIGURE in a filthy white busboy's uniform. His back is to us as he picks up two trays from the counter. The bartender is dwarfed by this Newcomer, but works around him without apparent concern. Fedorchuk addresses the alien busboy. FEDORCHUK Hey, Henry, how you doin' tonight? Workin' hard? The Newcomer turns -- his face is humanoid, but disturbingly alien. FEDORCHUK You got your green card, buddy? You didn't leave home without it? The cops at the bar crack up. Henry looks at Fedorchuk -- his eyes carrying no malice... or pain. He merely blinks. CUT TO: INT./ EXT. SLUG-MOBILE - STREET - NIGHT An explosion of color and movement as OPENING TITLES PLAY very quickly. We're TRAVELING the streets in a n.d. sedan, getting MOVING GLIMPSES of the aliens living among us now: -- A coffee shop where aliens eat at some window tables. -- A Newcomer leaving a night school with an armload of books. -- A city park where a number of alien families have gathered to play some arcane alien game. SYKES Jeez... they call that gang-bang a game...? -- A billboard for Pepsi featuring an alien. -- The sedan has pulled to a stop at a red light. Suddenly a hand thumps against the glass next to Sykes' head... and alien hand. Sykes jumps. It's a NEWCOMER DERELICT standing there, weaving, mumbling in his own language. In one filthy hand holds a quart carton of milk. We know immediately what he wants. Sykes rolls down the window. SYKES Take a hike. Sykes gets a whiff of the derelict's breath as the light changes and the sedan pulls away, leaving him in the street. Sykes grimaces at the smell. SYKES Why's it have to be sour milk that these guys get wasted on? What the hell's wrong with Jack Daniels, or Thunderbird for chrissakes? (beat; disgusted) Slagtown. Shit... -- Aliens hanging around outside their homes. -- Alien hookers plying their trade. SYKES Hope their plumbing's the same. TUGGLE It is. (and Sykes gives him a look) -- A Newcomer lowrider pulls up beside the slug-mobile. -- An alien couple exit a theater playing "Terminator III". -- An alien wig shop. ANGLE TITLES END, and we start to PULL BACK into the slug-mobile and HEAR: TUGGLE (O.S.) So you gonna go, or you not gonna go? INT. SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT The dashboard is littered with fast-food detritus and two coffees in styrofoam cups making fog circles on the windshield. A hand picks up one of the coffees and we FOLLOW IT to a face, a forty-year-old cop face that's seen some wear and tear -- behind the wheel is MATT SYKES. Beside him is his partner of nine years, BILL TUGGLE. Tuggle expertly munches on a slice of pizza as he talks. SYKES How can I go? TUGGLE Put on your wash-and-wear suit and your clip-on tie, have your landlady tie your shoes for you, and show up at the church. Simple. (beat) Me and Carol are going. SYKES What? TUGGLE Hey, look -- we've known Kristin since... since she was conceived in that cabin up in Big Bear. Remember? You and Edie banged the wall so hard, me and Carol were picking plaster out of our hair for a week... SYKES Goddammit, Tug -- I want to see Kristin get married, okay? But-- TUGGLE But you're bummed because your ex and her new husband are paying for the whole thing. SYKES Shit, if Kristin had to get married where I could afford it, we'd be holding the reception at Buddy's Burgers. Sykes stares out the window, wallowing in his pissed-off mood. Then he spots something that twinges his street-cop radar. SYKES Uh-oh... Check it out. THROUGH THE WINDOW Tuggle sees what Sykes sees: two ALIENS in long coats moving down the sidewalk, entering a mom- and-pop mini-mart on the corner. One of them wears dark glasses and a red bandana (KIPLING): the other has on a black vinyl raincoat. SYKES Does that look at all suspicious to you? TUGGLE Whatever gave you that idea? EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes continues up a quarter of a block, pulls to the curb among other parked cars. INT. SEDAN - NIGHT Sykes is already pulling his gun. Tuggle quickly reaches for the radio in the glovebox. TUGGLE This is one-Henry-seven, we've got a possible two-eleven in progress at Porter's Mini-Mart, corner of Court and Alvarado. Requesting backup. Impulsive Sykes is already opening his door and climbing out. SYKES Let's do it, partner. Tuggle drops the radio mike and follows Sykes as the Radio Dispatcher confirms the call. EXT. STREET - NIGHT The two cops, guns in hand, move along the row of parked cars across the street from the mini-mart. Through the store window they see the old alien PROPRIETOR behind the counter. His eyes go wide as Kipling whips back his coat and yanks out a short combat pump-shotgun and aims it right at him. The Raincoat alien pulls an identical gun and covers the door. Sykes and Tuggle react to the firepower inside. SYKES You got your vest? TUGGLE Of course. Right in the trunk of the car. SYKES Yeah, that's comforting. Mine, too. Through the store window the robbery continues in pantomime. Kipling gestures viciously with the shotgun, yelling orders in the alien language. The Proprietor is quickly filling a paper bag with cash from the register. The PROPRIETOR'S WIFE, a middle-aged alien woman, stands in the doorway from the back, frozen in fear. The Raincoat alien dances from foot to foot, antsy, wired. Sykes and Tuggle crouch at the car directly across the street from the store entrance. TUGGLE Watch the driver. I'm going for a better angle on the door. SYKES I got him. Don't get pinned. Tuggle leaves the cover provided by the car, runs cater- corner across the intersection. Through the store window Sykes sees Kipling grab the bag of cash, shove it in his coat pocket. Bills fall out, but he doesn't care. Then, without warning, Kipling whips up the twelve gauge and blows a hole in the Proprietor's chest! The Proprietor slams back against the shelves, slides to the floor. Kipling leans over the counter and FIRES another round into the Proprietor. SYKES (under his breath) Aw, shit. Tuggle is almost across the street when he hears the shots. The human DRIVER of the getaway car (parked at the curb a few doors down from the mini-mart) glances up, spots Tuggle. He leans on the HORN, reaches for a machine pistol on the seat next to him. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling and Raincoat alien react to the horn honk. They spot Tuggle through the store window and open fire -- BLASTING THROUGH THE GLASS. A civilian car enters the intersection. The engine is hit by shotgun fire, and the car skids to a stop in the intersection, steam rising from the radiator. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Tuggle dives behind a lamp post. The Driver is out of the car now, brings up the machine pistol to fire at Tuggle. Sykes sees this and opens fire at the Driver. The Driver turns and fires at Sykes. Sykes ducks down, and the car he's hiding behind is sprayed with bullets. A forty-foot moving van pulls down the street between Sykes and the Driver. Once the truck is past, Sykes is standing behind the bullet-riddled car, gun ready. He rapid-fires -- creaming the human Driver. Tuggle is pinned down behind the thin lamp post by the shotgun fire from Kipling and Raincoat alien. SYKES Get outta there! TUGGLE I can't! Do you mind! SYKES I'll cover you! Get outta there!! Sykes rises and runs across the street toward the getaway car, firing toward the store as he goes. Kipling and Raincoat dodge behind cover. Tuggle seizes the opportunity, jumps from behind the lamp post and runs to the stalled civilian car. He slides across the hood and drops behind the car for cover. Tuggle slowly pokes his head up to peer through the car window. His gaze is met by the face of the OLD MAN driver who is still inside the car. OLD MAN Can I get out now? TUGGLE Move it! Sykes doesn't have a clear firing line on the aliens in the store. As he considers his next move-- Tuggle fires at the two aliens. They return fire and he slides down to safety behind the car. Or so he thinks. Glass rains down on him as the car windows are cremated by the shotgun blasts. He flinches as another blast hits the car. He looks over. There's a big exit hole in the fender beside him. THE SHOT WENT RIGHT THROUGH THE CAR. Another exit hole is BLASTED, inches from his shoulder. Panicked, he scrambles along the side of the car -- BLASTS and exit holes following him until he reaches the front of the car. He has nowhere left to go and-- -- a BLAST comes through the car and catches him squarely in the chest throwing him back onto the street. Sykes' head jerks around -- in time to see his partner of nine years blown away. Kipling keeps firing in Tuggle's direction until his shotgun CLICKS empty. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling grabs Raincoat and throws him toward the back exit of the store. The shotgun falls from Raincoat's hands. The two of them run out the back. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes runs to Tuggle's spread-eagled body. One glance is enough. Nobody ever looked deader. SYKES Aw shit, Tug, Jesus! Goddamn it! He stares, shocked and incredulous. He can't find a way to think or feel about this. Then we see him going crazy right before our eyes, the rage revving. He takes off toward the store as SIRENS are HEARD rapidly approaching in background. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Sykes moves through like a locomotive skidding on broken glass, bangs through the exit. EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT Sykes catches sight of the two aliens just as they round the corner at the far end of the alley. He takes off, quickly cranking up to full speed. EXT. BACK STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds the corner. Doesn't see them anymore. He slows... moves along this street with some caution. Lots of shadows, lots of hiding places. Sykes HEARS a NOISE, looks up... just in time to see Raincoat on a high, huge billboard. He cuts loose with the shotgun. Sykes dives. Huge chunks of the crate he dives behind fly off into the night. Sykes, on his belly, scrambles deeper among the crates. Raincoat's shotgun CLICKS empty now. He drops it, swings down off the fire escape, runs off. Sykes is up again in a flash, pounding after him. EXT. TUNNEL STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds this second corner, races down the street. The only route they could've taken is through a tunnel up ahead. Sykes approaches the tunnel, all senses wide open. INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT The murkiness of the tunnel engulfs him as he moves through the mouth. He tries to control his breathing so he can hear. The only SOUND is his own shoes scuffing along the asphalt. Then he HEARS -- another set of FOOTSTEPS. Rapid footsteps, coming toward him, ECHOING. He can't tell from which direction! He spins, just as a LARGE SHAPE lunges for him with an alien CRY. It's the wired Raincoat alien. Sykes gets his gun up just in time and FIRES -- once, twice, three times. Raincoat alien is knocked backwards to the wet asphalt by the blasts. Sykes approaches the body slowly. With an inhuman ROAR, the alien snaps forward, lunging at Sykes with outstretched arms. Sykes jumps back, startled, and FIRES twice more at the pale figure. Raincoat goes down and stays down. Sykes relaxes for the briefest moment. Then he HEARS it... a distinctive CLICKING SOUND, metal on metal. Sykes looks up and -- Kipling drops down on him from directly above! Sykes goes down in a heap. He's managed to hold onto the gun and as Kipling comes for him, he swings the gun hand around. Kipling sees it, lashes out, slamming the gun from Sykes' hand. Sykes tries to get to his feet, but the alien grabs him and flings him down the tunnel. A SIREN is HEARD approaching in background. Kipling moves in to deliver the coup de grace. As he draws near, Sykes HEARS that distinctive CLICKING SOUND again. SYKES' P.O.V. Though his vision is BLURRED, Sykes still gets a good look at an exotic silver bracelet on the alien's wrist. The strands of this bracelet are what make the CLINKING NOISE. ANGLE The alien rears back, and as he does, the approaching SIREN suddenly WAILS louder as a backup patrol car swings onto the street heading this way. Kipling sees this and leaves Sykes, running off down the dark tunnel. ON SYKES dazed, struggling to rise. WE HEAR running FOOTSTEPS approaching. Sykes turns, his eyes wild and unfocused. SYKES' P.O.V. An OUT-OF-FOCUS ALIEN FACE looming over him. ANGLE Sykes whips around in a roundhouse swing with all his weight on it, pistoning his fist straight into the alien face. The alien, caught by surprise and off balance, sprawls backward OUT OF FRAME. Sykes is grabbed by a human uniformed cop, as he tries to swing again. HUMAN COP Whoa, whoa... hold it. Take it easy. (to alien on the ground) You okay? Sykes stops struggling, and his eyes focus. He looks at the alien he just decked, sprawled on his ass ten feet away. The alien is a uniformed cop... his name is JETSON. JETSON I am all right. He gets up. A trickle of purple blood runs from his nose. HUMAN COP I better call in. He moves off. Jetson moves toward Sykes and the Raincoat alien's body. Sykes tenses, thinking Jetson might retaliate in some way. But Jetson simply steps past him to kneel beside the dead alien. He checks for a pulse on the underside of the dead alien's upper arm. Nothing. Sykes is holding his punching hand in obvious pain. He struggles to rise. Jetson gets an arm around him to help him up. JETSON Your hand will require attention. Sykes roughly jerks himself free of Jetson's grip. SYKES Get the hell away from me! I don't need your goddamn help. He almost loses his balance and has to steady himself against the tunnel wall. Sykes leans there, the picture of impotent rage and frustration. Jetson looks at him, with that slight inquisitive expression aliens exhibit when trying to understand human nature. EXT. MINI-MART - NIGHT OPEN on Tuggle's body, as the body bag is zipped up over his face, and the litter is lifted into the back of the Coroner's wagon. WIDEN to reveal Sykes, standing nearby, watching. The Wagon pulls out, and Sykes turns, moving past all the LAPD black-and-whites and forensics wagons, and COPS (two of them aliens) and DETECTIVES, and RUBBERNECKERS (some alien). He moves into: INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT The CRIME SCENE TEAM is checking for prints, digging slugs out of the wall, photographing everything. Several UNIFORMED COPS mill around. Sykes moves aimlessly around the room like a stranger at a party. The Proprietor's Wife stands near the body in a strange rigid posture, a thin, mournful KEENING SOUND coming from her lips. A harried female uniformed cop is trying to get her away from the body, but can't get her to budge. MINKLER, a ballistics guy, is tagging the pump-shotgun the Raincoat alien dropped here. NATUZZI, a mean-looking veteran uniform cop is with him. NATUZZI Looks like a standard combat pump- action. MINKLER It is. NATUZZI So what punched holes clear through that car out there? Minkler pulls an evidence baggie from his work box. Inside are four unfired twelve gauge shells. MINKLER BRI Sabot slugs. These puppies are nasty. Two plastic sabots fall away in flight leaving a fifty-caliber slug going two thousand feet per second. Tug might as well've been hiding behind a rosebush. Minkler senses somebody has just stepped up beside him. He looks. It's Sykes. NATUZZI Pretty heavy artillery for knocking over a liquor store. A new voice enters the conversation. JETSON (O.S.) An identical round was used in the shooting of a Newcomer named Hubley, two days ago. Sykes turns -- surprised, and not especially pleased to see the voice is Jetson's. MINKLER Yeah? So why the extra fire power? JETSON Perhaps because even the larger caliber handguns aren't always effective against my people. SYKES (mulls this, then) You saying there's some connection to this other homicide? Before Jetson can say, the female cop who was talking to the Proprietor's Wife steps up. FEMALE COP Hey, give me a hand with this woman, will ya Jetson? We've got to get her to Division for her statement and she won't budge. JETSON (to Sykes) Excuse me. And he moves off with his partner. Sykes calls after him, but Jetson is already approaching the woman and doesn't turn. SYKES So, you think there's a connection, or what? Hey! CUT TO: EXT. SYKES' APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT The slug-mobile pulls up. A drained Sykes moves up the walk to his front door. INT. SYKES' APARTMENT - NIGHT Sykes enters his apartment, an untidy bachelor place decorated with negative taste. It's obviously the maid's decade off. By rote, he hits the rewind switch on the answering machine on his way into the kitchen. The tape rewinds. He opens the fridge. Not much here. Left-over take-out pizza carton. Left-over take-out Chinese food cartons. Left-over take-out burger wrappers. The answering machine message begins -- he glances over his shoulder as he HEARS his daughter's VOICE. During the following, he reaches the fridge. Brings out a milk carton that's in his way, sets it on the counter. Reaches in again and this time brings out a bottle of Stoly. Then searches for a semi-clean glass. KRISTIN'S VOICE (bouncy, bride-to-be happy) Hi, Daddy, it's me. I'm over at Danny's parents' house... talking about Sunday. I thought maybe you'd be home by now. Anyway, uh, nothing really. I just wanted to call and say I love you. I love you, Daddy. (she giggles) Uh-oh, I shouldn't'a done that. Knowing you, you'll probably pull this tape out of your machine and save it -- in that drawer where you keep every card I ever gave you, and all of my old baby teeth... gross! Anyway, Daddy, don't save this tape -- but I do love you, and I'll talk to you before Sunday. (beat) Oh, Tug and Carol came by and met Danny last week. (Sykes stiffens) Danny thought Tug was the greatest -- but, then, who doesn't? Anyway, love you, talk to you soon. 'Bye. The machine BEEPS and HISSES. Sykes take the glass and the bottle of vodka, crosses back toward the living room, switching off the answering machine as he goes. Then he stops, turns back, takes the message tape out of the machine and tosses it into a drawer. FADE TO: INT. DETECTIVE SQUAD ROOM - DAY Sykes enters, stirring a jumbo coffee. He's slept about four hours, and his face looks like he went a few with Hagler. He crosses straight to Fedorchuk's desk. SYKES So what've you got on Tuggle's killers? FEDORCHUK Jesus, Sykes -- it's been less than ten hours. Me and Alterez are on it, okay? SYKES You don't have squat. FEDORCHUK You ever try to make a case in Slagtown? The list of Newcomer informants is about as long as the list of Mexican war heroes... ALTEREZ Up yours. FEDORCHUK ... Nobody talks to nobody down there. Half of them don't speak English and the other half only when it suits them. It's gonna take some time. SYKES Yeah, I know it's gonna take time. Like until the Ice Capades opens in Hell, with you two on it. Across the room, the Captain's door BANGS open and CAPTAIN WARNER pounds out, his deep voice booming through the squad room. WARNER Nobody wanders off! I got an announcement. Get your asses back in here. Two detectives on their way out, stop, and head back into the room. Everybody gathers around, curious, as Warner stands holding a sheet of paper. WARNER I'll make this short. This is a directive from Chief Evaner, who is acting on orders from the Mayor, who is under mandate from the Federal Bureau of Newcomer Relations. As of nine o'clock this morning, one Newcomer uniform officer has been promoted to the rank of Detective, third grade. The detectives GROAN... some angrier ones grumble, "This is bullshit!", etc. WARNER And we've got him, gentleman. (more groans) Volunteers for duty with the new detective should see me in my office... otherwise I will choose a volunteer myself. That is all. He turns and heads back to his office in the wake of continued grumbling from the detectives. Sykes, standing to one side, absently watches Warner return to his glass- walled office. Waiting inside are a balding man and an alien in a grey suit. Sykes reacts. The alien in the suit is Jetson. The grumbling continues around him as Sykes considers something. FEDORCHUK Unbelievable bullshit. ALTEREZ How long has this Slag been on the force? A year, max -- right? DETECTIVE I don't know about the rest of you, but I sure as hell ain't gonna sit still for this. I'm calling the union, pronto. Others grumble. "Yeah!". Meanwhile, Sykes has decided something. He heads toward Warner's office. Fedorchuk sees this. FEDORCHUK Where the hell is he going? INT. WARNER'S OFFICE - DAY Sykes KNOCKS and enters. WARNER Yeah, Sykes? SYKES Captain. I'd like to volunteer for duty with the new detective. Warner is surprised. He never expected Sykes. WARNER ... All right. Detective Sergeant Sykes, this is Detective... Jetson. JETSON We have met. Warner looks up, clocking this. He looks at Sykes, starting to smell something fishy. The balding man, GOLDRUP, rises to shake their hands. GOLDRUP Victor Goldrup, Mayor's office. Congratulations, gentlemen. Warner is starting to suspect what Sykes is up to. WARNER (to Sykes) You are to have nothing to do with the investigation into Bill Tuggle's death. You know that. Leave that for Fedorchuk. SYKES (nodding) Departmental policy. WARNER (to Jetson) You? JETSON Yes, sir. WARNER Good. SYKES There's another case I'd like to take. A homicide -- a Newcomer named Hubley. Jetson looks over at Sykes, knows he's up to something. Sykes avoids his look. WARNER Granger and Pitts are already on it. SYKES Granger and Pitts have one hell of a caseload... and I would have thought with Jetson here being the first Newcomer plainclothes, and Hubley's body being found over in the Newcomer community... WARNER Don't tell me what to think. GOLDRUP He's got a point. That's the sort of thing we should be doing with this early advancement program... Long-suffering Warner looks up at Goldrup, then finally sighs with resignation. Sykes grins. CUT TO: INT. STAIRWELL - FIRST FLOOR HALLWAY - DAY The steel door BANGS open and Sykes and Jetson exit. Next to Sykes' slept-in look, Jetson in his grey suit looks like a Jehovah's Witness canvasser. They move past all the black-and-whites pulling out on p.m. watch during: SYKES ... and we work my hours. I'll do the driving, you do the paperwork. You gotta learn it so you might as well do it all. JETSON (after a moment) Sergeant... I'd like to thank you for what you're doing. SYKES What's that? (then realizing) Look, Jetson. Get this straight in your head. We're not pals, we're not married, and we ain't gonna take long moonlight walks together... We're just partners. And don't call me Sergeant. Call me Sykes... or Matt if you have to. JETSON I am George. Sykes nods absently, and they walk on... four and a half steps to be exact. Then it hits Sykes. He seizes up cold. SYKES Wait a minute. George? George Jetson? Jetson nods... he's used to this. Sykes cracks up. SYKES (between laughs) Man, somebody really hung one on you! I've heard some good ones for you guys... Humphrey Bogart, Harley Davidson. I guess the people at immigration got a little punchy after a while, coming up with names for a quarter of a million of you. You weren't at the back of the line, were you, George? JETSON My true name is Ss'tangya T'ssorentsa'. SYKES Gesundheit. You don't mind if I stick to George, do you? EXT. POLICE STATION PARKING AREA - DAY They approach Sykes' ugly sedan, the slug-mobile. SYKES Anyway, what's it matter to you if we think it's funny, right? Whatta you care? JETSON That is exactly so. (completely deadpan) It is like your name... Sykes. I'm sure it doesn't bother you at all that it sounds like "ss'ai k'ss", two words in my language which mean "excrement" and "cranium". Sykes looks at him, perplexed. JETSON "Shit... head". Jetson gets in and slams the door, leaving Sykes standing there, the smirk dropping from his face. CUT TO: INT. SLUG-MOBILE - DAY They're cruising along in downtown traffic. Sykes drives. Jetson is somewhat cramped in the passenger seat. SYKES Let's talk Hubley. JETSON (refers to a folder he holds) His body was discovered three days ago, in an alley off of Central Avenue, near downtown. SYKES With two

apparent

How many times the word 'apparent' appears in the text?

Alien Nation Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Alien Nation - by Rochne O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron ALIEN NATION Original Screenplay by Rockne S. O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron October 1987 FADE IN: EXT. MOJAVE DESERT - DAY (TELEVISION IMAGE) A LONG LENS SHOT of a far distant metallic object hovering just above the ground -- maybe two or three miles away. The heat waves and the light refraction off the desert- scape make the object undulate rhythmically, keeping its true shape and appearance indistinct. The VIDEO CAMERA recording this scene zooms back, then pans over -- revealing a semicircle of US Army vehicles and personnel. Army Engineers with their tripod-mounted scopes and binoculars are shoulder to shoulder with the armed infantry. Everyone stares off at the same point on the horizon. Waiting. The VIDEO CAMERA movements are HANDHELD, unsteady, as it moves through the line of Army personnel to reveal a second, less organized semicircle of observers fifty yards behind the Army. LOCALS from nearby towns perch in truck beds and on car roofs, Budweiser and Fritos at hand, eyes glued to the distant object. The VIDEO CAMERA image climbs up onto the roof of a parked local TV van, finds the object again in the distance, zooms in, and waits, like everyone else. Abruptly the VIDEO IMAGE contracts, becoming a box CHROMAKEYED behind CNN reporter DUNCAN CRAIS. CRAIS That was the scene in California's Mojave Desert three years ago today -- the historic first view of the Newcomer ship upon its dramatic arrival. As with the assassination of John Kennedy, who among us does not remember exactly where he was that October nineteenth morning, when news first broke: that people have landed... from another star. We PULL BACK from a large television set to reveal... INT. A CROWDED BAR - LOS ANGELES - NIGHT The Hollowpoint Lounge -- a cop bar. The off-duty uniformed and plainclothes cops are mostly ignoring the TV, except for two detectives, FEDORCHUK and ALTEREZ, who are waiting for the ball scores. FEDORCHUK I remember where I was -- pissing off my balcony at the neighbor's dog! Others laugh. ALTEREZ (yells at Crais on TV) Get to the goddamn ball scores! ON THE TV SCREEN, an on-location interview with a CAL-TECH PROFESSOR comes up. Her name and title appear across the bottom of the screen. CAL-TECH PROFESSOR From the time mankind first gazed up at the stars there had been speculation about a visit by people from "out there." How ironic that when that first contact was made, the two hundred and sixty thousand occupants aboard the craft were as surprised as we were about their arrival. That they awakened from frozen hibernation to find their malfunctioning autopilot had landed them here by mistake. The CNN reporter, Duncan Crais, appears again. CRAIS These "Newcomers," we soon learned, were a genetically-engineered race, adapted for hard labor in almost any environmental condition. In effect, their ship was a slave ship... washed ashore on Earth with no way to get back to where they came from... A dishwasher tray filled with beer glasses CUTS ACROSS FRAME, and we PAN WITH IT as it is slammed down on the countertop. Now an interview with a FRESNO HOUSEWIFE standing outside a supermarket comes on the TV SCREEN. FRESNO HOUSEWIFE When the Newcomers were first let out of the ship, they were quarantined in a camp not ten miles from the town here. You can imagine how the people around here felt about that. But once they were releases from the camp and we got a chance to know them, we saw what nice, quiet people they really are... WIDER revealing a MASSIVE ALIEN FIGURE in a filthy white busboy's uniform. His back is to us as he picks up two trays from the counter. The bartender is dwarfed by this Newcomer, but works around him without apparent concern. Fedorchuk addresses the alien busboy. FEDORCHUK Hey, Henry, how you doin' tonight? Workin' hard? The Newcomer turns -- his face is humanoid, but disturbingly alien. FEDORCHUK You got your green card, buddy? You didn't leave home without it? The cops at the bar crack up. Henry looks at Fedorchuk -- his eyes carrying no malice... or pain. He merely blinks. CUT TO: INT./ EXT. SLUG-MOBILE - STREET - NIGHT An explosion of color and movement as OPENING TITLES PLAY very quickly. We're TRAVELING the streets in a n.d. sedan, getting MOVING GLIMPSES of the aliens living among us now: -- A coffee shop where aliens eat at some window tables. -- A Newcomer leaving a night school with an armload of books. -- A city park where a number of alien families have gathered to play some arcane alien game. SYKES Jeez... they call that gang-bang a game...? -- A billboard for Pepsi featuring an alien. -- The sedan has pulled to a stop at a red light. Suddenly a hand thumps against the glass next to Sykes' head... and alien hand. Sykes jumps. It's a NEWCOMER DERELICT standing there, weaving, mumbling in his own language. In one filthy hand holds a quart carton of milk. We know immediately what he wants. Sykes rolls down the window. SYKES Take a hike. Sykes gets a whiff of the derelict's breath as the light changes and the sedan pulls away, leaving him in the street. Sykes grimaces at the smell. SYKES Why's it have to be sour milk that these guys get wasted on? What the hell's wrong with Jack Daniels, or Thunderbird for chrissakes? (beat; disgusted) Slagtown. Shit... -- Aliens hanging around outside their homes. -- Alien hookers plying their trade. SYKES Hope their plumbing's the same. TUGGLE It is. (and Sykes gives him a look) -- A Newcomer lowrider pulls up beside the slug-mobile. -- An alien couple exit a theater playing "Terminator III". -- An alien wig shop. ANGLE TITLES END, and we start to PULL BACK into the slug-mobile and HEAR: TUGGLE (O.S.) So you gonna go, or you not gonna go? INT. SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT The dashboard is littered with fast-food detritus and two coffees in styrofoam cups making fog circles on the windshield. A hand picks up one of the coffees and we FOLLOW IT to a face, a forty-year-old cop face that's seen some wear and tear -- behind the wheel is MATT SYKES. Beside him is his partner of nine years, BILL TUGGLE. Tuggle expertly munches on a slice of pizza as he talks. SYKES How can I go? TUGGLE Put on your wash-and-wear suit and your clip-on tie, have your landlady tie your shoes for you, and show up at the church. Simple. (beat) Me and Carol are going. SYKES What? TUGGLE Hey, look -- we've known Kristin since... since she was conceived in that cabin up in Big Bear. Remember? You and Edie banged the wall so hard, me and Carol were picking plaster out of our hair for a week... SYKES Goddammit, Tug -- I want to see Kristin get married, okay? But-- TUGGLE But you're bummed because your ex and her new husband are paying for the whole thing. SYKES Shit, if Kristin had to get married where I could afford it, we'd be holding the reception at Buddy's Burgers. Sykes stares out the window, wallowing in his pissed-off mood. Then he spots something that twinges his street-cop radar. SYKES Uh-oh... Check it out. THROUGH THE WINDOW Tuggle sees what Sykes sees: two ALIENS in long coats moving down the sidewalk, entering a mom- and-pop mini-mart on the corner. One of them wears dark glasses and a red bandana (KIPLING): the other has on a black vinyl raincoat. SYKES Does that look at all suspicious to you? TUGGLE Whatever gave you that idea? EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes continues up a quarter of a block, pulls to the curb among other parked cars. INT. SEDAN - NIGHT Sykes is already pulling his gun. Tuggle quickly reaches for the radio in the glovebox. TUGGLE This is one-Henry-seven, we've got a possible two-eleven in progress at Porter's Mini-Mart, corner of Court and Alvarado. Requesting backup. Impulsive Sykes is already opening his door and climbing out. SYKES Let's do it, partner. Tuggle drops the radio mike and follows Sykes as the Radio Dispatcher confirms the call. EXT. STREET - NIGHT The two cops, guns in hand, move along the row of parked cars across the street from the mini-mart. Through the store window they see the old alien PROPRIETOR behind the counter. His eyes go wide as Kipling whips back his coat and yanks out a short combat pump-shotgun and aims it right at him. The Raincoat alien pulls an identical gun and covers the door. Sykes and Tuggle react to the firepower inside. SYKES You got your vest? TUGGLE Of course. Right in the trunk of the car. SYKES Yeah, that's comforting. Mine, too. Through the store window the robbery continues in pantomime. Kipling gestures viciously with the shotgun, yelling orders in the alien language. The Proprietor is quickly filling a paper bag with cash from the register. The PROPRIETOR'S WIFE, a middle-aged alien woman, stands in the doorway from the back, frozen in fear. The Raincoat alien dances from foot to foot, antsy, wired. Sykes and Tuggle crouch at the car directly across the street from the store entrance. TUGGLE Watch the driver. I'm going for a better angle on the door. SYKES I got him. Don't get pinned. Tuggle leaves the cover provided by the car, runs cater- corner across the intersection. Through the store window Sykes sees Kipling grab the bag of cash, shove it in his coat pocket. Bills fall out, but he doesn't care. Then, without warning, Kipling whips up the twelve gauge and blows a hole in the Proprietor's chest! The Proprietor slams back against the shelves, slides to the floor. Kipling leans over the counter and FIRES another round into the Proprietor. SYKES (under his breath) Aw, shit. Tuggle is almost across the street when he hears the shots. The human DRIVER of the getaway car (parked at the curb a few doors down from the mini-mart) glances up, spots Tuggle. He leans on the HORN, reaches for a machine pistol on the seat next to him. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling and Raincoat alien react to the horn honk. They spot Tuggle through the store window and open fire -- BLASTING THROUGH THE GLASS. A civilian car enters the intersection. The engine is hit by shotgun fire, and the car skids to a stop in the intersection, steam rising from the radiator. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Tuggle dives behind a lamp post. The Driver is out of the car now, brings up the machine pistol to fire at Tuggle. Sykes sees this and opens fire at the Driver. The Driver turns and fires at Sykes. Sykes ducks down, and the car he's hiding behind is sprayed with bullets. A forty-foot moving van pulls down the street between Sykes and the Driver. Once the truck is past, Sykes is standing behind the bullet-riddled car, gun ready. He rapid-fires -- creaming the human Driver. Tuggle is pinned down behind the thin lamp post by the shotgun fire from Kipling and Raincoat alien. SYKES Get outta there! TUGGLE I can't! Do you mind! SYKES I'll cover you! Get outta there!! Sykes rises and runs across the street toward the getaway car, firing toward the store as he goes. Kipling and Raincoat dodge behind cover. Tuggle seizes the opportunity, jumps from behind the lamp post and runs to the stalled civilian car. He slides across the hood and drops behind the car for cover. Tuggle slowly pokes his head up to peer through the car window. His gaze is met by the face of the OLD MAN driver who is still inside the car. OLD MAN Can I get out now? TUGGLE Move it! Sykes doesn't have a clear firing line on the aliens in the store. As he considers his next move-- Tuggle fires at the two aliens. They return fire and he slides down to safety behind the car. Or so he thinks. Glass rains down on him as the car windows are cremated by the shotgun blasts. He flinches as another blast hits the car. He looks over. There's a big exit hole in the fender beside him. THE SHOT WENT RIGHT THROUGH THE CAR. Another exit hole is BLASTED, inches from his shoulder. Panicked, he scrambles along the side of the car -- BLASTS and exit holes following him until he reaches the front of the car. He has nowhere left to go and-- -- a BLAST comes through the car and catches him squarely in the chest throwing him back onto the street. Sykes' head jerks around -- in time to see his partner of nine years blown away. Kipling keeps firing in Tuggle's direction until his shotgun CLICKS empty. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling grabs Raincoat and throws him toward the back exit of the store. The shotgun falls from Raincoat's hands. The two of them run out the back. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes runs to Tuggle's spread-eagled body. One glance is enough. Nobody ever looked deader. SYKES Aw shit, Tug, Jesus! Goddamn it! He stares, shocked and incredulous. He can't find a way to think or feel about this. Then we see him going crazy right before our eyes, the rage revving. He takes off toward the store as SIRENS are HEARD rapidly approaching in background. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Sykes moves through like a locomotive skidding on broken glass, bangs through the exit. EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT Sykes catches sight of the two aliens just as they round the corner at the far end of the alley. He takes off, quickly cranking up to full speed. EXT. BACK STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds the corner. Doesn't see them anymore. He slows... moves along this street with some caution. Lots of shadows, lots of hiding places. Sykes HEARS a NOISE, looks up... just in time to see Raincoat on a high, huge billboard. He cuts loose with the shotgun. Sykes dives. Huge chunks of the crate he dives behind fly off into the night. Sykes, on his belly, scrambles deeper among the crates. Raincoat's shotgun CLICKS empty now. He drops it, swings down off the fire escape, runs off. Sykes is up again in a flash, pounding after him. EXT. TUNNEL STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds this second corner, races down the street. The only route they could've taken is through a tunnel up ahead. Sykes approaches the tunnel, all senses wide open. INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT The murkiness of the tunnel engulfs him as he moves through the mouth. He tries to control his breathing so he can hear. The only SOUND is his own shoes scuffing along the asphalt. Then he HEARS -- another set of FOOTSTEPS. Rapid footsteps, coming toward him, ECHOING. He can't tell from which direction! He spins, just as a LARGE SHAPE lunges for him with an alien CRY. It's the wired Raincoat alien. Sykes gets his gun up just in time and FIRES -- once, twice, three times. Raincoat alien is knocked backwards to the wet asphalt by the blasts. Sykes approaches the body slowly. With an inhuman ROAR, the alien snaps forward, lunging at Sykes with outstretched arms. Sykes jumps back, startled, and FIRES twice more at the pale figure. Raincoat goes down and stays down. Sykes relaxes for the briefest moment. Then he HEARS it... a distinctive CLICKING SOUND, metal on metal. Sykes looks up and -- Kipling drops down on him from directly above! Sykes goes down in a heap. He's managed to hold onto the gun and as Kipling comes for him, he swings the gun hand around. Kipling sees it, lashes out, slamming the gun from Sykes' hand. Sykes tries to get to his feet, but the alien grabs him and flings him down the tunnel. A SIREN is HEARD approaching in background. Kipling moves in to deliver the coup de grace. As he draws near, Sykes HEARS that distinctive CLICKING SOUND again. SYKES' P.O.V. Though his vision is BLURRED, Sykes still gets a good look at an exotic silver bracelet on the alien's wrist. The strands of this bracelet are what make the CLINKING NOISE. ANGLE The alien rears back, and as he does, the approaching SIREN suddenly WAILS louder as a backup patrol car swings onto the street heading this way. Kipling sees this and leaves Sykes, running off down the dark tunnel. ON SYKES dazed, struggling to rise. WE HEAR running FOOTSTEPS approaching. Sykes turns, his eyes wild and unfocused. SYKES' P.O.V. An OUT-OF-FOCUS ALIEN FACE looming over him. ANGLE Sykes whips around in a roundhouse swing with all his weight on it, pistoning his fist straight into the alien face. The alien, caught by surprise and off balance, sprawls backward OUT OF FRAME. Sykes is grabbed by a human uniformed cop, as he tries to swing again. HUMAN COP Whoa, whoa... hold it. Take it easy. (to alien on the ground) You okay? Sykes stops struggling, and his eyes focus. He looks at the alien he just decked, sprawled on his ass ten feet away. The alien is a uniformed cop... his name is JETSON. JETSON I am all right. He gets up. A trickle of purple blood runs from his nose. HUMAN COP I better call in. He moves off. Jetson moves toward Sykes and the Raincoat alien's body. Sykes tenses, thinking Jetson might retaliate in some way. But Jetson simply steps past him to kneel beside the dead alien. He checks for a pulse on the underside of the dead alien's upper arm. Nothing. Sykes is holding his punching hand in obvious pain. He struggles to rise. Jetson gets an arm around him to help him up. JETSON Your hand will require attention. Sykes roughly jerks himself free of Jetson's grip. SYKES Get the hell away from me! I don't need your goddamn help. He almost loses his balance and has to steady himself against the tunnel wall. Sykes leans there, the picture of impotent rage and frustration. Jetson looks at him, with that slight inquisitive expression aliens exhibit when trying to understand human nature. EXT. MINI-MART - NIGHT OPEN on Tuggle's body, as the body bag is zipped up over his face, and the litter is lifted into the back of the Coroner's wagon. WIDEN to reveal Sykes, standing nearby, watching. The Wagon pulls out, and Sykes turns, moving past all the LAPD black-and-whites and forensics wagons, and COPS (two of them aliens) and DETECTIVES, and RUBBERNECKERS (some alien). He moves into: INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT The CRIME SCENE TEAM is checking for prints, digging slugs out of the wall, photographing everything. Several UNIFORMED COPS mill around. Sykes moves aimlessly around the room like a stranger at a party. The Proprietor's Wife stands near the body in a strange rigid posture, a thin, mournful KEENING SOUND coming from her lips. A harried female uniformed cop is trying to get her away from the body, but can't get her to budge. MINKLER, a ballistics guy, is tagging the pump-shotgun the Raincoat alien dropped here. NATUZZI, a mean-looking veteran uniform cop is with him. NATUZZI Looks like a standard combat pump- action. MINKLER It is. NATUZZI So what punched holes clear through that car out there? Minkler pulls an evidence baggie from his work box. Inside are four unfired twelve gauge shells. MINKLER BRI Sabot slugs. These puppies are nasty. Two plastic sabots fall away in flight leaving a fifty-caliber slug going two thousand feet per second. Tug might as well've been hiding behind a rosebush. Minkler senses somebody has just stepped up beside him. He looks. It's Sykes. NATUZZI Pretty heavy artillery for knocking over a liquor store. A new voice enters the conversation. JETSON (O.S.) An identical round was used in the shooting of a Newcomer named Hubley, two days ago. Sykes turns -- surprised, and not especially pleased to see the voice is Jetson's. MINKLER Yeah? So why the extra fire power? JETSON Perhaps because even the larger caliber handguns aren't always effective against my people. SYKES (mulls this, then) You saying there's some connection to this other homicide? Before Jetson can say, the female cop who was talking to the Proprietor's Wife steps up. FEMALE COP Hey, give me a hand with this woman, will ya Jetson? We've got to get her to Division for her statement and she won't budge. JETSON (to Sykes) Excuse me. And he moves off with his partner. Sykes calls after him, but Jetson is already approaching the woman and doesn't turn. SYKES So, you think there's a connection, or what? Hey! CUT TO: EXT. SYKES' APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT The slug-mobile pulls up. A drained Sykes moves up the walk to his front door. INT. SYKES' APARTMENT - NIGHT Sykes enters his apartment, an untidy bachelor place decorated with negative taste. It's obviously the maid's decade off. By rote, he hits the rewind switch on the answering machine on his way into the kitchen. The tape rewinds. He opens the fridge. Not much here. Left-over take-out pizza carton. Left-over take-out Chinese food cartons. Left-over take-out burger wrappers. The answering machine message begins -- he glances over his shoulder as he HEARS his daughter's VOICE. During the following, he reaches the fridge. Brings out a milk carton that's in his way, sets it on the counter. Reaches in again and this time brings out a bottle of Stoly. Then searches for a semi-clean glass. KRISTIN'S VOICE (bouncy, bride-to-be happy) Hi, Daddy, it's me. I'm over at Danny's parents' house... talking about Sunday. I thought maybe you'd be home by now. Anyway, uh, nothing really. I just wanted to call and say I love you. I love you, Daddy. (she giggles) Uh-oh, I shouldn't'a done that. Knowing you, you'll probably pull this tape out of your machine and save it -- in that drawer where you keep every card I ever gave you, and all of my old baby teeth... gross! Anyway, Daddy, don't save this tape -- but I do love you, and I'll talk to you before Sunday. (beat) Oh, Tug and Carol came by and met Danny last week. (Sykes stiffens) Danny thought Tug was the greatest -- but, then, who doesn't? Anyway, love you, talk to you soon. 'Bye. The machine BEEPS and HISSES. Sykes take the glass and the bottle of vodka, crosses back toward the living room, switching off the answering machine as he goes. Then he stops, turns back, takes the message tape out of the machine and tosses it into a drawer. FADE TO: INT. DETECTIVE SQUAD ROOM - DAY Sykes enters, stirring a jumbo coffee. He's slept about four hours, and his face looks like he went a few with Hagler. He crosses straight to Fedorchuk's desk. SYKES So what've you got on Tuggle's killers? FEDORCHUK Jesus, Sykes -- it's been less than ten hours. Me and Alterez are on it, okay? SYKES You don't have squat. FEDORCHUK You ever try to make a case in Slagtown? The list of Newcomer informants is about as long as the list of Mexican war heroes... ALTEREZ Up yours. FEDORCHUK ... Nobody talks to nobody down there. Half of them don't speak English and the other half only when it suits them. It's gonna take some time. SYKES Yeah, I know it's gonna take time. Like until the Ice Capades opens in Hell, with you two on it. Across the room, the Captain's door BANGS open and CAPTAIN WARNER pounds out, his deep voice booming through the squad room. WARNER Nobody wanders off! I got an announcement. Get your asses back in here. Two detectives on their way out, stop, and head back into the room. Everybody gathers around, curious, as Warner stands holding a sheet of paper. WARNER I'll make this short. This is a directive from Chief Evaner, who is acting on orders from the Mayor, who is under mandate from the Federal Bureau of Newcomer Relations. As of nine o'clock this morning, one Newcomer uniform officer has been promoted to the rank of Detective, third grade. The detectives GROAN... some angrier ones grumble, "This is bullshit!", etc. WARNER And we've got him, gentleman. (more groans) Volunteers for duty with the new detective should see me in my office... otherwise I will choose a volunteer myself. That is all. He turns and heads back to his office in the wake of continued grumbling from the detectives. Sykes, standing to one side, absently watches Warner return to his glass- walled office. Waiting inside are a balding man and an alien in a grey suit. Sykes reacts. The alien in the suit is Jetson. The grumbling continues around him as Sykes considers something. FEDORCHUK Unbelievable bullshit. ALTEREZ How long has this Slag been on the force? A year, max -- right? DETECTIVE I don't know about the rest of you, but I sure as hell ain't gonna sit still for this. I'm calling the union, pronto. Others grumble. "Yeah!". Meanwhile, Sykes has decided something. He heads toward Warner's office. Fedorchuk sees this. FEDORCHUK Where the hell is he going? INT. WARNER'S OFFICE - DAY Sykes KNOCKS and enters. WARNER Yeah, Sykes? SYKES Captain. I'd like to volunteer for duty with the new detective. Warner is surprised. He never expected Sykes. WARNER ... All right. Detective Sergeant Sykes, this is Detective... Jetson. JETSON We have met. Warner looks up, clocking this. He looks at Sykes, starting to smell something fishy. The balding man, GOLDRUP, rises to shake their hands. GOLDRUP Victor Goldrup, Mayor's office. Congratulations, gentlemen. Warner is starting to suspect what Sykes is up to. WARNER (to Sykes) You are to have nothing to do with the investigation into Bill Tuggle's death. You know that. Leave that for Fedorchuk. SYKES (nodding) Departmental policy. WARNER (to Jetson) You? JETSON Yes, sir. WARNER Good. SYKES There's another case I'd like to take. A homicide -- a Newcomer named Hubley. Jetson looks over at Sykes, knows he's up to something. Sykes avoids his look. WARNER Granger and Pitts are already on it. SYKES Granger and Pitts have one hell of a caseload... and I would have thought with Jetson here being the first Newcomer plainclothes, and Hubley's body being found over in the Newcomer community... WARNER Don't tell me what to think. GOLDRUP He's got a point. That's the sort of thing we should be doing with this early advancement program... Long-suffering Warner looks up at Goldrup, then finally sighs with resignation. Sykes grins. CUT TO: INT. STAIRWELL - FIRST FLOOR HALLWAY - DAY The steel door BANGS open and Sykes and Jetson exit. Next to Sykes' slept-in look, Jetson in his grey suit looks like a Jehovah's Witness canvasser. They move past all the black-and-whites pulling out on p.m. watch during: SYKES ... and we work my hours. I'll do the driving, you do the paperwork. You gotta learn it so you might as well do it all. JETSON (after a moment) Sergeant... I'd like to thank you for what you're doing. SYKES What's that? (then realizing) Look, Jetson. Get this straight in your head. We're not pals, we're not married, and we ain't gonna take long moonlight walks together... We're just partners. And don't call me Sergeant. Call me Sykes... or Matt if you have to. JETSON I am George. Sykes nods absently, and they walk on... four and a half steps to be exact. Then it hits Sykes. He seizes up cold. SYKES Wait a minute. George? George Jetson? Jetson nods... he's used to this. Sykes cracks up. SYKES (between laughs) Man, somebody really hung one on you! I've heard some good ones for you guys... Humphrey Bogart, Harley Davidson. I guess the people at immigration got a little punchy after a while, coming up with names for a quarter of a million of you. You weren't at the back of the line, were you, George? JETSON My true name is Ss'tangya T'ssorentsa'. SYKES Gesundheit. You don't mind if I stick to George, do you? EXT. POLICE STATION PARKING AREA - DAY They approach Sykes' ugly sedan, the slug-mobile. SYKES Anyway, what's it matter to you if we think it's funny, right? Whatta you care? JETSON That is exactly so. (completely deadpan) It is like your name... Sykes. I'm sure it doesn't bother you at all that it sounds like "ss'ai k'ss", two words in my language which mean "excrement" and "cranium". Sykes looks at him, perplexed. JETSON "Shit... head". Jetson gets in and slams the door, leaving Sykes standing there, the smirk dropping from his face. CUT TO: INT. SLUG-MOBILE - DAY They're cruising along in downtown traffic. Sykes drives. Jetson is somewhat cramped in the passenger seat. SYKES Let's talk Hubley. JETSON (refers to a folder he holds) His body was discovered three days ago, in an alley off of Central Avenue, near downtown. SYKES With two

featuring

How many times the word 'featuring' appears in the text?

Alien Nation Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Alien Nation - by Rochne O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron ALIEN NATION Original Screenplay by Rockne S. O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron October 1987 FADE IN: EXT. MOJAVE DESERT - DAY (TELEVISION IMAGE) A LONG LENS SHOT of a far distant metallic object hovering just above the ground -- maybe two or three miles away. The heat waves and the light refraction off the desert- scape make the object undulate rhythmically, keeping its true shape and appearance indistinct. The VIDEO CAMERA recording this scene zooms back, then pans over -- revealing a semicircle of US Army vehicles and personnel. Army Engineers with their tripod-mounted scopes and binoculars are shoulder to shoulder with the armed infantry. Everyone stares off at the same point on the horizon. Waiting. The VIDEO CAMERA movements are HANDHELD, unsteady, as it moves through the line of Army personnel to reveal a second, less organized semicircle of observers fifty yards behind the Army. LOCALS from nearby towns perch in truck beds and on car roofs, Budweiser and Fritos at hand, eyes glued to the distant object. The VIDEO CAMERA image climbs up onto the roof of a parked local TV van, finds the object again in the distance, zooms in, and waits, like everyone else. Abruptly the VIDEO IMAGE contracts, becoming a box CHROMAKEYED behind CNN reporter DUNCAN CRAIS. CRAIS That was the scene in California's Mojave Desert three years ago today -- the historic first view of the Newcomer ship upon its dramatic arrival. As with the assassination of John Kennedy, who among us does not remember exactly where he was that October nineteenth morning, when news first broke: that people have landed... from another star. We PULL BACK from a large television set to reveal... INT. A CROWDED BAR - LOS ANGELES - NIGHT The Hollowpoint Lounge -- a cop bar. The off-duty uniformed and plainclothes cops are mostly ignoring the TV, except for two detectives, FEDORCHUK and ALTEREZ, who are waiting for the ball scores. FEDORCHUK I remember where I was -- pissing off my balcony at the neighbor's dog! Others laugh. ALTEREZ (yells at Crais on TV) Get to the goddamn ball scores! ON THE TV SCREEN, an on-location interview with a CAL-TECH PROFESSOR comes up. Her name and title appear across the bottom of the screen. CAL-TECH PROFESSOR From the time mankind first gazed up at the stars there had been speculation about a visit by people from "out there." How ironic that when that first contact was made, the two hundred and sixty thousand occupants aboard the craft were as surprised as we were about their arrival. That they awakened from frozen hibernation to find their malfunctioning autopilot had landed them here by mistake. The CNN reporter, Duncan Crais, appears again. CRAIS These "Newcomers," we soon learned, were a genetically-engineered race, adapted for hard labor in almost any environmental condition. In effect, their ship was a slave ship... washed ashore on Earth with no way to get back to where they came from... A dishwasher tray filled with beer glasses CUTS ACROSS FRAME, and we PAN WITH IT as it is slammed down on the countertop. Now an interview with a FRESNO HOUSEWIFE standing outside a supermarket comes on the TV SCREEN. FRESNO HOUSEWIFE When the Newcomers were first let out of the ship, they were quarantined in a camp not ten miles from the town here. You can imagine how the people around here felt about that. But once they were releases from the camp and we got a chance to know them, we saw what nice, quiet people they really are... WIDER revealing a MASSIVE ALIEN FIGURE in a filthy white busboy's uniform. His back is to us as he picks up two trays from the counter. The bartender is dwarfed by this Newcomer, but works around him without apparent concern. Fedorchuk addresses the alien busboy. FEDORCHUK Hey, Henry, how you doin' tonight? Workin' hard? The Newcomer turns -- his face is humanoid, but disturbingly alien. FEDORCHUK You got your green card, buddy? You didn't leave home without it? The cops at the bar crack up. Henry looks at Fedorchuk -- his eyes carrying no malice... or pain. He merely blinks. CUT TO: INT./ EXT. SLUG-MOBILE - STREET - NIGHT An explosion of color and movement as OPENING TITLES PLAY very quickly. We're TRAVELING the streets in a n.d. sedan, getting MOVING GLIMPSES of the aliens living among us now: -- A coffee shop where aliens eat at some window tables. -- A Newcomer leaving a night school with an armload of books. -- A city park where a number of alien families have gathered to play some arcane alien game. SYKES Jeez... they call that gang-bang a game...? -- A billboard for Pepsi featuring an alien. -- The sedan has pulled to a stop at a red light. Suddenly a hand thumps against the glass next to Sykes' head... and alien hand. Sykes jumps. It's a NEWCOMER DERELICT standing there, weaving, mumbling in his own language. In one filthy hand holds a quart carton of milk. We know immediately what he wants. Sykes rolls down the window. SYKES Take a hike. Sykes gets a whiff of the derelict's breath as the light changes and the sedan pulls away, leaving him in the street. Sykes grimaces at the smell. SYKES Why's it have to be sour milk that these guys get wasted on? What the hell's wrong with Jack Daniels, or Thunderbird for chrissakes? (beat; disgusted) Slagtown. Shit... -- Aliens hanging around outside their homes. -- Alien hookers plying their trade. SYKES Hope their plumbing's the same. TUGGLE It is. (and Sykes gives him a look) -- A Newcomer lowrider pulls up beside the slug-mobile. -- An alien couple exit a theater playing "Terminator III". -- An alien wig shop. ANGLE TITLES END, and we start to PULL BACK into the slug-mobile and HEAR: TUGGLE (O.S.) So you gonna go, or you not gonna go? INT. SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT The dashboard is littered with fast-food detritus and two coffees in styrofoam cups making fog circles on the windshield. A hand picks up one of the coffees and we FOLLOW IT to a face, a forty-year-old cop face that's seen some wear and tear -- behind the wheel is MATT SYKES. Beside him is his partner of nine years, BILL TUGGLE. Tuggle expertly munches on a slice of pizza as he talks. SYKES How can I go? TUGGLE Put on your wash-and-wear suit and your clip-on tie, have your landlady tie your shoes for you, and show up at the church. Simple. (beat) Me and Carol are going. SYKES What? TUGGLE Hey, look -- we've known Kristin since... since she was conceived in that cabin up in Big Bear. Remember? You and Edie banged the wall so hard, me and Carol were picking plaster out of our hair for a week... SYKES Goddammit, Tug -- I want to see Kristin get married, okay? But-- TUGGLE But you're bummed because your ex and her new husband are paying for the whole thing. SYKES Shit, if Kristin had to get married where I could afford it, we'd be holding the reception at Buddy's Burgers. Sykes stares out the window, wallowing in his pissed-off mood. Then he spots something that twinges his street-cop radar. SYKES Uh-oh... Check it out. THROUGH THE WINDOW Tuggle sees what Sykes sees: two ALIENS in long coats moving down the sidewalk, entering a mom- and-pop mini-mart on the corner. One of them wears dark glasses and a red bandana (KIPLING): the other has on a black vinyl raincoat. SYKES Does that look at all suspicious to you? TUGGLE Whatever gave you that idea? EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes continues up a quarter of a block, pulls to the curb among other parked cars. INT. SEDAN - NIGHT Sykes is already pulling his gun. Tuggle quickly reaches for the radio in the glovebox. TUGGLE This is one-Henry-seven, we've got a possible two-eleven in progress at Porter's Mini-Mart, corner of Court and Alvarado. Requesting backup. Impulsive Sykes is already opening his door and climbing out. SYKES Let's do it, partner. Tuggle drops the radio mike and follows Sykes as the Radio Dispatcher confirms the call. EXT. STREET - NIGHT The two cops, guns in hand, move along the row of parked cars across the street from the mini-mart. Through the store window they see the old alien PROPRIETOR behind the counter. His eyes go wide as Kipling whips back his coat and yanks out a short combat pump-shotgun and aims it right at him. The Raincoat alien pulls an identical gun and covers the door. Sykes and Tuggle react to the firepower inside. SYKES You got your vest? TUGGLE Of course. Right in the trunk of the car. SYKES Yeah, that's comforting. Mine, too. Through the store window the robbery continues in pantomime. Kipling gestures viciously with the shotgun, yelling orders in the alien language. The Proprietor is quickly filling a paper bag with cash from the register. The PROPRIETOR'S WIFE, a middle-aged alien woman, stands in the doorway from the back, frozen in fear. The Raincoat alien dances from foot to foot, antsy, wired. Sykes and Tuggle crouch at the car directly across the street from the store entrance. TUGGLE Watch the driver. I'm going for a better angle on the door. SYKES I got him. Don't get pinned. Tuggle leaves the cover provided by the car, runs cater- corner across the intersection. Through the store window Sykes sees Kipling grab the bag of cash, shove it in his coat pocket. Bills fall out, but he doesn't care. Then, without warning, Kipling whips up the twelve gauge and blows a hole in the Proprietor's chest! The Proprietor slams back against the shelves, slides to the floor. Kipling leans over the counter and FIRES another round into the Proprietor. SYKES (under his breath) Aw, shit. Tuggle is almost across the street when he hears the shots. The human DRIVER of the getaway car (parked at the curb a few doors down from the mini-mart) glances up, spots Tuggle. He leans on the HORN, reaches for a machine pistol on the seat next to him. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling and Raincoat alien react to the horn honk. They spot Tuggle through the store window and open fire -- BLASTING THROUGH THE GLASS. A civilian car enters the intersection. The engine is hit by shotgun fire, and the car skids to a stop in the intersection, steam rising from the radiator. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Tuggle dives behind a lamp post. The Driver is out of the car now, brings up the machine pistol to fire at Tuggle. Sykes sees this and opens fire at the Driver. The Driver turns and fires at Sykes. Sykes ducks down, and the car he's hiding behind is sprayed with bullets. A forty-foot moving van pulls down the street between Sykes and the Driver. Once the truck is past, Sykes is standing behind the bullet-riddled car, gun ready. He rapid-fires -- creaming the human Driver. Tuggle is pinned down behind the thin lamp post by the shotgun fire from Kipling and Raincoat alien. SYKES Get outta there! TUGGLE I can't! Do you mind! SYKES I'll cover you! Get outta there!! Sykes rises and runs across the street toward the getaway car, firing toward the store as he goes. Kipling and Raincoat dodge behind cover. Tuggle seizes the opportunity, jumps from behind the lamp post and runs to the stalled civilian car. He slides across the hood and drops behind the car for cover. Tuggle slowly pokes his head up to peer through the car window. His gaze is met by the face of the OLD MAN driver who is still inside the car. OLD MAN Can I get out now? TUGGLE Move it! Sykes doesn't have a clear firing line on the aliens in the store. As he considers his next move-- Tuggle fires at the two aliens. They return fire and he slides down to safety behind the car. Or so he thinks. Glass rains down on him as the car windows are cremated by the shotgun blasts. He flinches as another blast hits the car. He looks over. There's a big exit hole in the fender beside him. THE SHOT WENT RIGHT THROUGH THE CAR. Another exit hole is BLASTED, inches from his shoulder. Panicked, he scrambles along the side of the car -- BLASTS and exit holes following him until he reaches the front of the car. He has nowhere left to go and-- -- a BLAST comes through the car and catches him squarely in the chest throwing him back onto the street. Sykes' head jerks around -- in time to see his partner of nine years blown away. Kipling keeps firing in Tuggle's direction until his shotgun CLICKS empty. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling grabs Raincoat and throws him toward the back exit of the store. The shotgun falls from Raincoat's hands. The two of them run out the back. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes runs to Tuggle's spread-eagled body. One glance is enough. Nobody ever looked deader. SYKES Aw shit, Tug, Jesus! Goddamn it! He stares, shocked and incredulous. He can't find a way to think or feel about this. Then we see him going crazy right before our eyes, the rage revving. He takes off toward the store as SIRENS are HEARD rapidly approaching in background. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Sykes moves through like a locomotive skidding on broken glass, bangs through the exit. EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT Sykes catches sight of the two aliens just as they round the corner at the far end of the alley. He takes off, quickly cranking up to full speed. EXT. BACK STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds the corner. Doesn't see them anymore. He slows... moves along this street with some caution. Lots of shadows, lots of hiding places. Sykes HEARS a NOISE, looks up... just in time to see Raincoat on a high, huge billboard. He cuts loose with the shotgun. Sykes dives. Huge chunks of the crate he dives behind fly off into the night. Sykes, on his belly, scrambles deeper among the crates. Raincoat's shotgun CLICKS empty now. He drops it, swings down off the fire escape, runs off. Sykes is up again in a flash, pounding after him. EXT. TUNNEL STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds this second corner, races down the street. The only route they could've taken is through a tunnel up ahead. Sykes approaches the tunnel, all senses wide open. INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT The murkiness of the tunnel engulfs him as he moves through the mouth. He tries to control his breathing so he can hear. The only SOUND is his own shoes scuffing along the asphalt. Then he HEARS -- another set of FOOTSTEPS. Rapid footsteps, coming toward him, ECHOING. He can't tell from which direction! He spins, just as a LARGE SHAPE lunges for him with an alien CRY. It's the wired Raincoat alien. Sykes gets his gun up just in time and FIRES -- once, twice, three times. Raincoat alien is knocked backwards to the wet asphalt by the blasts. Sykes approaches the body slowly. With an inhuman ROAR, the alien snaps forward, lunging at Sykes with outstretched arms. Sykes jumps back, startled, and FIRES twice more at the pale figure. Raincoat goes down and stays down. Sykes relaxes for the briefest moment. Then he HEARS it... a distinctive CLICKING SOUND, metal on metal. Sykes looks up and -- Kipling drops down on him from directly above! Sykes goes down in a heap. He's managed to hold onto the gun and as Kipling comes for him, he swings the gun hand around. Kipling sees it, lashes out, slamming the gun from Sykes' hand. Sykes tries to get to his feet, but the alien grabs him and flings him down the tunnel. A SIREN is HEARD approaching in background. Kipling moves in to deliver the coup de grace. As he draws near, Sykes HEARS that distinctive CLICKING SOUND again. SYKES' P.O.V. Though his vision is BLURRED, Sykes still gets a good look at an exotic silver bracelet on the alien's wrist. The strands of this bracelet are what make the CLINKING NOISE. ANGLE The alien rears back, and as he does, the approaching SIREN suddenly WAILS louder as a backup patrol car swings onto the street heading this way. Kipling sees this and leaves Sykes, running off down the dark tunnel. ON SYKES dazed, struggling to rise. WE HEAR running FOOTSTEPS approaching. Sykes turns, his eyes wild and unfocused. SYKES' P.O.V. An OUT-OF-FOCUS ALIEN FACE looming over him. ANGLE Sykes whips around in a roundhouse swing with all his weight on it, pistoning his fist straight into the alien face. The alien, caught by surprise and off balance, sprawls backward OUT OF FRAME. Sykes is grabbed by a human uniformed cop, as he tries to swing again. HUMAN COP Whoa, whoa... hold it. Take it easy. (to alien on the ground) You okay? Sykes stops struggling, and his eyes focus. He looks at the alien he just decked, sprawled on his ass ten feet away. The alien is a uniformed cop... his name is JETSON. JETSON I am all right. He gets up. A trickle of purple blood runs from his nose. HUMAN COP I better call in. He moves off. Jetson moves toward Sykes and the Raincoat alien's body. Sykes tenses, thinking Jetson might retaliate in some way. But Jetson simply steps past him to kneel beside the dead alien. He checks for a pulse on the underside of the dead alien's upper arm. Nothing. Sykes is holding his punching hand in obvious pain. He struggles to rise. Jetson gets an arm around him to help him up. JETSON Your hand will require attention. Sykes roughly jerks himself free of Jetson's grip. SYKES Get the hell away from me! I don't need your goddamn help. He almost loses his balance and has to steady himself against the tunnel wall. Sykes leans there, the picture of impotent rage and frustration. Jetson looks at him, with that slight inquisitive expression aliens exhibit when trying to understand human nature. EXT. MINI-MART - NIGHT OPEN on Tuggle's body, as the body bag is zipped up over his face, and the litter is lifted into the back of the Coroner's wagon. WIDEN to reveal Sykes, standing nearby, watching. The Wagon pulls out, and Sykes turns, moving past all the LAPD black-and-whites and forensics wagons, and COPS (two of them aliens) and DETECTIVES, and RUBBERNECKERS (some alien). He moves into: INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT The CRIME SCENE TEAM is checking for prints, digging slugs out of the wall, photographing everything. Several UNIFORMED COPS mill around. Sykes moves aimlessly around the room like a stranger at a party. The Proprietor's Wife stands near the body in a strange rigid posture, a thin, mournful KEENING SOUND coming from her lips. A harried female uniformed cop is trying to get her away from the body, but can't get her to budge. MINKLER, a ballistics guy, is tagging the pump-shotgun the Raincoat alien dropped here. NATUZZI, a mean-looking veteran uniform cop is with him. NATUZZI Looks like a standard combat pump- action. MINKLER It is. NATUZZI So what punched holes clear through that car out there? Minkler pulls an evidence baggie from his work box. Inside are four unfired twelve gauge shells. MINKLER BRI Sabot slugs. These puppies are nasty. Two plastic sabots fall away in flight leaving a fifty-caliber slug going two thousand feet per second. Tug might as well've been hiding behind a rosebush. Minkler senses somebody has just stepped up beside him. He looks. It's Sykes. NATUZZI Pretty heavy artillery for knocking over a liquor store. A new voice enters the conversation. JETSON (O.S.) An identical round was used in the shooting of a Newcomer named Hubley, two days ago. Sykes turns -- surprised, and not especially pleased to see the voice is Jetson's. MINKLER Yeah? So why the extra fire power? JETSON Perhaps because even the larger caliber handguns aren't always effective against my people. SYKES (mulls this, then) You saying there's some connection to this other homicide? Before Jetson can say, the female cop who was talking to the Proprietor's Wife steps up. FEMALE COP Hey, give me a hand with this woman, will ya Jetson? We've got to get her to Division for her statement and she won't budge. JETSON (to Sykes) Excuse me. And he moves off with his partner. Sykes calls after him, but Jetson is already approaching the woman and doesn't turn. SYKES So, you think there's a connection, or what? Hey! CUT TO: EXT. SYKES' APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT The slug-mobile pulls up. A drained Sykes moves up the walk to his front door. INT. SYKES' APARTMENT - NIGHT Sykes enters his apartment, an untidy bachelor place decorated with negative taste. It's obviously the maid's decade off. By rote, he hits the rewind switch on the answering machine on his way into the kitchen. The tape rewinds. He opens the fridge. Not much here. Left-over take-out pizza carton. Left-over take-out Chinese food cartons. Left-over take-out burger wrappers. The answering machine message begins -- he glances over his shoulder as he HEARS his daughter's VOICE. During the following, he reaches the fridge. Brings out a milk carton that's in his way, sets it on the counter. Reaches in again and this time brings out a bottle of Stoly. Then searches for a semi-clean glass. KRISTIN'S VOICE (bouncy, bride-to-be happy) Hi, Daddy, it's me. I'm over at Danny's parents' house... talking about Sunday. I thought maybe you'd be home by now. Anyway, uh, nothing really. I just wanted to call and say I love you. I love you, Daddy. (she giggles) Uh-oh, I shouldn't'a done that. Knowing you, you'll probably pull this tape out of your machine and save it -- in that drawer where you keep every card I ever gave you, and all of my old baby teeth... gross! Anyway, Daddy, don't save this tape -- but I do love you, and I'll talk to you before Sunday. (beat) Oh, Tug and Carol came by and met Danny last week. (Sykes stiffens) Danny thought Tug was the greatest -- but, then, who doesn't? Anyway, love you, talk to you soon. 'Bye. The machine BEEPS and HISSES. Sykes take the glass and the bottle of vodka, crosses back toward the living room, switching off the answering machine as he goes. Then he stops, turns back, takes the message tape out of the machine and tosses it into a drawer. FADE TO: INT. DETECTIVE SQUAD ROOM - DAY Sykes enters, stirring a jumbo coffee. He's slept about four hours, and his face looks like he went a few with Hagler. He crosses straight to Fedorchuk's desk. SYKES So what've you got on Tuggle's killers? FEDORCHUK Jesus, Sykes -- it's been less than ten hours. Me and Alterez are on it, okay? SYKES You don't have squat. FEDORCHUK You ever try to make a case in Slagtown? The list of Newcomer informants is about as long as the list of Mexican war heroes... ALTEREZ Up yours. FEDORCHUK ... Nobody talks to nobody down there. Half of them don't speak English and the other half only when it suits them. It's gonna take some time. SYKES Yeah, I know it's gonna take time. Like until the Ice Capades opens in Hell, with you two on it. Across the room, the Captain's door BANGS open and CAPTAIN WARNER pounds out, his deep voice booming through the squad room. WARNER Nobody wanders off! I got an announcement. Get your asses back in here. Two detectives on their way out, stop, and head back into the room. Everybody gathers around, curious, as Warner stands holding a sheet of paper. WARNER I'll make this short. This is a directive from Chief Evaner, who is acting on orders from the Mayor, who is under mandate from the Federal Bureau of Newcomer Relations. As of nine o'clock this morning, one Newcomer uniform officer has been promoted to the rank of Detective, third grade. The detectives GROAN... some angrier ones grumble, "This is bullshit!", etc. WARNER And we've got him, gentleman. (more groans) Volunteers for duty with the new detective should see me in my office... otherwise I will choose a volunteer myself. That is all. He turns and heads back to his office in the wake of continued grumbling from the detectives. Sykes, standing to one side, absently watches Warner return to his glass- walled office. Waiting inside are a balding man and an alien in a grey suit. Sykes reacts. The alien in the suit is Jetson. The grumbling continues around him as Sykes considers something. FEDORCHUK Unbelievable bullshit. ALTEREZ How long has this Slag been on the force? A year, max -- right? DETECTIVE I don't know about the rest of you, but I sure as hell ain't gonna sit still for this. I'm calling the union, pronto. Others grumble. "Yeah!". Meanwhile, Sykes has decided something. He heads toward Warner's office. Fedorchuk sees this. FEDORCHUK Where the hell is he going? INT. WARNER'S OFFICE - DAY Sykes KNOCKS and enters. WARNER Yeah, Sykes? SYKES Captain. I'd like to volunteer for duty with the new detective. Warner is surprised. He never expected Sykes. WARNER ... All right. Detective Sergeant Sykes, this is Detective... Jetson. JETSON We have met. Warner looks up, clocking this. He looks at Sykes, starting to smell something fishy. The balding man, GOLDRUP, rises to shake their hands. GOLDRUP Victor Goldrup, Mayor's office. Congratulations, gentlemen. Warner is starting to suspect what Sykes is up to. WARNER (to Sykes) You are to have nothing to do with the investigation into Bill Tuggle's death. You know that. Leave that for Fedorchuk. SYKES (nodding) Departmental policy. WARNER (to Jetson) You? JETSON Yes, sir. WARNER Good. SYKES There's another case I'd like to take. A homicide -- a Newcomer named Hubley. Jetson looks over at Sykes, knows he's up to something. Sykes avoids his look. WARNER Granger and Pitts are already on it. SYKES Granger and Pitts have one hell of a caseload... and I would have thought with Jetson here being the first Newcomer plainclothes, and Hubley's body being found over in the Newcomer community... WARNER Don't tell me what to think. GOLDRUP He's got a point. That's the sort of thing we should be doing with this early advancement program... Long-suffering Warner looks up at Goldrup, then finally sighs with resignation. Sykes grins. CUT TO: INT. STAIRWELL - FIRST FLOOR HALLWAY - DAY The steel door BANGS open and Sykes and Jetson exit. Next to Sykes' slept-in look, Jetson in his grey suit looks like a Jehovah's Witness canvasser. They move past all the black-and-whites pulling out on p.m. watch during: SYKES ... and we work my hours. I'll do the driving, you do the paperwork. You gotta learn it so you might as well do it all. JETSON (after a moment) Sergeant... I'd like to thank you for what you're doing. SYKES What's that? (then realizing) Look, Jetson. Get this straight in your head. We're not pals, we're not married, and we ain't gonna take long moonlight walks together... We're just partners. And don't call me Sergeant. Call me Sykes... or Matt if you have to. JETSON I am George. Sykes nods absently, and they walk on... four and a half steps to be exact. Then it hits Sykes. He seizes up cold. SYKES Wait a minute. George? George Jetson? Jetson nods... he's used to this. Sykes cracks up. SYKES (between laughs) Man, somebody really hung one on you! I've heard some good ones for you guys... Humphrey Bogart, Harley Davidson. I guess the people at immigration got a little punchy after a while, coming up with names for a quarter of a million of you. You weren't at the back of the line, were you, George? JETSON My true name is Ss'tangya T'ssorentsa'. SYKES Gesundheit. You don't mind if I stick to George, do you? EXT. POLICE STATION PARKING AREA - DAY They approach Sykes' ugly sedan, the slug-mobile. SYKES Anyway, what's it matter to you if we think it's funny, right? Whatta you care? JETSON That is exactly so. (completely deadpan) It is like your name... Sykes. I'm sure it doesn't bother you at all that it sounds like "ss'ai k'ss", two words in my language which mean "excrement" and "cranium". Sykes looks at him, perplexed. JETSON "Shit... head". Jetson gets in and slams the door, leaving Sykes standing there, the smirk dropping from his face. CUT TO: INT. SLUG-MOBILE - DAY They're cruising along in downtown traffic. Sykes drives. Jetson is somewhat cramped in the passenger seat. SYKES Let's talk Hubley. JETSON (refers to a folder he holds) His body was discovered three days ago, in an alley off of Central Avenue, near downtown. SYKES With two

doit

How many times the word 'doit' appears in the text?

Alien Nation Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Alien Nation - by Rochne O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron ALIEN NATION Original Screenplay by Rockne S. O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron October 1987 FADE IN: EXT. MOJAVE DESERT - DAY (TELEVISION IMAGE) A LONG LENS SHOT of a far distant metallic object hovering just above the ground -- maybe two or three miles away. The heat waves and the light refraction off the desert- scape make the object undulate rhythmically, keeping its true shape and appearance indistinct. The VIDEO CAMERA recording this scene zooms back, then pans over -- revealing a semicircle of US Army vehicles and personnel. Army Engineers with their tripod-mounted scopes and binoculars are shoulder to shoulder with the armed infantry. Everyone stares off at the same point on the horizon. Waiting. The VIDEO CAMERA movements are HANDHELD, unsteady, as it moves through the line of Army personnel to reveal a second, less organized semicircle of observers fifty yards behind the Army. LOCALS from nearby towns perch in truck beds and on car roofs, Budweiser and Fritos at hand, eyes glued to the distant object. The VIDEO CAMERA image climbs up onto the roof of a parked local TV van, finds the object again in the distance, zooms in, and waits, like everyone else. Abruptly the VIDEO IMAGE contracts, becoming a box CHROMAKEYED behind CNN reporter DUNCAN CRAIS. CRAIS That was the scene in California's Mojave Desert three years ago today -- the historic first view of the Newcomer ship upon its dramatic arrival. As with the assassination of John Kennedy, who among us does not remember exactly where he was that October nineteenth morning, when news first broke: that people have landed... from another star. We PULL BACK from a large television set to reveal... INT. A CROWDED BAR - LOS ANGELES - NIGHT The Hollowpoint Lounge -- a cop bar. The off-duty uniformed and plainclothes cops are mostly ignoring the TV, except for two detectives, FEDORCHUK and ALTEREZ, who are waiting for the ball scores. FEDORCHUK I remember where I was -- pissing off my balcony at the neighbor's dog! Others laugh. ALTEREZ (yells at Crais on TV) Get to the goddamn ball scores! ON THE TV SCREEN, an on-location interview with a CAL-TECH PROFESSOR comes up. Her name and title appear across the bottom of the screen. CAL-TECH PROFESSOR From the time mankind first gazed up at the stars there had been speculation about a visit by people from "out there." How ironic that when that first contact was made, the two hundred and sixty thousand occupants aboard the craft were as surprised as we were about their arrival. That they awakened from frozen hibernation to find their malfunctioning autopilot had landed them here by mistake. The CNN reporter, Duncan Crais, appears again. CRAIS These "Newcomers," we soon learned, were a genetically-engineered race, adapted for hard labor in almost any environmental condition. In effect, their ship was a slave ship... washed ashore on Earth with no way to get back to where they came from... A dishwasher tray filled with beer glasses CUTS ACROSS FRAME, and we PAN WITH IT as it is slammed down on the countertop. Now an interview with a FRESNO HOUSEWIFE standing outside a supermarket comes on the TV SCREEN. FRESNO HOUSEWIFE When the Newcomers were first let out of the ship, they were quarantined in a camp not ten miles from the town here. You can imagine how the people around here felt about that. But once they were releases from the camp and we got a chance to know them, we saw what nice, quiet people they really are... WIDER revealing a MASSIVE ALIEN FIGURE in a filthy white busboy's uniform. His back is to us as he picks up two trays from the counter. The bartender is dwarfed by this Newcomer, but works around him without apparent concern. Fedorchuk addresses the alien busboy. FEDORCHUK Hey, Henry, how you doin' tonight? Workin' hard? The Newcomer turns -- his face is humanoid, but disturbingly alien. FEDORCHUK You got your green card, buddy? You didn't leave home without it? The cops at the bar crack up. Henry looks at Fedorchuk -- his eyes carrying no malice... or pain. He merely blinks. CUT TO: INT./ EXT. SLUG-MOBILE - STREET - NIGHT An explosion of color and movement as OPENING TITLES PLAY very quickly. We're TRAVELING the streets in a n.d. sedan, getting MOVING GLIMPSES of the aliens living among us now: -- A coffee shop where aliens eat at some window tables. -- A Newcomer leaving a night school with an armload of books. -- A city park where a number of alien families have gathered to play some arcane alien game. SYKES Jeez... they call that gang-bang a game...? -- A billboard for Pepsi featuring an alien. -- The sedan has pulled to a stop at a red light. Suddenly a hand thumps against the glass next to Sykes' head... and alien hand. Sykes jumps. It's a NEWCOMER DERELICT standing there, weaving, mumbling in his own language. In one filthy hand holds a quart carton of milk. We know immediately what he wants. Sykes rolls down the window. SYKES Take a hike. Sykes gets a whiff of the derelict's breath as the light changes and the sedan pulls away, leaving him in the street. Sykes grimaces at the smell. SYKES Why's it have to be sour milk that these guys get wasted on? What the hell's wrong with Jack Daniels, or Thunderbird for chrissakes? (beat; disgusted) Slagtown. Shit... -- Aliens hanging around outside their homes. -- Alien hookers plying their trade. SYKES Hope their plumbing's the same. TUGGLE It is. (and Sykes gives him a look) -- A Newcomer lowrider pulls up beside the slug-mobile. -- An alien couple exit a theater playing "Terminator III". -- An alien wig shop. ANGLE TITLES END, and we start to PULL BACK into the slug-mobile and HEAR: TUGGLE (O.S.) So you gonna go, or you not gonna go? INT. SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT The dashboard is littered with fast-food detritus and two coffees in styrofoam cups making fog circles on the windshield. A hand picks up one of the coffees and we FOLLOW IT to a face, a forty-year-old cop face that's seen some wear and tear -- behind the wheel is MATT SYKES. Beside him is his partner of nine years, BILL TUGGLE. Tuggle expertly munches on a slice of pizza as he talks. SYKES How can I go? TUGGLE Put on your wash-and-wear suit and your clip-on tie, have your landlady tie your shoes for you, and show up at the church. Simple. (beat) Me and Carol are going. SYKES What? TUGGLE Hey, look -- we've known Kristin since... since she was conceived in that cabin up in Big Bear. Remember? You and Edie banged the wall so hard, me and Carol were picking plaster out of our hair for a week... SYKES Goddammit, Tug -- I want to see Kristin get married, okay? But-- TUGGLE But you're bummed because your ex and her new husband are paying for the whole thing. SYKES Shit, if Kristin had to get married where I could afford it, we'd be holding the reception at Buddy's Burgers. Sykes stares out the window, wallowing in his pissed-off mood. Then he spots something that twinges his street-cop radar. SYKES Uh-oh... Check it out. THROUGH THE WINDOW Tuggle sees what Sykes sees: two ALIENS in long coats moving down the sidewalk, entering a mom- and-pop mini-mart on the corner. One of them wears dark glasses and a red bandana (KIPLING): the other has on a black vinyl raincoat. SYKES Does that look at all suspicious to you? TUGGLE Whatever gave you that idea? EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes continues up a quarter of a block, pulls to the curb among other parked cars. INT. SEDAN - NIGHT Sykes is already pulling his gun. Tuggle quickly reaches for the radio in the glovebox. TUGGLE This is one-Henry-seven, we've got a possible two-eleven in progress at Porter's Mini-Mart, corner of Court and Alvarado. Requesting backup. Impulsive Sykes is already opening his door and climbing out. SYKES Let's do it, partner. Tuggle drops the radio mike and follows Sykes as the Radio Dispatcher confirms the call. EXT. STREET - NIGHT The two cops, guns in hand, move along the row of parked cars across the street from the mini-mart. Through the store window they see the old alien PROPRIETOR behind the counter. His eyes go wide as Kipling whips back his coat and yanks out a short combat pump-shotgun and aims it right at him. The Raincoat alien pulls an identical gun and covers the door. Sykes and Tuggle react to the firepower inside. SYKES You got your vest? TUGGLE Of course. Right in the trunk of the car. SYKES Yeah, that's comforting. Mine, too. Through the store window the robbery continues in pantomime. Kipling gestures viciously with the shotgun, yelling orders in the alien language. The Proprietor is quickly filling a paper bag with cash from the register. The PROPRIETOR'S WIFE, a middle-aged alien woman, stands in the doorway from the back, frozen in fear. The Raincoat alien dances from foot to foot, antsy, wired. Sykes and Tuggle crouch at the car directly across the street from the store entrance. TUGGLE Watch the driver. I'm going for a better angle on the door. SYKES I got him. Don't get pinned. Tuggle leaves the cover provided by the car, runs cater- corner across the intersection. Through the store window Sykes sees Kipling grab the bag of cash, shove it in his coat pocket. Bills fall out, but he doesn't care. Then, without warning, Kipling whips up the twelve gauge and blows a hole in the Proprietor's chest! The Proprietor slams back against the shelves, slides to the floor. Kipling leans over the counter and FIRES another round into the Proprietor. SYKES (under his breath) Aw, shit. Tuggle is almost across the street when he hears the shots. The human DRIVER of the getaway car (parked at the curb a few doors down from the mini-mart) glances up, spots Tuggle. He leans on the HORN, reaches for a machine pistol on the seat next to him. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling and Raincoat alien react to the horn honk. They spot Tuggle through the store window and open fire -- BLASTING THROUGH THE GLASS. A civilian car enters the intersection. The engine is hit by shotgun fire, and the car skids to a stop in the intersection, steam rising from the radiator. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Tuggle dives behind a lamp post. The Driver is out of the car now, brings up the machine pistol to fire at Tuggle. Sykes sees this and opens fire at the Driver. The Driver turns and fires at Sykes. Sykes ducks down, and the car he's hiding behind is sprayed with bullets. A forty-foot moving van pulls down the street between Sykes and the Driver. Once the truck is past, Sykes is standing behind the bullet-riddled car, gun ready. He rapid-fires -- creaming the human Driver. Tuggle is pinned down behind the thin lamp post by the shotgun fire from Kipling and Raincoat alien. SYKES Get outta there! TUGGLE I can't! Do you mind! SYKES I'll cover you! Get outta there!! Sykes rises and runs across the street toward the getaway car, firing toward the store as he goes. Kipling and Raincoat dodge behind cover. Tuggle seizes the opportunity, jumps from behind the lamp post and runs to the stalled civilian car. He slides across the hood and drops behind the car for cover. Tuggle slowly pokes his head up to peer through the car window. His gaze is met by the face of the OLD MAN driver who is still inside the car. OLD MAN Can I get out now? TUGGLE Move it! Sykes doesn't have a clear firing line on the aliens in the store. As he considers his next move-- Tuggle fires at the two aliens. They return fire and he slides down to safety behind the car. Or so he thinks. Glass rains down on him as the car windows are cremated by the shotgun blasts. He flinches as another blast hits the car. He looks over. There's a big exit hole in the fender beside him. THE SHOT WENT RIGHT THROUGH THE CAR. Another exit hole is BLASTED, inches from his shoulder. Panicked, he scrambles along the side of the car -- BLASTS and exit holes following him until he reaches the front of the car. He has nowhere left to go and-- -- a BLAST comes through the car and catches him squarely in the chest throwing him back onto the street. Sykes' head jerks around -- in time to see his partner of nine years blown away. Kipling keeps firing in Tuggle's direction until his shotgun CLICKS empty. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling grabs Raincoat and throws him toward the back exit of the store. The shotgun falls from Raincoat's hands. The two of them run out the back. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes runs to Tuggle's spread-eagled body. One glance is enough. Nobody ever looked deader. SYKES Aw shit, Tug, Jesus! Goddamn it! He stares, shocked and incredulous. He can't find a way to think or feel about this. Then we see him going crazy right before our eyes, the rage revving. He takes off toward the store as SIRENS are HEARD rapidly approaching in background. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Sykes moves through like a locomotive skidding on broken glass, bangs through the exit. EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT Sykes catches sight of the two aliens just as they round the corner at the far end of the alley. He takes off, quickly cranking up to full speed. EXT. BACK STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds the corner. Doesn't see them anymore. He slows... moves along this street with some caution. Lots of shadows, lots of hiding places. Sykes HEARS a NOISE, looks up... just in time to see Raincoat on a high, huge billboard. He cuts loose with the shotgun. Sykes dives. Huge chunks of the crate he dives behind fly off into the night. Sykes, on his belly, scrambles deeper among the crates. Raincoat's shotgun CLICKS empty now. He drops it, swings down off the fire escape, runs off. Sykes is up again in a flash, pounding after him. EXT. TUNNEL STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds this second corner, races down the street. The only route they could've taken is through a tunnel up ahead. Sykes approaches the tunnel, all senses wide open. INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT The murkiness of the tunnel engulfs him as he moves through the mouth. He tries to control his breathing so he can hear. The only SOUND is his own shoes scuffing along the asphalt. Then he HEARS -- another set of FOOTSTEPS. Rapid footsteps, coming toward him, ECHOING. He can't tell from which direction! He spins, just as a LARGE SHAPE lunges for him with an alien CRY. It's the wired Raincoat alien. Sykes gets his gun up just in time and FIRES -- once, twice, three times. Raincoat alien is knocked backwards to the wet asphalt by the blasts. Sykes approaches the body slowly. With an inhuman ROAR, the alien snaps forward, lunging at Sykes with outstretched arms. Sykes jumps back, startled, and FIRES twice more at the pale figure. Raincoat goes down and stays down. Sykes relaxes for the briefest moment. Then he HEARS it... a distinctive CLICKING SOUND, metal on metal. Sykes looks up and -- Kipling drops down on him from directly above! Sykes goes down in a heap. He's managed to hold onto the gun and as Kipling comes for him, he swings the gun hand around. Kipling sees it, lashes out, slamming the gun from Sykes' hand. Sykes tries to get to his feet, but the alien grabs him and flings him down the tunnel. A SIREN is HEARD approaching in background. Kipling moves in to deliver the coup de grace. As he draws near, Sykes HEARS that distinctive CLICKING SOUND again. SYKES' P.O.V. Though his vision is BLURRED, Sykes still gets a good look at an exotic silver bracelet on the alien's wrist. The strands of this bracelet are what make the CLINKING NOISE. ANGLE The alien rears back, and as he does, the approaching SIREN suddenly WAILS louder as a backup patrol car swings onto the street heading this way. Kipling sees this and leaves Sykes, running off down the dark tunnel. ON SYKES dazed, struggling to rise. WE HEAR running FOOTSTEPS approaching. Sykes turns, his eyes wild and unfocused. SYKES' P.O.V. An OUT-OF-FOCUS ALIEN FACE looming over him. ANGLE Sykes whips around in a roundhouse swing with all his weight on it, pistoning his fist straight into the alien face. The alien, caught by surprise and off balance, sprawls backward OUT OF FRAME. Sykes is grabbed by a human uniformed cop, as he tries to swing again. HUMAN COP Whoa, whoa... hold it. Take it easy. (to alien on the ground) You okay? Sykes stops struggling, and his eyes focus. He looks at the alien he just decked, sprawled on his ass ten feet away. The alien is a uniformed cop... his name is JETSON. JETSON I am all right. He gets up. A trickle of purple blood runs from his nose. HUMAN COP I better call in. He moves off. Jetson moves toward Sykes and the Raincoat alien's body. Sykes tenses, thinking Jetson might retaliate in some way. But Jetson simply steps past him to kneel beside the dead alien. He checks for a pulse on the underside of the dead alien's upper arm. Nothing. Sykes is holding his punching hand in obvious pain. He struggles to rise. Jetson gets an arm around him to help him up. JETSON Your hand will require attention. Sykes roughly jerks himself free of Jetson's grip. SYKES Get the hell away from me! I don't need your goddamn help. He almost loses his balance and has to steady himself against the tunnel wall. Sykes leans there, the picture of impotent rage and frustration. Jetson looks at him, with that slight inquisitive expression aliens exhibit when trying to understand human nature. EXT. MINI-MART - NIGHT OPEN on Tuggle's body, as the body bag is zipped up over his face, and the litter is lifted into the back of the Coroner's wagon. WIDEN to reveal Sykes, standing nearby, watching. The Wagon pulls out, and Sykes turns, moving past all the LAPD black-and-whites and forensics wagons, and COPS (two of them aliens) and DETECTIVES, and RUBBERNECKERS (some alien). He moves into: INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT The CRIME SCENE TEAM is checking for prints, digging slugs out of the wall, photographing everything. Several UNIFORMED COPS mill around. Sykes moves aimlessly around the room like a stranger at a party. The Proprietor's Wife stands near the body in a strange rigid posture, a thin, mournful KEENING SOUND coming from her lips. A harried female uniformed cop is trying to get her away from the body, but can't get her to budge. MINKLER, a ballistics guy, is tagging the pump-shotgun the Raincoat alien dropped here. NATUZZI, a mean-looking veteran uniform cop is with him. NATUZZI Looks like a standard combat pump- action. MINKLER It is. NATUZZI So what punched holes clear through that car out there? Minkler pulls an evidence baggie from his work box. Inside are four unfired twelve gauge shells. MINKLER BRI Sabot slugs. These puppies are nasty. Two plastic sabots fall away in flight leaving a fifty-caliber slug going two thousand feet per second. Tug might as well've been hiding behind a rosebush. Minkler senses somebody has just stepped up beside him. He looks. It's Sykes. NATUZZI Pretty heavy artillery for knocking over a liquor store. A new voice enters the conversation. JETSON (O.S.) An identical round was used in the shooting of a Newcomer named Hubley, two days ago. Sykes turns -- surprised, and not especially pleased to see the voice is Jetson's. MINKLER Yeah? So why the extra fire power? JETSON Perhaps because even the larger caliber handguns aren't always effective against my people. SYKES (mulls this, then) You saying there's some connection to this other homicide? Before Jetson can say, the female cop who was talking to the Proprietor's Wife steps up. FEMALE COP Hey, give me a hand with this woman, will ya Jetson? We've got to get her to Division for her statement and she won't budge. JETSON (to Sykes) Excuse me. And he moves off with his partner. Sykes calls after him, but Jetson is already approaching the woman and doesn't turn. SYKES So, you think there's a connection, or what? Hey! CUT TO: EXT. SYKES' APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT The slug-mobile pulls up. A drained Sykes moves up the walk to his front door. INT. SYKES' APARTMENT - NIGHT Sykes enters his apartment, an untidy bachelor place decorated with negative taste. It's obviously the maid's decade off. By rote, he hits the rewind switch on the answering machine on his way into the kitchen. The tape rewinds. He opens the fridge. Not much here. Left-over take-out pizza carton. Left-over take-out Chinese food cartons. Left-over take-out burger wrappers. The answering machine message begins -- he glances over his shoulder as he HEARS his daughter's VOICE. During the following, he reaches the fridge. Brings out a milk carton that's in his way, sets it on the counter. Reaches in again and this time brings out a bottle of Stoly. Then searches for a semi-clean glass. KRISTIN'S VOICE (bouncy, bride-to-be happy) Hi, Daddy, it's me. I'm over at Danny's parents' house... talking about Sunday. I thought maybe you'd be home by now. Anyway, uh, nothing really. I just wanted to call and say I love you. I love you, Daddy. (she giggles) Uh-oh, I shouldn't'a done that. Knowing you, you'll probably pull this tape out of your machine and save it -- in that drawer where you keep every card I ever gave you, and all of my old baby teeth... gross! Anyway, Daddy, don't save this tape -- but I do love you, and I'll talk to you before Sunday. (beat) Oh, Tug and Carol came by and met Danny last week. (Sykes stiffens) Danny thought Tug was the greatest -- but, then, who doesn't? Anyway, love you, talk to you soon. 'Bye. The machine BEEPS and HISSES. Sykes take the glass and the bottle of vodka, crosses back toward the living room, switching off the answering machine as he goes. Then he stops, turns back, takes the message tape out of the machine and tosses it into a drawer. FADE TO: INT. DETECTIVE SQUAD ROOM - DAY Sykes enters, stirring a jumbo coffee. He's slept about four hours, and his face looks like he went a few with Hagler. He crosses straight to Fedorchuk's desk. SYKES So what've you got on Tuggle's killers? FEDORCHUK Jesus, Sykes -- it's been less than ten hours. Me and Alterez are on it, okay? SYKES You don't have squat. FEDORCHUK You ever try to make a case in Slagtown? The list of Newcomer informants is about as long as the list of Mexican war heroes... ALTEREZ Up yours. FEDORCHUK ... Nobody talks to nobody down there. Half of them don't speak English and the other half only when it suits them. It's gonna take some time. SYKES Yeah, I know it's gonna take time. Like until the Ice Capades opens in Hell, with you two on it. Across the room, the Captain's door BANGS open and CAPTAIN WARNER pounds out, his deep voice booming through the squad room. WARNER Nobody wanders off! I got an announcement. Get your asses back in here. Two detectives on their way out, stop, and head back into the room. Everybody gathers around, curious, as Warner stands holding a sheet of paper. WARNER I'll make this short. This is a directive from Chief Evaner, who is acting on orders from the Mayor, who is under mandate from the Federal Bureau of Newcomer Relations. As of nine o'clock this morning, one Newcomer uniform officer has been promoted to the rank of Detective, third grade. The detectives GROAN... some angrier ones grumble, "This is bullshit!", etc. WARNER And we've got him, gentleman. (more groans) Volunteers for duty with the new detective should see me in my office... otherwise I will choose a volunteer myself. That is all. He turns and heads back to his office in the wake of continued grumbling from the detectives. Sykes, standing to one side, absently watches Warner return to his glass- walled office. Waiting inside are a balding man and an alien in a grey suit. Sykes reacts. The alien in the suit is Jetson. The grumbling continues around him as Sykes considers something. FEDORCHUK Unbelievable bullshit. ALTEREZ How long has this Slag been on the force? A year, max -- right? DETECTIVE I don't know about the rest of you, but I sure as hell ain't gonna sit still for this. I'm calling the union, pronto. Others grumble. "Yeah!". Meanwhile, Sykes has decided something. He heads toward Warner's office. Fedorchuk sees this. FEDORCHUK Where the hell is he going? INT. WARNER'S OFFICE - DAY Sykes KNOCKS and enters. WARNER Yeah, Sykes? SYKES Captain. I'd like to volunteer for duty with the new detective. Warner is surprised. He never expected Sykes. WARNER ... All right. Detective Sergeant Sykes, this is Detective... Jetson. JETSON We have met. Warner looks up, clocking this. He looks at Sykes, starting to smell something fishy. The balding man, GOLDRUP, rises to shake their hands. GOLDRUP Victor Goldrup, Mayor's office. Congratulations, gentlemen. Warner is starting to suspect what Sykes is up to. WARNER (to Sykes) You are to have nothing to do with the investigation into Bill Tuggle's death. You know that. Leave that for Fedorchuk. SYKES (nodding) Departmental policy. WARNER (to Jetson) You? JETSON Yes, sir. WARNER Good. SYKES There's another case I'd like to take. A homicide -- a Newcomer named Hubley. Jetson looks over at Sykes, knows he's up to something. Sykes avoids his look. WARNER Granger and Pitts are already on it. SYKES Granger and Pitts have one hell of a caseload... and I would have thought with Jetson here being the first Newcomer plainclothes, and Hubley's body being found over in the Newcomer community... WARNER Don't tell me what to think. GOLDRUP He's got a point. That's the sort of thing we should be doing with this early advancement program... Long-suffering Warner looks up at Goldrup, then finally sighs with resignation. Sykes grins. CUT TO: INT. STAIRWELL - FIRST FLOOR HALLWAY - DAY The steel door BANGS open and Sykes and Jetson exit. Next to Sykes' slept-in look, Jetson in his grey suit looks like a Jehovah's Witness canvasser. They move past all the black-and-whites pulling out on p.m. watch during: SYKES ... and we work my hours. I'll do the driving, you do the paperwork. You gotta learn it so you might as well do it all. JETSON (after a moment) Sergeant... I'd like to thank you for what you're doing. SYKES What's that? (then realizing) Look, Jetson. Get this straight in your head. We're not pals, we're not married, and we ain't gonna take long moonlight walks together... We're just partners. And don't call me Sergeant. Call me Sykes... or Matt if you have to. JETSON I am George. Sykes nods absently, and they walk on... four and a half steps to be exact. Then it hits Sykes. He seizes up cold. SYKES Wait a minute. George? George Jetson? Jetson nods... he's used to this. Sykes cracks up. SYKES (between laughs) Man, somebody really hung one on you! I've heard some good ones for you guys... Humphrey Bogart, Harley Davidson. I guess the people at immigration got a little punchy after a while, coming up with names for a quarter of a million of you. You weren't at the back of the line, were you, George? JETSON My true name is Ss'tangya T'ssorentsa'. SYKES Gesundheit. You don't mind if I stick to George, do you? EXT. POLICE STATION PARKING AREA - DAY They approach Sykes' ugly sedan, the slug-mobile. SYKES Anyway, what's it matter to you if we think it's funny, right? Whatta you care? JETSON That is exactly so. (completely deadpan) It is like your name... Sykes. I'm sure it doesn't bother you at all that it sounds like "ss'ai k'ss", two words in my language which mean "excrement" and "cranium". Sykes looks at him, perplexed. JETSON "Shit... head". Jetson gets in and slams the door, leaving Sykes standing there, the smirk dropping from his face. CUT TO: INT. SLUG-MOBILE - DAY They're cruising along in downtown traffic. Sykes drives. Jetson is somewhat cramped in the passenger seat. SYKES Let's talk Hubley. JETSON (refers to a folder he holds) His body was discovered three days ago, in an alley off of Central Avenue, near downtown. SYKES With two

kilos

How many times the word 'kilos' appears in the text?

Alien Nation Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Alien Nation - by Rochne O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron ALIEN NATION Original Screenplay by Rockne S. O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron October 1987 FADE IN: EXT. MOJAVE DESERT - DAY (TELEVISION IMAGE) A LONG LENS SHOT of a far distant metallic object hovering just above the ground -- maybe two or three miles away. The heat waves and the light refraction off the desert- scape make the object undulate rhythmically, keeping its true shape and appearance indistinct. The VIDEO CAMERA recording this scene zooms back, then pans over -- revealing a semicircle of US Army vehicles and personnel. Army Engineers with their tripod-mounted scopes and binoculars are shoulder to shoulder with the armed infantry. Everyone stares off at the same point on the horizon. Waiting. The VIDEO CAMERA movements are HANDHELD, unsteady, as it moves through the line of Army personnel to reveal a second, less organized semicircle of observers fifty yards behind the Army. LOCALS from nearby towns perch in truck beds and on car roofs, Budweiser and Fritos at hand, eyes glued to the distant object. The VIDEO CAMERA image climbs up onto the roof of a parked local TV van, finds the object again in the distance, zooms in, and waits, like everyone else. Abruptly the VIDEO IMAGE contracts, becoming a box CHROMAKEYED behind CNN reporter DUNCAN CRAIS. CRAIS That was the scene in California's Mojave Desert three years ago today -- the historic first view of the Newcomer ship upon its dramatic arrival. As with the assassination of John Kennedy, who among us does not remember exactly where he was that October nineteenth morning, when news first broke: that people have landed... from another star. We PULL BACK from a large television set to reveal... INT. A CROWDED BAR - LOS ANGELES - NIGHT The Hollowpoint Lounge -- a cop bar. The off-duty uniformed and plainclothes cops are mostly ignoring the TV, except for two detectives, FEDORCHUK and ALTEREZ, who are waiting for the ball scores. FEDORCHUK I remember where I was -- pissing off my balcony at the neighbor's dog! Others laugh. ALTEREZ (yells at Crais on TV) Get to the goddamn ball scores! ON THE TV SCREEN, an on-location interview with a CAL-TECH PROFESSOR comes up. Her name and title appear across the bottom of the screen. CAL-TECH PROFESSOR From the time mankind first gazed up at the stars there had been speculation about a visit by people from "out there." How ironic that when that first contact was made, the two hundred and sixty thousand occupants aboard the craft were as surprised as we were about their arrival. That they awakened from frozen hibernation to find their malfunctioning autopilot had landed them here by mistake. The CNN reporter, Duncan Crais, appears again. CRAIS These "Newcomers," we soon learned, were a genetically-engineered race, adapted for hard labor in almost any environmental condition. In effect, their ship was a slave ship... washed ashore on Earth with no way to get back to where they came from... A dishwasher tray filled with beer glasses CUTS ACROSS FRAME, and we PAN WITH IT as it is slammed down on the countertop. Now an interview with a FRESNO HOUSEWIFE standing outside a supermarket comes on the TV SCREEN. FRESNO HOUSEWIFE When the Newcomers were first let out of the ship, they were quarantined in a camp not ten miles from the town here. You can imagine how the people around here felt about that. But once they were releases from the camp and we got a chance to know them, we saw what nice, quiet people they really are... WIDER revealing a MASSIVE ALIEN FIGURE in a filthy white busboy's uniform. His back is to us as he picks up two trays from the counter. The bartender is dwarfed by this Newcomer, but works around him without apparent concern. Fedorchuk addresses the alien busboy. FEDORCHUK Hey, Henry, how you doin' tonight? Workin' hard? The Newcomer turns -- his face is humanoid, but disturbingly alien. FEDORCHUK You got your green card, buddy? You didn't leave home without it? The cops at the bar crack up. Henry looks at Fedorchuk -- his eyes carrying no malice... or pain. He merely blinks. CUT TO: INT./ EXT. SLUG-MOBILE - STREET - NIGHT An explosion of color and movement as OPENING TITLES PLAY very quickly. We're TRAVELING the streets in a n.d. sedan, getting MOVING GLIMPSES of the aliens living among us now: -- A coffee shop where aliens eat at some window tables. -- A Newcomer leaving a night school with an armload of books. -- A city park where a number of alien families have gathered to play some arcane alien game. SYKES Jeez... they call that gang-bang a game...? -- A billboard for Pepsi featuring an alien. -- The sedan has pulled to a stop at a red light. Suddenly a hand thumps against the glass next to Sykes' head... and alien hand. Sykes jumps. It's a NEWCOMER DERELICT standing there, weaving, mumbling in his own language. In one filthy hand holds a quart carton of milk. We know immediately what he wants. Sykes rolls down the window. SYKES Take a hike. Sykes gets a whiff of the derelict's breath as the light changes and the sedan pulls away, leaving him in the street. Sykes grimaces at the smell. SYKES Why's it have to be sour milk that these guys get wasted on? What the hell's wrong with Jack Daniels, or Thunderbird for chrissakes? (beat; disgusted) Slagtown. Shit... -- Aliens hanging around outside their homes. -- Alien hookers plying their trade. SYKES Hope their plumbing's the same. TUGGLE It is. (and Sykes gives him a look) -- A Newcomer lowrider pulls up beside the slug-mobile. -- An alien couple exit a theater playing "Terminator III". -- An alien wig shop. ANGLE TITLES END, and we start to PULL BACK into the slug-mobile and HEAR: TUGGLE (O.S.) So you gonna go, or you not gonna go? INT. SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT The dashboard is littered with fast-food detritus and two coffees in styrofoam cups making fog circles on the windshield. A hand picks up one of the coffees and we FOLLOW IT to a face, a forty-year-old cop face that's seen some wear and tear -- behind the wheel is MATT SYKES. Beside him is his partner of nine years, BILL TUGGLE. Tuggle expertly munches on a slice of pizza as he talks. SYKES How can I go? TUGGLE Put on your wash-and-wear suit and your clip-on tie, have your landlady tie your shoes for you, and show up at the church. Simple. (beat) Me and Carol are going. SYKES What? TUGGLE Hey, look -- we've known Kristin since... since she was conceived in that cabin up in Big Bear. Remember? You and Edie banged the wall so hard, me and Carol were picking plaster out of our hair for a week... SYKES Goddammit, Tug -- I want to see Kristin get married, okay? But-- TUGGLE But you're bummed because your ex and her new husband are paying for the whole thing. SYKES Shit, if Kristin had to get married where I could afford it, we'd be holding the reception at Buddy's Burgers. Sykes stares out the window, wallowing in his pissed-off mood. Then he spots something that twinges his street-cop radar. SYKES Uh-oh... Check it out. THROUGH THE WINDOW Tuggle sees what Sykes sees: two ALIENS in long coats moving down the sidewalk, entering a mom- and-pop mini-mart on the corner. One of them wears dark glasses and a red bandana (KIPLING): the other has on a black vinyl raincoat. SYKES Does that look at all suspicious to you? TUGGLE Whatever gave you that idea? EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes continues up a quarter of a block, pulls to the curb among other parked cars. INT. SEDAN - NIGHT Sykes is already pulling his gun. Tuggle quickly reaches for the radio in the glovebox. TUGGLE This is one-Henry-seven, we've got a possible two-eleven in progress at Porter's Mini-Mart, corner of Court and Alvarado. Requesting backup. Impulsive Sykes is already opening his door and climbing out. SYKES Let's do it, partner. Tuggle drops the radio mike and follows Sykes as the Radio Dispatcher confirms the call. EXT. STREET - NIGHT The two cops, guns in hand, move along the row of parked cars across the street from the mini-mart. Through the store window they see the old alien PROPRIETOR behind the counter. His eyes go wide as Kipling whips back his coat and yanks out a short combat pump-shotgun and aims it right at him. The Raincoat alien pulls an identical gun and covers the door. Sykes and Tuggle react to the firepower inside. SYKES You got your vest? TUGGLE Of course. Right in the trunk of the car. SYKES Yeah, that's comforting. Mine, too. Through the store window the robbery continues in pantomime. Kipling gestures viciously with the shotgun, yelling orders in the alien language. The Proprietor is quickly filling a paper bag with cash from the register. The PROPRIETOR'S WIFE, a middle-aged alien woman, stands in the doorway from the back, frozen in fear. The Raincoat alien dances from foot to foot, antsy, wired. Sykes and Tuggle crouch at the car directly across the street from the store entrance. TUGGLE Watch the driver. I'm going for a better angle on the door. SYKES I got him. Don't get pinned. Tuggle leaves the cover provided by the car, runs cater- corner across the intersection. Through the store window Sykes sees Kipling grab the bag of cash, shove it in his coat pocket. Bills fall out, but he doesn't care. Then, without warning, Kipling whips up the twelve gauge and blows a hole in the Proprietor's chest! The Proprietor slams back against the shelves, slides to the floor. Kipling leans over the counter and FIRES another round into the Proprietor. SYKES (under his breath) Aw, shit. Tuggle is almost across the street when he hears the shots. The human DRIVER of the getaway car (parked at the curb a few doors down from the mini-mart) glances up, spots Tuggle. He leans on the HORN, reaches for a machine pistol on the seat next to him. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling and Raincoat alien react to the horn honk. They spot Tuggle through the store window and open fire -- BLASTING THROUGH THE GLASS. A civilian car enters the intersection. The engine is hit by shotgun fire, and the car skids to a stop in the intersection, steam rising from the radiator. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Tuggle dives behind a lamp post. The Driver is out of the car now, brings up the machine pistol to fire at Tuggle. Sykes sees this and opens fire at the Driver. The Driver turns and fires at Sykes. Sykes ducks down, and the car he's hiding behind is sprayed with bullets. A forty-foot moving van pulls down the street between Sykes and the Driver. Once the truck is past, Sykes is standing behind the bullet-riddled car, gun ready. He rapid-fires -- creaming the human Driver. Tuggle is pinned down behind the thin lamp post by the shotgun fire from Kipling and Raincoat alien. SYKES Get outta there! TUGGLE I can't! Do you mind! SYKES I'll cover you! Get outta there!! Sykes rises and runs across the street toward the getaway car, firing toward the store as he goes. Kipling and Raincoat dodge behind cover. Tuggle seizes the opportunity, jumps from behind the lamp post and runs to the stalled civilian car. He slides across the hood and drops behind the car for cover. Tuggle slowly pokes his head up to peer through the car window. His gaze is met by the face of the OLD MAN driver who is still inside the car. OLD MAN Can I get out now? TUGGLE Move it! Sykes doesn't have a clear firing line on the aliens in the store. As he considers his next move-- Tuggle fires at the two aliens. They return fire and he slides down to safety behind the car. Or so he thinks. Glass rains down on him as the car windows are cremated by the shotgun blasts. He flinches as another blast hits the car. He looks over. There's a big exit hole in the fender beside him. THE SHOT WENT RIGHT THROUGH THE CAR. Another exit hole is BLASTED, inches from his shoulder. Panicked, he scrambles along the side of the car -- BLASTS and exit holes following him until he reaches the front of the car. He has nowhere left to go and-- -- a BLAST comes through the car and catches him squarely in the chest throwing him back onto the street. Sykes' head jerks around -- in time to see his partner of nine years blown away. Kipling keeps firing in Tuggle's direction until his shotgun CLICKS empty. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling grabs Raincoat and throws him toward the back exit of the store. The shotgun falls from Raincoat's hands. The two of them run out the back. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes runs to Tuggle's spread-eagled body. One glance is enough. Nobody ever looked deader. SYKES Aw shit, Tug, Jesus! Goddamn it! He stares, shocked and incredulous. He can't find a way to think or feel about this. Then we see him going crazy right before our eyes, the rage revving. He takes off toward the store as SIRENS are HEARD rapidly approaching in background. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Sykes moves through like a locomotive skidding on broken glass, bangs through the exit. EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT Sykes catches sight of the two aliens just as they round the corner at the far end of the alley. He takes off, quickly cranking up to full speed. EXT. BACK STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds the corner. Doesn't see them anymore. He slows... moves along this street with some caution. Lots of shadows, lots of hiding places. Sykes HEARS a NOISE, looks up... just in time to see Raincoat on a high, huge billboard. He cuts loose with the shotgun. Sykes dives. Huge chunks of the crate he dives behind fly off into the night. Sykes, on his belly, scrambles deeper among the crates. Raincoat's shotgun CLICKS empty now. He drops it, swings down off the fire escape, runs off. Sykes is up again in a flash, pounding after him. EXT. TUNNEL STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds this second corner, races down the street. The only route they could've taken is through a tunnel up ahead. Sykes approaches the tunnel, all senses wide open. INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT The murkiness of the tunnel engulfs him as he moves through the mouth. He tries to control his breathing so he can hear. The only SOUND is his own shoes scuffing along the asphalt. Then he HEARS -- another set of FOOTSTEPS. Rapid footsteps, coming toward him, ECHOING. He can't tell from which direction! He spins, just as a LARGE SHAPE lunges for him with an alien CRY. It's the wired Raincoat alien. Sykes gets his gun up just in time and FIRES -- once, twice, three times. Raincoat alien is knocked backwards to the wet asphalt by the blasts. Sykes approaches the body slowly. With an inhuman ROAR, the alien snaps forward, lunging at Sykes with outstretched arms. Sykes jumps back, startled, and FIRES twice more at the pale figure. Raincoat goes down and stays down. Sykes relaxes for the briefest moment. Then he HEARS it... a distinctive CLICKING SOUND, metal on metal. Sykes looks up and -- Kipling drops down on him from directly above! Sykes goes down in a heap. He's managed to hold onto the gun and as Kipling comes for him, he swings the gun hand around. Kipling sees it, lashes out, slamming the gun from Sykes' hand. Sykes tries to get to his feet, but the alien grabs him and flings him down the tunnel. A SIREN is HEARD approaching in background. Kipling moves in to deliver the coup de grace. As he draws near, Sykes HEARS that distinctive CLICKING SOUND again. SYKES' P.O.V. Though his vision is BLURRED, Sykes still gets a good look at an exotic silver bracelet on the alien's wrist. The strands of this bracelet are what make the CLINKING NOISE. ANGLE The alien rears back, and as he does, the approaching SIREN suddenly WAILS louder as a backup patrol car swings onto the street heading this way. Kipling sees this and leaves Sykes, running off down the dark tunnel. ON SYKES dazed, struggling to rise. WE HEAR running FOOTSTEPS approaching. Sykes turns, his eyes wild and unfocused. SYKES' P.O.V. An OUT-OF-FOCUS ALIEN FACE looming over him. ANGLE Sykes whips around in a roundhouse swing with all his weight on it, pistoning his fist straight into the alien face. The alien, caught by surprise and off balance, sprawls backward OUT OF FRAME. Sykes is grabbed by a human uniformed cop, as he tries to swing again. HUMAN COP Whoa, whoa... hold it. Take it easy. (to alien on the ground) You okay? Sykes stops struggling, and his eyes focus. He looks at the alien he just decked, sprawled on his ass ten feet away. The alien is a uniformed cop... his name is JETSON. JETSON I am all right. He gets up. A trickle of purple blood runs from his nose. HUMAN COP I better call in. He moves off. Jetson moves toward Sykes and the Raincoat alien's body. Sykes tenses, thinking Jetson might retaliate in some way. But Jetson simply steps past him to kneel beside the dead alien. He checks for a pulse on the underside of the dead alien's upper arm. Nothing. Sykes is holding his punching hand in obvious pain. He struggles to rise. Jetson gets an arm around him to help him up. JETSON Your hand will require attention. Sykes roughly jerks himself free of Jetson's grip. SYKES Get the hell away from me! I don't need your goddamn help. He almost loses his balance and has to steady himself against the tunnel wall. Sykes leans there, the picture of impotent rage and frustration. Jetson looks at him, with that slight inquisitive expression aliens exhibit when trying to understand human nature. EXT. MINI-MART - NIGHT OPEN on Tuggle's body, as the body bag is zipped up over his face, and the litter is lifted into the back of the Coroner's wagon. WIDEN to reveal Sykes, standing nearby, watching. The Wagon pulls out, and Sykes turns, moving past all the LAPD black-and-whites and forensics wagons, and COPS (two of them aliens) and DETECTIVES, and RUBBERNECKERS (some alien). He moves into: INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT The CRIME SCENE TEAM is checking for prints, digging slugs out of the wall, photographing everything. Several UNIFORMED COPS mill around. Sykes moves aimlessly around the room like a stranger at a party. The Proprietor's Wife stands near the body in a strange rigid posture, a thin, mournful KEENING SOUND coming from her lips. A harried female uniformed cop is trying to get her away from the body, but can't get her to budge. MINKLER, a ballistics guy, is tagging the pump-shotgun the Raincoat alien dropped here. NATUZZI, a mean-looking veteran uniform cop is with him. NATUZZI Looks like a standard combat pump- action. MINKLER It is. NATUZZI So what punched holes clear through that car out there? Minkler pulls an evidence baggie from his work box. Inside are four unfired twelve gauge shells. MINKLER BRI Sabot slugs. These puppies are nasty. Two plastic sabots fall away in flight leaving a fifty-caliber slug going two thousand feet per second. Tug might as well've been hiding behind a rosebush. Minkler senses somebody has just stepped up beside him. He looks. It's Sykes. NATUZZI Pretty heavy artillery for knocking over a liquor store. A new voice enters the conversation. JETSON (O.S.) An identical round was used in the shooting of a Newcomer named Hubley, two days ago. Sykes turns -- surprised, and not especially pleased to see the voice is Jetson's. MINKLER Yeah? So why the extra fire power? JETSON Perhaps because even the larger caliber handguns aren't always effective against my people. SYKES (mulls this, then) You saying there's some connection to this other homicide? Before Jetson can say, the female cop who was talking to the Proprietor's Wife steps up. FEMALE COP Hey, give me a hand with this woman, will ya Jetson? We've got to get her to Division for her statement and she won't budge. JETSON (to Sykes) Excuse me. And he moves off with his partner. Sykes calls after him, but Jetson is already approaching the woman and doesn't turn. SYKES So, you think there's a connection, or what? Hey! CUT TO: EXT. SYKES' APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT The slug-mobile pulls up. A drained Sykes moves up the walk to his front door. INT. SYKES' APARTMENT - NIGHT Sykes enters his apartment, an untidy bachelor place decorated with negative taste. It's obviously the maid's decade off. By rote, he hits the rewind switch on the answering machine on his way into the kitchen. The tape rewinds. He opens the fridge. Not much here. Left-over take-out pizza carton. Left-over take-out Chinese food cartons. Left-over take-out burger wrappers. The answering machine message begins -- he glances over his shoulder as he HEARS his daughter's VOICE. During the following, he reaches the fridge. Brings out a milk carton that's in his way, sets it on the counter. Reaches in again and this time brings out a bottle of Stoly. Then searches for a semi-clean glass. KRISTIN'S VOICE (bouncy, bride-to-be happy) Hi, Daddy, it's me. I'm over at Danny's parents' house... talking about Sunday. I thought maybe you'd be home by now. Anyway, uh, nothing really. I just wanted to call and say I love you. I love you, Daddy. (she giggles) Uh-oh, I shouldn't'a done that. Knowing you, you'll probably pull this tape out of your machine and save it -- in that drawer where you keep every card I ever gave you, and all of my old baby teeth... gross! Anyway, Daddy, don't save this tape -- but I do love you, and I'll talk to you before Sunday. (beat) Oh, Tug and Carol came by and met Danny last week. (Sykes stiffens) Danny thought Tug was the greatest -- but, then, who doesn't? Anyway, love you, talk to you soon. 'Bye. The machine BEEPS and HISSES. Sykes take the glass and the bottle of vodka, crosses back toward the living room, switching off the answering machine as he goes. Then he stops, turns back, takes the message tape out of the machine and tosses it into a drawer. FADE TO: INT. DETECTIVE SQUAD ROOM - DAY Sykes enters, stirring a jumbo coffee. He's slept about four hours, and his face looks like he went a few with Hagler. He crosses straight to Fedorchuk's desk. SYKES So what've you got on Tuggle's killers? FEDORCHUK Jesus, Sykes -- it's been less than ten hours. Me and Alterez are on it, okay? SYKES You don't have squat. FEDORCHUK You ever try to make a case in Slagtown? The list of Newcomer informants is about as long as the list of Mexican war heroes... ALTEREZ Up yours. FEDORCHUK ... Nobody talks to nobody down there. Half of them don't speak English and the other half only when it suits them. It's gonna take some time. SYKES Yeah, I know it's gonna take time. Like until the Ice Capades opens in Hell, with you two on it. Across the room, the Captain's door BANGS open and CAPTAIN WARNER pounds out, his deep voice booming through the squad room. WARNER Nobody wanders off! I got an announcement. Get your asses back in here. Two detectives on their way out, stop, and head back into the room. Everybody gathers around, curious, as Warner stands holding a sheet of paper. WARNER I'll make this short. This is a directive from Chief Evaner, who is acting on orders from the Mayor, who is under mandate from the Federal Bureau of Newcomer Relations. As of nine o'clock this morning, one Newcomer uniform officer has been promoted to the rank of Detective, third grade. The detectives GROAN... some angrier ones grumble, "This is bullshit!", etc. WARNER And we've got him, gentleman. (more groans) Volunteers for duty with the new detective should see me in my office... otherwise I will choose a volunteer myself. That is all. He turns and heads back to his office in the wake of continued grumbling from the detectives. Sykes, standing to one side, absently watches Warner return to his glass- walled office. Waiting inside are a balding man and an alien in a grey suit. Sykes reacts. The alien in the suit is Jetson. The grumbling continues around him as Sykes considers something. FEDORCHUK Unbelievable bullshit. ALTEREZ How long has this Slag been on the force? A year, max -- right? DETECTIVE I don't know about the rest of you, but I sure as hell ain't gonna sit still for this. I'm calling the union, pronto. Others grumble. "Yeah!". Meanwhile, Sykes has decided something. He heads toward Warner's office. Fedorchuk sees this. FEDORCHUK Where the hell is he going? INT. WARNER'S OFFICE - DAY Sykes KNOCKS and enters. WARNER Yeah, Sykes? SYKES Captain. I'd like to volunteer for duty with the new detective. Warner is surprised. He never expected Sykes. WARNER ... All right. Detective Sergeant Sykes, this is Detective... Jetson. JETSON We have met. Warner looks up, clocking this. He looks at Sykes, starting to smell something fishy. The balding man, GOLDRUP, rises to shake their hands. GOLDRUP Victor Goldrup, Mayor's office. Congratulations, gentlemen. Warner is starting to suspect what Sykes is up to. WARNER (to Sykes) You are to have nothing to do with the investigation into Bill Tuggle's death. You know that. Leave that for Fedorchuk. SYKES (nodding) Departmental policy. WARNER (to Jetson) You? JETSON Yes, sir. WARNER Good. SYKES There's another case I'd like to take. A homicide -- a Newcomer named Hubley. Jetson looks over at Sykes, knows he's up to something. Sykes avoids his look. WARNER Granger and Pitts are already on it. SYKES Granger and Pitts have one hell of a caseload... and I would have thought with Jetson here being the first Newcomer plainclothes, and Hubley's body being found over in the Newcomer community... WARNER Don't tell me what to think. GOLDRUP He's got a point. That's the sort of thing we should be doing with this early advancement program... Long-suffering Warner looks up at Goldrup, then finally sighs with resignation. Sykes grins. CUT TO: INT. STAIRWELL - FIRST FLOOR HALLWAY - DAY The steel door BANGS open and Sykes and Jetson exit. Next to Sykes' slept-in look, Jetson in his grey suit looks like a Jehovah's Witness canvasser. They move past all the black-and-whites pulling out on p.m. watch during: SYKES ... and we work my hours. I'll do the driving, you do the paperwork. You gotta learn it so you might as well do it all. JETSON (after a moment) Sergeant... I'd like to thank you for what you're doing. SYKES What's that? (then realizing) Look, Jetson. Get this straight in your head. We're not pals, we're not married, and we ain't gonna take long moonlight walks together... We're just partners. And don't call me Sergeant. Call me Sykes... or Matt if you have to. JETSON I am George. Sykes nods absently, and they walk on... four and a half steps to be exact. Then it hits Sykes. He seizes up cold. SYKES Wait a minute. George? George Jetson? Jetson nods... he's used to this. Sykes cracks up. SYKES (between laughs) Man, somebody really hung one on you! I've heard some good ones for you guys... Humphrey Bogart, Harley Davidson. I guess the people at immigration got a little punchy after a while, coming up with names for a quarter of a million of you. You weren't at the back of the line, were you, George? JETSON My true name is Ss'tangya T'ssorentsa'. SYKES Gesundheit. You don't mind if I stick to George, do you? EXT. POLICE STATION PARKING AREA - DAY They approach Sykes' ugly sedan, the slug-mobile. SYKES Anyway, what's it matter to you if we think it's funny, right? Whatta you care? JETSON That is exactly so. (completely deadpan) It is like your name... Sykes. I'm sure it doesn't bother you at all that it sounds like "ss'ai k'ss", two words in my language which mean "excrement" and "cranium". Sykes looks at him, perplexed. JETSON "Shit... head". Jetson gets in and slams the door, leaving Sykes standing there, the smirk dropping from his face. CUT TO: INT. SLUG-MOBILE - DAY They're cruising along in downtown traffic. Sykes drives. Jetson is somewhat cramped in the passenger seat. SYKES Let's talk Hubley. JETSON (refers to a folder he holds) His body was discovered three days ago, in an alley off of Central Avenue, near downtown. SYKES With two

professor

How many times the word 'professor' appears in the text?

Alien Nation Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Alien Nation - by Rochne O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron ALIEN NATION Original Screenplay by Rockne S. O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron October 1987 FADE IN: EXT. MOJAVE DESERT - DAY (TELEVISION IMAGE) A LONG LENS SHOT of a far distant metallic object hovering just above the ground -- maybe two or three miles away. The heat waves and the light refraction off the desert- scape make the object undulate rhythmically, keeping its true shape and appearance indistinct. The VIDEO CAMERA recording this scene zooms back, then pans over -- revealing a semicircle of US Army vehicles and personnel. Army Engineers with their tripod-mounted scopes and binoculars are shoulder to shoulder with the armed infantry. Everyone stares off at the same point on the horizon. Waiting. The VIDEO CAMERA movements are HANDHELD, unsteady, as it moves through the line of Army personnel to reveal a second, less organized semicircle of observers fifty yards behind the Army. LOCALS from nearby towns perch in truck beds and on car roofs, Budweiser and Fritos at hand, eyes glued to the distant object. The VIDEO CAMERA image climbs up onto the roof of a parked local TV van, finds the object again in the distance, zooms in, and waits, like everyone else. Abruptly the VIDEO IMAGE contracts, becoming a box CHROMAKEYED behind CNN reporter DUNCAN CRAIS. CRAIS That was the scene in California's Mojave Desert three years ago today -- the historic first view of the Newcomer ship upon its dramatic arrival. As with the assassination of John Kennedy, who among us does not remember exactly where he was that October nineteenth morning, when news first broke: that people have landed... from another star. We PULL BACK from a large television set to reveal... INT. A CROWDED BAR - LOS ANGELES - NIGHT The Hollowpoint Lounge -- a cop bar. The off-duty uniformed and plainclothes cops are mostly ignoring the TV, except for two detectives, FEDORCHUK and ALTEREZ, who are waiting for the ball scores. FEDORCHUK I remember where I was -- pissing off my balcony at the neighbor's dog! Others laugh. ALTEREZ (yells at Crais on TV) Get to the goddamn ball scores! ON THE TV SCREEN, an on-location interview with a CAL-TECH PROFESSOR comes up. Her name and title appear across the bottom of the screen. CAL-TECH PROFESSOR From the time mankind first gazed up at the stars there had been speculation about a visit by people from "out there." How ironic that when that first contact was made, the two hundred and sixty thousand occupants aboard the craft were as surprised as we were about their arrival. That they awakened from frozen hibernation to find their malfunctioning autopilot had landed them here by mistake. The CNN reporter, Duncan Crais, appears again. CRAIS These "Newcomers," we soon learned, were a genetically-engineered race, adapted for hard labor in almost any environmental condition. In effect, their ship was a slave ship... washed ashore on Earth with no way to get back to where they came from... A dishwasher tray filled with beer glasses CUTS ACROSS FRAME, and we PAN WITH IT as it is slammed down on the countertop. Now an interview with a FRESNO HOUSEWIFE standing outside a supermarket comes on the TV SCREEN. FRESNO HOUSEWIFE When the Newcomers were first let out of the ship, they were quarantined in a camp not ten miles from the town here. You can imagine how the people around here felt about that. But once they were releases from the camp and we got a chance to know them, we saw what nice, quiet people they really are... WIDER revealing a MASSIVE ALIEN FIGURE in a filthy white busboy's uniform. His back is to us as he picks up two trays from the counter. The bartender is dwarfed by this Newcomer, but works around him without apparent concern. Fedorchuk addresses the alien busboy. FEDORCHUK Hey, Henry, how you doin' tonight? Workin' hard? The Newcomer turns -- his face is humanoid, but disturbingly alien. FEDORCHUK You got your green card, buddy? You didn't leave home without it? The cops at the bar crack up. Henry looks at Fedorchuk -- his eyes carrying no malice... or pain. He merely blinks. CUT TO: INT./ EXT. SLUG-MOBILE - STREET - NIGHT An explosion of color and movement as OPENING TITLES PLAY very quickly. We're TRAVELING the streets in a n.d. sedan, getting MOVING GLIMPSES of the aliens living among us now: -- A coffee shop where aliens eat at some window tables. -- A Newcomer leaving a night school with an armload of books. -- A city park where a number of alien families have gathered to play some arcane alien game. SYKES Jeez... they call that gang-bang a game...? -- A billboard for Pepsi featuring an alien. -- The sedan has pulled to a stop at a red light. Suddenly a hand thumps against the glass next to Sykes' head... and alien hand. Sykes jumps. It's a NEWCOMER DERELICT standing there, weaving, mumbling in his own language. In one filthy hand holds a quart carton of milk. We know immediately what he wants. Sykes rolls down the window. SYKES Take a hike. Sykes gets a whiff of the derelict's breath as the light changes and the sedan pulls away, leaving him in the street. Sykes grimaces at the smell. SYKES Why's it have to be sour milk that these guys get wasted on? What the hell's wrong with Jack Daniels, or Thunderbird for chrissakes? (beat; disgusted) Slagtown. Shit... -- Aliens hanging around outside their homes. -- Alien hookers plying their trade. SYKES Hope their plumbing's the same. TUGGLE It is. (and Sykes gives him a look) -- A Newcomer lowrider pulls up beside the slug-mobile. -- An alien couple exit a theater playing "Terminator III". -- An alien wig shop. ANGLE TITLES END, and we start to PULL BACK into the slug-mobile and HEAR: TUGGLE (O.S.) So you gonna go, or you not gonna go? INT. SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT The dashboard is littered with fast-food detritus and two coffees in styrofoam cups making fog circles on the windshield. A hand picks up one of the coffees and we FOLLOW IT to a face, a forty-year-old cop face that's seen some wear and tear -- behind the wheel is MATT SYKES. Beside him is his partner of nine years, BILL TUGGLE. Tuggle expertly munches on a slice of pizza as he talks. SYKES How can I go? TUGGLE Put on your wash-and-wear suit and your clip-on tie, have your landlady tie your shoes for you, and show up at the church. Simple. (beat) Me and Carol are going. SYKES What? TUGGLE Hey, look -- we've known Kristin since... since she was conceived in that cabin up in Big Bear. Remember? You and Edie banged the wall so hard, me and Carol were picking plaster out of our hair for a week... SYKES Goddammit, Tug -- I want to see Kristin get married, okay? But-- TUGGLE But you're bummed because your ex and her new husband are paying for the whole thing. SYKES Shit, if Kristin had to get married where I could afford it, we'd be holding the reception at Buddy's Burgers. Sykes stares out the window, wallowing in his pissed-off mood. Then he spots something that twinges his street-cop radar. SYKES Uh-oh... Check it out. THROUGH THE WINDOW Tuggle sees what Sykes sees: two ALIENS in long coats moving down the sidewalk, entering a mom- and-pop mini-mart on the corner. One of them wears dark glasses and a red bandana (KIPLING): the other has on a black vinyl raincoat. SYKES Does that look at all suspicious to you? TUGGLE Whatever gave you that idea? EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes continues up a quarter of a block, pulls to the curb among other parked cars. INT. SEDAN - NIGHT Sykes is already pulling his gun. Tuggle quickly reaches for the radio in the glovebox. TUGGLE This is one-Henry-seven, we've got a possible two-eleven in progress at Porter's Mini-Mart, corner of Court and Alvarado. Requesting backup. Impulsive Sykes is already opening his door and climbing out. SYKES Let's do it, partner. Tuggle drops the radio mike and follows Sykes as the Radio Dispatcher confirms the call. EXT. STREET - NIGHT The two cops, guns in hand, move along the row of parked cars across the street from the mini-mart. Through the store window they see the old alien PROPRIETOR behind the counter. His eyes go wide as Kipling whips back his coat and yanks out a short combat pump-shotgun and aims it right at him. The Raincoat alien pulls an identical gun and covers the door. Sykes and Tuggle react to the firepower inside. SYKES You got your vest? TUGGLE Of course. Right in the trunk of the car. SYKES Yeah, that's comforting. Mine, too. Through the store window the robbery continues in pantomime. Kipling gestures viciously with the shotgun, yelling orders in the alien language. The Proprietor is quickly filling a paper bag with cash from the register. The PROPRIETOR'S WIFE, a middle-aged alien woman, stands in the doorway from the back, frozen in fear. The Raincoat alien dances from foot to foot, antsy, wired. Sykes and Tuggle crouch at the car directly across the street from the store entrance. TUGGLE Watch the driver. I'm going for a better angle on the door. SYKES I got him. Don't get pinned. Tuggle leaves the cover provided by the car, runs cater- corner across the intersection. Through the store window Sykes sees Kipling grab the bag of cash, shove it in his coat pocket. Bills fall out, but he doesn't care. Then, without warning, Kipling whips up the twelve gauge and blows a hole in the Proprietor's chest! The Proprietor slams back against the shelves, slides to the floor. Kipling leans over the counter and FIRES another round into the Proprietor. SYKES (under his breath) Aw, shit. Tuggle is almost across the street when he hears the shots. The human DRIVER of the getaway car (parked at the curb a few doors down from the mini-mart) glances up, spots Tuggle. He leans on the HORN, reaches for a machine pistol on the seat next to him. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling and Raincoat alien react to the horn honk. They spot Tuggle through the store window and open fire -- BLASTING THROUGH THE GLASS. A civilian car enters the intersection. The engine is hit by shotgun fire, and the car skids to a stop in the intersection, steam rising from the radiator. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Tuggle dives behind a lamp post. The Driver is out of the car now, brings up the machine pistol to fire at Tuggle. Sykes sees this and opens fire at the Driver. The Driver turns and fires at Sykes. Sykes ducks down, and the car he's hiding behind is sprayed with bullets. A forty-foot moving van pulls down the street between Sykes and the Driver. Once the truck is past, Sykes is standing behind the bullet-riddled car, gun ready. He rapid-fires -- creaming the human Driver. Tuggle is pinned down behind the thin lamp post by the shotgun fire from Kipling and Raincoat alien. SYKES Get outta there! TUGGLE I can't! Do you mind! SYKES I'll cover you! Get outta there!! Sykes rises and runs across the street toward the getaway car, firing toward the store as he goes. Kipling and Raincoat dodge behind cover. Tuggle seizes the opportunity, jumps from behind the lamp post and runs to the stalled civilian car. He slides across the hood and drops behind the car for cover. Tuggle slowly pokes his head up to peer through the car window. His gaze is met by the face of the OLD MAN driver who is still inside the car. OLD MAN Can I get out now? TUGGLE Move it! Sykes doesn't have a clear firing line on the aliens in the store. As he considers his next move-- Tuggle fires at the two aliens. They return fire and he slides down to safety behind the car. Or so he thinks. Glass rains down on him as the car windows are cremated by the shotgun blasts. He flinches as another blast hits the car. He looks over. There's a big exit hole in the fender beside him. THE SHOT WENT RIGHT THROUGH THE CAR. Another exit hole is BLASTED, inches from his shoulder. Panicked, he scrambles along the side of the car -- BLASTS and exit holes following him until he reaches the front of the car. He has nowhere left to go and-- -- a BLAST comes through the car and catches him squarely in the chest throwing him back onto the street. Sykes' head jerks around -- in time to see his partner of nine years blown away. Kipling keeps firing in Tuggle's direction until his shotgun CLICKS empty. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling grabs Raincoat and throws him toward the back exit of the store. The shotgun falls from Raincoat's hands. The two of them run out the back. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes runs to Tuggle's spread-eagled body. One glance is enough. Nobody ever looked deader. SYKES Aw shit, Tug, Jesus! Goddamn it! He stares, shocked and incredulous. He can't find a way to think or feel about this. Then we see him going crazy right before our eyes, the rage revving. He takes off toward the store as SIRENS are HEARD rapidly approaching in background. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Sykes moves through like a locomotive skidding on broken glass, bangs through the exit. EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT Sykes catches sight of the two aliens just as they round the corner at the far end of the alley. He takes off, quickly cranking up to full speed. EXT. BACK STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds the corner. Doesn't see them anymore. He slows... moves along this street with some caution. Lots of shadows, lots of hiding places. Sykes HEARS a NOISE, looks up... just in time to see Raincoat on a high, huge billboard. He cuts loose with the shotgun. Sykes dives. Huge chunks of the crate he dives behind fly off into the night. Sykes, on his belly, scrambles deeper among the crates. Raincoat's shotgun CLICKS empty now. He drops it, swings down off the fire escape, runs off. Sykes is up again in a flash, pounding after him. EXT. TUNNEL STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds this second corner, races down the street. The only route they could've taken is through a tunnel up ahead. Sykes approaches the tunnel, all senses wide open. INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT The murkiness of the tunnel engulfs him as he moves through the mouth. He tries to control his breathing so he can hear. The only SOUND is his own shoes scuffing along the asphalt. Then he HEARS -- another set of FOOTSTEPS. Rapid footsteps, coming toward him, ECHOING. He can't tell from which direction! He spins, just as a LARGE SHAPE lunges for him with an alien CRY. It's the wired Raincoat alien. Sykes gets his gun up just in time and FIRES -- once, twice, three times. Raincoat alien is knocked backwards to the wet asphalt by the blasts. Sykes approaches the body slowly. With an inhuman ROAR, the alien snaps forward, lunging at Sykes with outstretched arms. Sykes jumps back, startled, and FIRES twice more at the pale figure. Raincoat goes down and stays down. Sykes relaxes for the briefest moment. Then he HEARS it... a distinctive CLICKING SOUND, metal on metal. Sykes looks up and -- Kipling drops down on him from directly above! Sykes goes down in a heap. He's managed to hold onto the gun and as Kipling comes for him, he swings the gun hand around. Kipling sees it, lashes out, slamming the gun from Sykes' hand. Sykes tries to get to his feet, but the alien grabs him and flings him down the tunnel. A SIREN is HEARD approaching in background. Kipling moves in to deliver the coup de grace. As he draws near, Sykes HEARS that distinctive CLICKING SOUND again. SYKES' P.O.V. Though his vision is BLURRED, Sykes still gets a good look at an exotic silver bracelet on the alien's wrist. The strands of this bracelet are what make the CLINKING NOISE. ANGLE The alien rears back, and as he does, the approaching SIREN suddenly WAILS louder as a backup patrol car swings onto the street heading this way. Kipling sees this and leaves Sykes, running off down the dark tunnel. ON SYKES dazed, struggling to rise. WE HEAR running FOOTSTEPS approaching. Sykes turns, his eyes wild and unfocused. SYKES' P.O.V. An OUT-OF-FOCUS ALIEN FACE looming over him. ANGLE Sykes whips around in a roundhouse swing with all his weight on it, pistoning his fist straight into the alien face. The alien, caught by surprise and off balance, sprawls backward OUT OF FRAME. Sykes is grabbed by a human uniformed cop, as he tries to swing again. HUMAN COP Whoa, whoa... hold it. Take it easy. (to alien on the ground) You okay? Sykes stops struggling, and his eyes focus. He looks at the alien he just decked, sprawled on his ass ten feet away. The alien is a uniformed cop... his name is JETSON. JETSON I am all right. He gets up. A trickle of purple blood runs from his nose. HUMAN COP I better call in. He moves off. Jetson moves toward Sykes and the Raincoat alien's body. Sykes tenses, thinking Jetson might retaliate in some way. But Jetson simply steps past him to kneel beside the dead alien. He checks for a pulse on the underside of the dead alien's upper arm. Nothing. Sykes is holding his punching hand in obvious pain. He struggles to rise. Jetson gets an arm around him to help him up. JETSON Your hand will require attention. Sykes roughly jerks himself free of Jetson's grip. SYKES Get the hell away from me! I don't need your goddamn help. He almost loses his balance and has to steady himself against the tunnel wall. Sykes leans there, the picture of impotent rage and frustration. Jetson looks at him, with that slight inquisitive expression aliens exhibit when trying to understand human nature. EXT. MINI-MART - NIGHT OPEN on Tuggle's body, as the body bag is zipped up over his face, and the litter is lifted into the back of the Coroner's wagon. WIDEN to reveal Sykes, standing nearby, watching. The Wagon pulls out, and Sykes turns, moving past all the LAPD black-and-whites and forensics wagons, and COPS (two of them aliens) and DETECTIVES, and RUBBERNECKERS (some alien). He moves into: INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT The CRIME SCENE TEAM is checking for prints, digging slugs out of the wall, photographing everything. Several UNIFORMED COPS mill around. Sykes moves aimlessly around the room like a stranger at a party. The Proprietor's Wife stands near the body in a strange rigid posture, a thin, mournful KEENING SOUND coming from her lips. A harried female uniformed cop is trying to get her away from the body, but can't get her to budge. MINKLER, a ballistics guy, is tagging the pump-shotgun the Raincoat alien dropped here. NATUZZI, a mean-looking veteran uniform cop is with him. NATUZZI Looks like a standard combat pump- action. MINKLER It is. NATUZZI So what punched holes clear through that car out there? Minkler pulls an evidence baggie from his work box. Inside are four unfired twelve gauge shells. MINKLER BRI Sabot slugs. These puppies are nasty. Two plastic sabots fall away in flight leaving a fifty-caliber slug going two thousand feet per second. Tug might as well've been hiding behind a rosebush. Minkler senses somebody has just stepped up beside him. He looks. It's Sykes. NATUZZI Pretty heavy artillery for knocking over a liquor store. A new voice enters the conversation. JETSON (O.S.) An identical round was used in the shooting of a Newcomer named Hubley, two days ago. Sykes turns -- surprised, and not especially pleased to see the voice is Jetson's. MINKLER Yeah? So why the extra fire power? JETSON Perhaps because even the larger caliber handguns aren't always effective against my people. SYKES (mulls this, then) You saying there's some connection to this other homicide? Before Jetson can say, the female cop who was talking to the Proprietor's Wife steps up. FEMALE COP Hey, give me a hand with this woman, will ya Jetson? We've got to get her to Division for her statement and she won't budge. JETSON (to Sykes) Excuse me. And he moves off with his partner. Sykes calls after him, but Jetson is already approaching the woman and doesn't turn. SYKES So, you think there's a connection, or what? Hey! CUT TO: EXT. SYKES' APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT The slug-mobile pulls up. A drained Sykes moves up the walk to his front door. INT. SYKES' APARTMENT - NIGHT Sykes enters his apartment, an untidy bachelor place decorated with negative taste. It's obviously the maid's decade off. By rote, he hits the rewind switch on the answering machine on his way into the kitchen. The tape rewinds. He opens the fridge. Not much here. Left-over take-out pizza carton. Left-over take-out Chinese food cartons. Left-over take-out burger wrappers. The answering machine message begins -- he glances over his shoulder as he HEARS his daughter's VOICE. During the following, he reaches the fridge. Brings out a milk carton that's in his way, sets it on the counter. Reaches in again and this time brings out a bottle of Stoly. Then searches for a semi-clean glass. KRISTIN'S VOICE (bouncy, bride-to-be happy) Hi, Daddy, it's me. I'm over at Danny's parents' house... talking about Sunday. I thought maybe you'd be home by now. Anyway, uh, nothing really. I just wanted to call and say I love you. I love you, Daddy. (she giggles) Uh-oh, I shouldn't'a done that. Knowing you, you'll probably pull this tape out of your machine and save it -- in that drawer where you keep every card I ever gave you, and all of my old baby teeth... gross! Anyway, Daddy, don't save this tape -- but I do love you, and I'll talk to you before Sunday. (beat) Oh, Tug and Carol came by and met Danny last week. (Sykes stiffens) Danny thought Tug was the greatest -- but, then, who doesn't? Anyway, love you, talk to you soon. 'Bye. The machine BEEPS and HISSES. Sykes take the glass and the bottle of vodka, crosses back toward the living room, switching off the answering machine as he goes. Then he stops, turns back, takes the message tape out of the machine and tosses it into a drawer. FADE TO: INT. DETECTIVE SQUAD ROOM - DAY Sykes enters, stirring a jumbo coffee. He's slept about four hours, and his face looks like he went a few with Hagler. He crosses straight to Fedorchuk's desk. SYKES So what've you got on Tuggle's killers? FEDORCHUK Jesus, Sykes -- it's been less than ten hours. Me and Alterez are on it, okay? SYKES You don't have squat. FEDORCHUK You ever try to make a case in Slagtown? The list of Newcomer informants is about as long as the list of Mexican war heroes... ALTEREZ Up yours. FEDORCHUK ... Nobody talks to nobody down there. Half of them don't speak English and the other half only when it suits them. It's gonna take some time. SYKES Yeah, I know it's gonna take time. Like until the Ice Capades opens in Hell, with you two on it. Across the room, the Captain's door BANGS open and CAPTAIN WARNER pounds out, his deep voice booming through the squad room. WARNER Nobody wanders off! I got an announcement. Get your asses back in here. Two detectives on their way out, stop, and head back into the room. Everybody gathers around, curious, as Warner stands holding a sheet of paper. WARNER I'll make this short. This is a directive from Chief Evaner, who is acting on orders from the Mayor, who is under mandate from the Federal Bureau of Newcomer Relations. As of nine o'clock this morning, one Newcomer uniform officer has been promoted to the rank of Detective, third grade. The detectives GROAN... some angrier ones grumble, "This is bullshit!", etc. WARNER And we've got him, gentleman. (more groans) Volunteers for duty with the new detective should see me in my office... otherwise I will choose a volunteer myself. That is all. He turns and heads back to his office in the wake of continued grumbling from the detectives. Sykes, standing to one side, absently watches Warner return to his glass- walled office. Waiting inside are a balding man and an alien in a grey suit. Sykes reacts. The alien in the suit is Jetson. The grumbling continues around him as Sykes considers something. FEDORCHUK Unbelievable bullshit. ALTEREZ How long has this Slag been on the force? A year, max -- right? DETECTIVE I don't know about the rest of you, but I sure as hell ain't gonna sit still for this. I'm calling the union, pronto. Others grumble. "Yeah!". Meanwhile, Sykes has decided something. He heads toward Warner's office. Fedorchuk sees this. FEDORCHUK Where the hell is he going? INT. WARNER'S OFFICE - DAY Sykes KNOCKS and enters. WARNER Yeah, Sykes? SYKES Captain. I'd like to volunteer for duty with the new detective. Warner is surprised. He never expected Sykes. WARNER ... All right. Detective Sergeant Sykes, this is Detective... Jetson. JETSON We have met. Warner looks up, clocking this. He looks at Sykes, starting to smell something fishy. The balding man, GOLDRUP, rises to shake their hands. GOLDRUP Victor Goldrup, Mayor's office. Congratulations, gentlemen. Warner is starting to suspect what Sykes is up to. WARNER (to Sykes) You are to have nothing to do with the investigation into Bill Tuggle's death. You know that. Leave that for Fedorchuk. SYKES (nodding) Departmental policy. WARNER (to Jetson) You? JETSON Yes, sir. WARNER Good. SYKES There's another case I'd like to take. A homicide -- a Newcomer named Hubley. Jetson looks over at Sykes, knows he's up to something. Sykes avoids his look. WARNER Granger and Pitts are already on it. SYKES Granger and Pitts have one hell of a caseload... and I would have thought with Jetson here being the first Newcomer plainclothes, and Hubley's body being found over in the Newcomer community... WARNER Don't tell me what to think. GOLDRUP He's got a point. That's the sort of thing we should be doing with this early advancement program... Long-suffering Warner looks up at Goldrup, then finally sighs with resignation. Sykes grins. CUT TO: INT. STAIRWELL - FIRST FLOOR HALLWAY - DAY The steel door BANGS open and Sykes and Jetson exit. Next to Sykes' slept-in look, Jetson in his grey suit looks like a Jehovah's Witness canvasser. They move past all the black-and-whites pulling out on p.m. watch during: SYKES ... and we work my hours. I'll do the driving, you do the paperwork. You gotta learn it so you might as well do it all. JETSON (after a moment) Sergeant... I'd like to thank you for what you're doing. SYKES What's that? (then realizing) Look, Jetson. Get this straight in your head. We're not pals, we're not married, and we ain't gonna take long moonlight walks together... We're just partners. And don't call me Sergeant. Call me Sykes... or Matt if you have to. JETSON I am George. Sykes nods absently, and they walk on... four and a half steps to be exact. Then it hits Sykes. He seizes up cold. SYKES Wait a minute. George? George Jetson? Jetson nods... he's used to this. Sykes cracks up. SYKES (between laughs) Man, somebody really hung one on you! I've heard some good ones for you guys... Humphrey Bogart, Harley Davidson. I guess the people at immigration got a little punchy after a while, coming up with names for a quarter of a million of you. You weren't at the back of the line, were you, George? JETSON My true name is Ss'tangya T'ssorentsa'. SYKES Gesundheit. You don't mind if I stick to George, do you? EXT. POLICE STATION PARKING AREA - DAY They approach Sykes' ugly sedan, the slug-mobile. SYKES Anyway, what's it matter to you if we think it's funny, right? Whatta you care? JETSON That is exactly so. (completely deadpan) It is like your name... Sykes. I'm sure it doesn't bother you at all that it sounds like "ss'ai k'ss", two words in my language which mean "excrement" and "cranium". Sykes looks at him, perplexed. JETSON "Shit... head". Jetson gets in and slams the door, leaving Sykes standing there, the smirk dropping from his face. CUT TO: INT. SLUG-MOBILE - DAY They're cruising along in downtown traffic. Sykes drives. Jetson is somewhat cramped in the passenger seat. SYKES Let's talk Hubley. JETSON (refers to a folder he holds) His body was discovered three days ago, in an alley off of Central Avenue, near downtown. SYKES With two

camera

How many times the word 'camera' appears in the text?

Alien Nation Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Alien Nation - by Rochne O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron ALIEN NATION Original Screenplay by Rockne S. O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron October 1987 FADE IN: EXT. MOJAVE DESERT - DAY (TELEVISION IMAGE) A LONG LENS SHOT of a far distant metallic object hovering just above the ground -- maybe two or three miles away. The heat waves and the light refraction off the desert- scape make the object undulate rhythmically, keeping its true shape and appearance indistinct. The VIDEO CAMERA recording this scene zooms back, then pans over -- revealing a semicircle of US Army vehicles and personnel. Army Engineers with their tripod-mounted scopes and binoculars are shoulder to shoulder with the armed infantry. Everyone stares off at the same point on the horizon. Waiting. The VIDEO CAMERA movements are HANDHELD, unsteady, as it moves through the line of Army personnel to reveal a second, less organized semicircle of observers fifty yards behind the Army. LOCALS from nearby towns perch in truck beds and on car roofs, Budweiser and Fritos at hand, eyes glued to the distant object. The VIDEO CAMERA image climbs up onto the roof of a parked local TV van, finds the object again in the distance, zooms in, and waits, like everyone else. Abruptly the VIDEO IMAGE contracts, becoming a box CHROMAKEYED behind CNN reporter DUNCAN CRAIS. CRAIS That was the scene in California's Mojave Desert three years ago today -- the historic first view of the Newcomer ship upon its dramatic arrival. As with the assassination of John Kennedy, who among us does not remember exactly where he was that October nineteenth morning, when news first broke: that people have landed... from another star. We PULL BACK from a large television set to reveal... INT. A CROWDED BAR - LOS ANGELES - NIGHT The Hollowpoint Lounge -- a cop bar. The off-duty uniformed and plainclothes cops are mostly ignoring the TV, except for two detectives, FEDORCHUK and ALTEREZ, who are waiting for the ball scores. FEDORCHUK I remember where I was -- pissing off my balcony at the neighbor's dog! Others laugh. ALTEREZ (yells at Crais on TV) Get to the goddamn ball scores! ON THE TV SCREEN, an on-location interview with a CAL-TECH PROFESSOR comes up. Her name and title appear across the bottom of the screen. CAL-TECH PROFESSOR From the time mankind first gazed up at the stars there had been speculation about a visit by people from "out there." How ironic that when that first contact was made, the two hundred and sixty thousand occupants aboard the craft were as surprised as we were about their arrival. That they awakened from frozen hibernation to find their malfunctioning autopilot had landed them here by mistake. The CNN reporter, Duncan Crais, appears again. CRAIS These "Newcomers," we soon learned, were a genetically-engineered race, adapted for hard labor in almost any environmental condition. In effect, their ship was a slave ship... washed ashore on Earth with no way to get back to where they came from... A dishwasher tray filled with beer glasses CUTS ACROSS FRAME, and we PAN WITH IT as it is slammed down on the countertop. Now an interview with a FRESNO HOUSEWIFE standing outside a supermarket comes on the TV SCREEN. FRESNO HOUSEWIFE When the Newcomers were first let out of the ship, they were quarantined in a camp not ten miles from the town here. You can imagine how the people around here felt about that. But once they were releases from the camp and we got a chance to know them, we saw what nice, quiet people they really are... WIDER revealing a MASSIVE ALIEN FIGURE in a filthy white busboy's uniform. His back is to us as he picks up two trays from the counter. The bartender is dwarfed by this Newcomer, but works around him without apparent concern. Fedorchuk addresses the alien busboy. FEDORCHUK Hey, Henry, how you doin' tonight? Workin' hard? The Newcomer turns -- his face is humanoid, but disturbingly alien. FEDORCHUK You got your green card, buddy? You didn't leave home without it? The cops at the bar crack up. Henry looks at Fedorchuk -- his eyes carrying no malice... or pain. He merely blinks. CUT TO: INT./ EXT. SLUG-MOBILE - STREET - NIGHT An explosion of color and movement as OPENING TITLES PLAY very quickly. We're TRAVELING the streets in a n.d. sedan, getting MOVING GLIMPSES of the aliens living among us now: -- A coffee shop where aliens eat at some window tables. -- A Newcomer leaving a night school with an armload of books. -- A city park where a number of alien families have gathered to play some arcane alien game. SYKES Jeez... they call that gang-bang a game...? -- A billboard for Pepsi featuring an alien. -- The sedan has pulled to a stop at a red light. Suddenly a hand thumps against the glass next to Sykes' head... and alien hand. Sykes jumps. It's a NEWCOMER DERELICT standing there, weaving, mumbling in his own language. In one filthy hand holds a quart carton of milk. We know immediately what he wants. Sykes rolls down the window. SYKES Take a hike. Sykes gets a whiff of the derelict's breath as the light changes and the sedan pulls away, leaving him in the street. Sykes grimaces at the smell. SYKES Why's it have to be sour milk that these guys get wasted on? What the hell's wrong with Jack Daniels, or Thunderbird for chrissakes? (beat; disgusted) Slagtown. Shit... -- Aliens hanging around outside their homes. -- Alien hookers plying their trade. SYKES Hope their plumbing's the same. TUGGLE It is. (and Sykes gives him a look) -- A Newcomer lowrider pulls up beside the slug-mobile. -- An alien couple exit a theater playing "Terminator III". -- An alien wig shop. ANGLE TITLES END, and we start to PULL BACK into the slug-mobile and HEAR: TUGGLE (O.S.) So you gonna go, or you not gonna go? INT. SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT The dashboard is littered with fast-food detritus and two coffees in styrofoam cups making fog circles on the windshield. A hand picks up one of the coffees and we FOLLOW IT to a face, a forty-year-old cop face that's seen some wear and tear -- behind the wheel is MATT SYKES. Beside him is his partner of nine years, BILL TUGGLE. Tuggle expertly munches on a slice of pizza as he talks. SYKES How can I go? TUGGLE Put on your wash-and-wear suit and your clip-on tie, have your landlady tie your shoes for you, and show up at the church. Simple. (beat) Me and Carol are going. SYKES What? TUGGLE Hey, look -- we've known Kristin since... since she was conceived in that cabin up in Big Bear. Remember? You and Edie banged the wall so hard, me and Carol were picking plaster out of our hair for a week... SYKES Goddammit, Tug -- I want to see Kristin get married, okay? But-- TUGGLE But you're bummed because your ex and her new husband are paying for the whole thing. SYKES Shit, if Kristin had to get married where I could afford it, we'd be holding the reception at Buddy's Burgers. Sykes stares out the window, wallowing in his pissed-off mood. Then he spots something that twinges his street-cop radar. SYKES Uh-oh... Check it out. THROUGH THE WINDOW Tuggle sees what Sykes sees: two ALIENS in long coats moving down the sidewalk, entering a mom- and-pop mini-mart on the corner. One of them wears dark glasses and a red bandana (KIPLING): the other has on a black vinyl raincoat. SYKES Does that look at all suspicious to you? TUGGLE Whatever gave you that idea? EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes continues up a quarter of a block, pulls to the curb among other parked cars. INT. SEDAN - NIGHT Sykes is already pulling his gun. Tuggle quickly reaches for the radio in the glovebox. TUGGLE This is one-Henry-seven, we've got a possible two-eleven in progress at Porter's Mini-Mart, corner of Court and Alvarado. Requesting backup. Impulsive Sykes is already opening his door and climbing out. SYKES Let's do it, partner. Tuggle drops the radio mike and follows Sykes as the Radio Dispatcher confirms the call. EXT. STREET - NIGHT The two cops, guns in hand, move along the row of parked cars across the street from the mini-mart. Through the store window they see the old alien PROPRIETOR behind the counter. His eyes go wide as Kipling whips back his coat and yanks out a short combat pump-shotgun and aims it right at him. The Raincoat alien pulls an identical gun and covers the door. Sykes and Tuggle react to the firepower inside. SYKES You got your vest? TUGGLE Of course. Right in the trunk of the car. SYKES Yeah, that's comforting. Mine, too. Through the store window the robbery continues in pantomime. Kipling gestures viciously with the shotgun, yelling orders in the alien language. The Proprietor is quickly filling a paper bag with cash from the register. The PROPRIETOR'S WIFE, a middle-aged alien woman, stands in the doorway from the back, frozen in fear. The Raincoat alien dances from foot to foot, antsy, wired. Sykes and Tuggle crouch at the car directly across the street from the store entrance. TUGGLE Watch the driver. I'm going for a better angle on the door. SYKES I got him. Don't get pinned. Tuggle leaves the cover provided by the car, runs cater- corner across the intersection. Through the store window Sykes sees Kipling grab the bag of cash, shove it in his coat pocket. Bills fall out, but he doesn't care. Then, without warning, Kipling whips up the twelve gauge and blows a hole in the Proprietor's chest! The Proprietor slams back against the shelves, slides to the floor. Kipling leans over the counter and FIRES another round into the Proprietor. SYKES (under his breath) Aw, shit. Tuggle is almost across the street when he hears the shots. The human DRIVER of the getaway car (parked at the curb a few doors down from the mini-mart) glances up, spots Tuggle. He leans on the HORN, reaches for a machine pistol on the seat next to him. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling and Raincoat alien react to the horn honk. They spot Tuggle through the store window and open fire -- BLASTING THROUGH THE GLASS. A civilian car enters the intersection. The engine is hit by shotgun fire, and the car skids to a stop in the intersection, steam rising from the radiator. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Tuggle dives behind a lamp post. The Driver is out of the car now, brings up the machine pistol to fire at Tuggle. Sykes sees this and opens fire at the Driver. The Driver turns and fires at Sykes. Sykes ducks down, and the car he's hiding behind is sprayed with bullets. A forty-foot moving van pulls down the street between Sykes and the Driver. Once the truck is past, Sykes is standing behind the bullet-riddled car, gun ready. He rapid-fires -- creaming the human Driver. Tuggle is pinned down behind the thin lamp post by the shotgun fire from Kipling and Raincoat alien. SYKES Get outta there! TUGGLE I can't! Do you mind! SYKES I'll cover you! Get outta there!! Sykes rises and runs across the street toward the getaway car, firing toward the store as he goes. Kipling and Raincoat dodge behind cover. Tuggle seizes the opportunity, jumps from behind the lamp post and runs to the stalled civilian car. He slides across the hood and drops behind the car for cover. Tuggle slowly pokes his head up to peer through the car window. His gaze is met by the face of the OLD MAN driver who is still inside the car. OLD MAN Can I get out now? TUGGLE Move it! Sykes doesn't have a clear firing line on the aliens in the store. As he considers his next move-- Tuggle fires at the two aliens. They return fire and he slides down to safety behind the car. Or so he thinks. Glass rains down on him as the car windows are cremated by the shotgun blasts. He flinches as another blast hits the car. He looks over. There's a big exit hole in the fender beside him. THE SHOT WENT RIGHT THROUGH THE CAR. Another exit hole is BLASTED, inches from his shoulder. Panicked, he scrambles along the side of the car -- BLASTS and exit holes following him until he reaches the front of the car. He has nowhere left to go and-- -- a BLAST comes through the car and catches him squarely in the chest throwing him back onto the street. Sykes' head jerks around -- in time to see his partner of nine years blown away. Kipling keeps firing in Tuggle's direction until his shotgun CLICKS empty. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling grabs Raincoat and throws him toward the back exit of the store. The shotgun falls from Raincoat's hands. The two of them run out the back. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes runs to Tuggle's spread-eagled body. One glance is enough. Nobody ever looked deader. SYKES Aw shit, Tug, Jesus! Goddamn it! He stares, shocked and incredulous. He can't find a way to think or feel about this. Then we see him going crazy right before our eyes, the rage revving. He takes off toward the store as SIRENS are HEARD rapidly approaching in background. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Sykes moves through like a locomotive skidding on broken glass, bangs through the exit. EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT Sykes catches sight of the two aliens just as they round the corner at the far end of the alley. He takes off, quickly cranking up to full speed. EXT. BACK STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds the corner. Doesn't see them anymore. He slows... moves along this street with some caution. Lots of shadows, lots of hiding places. Sykes HEARS a NOISE, looks up... just in time to see Raincoat on a high, huge billboard. He cuts loose with the shotgun. Sykes dives. Huge chunks of the crate he dives behind fly off into the night. Sykes, on his belly, scrambles deeper among the crates. Raincoat's shotgun CLICKS empty now. He drops it, swings down off the fire escape, runs off. Sykes is up again in a flash, pounding after him. EXT. TUNNEL STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds this second corner, races down the street. The only route they could've taken is through a tunnel up ahead. Sykes approaches the tunnel, all senses wide open. INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT The murkiness of the tunnel engulfs him as he moves through the mouth. He tries to control his breathing so he can hear. The only SOUND is his own shoes scuffing along the asphalt. Then he HEARS -- another set of FOOTSTEPS. Rapid footsteps, coming toward him, ECHOING. He can't tell from which direction! He spins, just as a LARGE SHAPE lunges for him with an alien CRY. It's the wired Raincoat alien. Sykes gets his gun up just in time and FIRES -- once, twice, three times. Raincoat alien is knocked backwards to the wet asphalt by the blasts. Sykes approaches the body slowly. With an inhuman ROAR, the alien snaps forward, lunging at Sykes with outstretched arms. Sykes jumps back, startled, and FIRES twice more at the pale figure. Raincoat goes down and stays down. Sykes relaxes for the briefest moment. Then he HEARS it... a distinctive CLICKING SOUND, metal on metal. Sykes looks up and -- Kipling drops down on him from directly above! Sykes goes down in a heap. He's managed to hold onto the gun and as Kipling comes for him, he swings the gun hand around. Kipling sees it, lashes out, slamming the gun from Sykes' hand. Sykes tries to get to his feet, but the alien grabs him and flings him down the tunnel. A SIREN is HEARD approaching in background. Kipling moves in to deliver the coup de grace. As he draws near, Sykes HEARS that distinctive CLICKING SOUND again. SYKES' P.O.V. Though his vision is BLURRED, Sykes still gets a good look at an exotic silver bracelet on the alien's wrist. The strands of this bracelet are what make the CLINKING NOISE. ANGLE The alien rears back, and as he does, the approaching SIREN suddenly WAILS louder as a backup patrol car swings onto the street heading this way. Kipling sees this and leaves Sykes, running off down the dark tunnel. ON SYKES dazed, struggling to rise. WE HEAR running FOOTSTEPS approaching. Sykes turns, his eyes wild and unfocused. SYKES' P.O.V. An OUT-OF-FOCUS ALIEN FACE looming over him. ANGLE Sykes whips around in a roundhouse swing with all his weight on it, pistoning his fist straight into the alien face. The alien, caught by surprise and off balance, sprawls backward OUT OF FRAME. Sykes is grabbed by a human uniformed cop, as he tries to swing again. HUMAN COP Whoa, whoa... hold it. Take it easy. (to alien on the ground) You okay? Sykes stops struggling, and his eyes focus. He looks at the alien he just decked, sprawled on his ass ten feet away. The alien is a uniformed cop... his name is JETSON. JETSON I am all right. He gets up. A trickle of purple blood runs from his nose. HUMAN COP I better call in. He moves off. Jetson moves toward Sykes and the Raincoat alien's body. Sykes tenses, thinking Jetson might retaliate in some way. But Jetson simply steps past him to kneel beside the dead alien. He checks for a pulse on the underside of the dead alien's upper arm. Nothing. Sykes is holding his punching hand in obvious pain. He struggles to rise. Jetson gets an arm around him to help him up. JETSON Your hand will require attention. Sykes roughly jerks himself free of Jetson's grip. SYKES Get the hell away from me! I don't need your goddamn help. He almost loses his balance and has to steady himself against the tunnel wall. Sykes leans there, the picture of impotent rage and frustration. Jetson looks at him, with that slight inquisitive expression aliens exhibit when trying to understand human nature. EXT. MINI-MART - NIGHT OPEN on Tuggle's body, as the body bag is zipped up over his face, and the litter is lifted into the back of the Coroner's wagon. WIDEN to reveal Sykes, standing nearby, watching. The Wagon pulls out, and Sykes turns, moving past all the LAPD black-and-whites and forensics wagons, and COPS (two of them aliens) and DETECTIVES, and RUBBERNECKERS (some alien). He moves into: INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT The CRIME SCENE TEAM is checking for prints, digging slugs out of the wall, photographing everything. Several UNIFORMED COPS mill around. Sykes moves aimlessly around the room like a stranger at a party. The Proprietor's Wife stands near the body in a strange rigid posture, a thin, mournful KEENING SOUND coming from her lips. A harried female uniformed cop is trying to get her away from the body, but can't get her to budge. MINKLER, a ballistics guy, is tagging the pump-shotgun the Raincoat alien dropped here. NATUZZI, a mean-looking veteran uniform cop is with him. NATUZZI Looks like a standard combat pump- action. MINKLER It is. NATUZZI So what punched holes clear through that car out there? Minkler pulls an evidence baggie from his work box. Inside are four unfired twelve gauge shells. MINKLER BRI Sabot slugs. These puppies are nasty. Two plastic sabots fall away in flight leaving a fifty-caliber slug going two thousand feet per second. Tug might as well've been hiding behind a rosebush. Minkler senses somebody has just stepped up beside him. He looks. It's Sykes. NATUZZI Pretty heavy artillery for knocking over a liquor store. A new voice enters the conversation. JETSON (O.S.) An identical round was used in the shooting of a Newcomer named Hubley, two days ago. Sykes turns -- surprised, and not especially pleased to see the voice is Jetson's. MINKLER Yeah? So why the extra fire power? JETSON Perhaps because even the larger caliber handguns aren't always effective against my people. SYKES (mulls this, then) You saying there's some connection to this other homicide? Before Jetson can say, the female cop who was talking to the Proprietor's Wife steps up. FEMALE COP Hey, give me a hand with this woman, will ya Jetson? We've got to get her to Division for her statement and she won't budge. JETSON (to Sykes) Excuse me. And he moves off with his partner. Sykes calls after him, but Jetson is already approaching the woman and doesn't turn. SYKES So, you think there's a connection, or what? Hey! CUT TO: EXT. SYKES' APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT The slug-mobile pulls up. A drained Sykes moves up the walk to his front door. INT. SYKES' APARTMENT - NIGHT Sykes enters his apartment, an untidy bachelor place decorated with negative taste. It's obviously the maid's decade off. By rote, he hits the rewind switch on the answering machine on his way into the kitchen. The tape rewinds. He opens the fridge. Not much here. Left-over take-out pizza carton. Left-over take-out Chinese food cartons. Left-over take-out burger wrappers. The answering machine message begins -- he glances over his shoulder as he HEARS his daughter's VOICE. During the following, he reaches the fridge. Brings out a milk carton that's in his way, sets it on the counter. Reaches in again and this time brings out a bottle of Stoly. Then searches for a semi-clean glass. KRISTIN'S VOICE (bouncy, bride-to-be happy) Hi, Daddy, it's me. I'm over at Danny's parents' house... talking about Sunday. I thought maybe you'd be home by now. Anyway, uh, nothing really. I just wanted to call and say I love you. I love you, Daddy. (she giggles) Uh-oh, I shouldn't'a done that. Knowing you, you'll probably pull this tape out of your machine and save it -- in that drawer where you keep every card I ever gave you, and all of my old baby teeth... gross! Anyway, Daddy, don't save this tape -- but I do love you, and I'll talk to you before Sunday. (beat) Oh, Tug and Carol came by and met Danny last week. (Sykes stiffens) Danny thought Tug was the greatest -- but, then, who doesn't? Anyway, love you, talk to you soon. 'Bye. The machine BEEPS and HISSES. Sykes take the glass and the bottle of vodka, crosses back toward the living room, switching off the answering machine as he goes. Then he stops, turns back, takes the message tape out of the machine and tosses it into a drawer. FADE TO: INT. DETECTIVE SQUAD ROOM - DAY Sykes enters, stirring a jumbo coffee. He's slept about four hours, and his face looks like he went a few with Hagler. He crosses straight to Fedorchuk's desk. SYKES So what've you got on Tuggle's killers? FEDORCHUK Jesus, Sykes -- it's been less than ten hours. Me and Alterez are on it, okay? SYKES You don't have squat. FEDORCHUK You ever try to make a case in Slagtown? The list of Newcomer informants is about as long as the list of Mexican war heroes... ALTEREZ Up yours. FEDORCHUK ... Nobody talks to nobody down there. Half of them don't speak English and the other half only when it suits them. It's gonna take some time. SYKES Yeah, I know it's gonna take time. Like until the Ice Capades opens in Hell, with you two on it. Across the room, the Captain's door BANGS open and CAPTAIN WARNER pounds out, his deep voice booming through the squad room. WARNER Nobody wanders off! I got an announcement. Get your asses back in here. Two detectives on their way out, stop, and head back into the room. Everybody gathers around, curious, as Warner stands holding a sheet of paper. WARNER I'll make this short. This is a directive from Chief Evaner, who is acting on orders from the Mayor, who is under mandate from the Federal Bureau of Newcomer Relations. As of nine o'clock this morning, one Newcomer uniform officer has been promoted to the rank of Detective, third grade. The detectives GROAN... some angrier ones grumble, "This is bullshit!", etc. WARNER And we've got him, gentleman. (more groans) Volunteers for duty with the new detective should see me in my office... otherwise I will choose a volunteer myself. That is all. He turns and heads back to his office in the wake of continued grumbling from the detectives. Sykes, standing to one side, absently watches Warner return to his glass- walled office. Waiting inside are a balding man and an alien in a grey suit. Sykes reacts. The alien in the suit is Jetson. The grumbling continues around him as Sykes considers something. FEDORCHUK Unbelievable bullshit. ALTEREZ How long has this Slag been on the force? A year, max -- right? DETECTIVE I don't know about the rest of you, but I sure as hell ain't gonna sit still for this. I'm calling the union, pronto. Others grumble. "Yeah!". Meanwhile, Sykes has decided something. He heads toward Warner's office. Fedorchuk sees this. FEDORCHUK Where the hell is he going? INT. WARNER'S OFFICE - DAY Sykes KNOCKS and enters. WARNER Yeah, Sykes? SYKES Captain. I'd like to volunteer for duty with the new detective. Warner is surprised. He never expected Sykes. WARNER ... All right. Detective Sergeant Sykes, this is Detective... Jetson. JETSON We have met. Warner looks up, clocking this. He looks at Sykes, starting to smell something fishy. The balding man, GOLDRUP, rises to shake their hands. GOLDRUP Victor Goldrup, Mayor's office. Congratulations, gentlemen. Warner is starting to suspect what Sykes is up to. WARNER (to Sykes) You are to have nothing to do with the investigation into Bill Tuggle's death. You know that. Leave that for Fedorchuk. SYKES (nodding) Departmental policy. WARNER (to Jetson) You? JETSON Yes, sir. WARNER Good. SYKES There's another case I'd like to take. A homicide -- a Newcomer named Hubley. Jetson looks over at Sykes, knows he's up to something. Sykes avoids his look. WARNER Granger and Pitts are already on it. SYKES Granger and Pitts have one hell of a caseload... and I would have thought with Jetson here being the first Newcomer plainclothes, and Hubley's body being found over in the Newcomer community... WARNER Don't tell me what to think. GOLDRUP He's got a point. That's the sort of thing we should be doing with this early advancement program... Long-suffering Warner looks up at Goldrup, then finally sighs with resignation. Sykes grins. CUT TO: INT. STAIRWELL - FIRST FLOOR HALLWAY - DAY The steel door BANGS open and Sykes and Jetson exit. Next to Sykes' slept-in look, Jetson in his grey suit looks like a Jehovah's Witness canvasser. They move past all the black-and-whites pulling out on p.m. watch during: SYKES ... and we work my hours. I'll do the driving, you do the paperwork. You gotta learn it so you might as well do it all. JETSON (after a moment) Sergeant... I'd like to thank you for what you're doing. SYKES What's that? (then realizing) Look, Jetson. Get this straight in your head. We're not pals, we're not married, and we ain't gonna take long moonlight walks together... We're just partners. And don't call me Sergeant. Call me Sykes... or Matt if you have to. JETSON I am George. Sykes nods absently, and they walk on... four and a half steps to be exact. Then it hits Sykes. He seizes up cold. SYKES Wait a minute. George? George Jetson? Jetson nods... he's used to this. Sykes cracks up. SYKES (between laughs) Man, somebody really hung one on you! I've heard some good ones for you guys... Humphrey Bogart, Harley Davidson. I guess the people at immigration got a little punchy after a while, coming up with names for a quarter of a million of you. You weren't at the back of the line, were you, George? JETSON My true name is Ss'tangya T'ssorentsa'. SYKES Gesundheit. You don't mind if I stick to George, do you? EXT. POLICE STATION PARKING AREA - DAY They approach Sykes' ugly sedan, the slug-mobile. SYKES Anyway, what's it matter to you if we think it's funny, right? Whatta you care? JETSON That is exactly so. (completely deadpan) It is like your name... Sykes. I'm sure it doesn't bother you at all that it sounds like "ss'ai k'ss", two words in my language which mean "excrement" and "cranium". Sykes looks at him, perplexed. JETSON "Shit... head". Jetson gets in and slams the door, leaving Sykes standing there, the smirk dropping from his face. CUT TO: INT. SLUG-MOBILE - DAY They're cruising along in downtown traffic. Sykes drives. Jetson is somewhat cramped in the passenger seat. SYKES Let's talk Hubley. JETSON (refers to a folder he holds) His body was discovered three days ago, in an alley off of Central Avenue, near downtown. SYKES With two

script

How many times the word 'script' appears in the text?

Alien Nation Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS if (window!= top) top.location.href=location.href // --> Alien Nation - by Rochne O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron ALIEN NATION Original Screenplay by Rockne S. O'Bannon Rewrite by James Cameron October 1987 FADE IN: EXT. MOJAVE DESERT - DAY (TELEVISION IMAGE) A LONG LENS SHOT of a far distant metallic object hovering just above the ground -- maybe two or three miles away. The heat waves and the light refraction off the desert- scape make the object undulate rhythmically, keeping its true shape and appearance indistinct. The VIDEO CAMERA recording this scene zooms back, then pans over -- revealing a semicircle of US Army vehicles and personnel. Army Engineers with their tripod-mounted scopes and binoculars are shoulder to shoulder with the armed infantry. Everyone stares off at the same point on the horizon. Waiting. The VIDEO CAMERA movements are HANDHELD, unsteady, as it moves through the line of Army personnel to reveal a second, less organized semicircle of observers fifty yards behind the Army. LOCALS from nearby towns perch in truck beds and on car roofs, Budweiser and Fritos at hand, eyes glued to the distant object. The VIDEO CAMERA image climbs up onto the roof of a parked local TV van, finds the object again in the distance, zooms in, and waits, like everyone else. Abruptly the VIDEO IMAGE contracts, becoming a box CHROMAKEYED behind CNN reporter DUNCAN CRAIS. CRAIS That was the scene in California's Mojave Desert three years ago today -- the historic first view of the Newcomer ship upon its dramatic arrival. As with the assassination of John Kennedy, who among us does not remember exactly where he was that October nineteenth morning, when news first broke: that people have landed... from another star. We PULL BACK from a large television set to reveal... INT. A CROWDED BAR - LOS ANGELES - NIGHT The Hollowpoint Lounge -- a cop bar. The off-duty uniformed and plainclothes cops are mostly ignoring the TV, except for two detectives, FEDORCHUK and ALTEREZ, who are waiting for the ball scores. FEDORCHUK I remember where I was -- pissing off my balcony at the neighbor's dog! Others laugh. ALTEREZ (yells at Crais on TV) Get to the goddamn ball scores! ON THE TV SCREEN, an on-location interview with a CAL-TECH PROFESSOR comes up. Her name and title appear across the bottom of the screen. CAL-TECH PROFESSOR From the time mankind first gazed up at the stars there had been speculation about a visit by people from "out there." How ironic that when that first contact was made, the two hundred and sixty thousand occupants aboard the craft were as surprised as we were about their arrival. That they awakened from frozen hibernation to find their malfunctioning autopilot had landed them here by mistake. The CNN reporter, Duncan Crais, appears again. CRAIS These "Newcomers," we soon learned, were a genetically-engineered race, adapted for hard labor in almost any environmental condition. In effect, their ship was a slave ship... washed ashore on Earth with no way to get back to where they came from... A dishwasher tray filled with beer glasses CUTS ACROSS FRAME, and we PAN WITH IT as it is slammed down on the countertop. Now an interview with a FRESNO HOUSEWIFE standing outside a supermarket comes on the TV SCREEN. FRESNO HOUSEWIFE When the Newcomers were first let out of the ship, they were quarantined in a camp not ten miles from the town here. You can imagine how the people around here felt about that. But once they were releases from the camp and we got a chance to know them, we saw what nice, quiet people they really are... WIDER revealing a MASSIVE ALIEN FIGURE in a filthy white busboy's uniform. His back is to us as he picks up two trays from the counter. The bartender is dwarfed by this Newcomer, but works around him without apparent concern. Fedorchuk addresses the alien busboy. FEDORCHUK Hey, Henry, how you doin' tonight? Workin' hard? The Newcomer turns -- his face is humanoid, but disturbingly alien. FEDORCHUK You got your green card, buddy? You didn't leave home without it? The cops at the bar crack up. Henry looks at Fedorchuk -- his eyes carrying no malice... or pain. He merely blinks. CUT TO: INT./ EXT. SLUG-MOBILE - STREET - NIGHT An explosion of color and movement as OPENING TITLES PLAY very quickly. We're TRAVELING the streets in a n.d. sedan, getting MOVING GLIMPSES of the aliens living among us now: -- A coffee shop where aliens eat at some window tables. -- A Newcomer leaving a night school with an armload of books. -- A city park where a number of alien families have gathered to play some arcane alien game. SYKES Jeez... they call that gang-bang a game...? -- A billboard for Pepsi featuring an alien. -- The sedan has pulled to a stop at a red light. Suddenly a hand thumps against the glass next to Sykes' head... and alien hand. Sykes jumps. It's a NEWCOMER DERELICT standing there, weaving, mumbling in his own language. In one filthy hand holds a quart carton of milk. We know immediately what he wants. Sykes rolls down the window. SYKES Take a hike. Sykes gets a whiff of the derelict's breath as the light changes and the sedan pulls away, leaving him in the street. Sykes grimaces at the smell. SYKES Why's it have to be sour milk that these guys get wasted on? What the hell's wrong with Jack Daniels, or Thunderbird for chrissakes? (beat; disgusted) Slagtown. Shit... -- Aliens hanging around outside their homes. -- Alien hookers plying their trade. SYKES Hope their plumbing's the same. TUGGLE It is. (and Sykes gives him a look) -- A Newcomer lowrider pulls up beside the slug-mobile. -- An alien couple exit a theater playing "Terminator III". -- An alien wig shop. ANGLE TITLES END, and we start to PULL BACK into the slug-mobile and HEAR: TUGGLE (O.S.) So you gonna go, or you not gonna go? INT. SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT The dashboard is littered with fast-food detritus and two coffees in styrofoam cups making fog circles on the windshield. A hand picks up one of the coffees and we FOLLOW IT to a face, a forty-year-old cop face that's seen some wear and tear -- behind the wheel is MATT SYKES. Beside him is his partner of nine years, BILL TUGGLE. Tuggle expertly munches on a slice of pizza as he talks. SYKES How can I go? TUGGLE Put on your wash-and-wear suit and your clip-on tie, have your landlady tie your shoes for you, and show up at the church. Simple. (beat) Me and Carol are going. SYKES What? TUGGLE Hey, look -- we've known Kristin since... since she was conceived in that cabin up in Big Bear. Remember? You and Edie banged the wall so hard, me and Carol were picking plaster out of our hair for a week... SYKES Goddammit, Tug -- I want to see Kristin get married, okay? But-- TUGGLE But you're bummed because your ex and her new husband are paying for the whole thing. SYKES Shit, if Kristin had to get married where I could afford it, we'd be holding the reception at Buddy's Burgers. Sykes stares out the window, wallowing in his pissed-off mood. Then he spots something that twinges his street-cop radar. SYKES Uh-oh... Check it out. THROUGH THE WINDOW Tuggle sees what Sykes sees: two ALIENS in long coats moving down the sidewalk, entering a mom- and-pop mini-mart on the corner. One of them wears dark glasses and a red bandana (KIPLING): the other has on a black vinyl raincoat. SYKES Does that look at all suspicious to you? TUGGLE Whatever gave you that idea? EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes continues up a quarter of a block, pulls to the curb among other parked cars. INT. SEDAN - NIGHT Sykes is already pulling his gun. Tuggle quickly reaches for the radio in the glovebox. TUGGLE This is one-Henry-seven, we've got a possible two-eleven in progress at Porter's Mini-Mart, corner of Court and Alvarado. Requesting backup. Impulsive Sykes is already opening his door and climbing out. SYKES Let's do it, partner. Tuggle drops the radio mike and follows Sykes as the Radio Dispatcher confirms the call. EXT. STREET - NIGHT The two cops, guns in hand, move along the row of parked cars across the street from the mini-mart. Through the store window they see the old alien PROPRIETOR behind the counter. His eyes go wide as Kipling whips back his coat and yanks out a short combat pump-shotgun and aims it right at him. The Raincoat alien pulls an identical gun and covers the door. Sykes and Tuggle react to the firepower inside. SYKES You got your vest? TUGGLE Of course. Right in the trunk of the car. SYKES Yeah, that's comforting. Mine, too. Through the store window the robbery continues in pantomime. Kipling gestures viciously with the shotgun, yelling orders in the alien language. The Proprietor is quickly filling a paper bag with cash from the register. The PROPRIETOR'S WIFE, a middle-aged alien woman, stands in the doorway from the back, frozen in fear. The Raincoat alien dances from foot to foot, antsy, wired. Sykes and Tuggle crouch at the car directly across the street from the store entrance. TUGGLE Watch the driver. I'm going for a better angle on the door. SYKES I got him. Don't get pinned. Tuggle leaves the cover provided by the car, runs cater- corner across the intersection. Through the store window Sykes sees Kipling grab the bag of cash, shove it in his coat pocket. Bills fall out, but he doesn't care. Then, without warning, Kipling whips up the twelve gauge and blows a hole in the Proprietor's chest! The Proprietor slams back against the shelves, slides to the floor. Kipling leans over the counter and FIRES another round into the Proprietor. SYKES (under his breath) Aw, shit. Tuggle is almost across the street when he hears the shots. The human DRIVER of the getaway car (parked at the curb a few doors down from the mini-mart) glances up, spots Tuggle. He leans on the HORN, reaches for a machine pistol on the seat next to him. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling and Raincoat alien react to the horn honk. They spot Tuggle through the store window and open fire -- BLASTING THROUGH THE GLASS. A civilian car enters the intersection. The engine is hit by shotgun fire, and the car skids to a stop in the intersection, steam rising from the radiator. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Tuggle dives behind a lamp post. The Driver is out of the car now, brings up the machine pistol to fire at Tuggle. Sykes sees this and opens fire at the Driver. The Driver turns and fires at Sykes. Sykes ducks down, and the car he's hiding behind is sprayed with bullets. A forty-foot moving van pulls down the street between Sykes and the Driver. Once the truck is past, Sykes is standing behind the bullet-riddled car, gun ready. He rapid-fires -- creaming the human Driver. Tuggle is pinned down behind the thin lamp post by the shotgun fire from Kipling and Raincoat alien. SYKES Get outta there! TUGGLE I can't! Do you mind! SYKES I'll cover you! Get outta there!! Sykes rises and runs across the street toward the getaway car, firing toward the store as he goes. Kipling and Raincoat dodge behind cover. Tuggle seizes the opportunity, jumps from behind the lamp post and runs to the stalled civilian car. He slides across the hood and drops behind the car for cover. Tuggle slowly pokes his head up to peer through the car window. His gaze is met by the face of the OLD MAN driver who is still inside the car. OLD MAN Can I get out now? TUGGLE Move it! Sykes doesn't have a clear firing line on the aliens in the store. As he considers his next move-- Tuggle fires at the two aliens. They return fire and he slides down to safety behind the car. Or so he thinks. Glass rains down on him as the car windows are cremated by the shotgun blasts. He flinches as another blast hits the car. He looks over. There's a big exit hole in the fender beside him. THE SHOT WENT RIGHT THROUGH THE CAR. Another exit hole is BLASTED, inches from his shoulder. Panicked, he scrambles along the side of the car -- BLASTS and exit holes following him until he reaches the front of the car. He has nowhere left to go and-- -- a BLAST comes through the car and catches him squarely in the chest throwing him back onto the street. Sykes' head jerks around -- in time to see his partner of nine years blown away. Kipling keeps firing in Tuggle's direction until his shotgun CLICKS empty. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Kipling grabs Raincoat and throws him toward the back exit of the store. The shotgun falls from Raincoat's hands. The two of them run out the back. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Sykes runs to Tuggle's spread-eagled body. One glance is enough. Nobody ever looked deader. SYKES Aw shit, Tug, Jesus! Goddamn it! He stares, shocked and incredulous. He can't find a way to think or feel about this. Then we see him going crazy right before our eyes, the rage revving. He takes off toward the store as SIRENS are HEARD rapidly approaching in background. INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT Sykes moves through like a locomotive skidding on broken glass, bangs through the exit. EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT Sykes catches sight of the two aliens just as they round the corner at the far end of the alley. He takes off, quickly cranking up to full speed. EXT. BACK STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds the corner. Doesn't see them anymore. He slows... moves along this street with some caution. Lots of shadows, lots of hiding places. Sykes HEARS a NOISE, looks up... just in time to see Raincoat on a high, huge billboard. He cuts loose with the shotgun. Sykes dives. Huge chunks of the crate he dives behind fly off into the night. Sykes, on his belly, scrambles deeper among the crates. Raincoat's shotgun CLICKS empty now. He drops it, swings down off the fire escape, runs off. Sykes is up again in a flash, pounding after him. EXT. TUNNEL STREET - NIGHT Sykes rounds this second corner, races down the street. The only route they could've taken is through a tunnel up ahead. Sykes approaches the tunnel, all senses wide open. INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT The murkiness of the tunnel engulfs him as he moves through the mouth. He tries to control his breathing so he can hear. The only SOUND is his own shoes scuffing along the asphalt. Then he HEARS -- another set of FOOTSTEPS. Rapid footsteps, coming toward him, ECHOING. He can't tell from which direction! He spins, just as a LARGE SHAPE lunges for him with an alien CRY. It's the wired Raincoat alien. Sykes gets his gun up just in time and FIRES -- once, twice, three times. Raincoat alien is knocked backwards to the wet asphalt by the blasts. Sykes approaches the body slowly. With an inhuman ROAR, the alien snaps forward, lunging at Sykes with outstretched arms. Sykes jumps back, startled, and FIRES twice more at the pale figure. Raincoat goes down and stays down. Sykes relaxes for the briefest moment. Then he HEARS it... a distinctive CLICKING SOUND, metal on metal. Sykes looks up and -- Kipling drops down on him from directly above! Sykes goes down in a heap. He's managed to hold onto the gun and as Kipling comes for him, he swings the gun hand around. Kipling sees it, lashes out, slamming the gun from Sykes' hand. Sykes tries to get to his feet, but the alien grabs him and flings him down the tunnel. A SIREN is HEARD approaching in background. Kipling moves in to deliver the coup de grace. As he draws near, Sykes HEARS that distinctive CLICKING SOUND again. SYKES' P.O.V. Though his vision is BLURRED, Sykes still gets a good look at an exotic silver bracelet on the alien's wrist. The strands of this bracelet are what make the CLINKING NOISE. ANGLE The alien rears back, and as he does, the approaching SIREN suddenly WAILS louder as a backup patrol car swings onto the street heading this way. Kipling sees this and leaves Sykes, running off down the dark tunnel. ON SYKES dazed, struggling to rise. WE HEAR running FOOTSTEPS approaching. Sykes turns, his eyes wild and unfocused. SYKES' P.O.V. An OUT-OF-FOCUS ALIEN FACE looming over him. ANGLE Sykes whips around in a roundhouse swing with all his weight on it, pistoning his fist straight into the alien face. The alien, caught by surprise and off balance, sprawls backward OUT OF FRAME. Sykes is grabbed by a human uniformed cop, as he tries to swing again. HUMAN COP Whoa, whoa... hold it. Take it easy. (to alien on the ground) You okay? Sykes stops struggling, and his eyes focus. He looks at the alien he just decked, sprawled on his ass ten feet away. The alien is a uniformed cop... his name is JETSON. JETSON I am all right. He gets up. A trickle of purple blood runs from his nose. HUMAN COP I better call in. He moves off. Jetson moves toward Sykes and the Raincoat alien's body. Sykes tenses, thinking Jetson might retaliate in some way. But Jetson simply steps past him to kneel beside the dead alien. He checks for a pulse on the underside of the dead alien's upper arm. Nothing. Sykes is holding his punching hand in obvious pain. He struggles to rise. Jetson gets an arm around him to help him up. JETSON Your hand will require attention. Sykes roughly jerks himself free of Jetson's grip. SYKES Get the hell away from me! I don't need your goddamn help. He almost loses his balance and has to steady himself against the tunnel wall. Sykes leans there, the picture of impotent rage and frustration. Jetson looks at him, with that slight inquisitive expression aliens exhibit when trying to understand human nature. EXT. MINI-MART - NIGHT OPEN on Tuggle's body, as the body bag is zipped up over his face, and the litter is lifted into the back of the Coroner's wagon. WIDEN to reveal Sykes, standing nearby, watching. The Wagon pulls out, and Sykes turns, moving past all the LAPD black-and-whites and forensics wagons, and COPS (two of them aliens) and DETECTIVES, and RUBBERNECKERS (some alien). He moves into: INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT The CRIME SCENE TEAM is checking for prints, digging slugs out of the wall, photographing everything. Several UNIFORMED COPS mill around. Sykes moves aimlessly around the room like a stranger at a party. The Proprietor's Wife stands near the body in a strange rigid posture, a thin, mournful KEENING SOUND coming from her lips. A harried female uniformed cop is trying to get her away from the body, but can't get her to budge. MINKLER, a ballistics guy, is tagging the pump-shotgun the Raincoat alien dropped here. NATUZZI, a mean-looking veteran uniform cop is with him. NATUZZI Looks like a standard combat pump- action. MINKLER It is. NATUZZI So what punched holes clear through that car out there? Minkler pulls an evidence baggie from his work box. Inside are four unfired twelve gauge shells. MINKLER BRI Sabot slugs. These puppies are nasty. Two plastic sabots fall away in flight leaving a fifty-caliber slug going two thousand feet per second. Tug might as well've been hiding behind a rosebush. Minkler senses somebody has just stepped up beside him. He looks. It's Sykes. NATUZZI Pretty heavy artillery for knocking over a liquor store. A new voice enters the conversation. JETSON (O.S.) An identical round was used in the shooting of a Newcomer named Hubley, two days ago. Sykes turns -- surprised, and not especially pleased to see the voice is Jetson's. MINKLER Yeah? So why the extra fire power? JETSON Perhaps because even the larger caliber handguns aren't always effective against my people. SYKES (mulls this, then) You saying there's some connection to this other homicide? Before Jetson can say, the female cop who was talking to the Proprietor's Wife steps up. FEMALE COP Hey, give me a hand with this woman, will ya Jetson? We've got to get her to Division for her statement and she won't budge. JETSON (to Sykes) Excuse me. And he moves off with his partner. Sykes calls after him, but Jetson is already approaching the woman and doesn't turn. SYKES So, you think there's a connection, or what? Hey! CUT TO: EXT. SYKES' APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT The slug-mobile pulls up. A drained Sykes moves up the walk to his front door. INT. SYKES' APARTMENT - NIGHT Sykes enters his apartment, an untidy bachelor place decorated with negative taste. It's obviously the maid's decade off. By rote, he hits the rewind switch on the answering machine on his way into the kitchen. The tape rewinds. He opens the fridge. Not much here. Left-over take-out pizza carton. Left-over take-out Chinese food cartons. Left-over take-out burger wrappers. The answering machine message begins -- he glances over his shoulder as he HEARS his daughter's VOICE. During the following, he reaches the fridge. Brings out a milk carton that's in his way, sets it on the counter. Reaches in again and this time brings out a bottle of Stoly. Then searches for a semi-clean glass. KRISTIN'S VOICE (bouncy, bride-to-be happy) Hi, Daddy, it's me. I'm over at Danny's parents' house... talking about Sunday. I thought maybe you'd be home by now. Anyway, uh, nothing really. I just wanted to call and say I love you. I love you, Daddy. (she giggles) Uh-oh, I shouldn't'a done that. Knowing you, you'll probably pull this tape out of your machine and save it -- in that drawer where you keep every card I ever gave you, and all of my old baby teeth... gross! Anyway, Daddy, don't save this tape -- but I do love you, and I'll talk to you before Sunday. (beat) Oh, Tug and Carol came by and met Danny last week. (Sykes stiffens) Danny thought Tug was the greatest -- but, then, who doesn't? Anyway, love you, talk to you soon. 'Bye. The machine BEEPS and HISSES. Sykes take the glass and the bottle of vodka, crosses back toward the living room, switching off the answering machine as he goes. Then he stops, turns back, takes the message tape out of the machine and tosses it into a drawer. FADE TO: INT. DETECTIVE SQUAD ROOM - DAY Sykes enters, stirring a jumbo coffee. He's slept about four hours, and his face looks like he went a few with Hagler. He crosses straight to Fedorchuk's desk. SYKES So what've you got on Tuggle's killers? FEDORCHUK Jesus, Sykes -- it's been less than ten hours. Me and Alterez are on it, okay? SYKES You don't have squat. FEDORCHUK You ever try to make a case in Slagtown? The list of Newcomer informants is about as long as the list of Mexican war heroes... ALTEREZ Up yours. FEDORCHUK ... Nobody talks to nobody down there. Half of them don't speak English and the other half only when it suits them. It's gonna take some time. SYKES Yeah, I know it's gonna take time. Like until the Ice Capades opens in Hell, with you two on it. Across the room, the Captain's door BANGS open and CAPTAIN WARNER pounds out, his deep voice booming through the squad room. WARNER Nobody wanders off! I got an announcement. Get your asses back in here. Two detectives on their way out, stop, and head back into the room. Everybody gathers around, curious, as Warner stands holding a sheet of paper. WARNER I'll make this short. This is a directive from Chief Evaner, who is acting on orders from the Mayor, who is under mandate from the Federal Bureau of Newcomer Relations. As of nine o'clock this morning, one Newcomer uniform officer has been promoted to the rank of Detective, third grade. The detectives GROAN... some angrier ones grumble, "This is bullshit!", etc. WARNER And we've got him, gentleman. (more groans) Volunteers for duty with the new detective should see me in my office... otherwise I will choose a volunteer myself. That is all. He turns and heads back to his office in the wake of continued grumbling from the detectives. Sykes, standing to one side, absently watches Warner return to his glass- walled office. Waiting inside are a balding man and an alien in a grey suit. Sykes reacts. The alien in the suit is Jetson. The grumbling continues around him as Sykes considers something. FEDORCHUK Unbelievable bullshit. ALTEREZ How long has this Slag been on the force? A year, max -- right? DETECTIVE I don't know about the rest of you, but I sure as hell ain't gonna sit still for this. I'm calling the union, pronto. Others grumble. "Yeah!". Meanwhile, Sykes has decided something. He heads toward Warner's office. Fedorchuk sees this. FEDORCHUK Where the hell is he going? INT. WARNER'S OFFICE - DAY Sykes KNOCKS and enters. WARNER Yeah, Sykes? SYKES Captain. I'd like to volunteer for duty with the new detective. Warner is surprised. He never expected Sykes. WARNER ... All right. Detective Sergeant Sykes, this is Detective... Jetson. JETSON We have met. Warner looks up, clocking this. He looks at Sykes, starting to smell something fishy. The balding man, GOLDRUP, rises to shake their hands. GOLDRUP Victor Goldrup, Mayor's office. Congratulations, gentlemen. Warner is starting to suspect what Sykes is up to. WARNER (to Sykes) You are to have nothing to do with the investigation into Bill Tuggle's death. You know that. Leave that for Fedorchuk. SYKES (nodding) Departmental policy. WARNER (to Jetson) You? JETSON Yes, sir. WARNER Good. SYKES There's another case I'd like to take. A homicide -- a Newcomer named Hubley. Jetson looks over at Sykes, knows he's up to something. Sykes avoids his look. WARNER Granger and Pitts are already on it. SYKES Granger and Pitts have one hell of a caseload... and I would have thought with Jetson here being the first Newcomer plainclothes, and Hubley's body being found over in the Newcomer community... WARNER Don't tell me what to think. GOLDRUP He's got a point. That's the sort of thing we should be doing with this early advancement program... Long-suffering Warner looks up at Goldrup, then finally sighs with resignation. Sykes grins. CUT TO: INT. STAIRWELL - FIRST FLOOR HALLWAY - DAY The steel door BANGS open and Sykes and Jetson exit. Next to Sykes' slept-in look, Jetson in his grey suit looks like a Jehovah's Witness canvasser. They move past all the black-and-whites pulling out on p.m. watch during: SYKES ... and we work my hours. I'll do the driving, you do the paperwork. You gotta learn it so you might as well do it all. JETSON (after a moment) Sergeant... I'd like to thank you for what you're doing. SYKES What's that? (then realizing) Look, Jetson. Get this straight in your head. We're not pals, we're not married, and we ain't gonna take long moonlight walks together... We're just partners. And don't call me Sergeant. Call me Sykes... or Matt if you have to. JETSON I am George. Sykes nods absently, and they walk on... four and a half steps to be exact. Then it hits Sykes. He seizes up cold. SYKES Wait a minute. George? George Jetson? Jetson nods... he's used to this. Sykes cracks up. SYKES (between laughs) Man, somebody really hung one on you! I've heard some good ones for you guys... Humphrey Bogart, Harley Davidson. I guess the people at immigration got a little punchy after a while, coming up with names for a quarter of a million of you. You weren't at the back of the line, were you, George? JETSON My true name is Ss'tangya T'ssorentsa'. SYKES Gesundheit. You don't mind if I stick to George, do you? EXT. POLICE STATION PARKING AREA - DAY They approach Sykes' ugly sedan, the slug-mobile. SYKES Anyway, what's it matter to you if we think it's funny, right? Whatta you care? JETSON That is exactly so. (completely deadpan) It is like your name... Sykes. I'm sure it doesn't bother you at all that it sounds like "ss'ai k'ss", two words in my language which mean "excrement" and "cranium". Sykes looks at him, perplexed. JETSON "Shit... head". Jetson gets in and slams the door, leaving Sykes standing there, the smirk dropping from his face. CUT TO: INT. SLUG-MOBILE - DAY They're cruising along in downtown traffic. Sykes drives. Jetson is somewhat cramped in the passenger seat. SYKES Let's talk Hubley. JETSON (refers to a folder he holds) His body was discovered three days ago, in an alley off of Central Avenue, near downtown. SYKES With two

var

How many times the word 'var' appears in the text?

And he who weds his child against her will Owes heaven account for it, if she do ill. Think then what perils wait on your design. ORGON (to Mariane) So! I must learn what's what from her, you see! DORINE You might do worse than follow my advice. ORGON Daughter, we can't waste time upon this nonsense; I know what's good for you, and I'm your father. True, I had promised you to young Valere; But, first, they tell me he's inclined to gamble, And then, I fear his faith is not quite sound. I haven't noticed that he's regular At church. DORINE You'd have him run there just when you do. Like those who go on purpose to be seen? ORGON I don't ask your opinion on the matter. In short, the other is in Heaven's best graces, And that is riches quite beyond compare. This match will bring you every joy you long for; 'Twill be all steeped in sweetness and delight. You'll live together, in your faithful loves, Like two sweet children, like two turtle-doves; You'll never fail to quarrel, scold, or tease, And you may do with him whate'er you please. DORINE With him? Do naught but give him horns, I'll warrant. ORGON Out on thee, wench! DORINE I tell you he's cut out for't; However great your daughter's virtue, sir, His destiny is sure to prove the stronger. ORGON Have done with interrupting. Hold your tongue. Don't poke your nose in other people's business. DORINE (She keeps interrupting him, just as he turns and starts to speak to his daughter). If I make bold, sir, 'tis for your own good. ORGON You're too officious; pray you, hold your tongue. DORINE 'Tis love of you ... ORGON I want none of your love. DORINE Then I will love you in your own despite. ORGON You will, eh? DORINE Yes, your honour's dear to me; I can't endure to see you made the butt Of all men's ridicule. ORGON Won't you be still? DORINE 'Twould be a sin to let you make this match. ORGON Won't you be still, I say, you impudent viper! DORINE What! you are pious, and you lose your temper? ORGON I'm all wrought up, with your confounded nonsense; Now, once for all, I tell you hold your tongue. DORINE Then mum's the word; I'll take it out in thinking. ORGON Think all you please; but not a syllable To me about it, or ... you understand! (Turning to his daughter.) As a wise father, I've considered all With due deliberation. DORINE I'll go mad If I can't speak. (She stops the instant he turns his head.) ORGON Though he's no lady's man, Tartuffe is well enough ... DORINE A pretty phiz! ORGON So that, although you may not care at all For his best qualities ... DORINE A handsome dowry! (Orgon turns and stands in front of her, with arms folded, eyeing her.) Were I in her place, any man should rue it Who married me by force, that's mighty certain; I'd let him know, and that within a week, A woman's vengeance isn't far to seek. ORGON (to Dorine) So--nothing that I say has any weight? DORINE Eh? What's wrong now? I didn't speak to you. ORGON What were you doing? DORINE Talking to myself. ORGON Oh! Very well. (Aside.) Her monstrous impudence Must be chastised with one good slap in the face. (He stands ready to strike her, and, each time he speaks to his daughter, he glances toward her; but she stands still and says not a word.) [3] [Footnote 3: As given at the Comedie francaise, the action is as follows: While Orgon says, "You must approve of my design," Dorine is making signs to Mariane to resist his orders; Orgon turns around suddenly; but Dorine quickly changes her gesture and with the hand which she had lifted calmly arranges her hair and her cap. Orgon goes on, "Think of the husband ..." and stops before the middle of his sentence to turn and catch the beginning of Dorine's gesture; but he is too quick this time, and Dorine stands looking at his furious countenance with a sweet and gentle expression. He turns and goes on, and the obstinate Dorine again lifts her hand behind his shoulder to urge Mariane to resistance: this time he catches her; but just as he swings his shoulder to give her the promised blow, she stops him by changing the intent of her gesture, and carefully picking from the top of his sleeve a bit of fluff which she holds carefully between her fingers, then blows into the air, and watches intently as it floats away. Orgon is paralysed by her innocence of expression, and compelled to hide his rage.--Regnier, _Le Tartuffe des Comediens_.] ORGON Daughter, you must approve of my design.... Think of this husband ... I have chosen for you... (To Dorine) Why don't you talk to yourself? DORINE Nothing to say. ORGON One little word more. DORINE Oh, no, thanks. Not now. ORGON Sure, I'd have caught you. DORINE Faith, I'm no such fool. ORGON So, daughter, now obedience is the word; You must accept my choice with reverence. DORINE (running away) You'd never catch me marrying such a creature. ORGON (swinging his hand at her and missing her) Daughter, you've such a pestilent hussy there I can't live with her longer, without sin. I can't discuss things in the state I'm in. My mind's so flustered by her insolent talk, To calm myself, I must go take a walk. SCENE III MARIANE, DORINE DORINE Say, have you lost the tongue from out your head? And must I speak your role from A to Zed? You let them broach a project that's absurd, And don't oppose it with a single word! MARIANE What can I do? My father is the master. DORINE Do? Everything, to ward off such disaster. MARIANE But what? DORINE Tell him one doesn't love by proxy; Tell him you'll marry for yourself, not him; Since you're the one for whom the thing is done, You are the one, not he, the man must please; If his Tartuffe has charmed him so, why let him Just marry him himself--no one will hinder. MARIANE A father's rights are such, it seems to me, That I could never dare to say a word. DORINE Came, talk it out. Valere has asked your hand: Now do you love him, pray, or do you not? MARIANE Dorine! How can you wrong my love so much, And ask me such a question? Have I not A hundred times laid bare my heart to you? Do you know how ardently I love him? DORINE How do I know if heart and words agree, And if in honest truth you really love him? MARIANE Dorine, you wrong me greatly if you doubt it; I've shown my inmost feelings, all too plainly. DORINE So then, you love him? MARIANE Yes, devotedly. DORINE And he returns your love, apparently? MARIANE I think so. DORINE And you both alike are eager To be well married to each other? MARIANE Surely. DORINE Then what's your plan about this other match? MARIANE To kill myself, if it is forced upon me. DORINE Good! That's a remedy I hadn't thought of. Just die, and everything will be all right. This medicine is marvellous, indeed! It drives me mad to hear folk talk such nonsense. MARIANE Oh dear, Dorine you get in such a temper! You have no sympathy for people's troubles. DORINE I have no sympathy when folk talk nonsense, And flatten out as you do, at a pinch. MARIANE But what can you expect?--if one is timid?-- DORINE But what is love worth, if it has no courage? MARIANE Am I not constant in my love for him? Is't not his place to win me from my father? DORINE But if your father is a crazy fool, And quite bewitched with his Tartuffe? And breaks His bounden word? Is that your lover's fault? MARIANE But shall I publicly refuse and scorn This match, and make it plain that I'm in love? Shall I cast off for him, whate'er he be, Womanly modesty and filial duty? You ask me to display my love in public ... ? DORINE No, no, I ask you nothing. You shall be Mister Tartuffe's; why, now I think of it, I should be wrong to turn you from this marriage. What cause can I have to oppose your wishes? So fine a match! An excellent good match! Mister Tartuffe! Oh ho! No mean proposal! Mister Tartuffe, sure, take it all in all, Is not a man to sneeze at--oh, by no means! 'Tis no small luck to be his happy spouse. The whole world joins to sing his praise already; He's noble--in his parish; handsome too; Red ears and high complexion--oh, my lud! You'll be too happy, sure, with him for husband. MARIANE Oh dear! ... DORINE What joy and pride will fill your heart To be the bride of such a handsome fellow! MARIANE Oh, stop, I beg you; try to find some way To help break off the match. I quite give in, I'm ready to do anything you say. DORINE No, no, a daughter must obey her father, Though he should want to make her wed a monkey. Besides, your fate is fine. What could be better! You'll take the stage-coach to his little village, And find it full of uncles and of cousins, Whose conversation will delight you. Then You'll be presented in their best society. You'll even go to call, by way of welcome, On Mrs. Bailiff, Mrs. Tax-Collector, Who'll patronise you with a folding-stool. There, once a year, at carnival, you'll have Perhaps--a ball; with orchestra--two bag-pipes; And sometimes a trained ape, and Punch and Judy; Though if your husband ... MARIANE Oh, you'll kill me. Please Contrive to help me out with your advice. DORINE I thank you kindly. MARIANE Oh! Dorine, I beg you ... DORINE To serve you right, this marriage must go through. MARIANE Dear girl! DORINE No. MARIANE If I say I love Valere ... DORINE No, no. Tartuffe's your man, and you shall taste him. MARIANE You know I've always trusted you; now help me ... DORINE No, you shall be, my faith! Tartuffified. MARIANE Well, then, since you've no pity for my fate Let me take counsel only of despair; It will advise and help and give me courage; There's one sure cure, I know, for all my troubles. (She starts to go.) DORINE There, there! Come back. I can't be angry long. I must take pity on you, after all. MARIANE Oh, don't you see, Dorine, if I must bear This martyrdom, I certainly shall die. DORINE Now don't you fret. We'll surely find some way. To hinder this ... But here's Valere, your lover. SCENE IV VALERE, MARIANE, DORINE VALERE Madam, a piece of news--quite new to me-- Has just come out, and very fine it is. MARIANE What piece of news? VALERE Your marriage with Tartuffe. MARIANE 'Tis true my father has this plan in mind. VALERE Your father, madam ... MARIANE Yes, he's changed his plans, And did but now propose it to me. VALERE What! Seriously? MARIANE Yes, he was serious, And openly insisted on the match. VALERE And what's your resolution in the matter, Madam? MARIANE I don't know. VALERE That's a pretty answer. You don't know? MARIANE No. VALERE No? MARIANE What do you advise? VALERE I? My advice is, marry him, by all means. MARIANE That's your advice? VALERE Yes. MARIANE Do you mean it? VALERE Surely. A splendid choice, and worthy of your acceptance. MARIANE Oh, very well, sir! I shall take your counsel. VALERE You'll find no trouble taking it, I warrant. MARIANE No more than you did giving it, be sure. VALERE I gave it, truly, to oblige you, madam. MARIANE And I shall take it to oblige you, sir. Dorine (withdrawing to the back of the stage) Let's see what this affair will come to. VALERE So, That is your love? And it was all deceit When you ... MARIANE I beg you, say no more of that. You told me, squarely, sir, I should accept The husband that is offered me; and I Will tell you squarely that I mean to do so, Since you have given me this good advice. VALERE Don't shield yourself with talk of my advice. You had your mind made up, that's evident; And now you're snatching at a trifling pretext To justify the breaking of your word. MARIANE Exactly so. VALERE Of course it is; your heart Has never known true love for me. MARIANE Alas! You're free to think so, if you please. VALERE Yes, yes, I'm free to think so; and my outraged love May yet forestall you in your perfidy, And offer elsewhere both my heart and hand. MARIANE No doubt of it; the love your high deserts May win ... VALERE Good Lord, have done with my deserts! I know I have but few, and you have proved it. But I may find more kindness in another; I know of someone, who'll not be ashamed To take your leavings, and make up my loss. MARIANE The loss is not so great; you'll easily Console yourself completely for this change. VALERE I'll try my best, that you may well believe. When we're forgotten by a woman's heart, Our pride is challenged; we, too, must forget; Or if we cannot, must at least pretend to. No other way can man such baseness prove, As be a lover scorned, and still in love. MARIANE In faith, a high and noble sentiment. VALERE Yes; and it's one that all men must approve. What! Would you have me keep my love alive, And see you fly into another's arms Before my very eyes; and never offer To someone else the heart that you had scorned? MARIANE Oh, no, indeed! For my part, I could wish That it were done already. VALERE What! You wish it? MARIANE Yes. VALERE This is insult heaped on injury; I'll go at once and do as you desire. (He takes a step or two as if to go away.) MARIANE Oh, very well then. VALERE (turning back) But remember this. 'Twas you that drove me to this desperate pass. MARIANE Of course. VALERE (turning back again) And in the plan that I have formed I only follow your example. MARIANE Yes. VALERE (at the door) Enough; you shall be punctually obeyed. MARIANE So much the better. VALERE (coming back again) This is once for all. MARIANE So be it, then. VALERE (He goes toward the door, but just as he reaches it, turns around) Eh? MARIANE What? VALERE You didn't call me? MARIANE I? You are dreaming. VALERE Very well, I'm gone. Madam, farewell. (He walks slowly away.) MARIANE Farewell, sir. DORINE I must say You've lost your senses and both gone clean daft! I've let you fight it out to the end o' the chapter To see how far the thing could go. Oho, there, Mister Valere! (She goes and seizes him by the arm, to stop him. He makes a great show of resistance.) VALERE What do you want, Dorine? DORINE Come here. VALERE No, no, I'm quite beside myself. Don't hinder me from doing as she wishes. DORINE Stop! VALERE No. You see, I'm fixed, resolved, determined. DORINE So! MARIANE (aside) Since my presence pains him, makes him go, I'd better go myself, and leave him free. DORINE (leaving Valere, and running after Mariane) Now t'other! Where are you going? MARIANE Let me be. DORINE. Come back. MARIANE No, no, it isn't any use. VALERE (aside) 'Tis clear the sight of me is torture to her; No doubt, t'were better I should free her from it. DORINE (leaving Mariane and running after Valere) Same thing again! Deuce take you both, I say. Now stop your fooling; come here, you; and you. (She pulls first one, then the other, toward the middle of the stage.) VALERE (to Dorine) What's your idea? MARIANE (to Dorine) What can you mean to do? DORINE Set you to rights, and pull you out o' the scrape. (To Valere) Are you quite mad, to quarrel with her now? VALERE Didn't you hear the things she said to me? DORINE (to Mariane) Are you quite mad, to get in such a passion? MARIANE Didn't you see the way he treated me? DORINE Fools, both of you. (To Valere) She thinks of nothing else But to keep faith with you, I vouch for it. (To Mariane) And he loves none but you, and longs for nothing But just to marry you, I stake my life on't. MARIANE (to Valere) Why did you give me such advice then, pray? VALERE (to Mariane) Why ask for my advice on such a matter? DORINE You both are daft, I tell you. Here, your hands. (To Valere) Come, yours. VALERE (giving Dorine his hand) What for? DORINE (to Mariane) Now, yours. MARIANE (giving Dorine her hand) But what's the use? DORINE Oh, quick now, come along. There, both of you-- You love each other better than you think. (Valere and Mariane hold each other's hands some time without looking at each other.) VALERE (at last turning toward Mariane) Come, don't be so ungracious now about it; Look at a man as if you didn't hate him. (Mariane looks sideways toward Valere, with just a bit of a smile.) DORINE My faith and troth, what fools these lovers be! VALERE (to Mariane) But come now, have I not a just complaint? And truly, are you not a wicked creature To take delight in saying what would pain me? MARIANE And are you not yourself the most ungrateful ... ? DORINE Leave this discussion till another time; Now, think how you'll stave off this plaguy marriage. MARIANE Then tell us how to go about it. DORINE Well, We'll try all sorts of ways. (To Mariane) Your father's daft; (To Valere) This plan is nonsense. (To Mariane) You had better humour His notions by a semblance of consent, So that in case of danger, you can still Find means to block the marriage by delay. If you gain time, the rest is easy, trust me. One day you'll fool them with a sudden illness, Causing delay; another day, ill omens: You've met a funeral, or broke a mirror, Or dreamed of muddy water. Best of all, They cannot marry you to anyone Without your saying yes. But now, methinks, They mustn't find you chattering together. (To Valere) You, go at once and set your friends at work To make him keep his word to you; while we Will bring the brother's influence to bear, And get the step-mother on our side, too. Good-bye. VALERE (to Mariane) Whatever efforts we may make, My greatest hope, be sure, must rest on you. MARIANE (to Valere) I cannot answer for my father's whims; But no one save Valere shall ever have me. VALERE You thrill me through with joy! Whatever comes ... DORINE Oho! These lovers! Never done with prattling! Now go. VALERE (starting to go, and coming back again) One last word ... DORINE What a gabble and pother! Be off! By this door, you. And you, by t'other. (She pushes them off, by the shoulders, in opposite directions.) ACT III SCENE I DAMIS, DORINE DAMIS May lightning strike me dead this very instant, May I be everywhere proclaimed a scoundrel, If any reverence or power shall stop me, And if I don't do straightway something desperate! DORINE I beg you, moderate this towering passion; Your father did but merely mention it. Not all things that are talked of turn to facts; The road is long, sometimes, from plans to acts. DAMIS No, I must end this paltry fellow's plots, And he shall hear from me a truth or two. DORINE So ho! Go slow now. Just you leave the fellow-- Your father too--in your step-mother's hands. She has some influence with this Tartuffe, He makes a point of heeding all she says, And I suspect that he is fond of her. Would God 'twere true!--'Twould be the height of humour Now, she has sent for him, in your behalf, To sound him on this marriage, to find out What his ideas are, and to show him plainly What troubles he may cause, if he persists In giving countenance to this design. His man says, he's at prayers, I mustn't see him, But likewise says, he'll presently be down. So off with you, and let me wait for him. DAMIS I may be present at this interview. DORINE No, no! They must be left alone. DAMIS I won't So much as speak to him. DORINE Go on! We know you And your high tantrums. Just the way to spoil things! Be off. DAMIS No, I must see--I'll keep my temper. DORINE Out on you, what a plague! He's coming. Hide! (Damis goes and hides in the closet at the back of the stage.) SCENE II TARTUFFE, DORINE TARTUFFE (speaking to his valet, off the stage, as soon as he sees Dorine is there) Lawrence, put up my hair-cloth shirt and scourge, And pray that Heaven may shed its light upon you. If any come to see me, say I'm gone To share my alms among the prisoners. DORINE (aside) What affectation and what showing off! TARTUFFE What do you want with me? DORINE To tell you ... TARTUFFE (taking a handkerchief from his pocket) Ah! Before you speak, pray take this handkerchief. DORINE What? TARTUFFE Cover up that bosom, which I can't Endure to look on. Things like that offend Our souls, and fill our minds with sinful thoughts. DORINE Are you so tender to temptation, then, And has the flesh such power upon your senses? I don't know how you get in such a heat; For my part, I am not so prone to lust, And I could see you stripped from head to foot, And all your hide not tempt me in the least. TARTUFFE Show in your speech some little modesty, Or I must instantly take leave of you. DORINE No, no, I'll leave you to yourself; I've only One thing to say: Madam will soon be down, And begs the favour of a word with you. TARTUFFE Ah! Willingly. DORINE (aside) How gentle all at once! My faith, I still believe I've hit upon it. TARTUFFE Will she come soon? DORINE I think I hear her now. Yes, here she is herself; I'll leave you with her. SCENE III ELMIRE, TARTUFFE TARTUFFE May Heaven's overflowing kindness ever Give you good health of body and of soul, And bless your days according to the wishes And prayers of its most humble votary! ELMIRE I'm very grateful for your pious wishes. But let's sit down, so we may talk at ease. TARTUFFE (after sitting down) And how are you recovered from your illness? ELMIRE (sitting down also) Quite well; the fever soon let go its hold. TARTUFFE My prayers, I fear, have not sufficient merit To have drawn down this favour from on high; But each entreaty that I made to Heaven Had for its object your recovery. ELMIRE You're too solicitous on my behalf. TARTUFFE We could not cherish your dear health too much; I would have given mine, to help restore it. ELMIRE That's pushing Christian charity too far; I owe you many thanks for so much kindness. TARTUFFE I do far less for you than you deserve. ELMIRE There is a matter that I wished to speak of In private; I am glad there's no one here To listen. TARTUFFE Madam, I am overjoyed. 'Tis sweet to find myself alone with you. This is an opportunity I've asked Of Heaven, many a time; till now, in vain. ELMIRE All that I wish, is just a word from you, Quite frank and open, hiding nothing from me. (DAMIS, without their seeing him, opens the closet door halfway.) TARTUFFE I too could wish, as Heaven's especial favour, To lay my soul quite open to your eyes, And swear to you, the trouble that I made About those visits which your charms attract, Does not result from any hatred toward you, But rather from a passionate devotion, And purest motives ... ELMIRE That is how I take it, I think 'tis my salvation that concerns you. TARTUFFE (pressing her finger tips) Madam, 'tis so; and such is my devotion ... ELMIRE Ouch! but you squeeze too hard. TARTUFFE Excess of zeal. In no way could I ever mean to hurt you, And I'd as soon ... (He puts his hand on her knee.) ELMIRE What's your hand doing there? TARTUFFE Feeling your gown; the stuff is very soft. ELMIRE Let be, I beg you; I am very ticklish. (She moves her chair away, and Tartuffe brings his nearer.) TARTUFFE (handling the lace yoke of Elmire's dress) Dear me how wonderful in workmanship This lace is! They do marvels, nowadays; Things of all kinds were never better made. ELMIRE Yes, very true. But let us come to business. They say my husband means to break his word. And marry Mariane to you. Is't so? TARTUFFE He did hint some such thing; but truly, madam, That's not the happiness I'm yearning after; I see elsewhere the sweet compelling charms Of such a joy as fills my every wish. ELMIRE You mean you cannot love terrestrial things. TARTUFFE The heart within my bosom is not stone. ELMIRE I well believe your sighs all tend to Heaven, And nothing here below can stay your thoughts. TARTUFFE Love for the beauty of eternal things Cannot destroy our love for earthly beauty; Our mortal senses well may be entranced By perfect works that Heaven has fashioned here. Its charms reflected shine in such as you, And in yourself, its rarest miracles; It has displayed such marvels in your face, That eyes are dazed, and hearts are rapt away; I could not look on you, the perfect creature, Without admiring Nature's great Creator, And feeling all my heart inflamed with love For you, His fairest image of Himself. At first I trembled lest this secret love Might be the Evil Spirit's artful snare; I even schooled my heart to flee your beauty, Thinking it was a bar to my salvation. But soon, enlightened, O all lovely one, I saw how this my passion may be blameless, How I may make it fit with modesty, And thus completely yield my heart to it. 'Tis I must own, a great presumption in me To dare make you the offer of my heart; My love hopes all things from your perfect goodness, And nothing from my own poor weak endeavour. You are my hope, my stay, my peace of heart; On you depends my torment or my bliss; And by your doom of judgment, I shall be Blest, if you will; or damned, by your decree. ELMIRE Your declaration's turned most gallantly; But truly, it is just a bit surprising. You should have better armed your heart, methinks, And taken thought somewhat on such a matter. A pious man like you, known everywhere ... TARTUFFE Though pious, I am none the less a man; And when a man beholds your heavenly charms, The heart surrenders, and can think no more. I know such words seem strange, coming from me; But, madam, I'm no angel, after all; If you condemn my frankly made avowal You only have your charming self to blame. Soon as I saw your more than human beauty, You were thenceforth the sovereign of my soul; Sweetness ineffable was in your eyes, That took by storm my still resisting heart, And conquered everything, fasts, prayers, and tears, And turned my worship wholly to yourself. My looks, my sighs, have spoke a thousand times; Now, to express it all, my voice must speak. If but you will look down with gracious favour Upon the sorrows of your worthless slave, If in your goodness you will give me comfort And condescend unto my nothingness, I'll ever pay you, O sweet miracle, An unexampled worship and devotion. Then too, with me your honour runs no risk; With me you need not fear a public scandal. These court gallants, that women are so fond of, Are boastful of their acts, and vain in speech; They always brag in public of their progress; Soon as a favour's granted, they'll divulge it; Their tattling tongues, if you but trust to them, Will foul the altar where their hearts have worshipped. But men like me are so discreet in love, That you may trust their lasting secrecy. The care we take to guard our own good name May fully guarantee the one we love; So you may find, with hearts like ours sincere, Love without scandal, pleasure without fear. ELMIRE I've heard you through--your speech is clear, at least. But don't you fear that I may take a fancy To tell my husband of your gallant passion, And that a prompt report of this affair May somewhat change the friendship which he bears you? TARTUFFE I know that you're too good and generous, That you will pardon my temerity, Excuse, upon the score of human frailty, The violence of passion that offends you, And not forget, when you consult your mirror, That I'm not blind, and man is made of flesh. ELMIRE Some women might do otherwise, perhaps, But I am willing to employ discretion, And not repeat the matter to my husband; But in return, I'll ask one thing of you: That you urge forward, frankly and sincerely, The marriage of Valere to Mariane; That you give up the unjust influence By which you

soldat

How many times the word 'soldat' appears in the text?

And he who weds his child against her will Owes heaven account for it, if she do ill. Think then what perils wait on your design. ORGON (to Mariane) So! I must learn what's what from her, you see! DORINE You might do worse than follow my advice. ORGON Daughter, we can't waste time upon this nonsense; I know what's good for you, and I'm your father. True, I had promised you to young Valere; But, first, they tell me he's inclined to gamble, And then, I fear his faith is not quite sound. I haven't noticed that he's regular At church. DORINE You'd have him run there just when you do. Like those who go on purpose to be seen? ORGON I don't ask your opinion on the matter. In short, the other is in Heaven's best graces, And that is riches quite beyond compare. This match will bring you every joy you long for; 'Twill be all steeped in sweetness and delight. You'll live together, in your faithful loves, Like two sweet children, like two turtle-doves; You'll never fail to quarrel, scold, or tease, And you may do with him whate'er you please. DORINE With him? Do naught but give him horns, I'll warrant. ORGON Out on thee, wench! DORINE I tell you he's cut out for't; However great your daughter's virtue, sir, His destiny is sure to prove the stronger. ORGON Have done with interrupting. Hold your tongue. Don't poke your nose in other people's business. DORINE (She keeps interrupting him, just as he turns and starts to speak to his daughter). If I make bold, sir, 'tis for your own good. ORGON You're too officious; pray you, hold your tongue. DORINE 'Tis love of you ... ORGON I want none of your love. DORINE Then I will love you in your own despite. ORGON You will, eh? DORINE Yes, your honour's dear to me; I can't endure to see you made the butt Of all men's ridicule. ORGON Won't you be still? DORINE 'Twould be a sin to let you make this match. ORGON Won't you be still, I say, you impudent viper! DORINE What! you are pious, and you lose your temper? ORGON I'm all wrought up, with your confounded nonsense; Now, once for all, I tell you hold your tongue. DORINE Then mum's the word; I'll take it out in thinking. ORGON Think all you please; but not a syllable To me about it, or ... you understand! (Turning to his daughter.) As a wise father, I've considered all With due deliberation. DORINE I'll go mad If I can't speak. (She stops the instant he turns his head.) ORGON Though he's no lady's man, Tartuffe is well enough ... DORINE A pretty phiz! ORGON So that, although you may not care at all For his best qualities ... DORINE A handsome dowry! (Orgon turns and stands in front of her, with arms folded, eyeing her.) Were I in her place, any man should rue it Who married me by force, that's mighty certain; I'd let him know, and that within a week, A woman's vengeance isn't far to seek. ORGON (to Dorine) So--nothing that I say has any weight? DORINE Eh? What's wrong now? I didn't speak to you. ORGON What were you doing? DORINE Talking to myself. ORGON Oh! Very well. (Aside.) Her monstrous impudence Must be chastised with one good slap in the face. (He stands ready to strike her, and, each time he speaks to his daughter, he glances toward her; but she stands still and says not a word.) [3] [Footnote 3: As given at the Comedie francaise, the action is as follows: While Orgon says, "You must approve of my design," Dorine is making signs to Mariane to resist his orders; Orgon turns around suddenly; but Dorine quickly changes her gesture and with the hand which she had lifted calmly arranges her hair and her cap. Orgon goes on, "Think of the husband ..." and stops before the middle of his sentence to turn and catch the beginning of Dorine's gesture; but he is too quick this time, and Dorine stands looking at his furious countenance with a sweet and gentle expression. He turns and goes on, and the obstinate Dorine again lifts her hand behind his shoulder to urge Mariane to resistance: this time he catches her; but just as he swings his shoulder to give her the promised blow, she stops him by changing the intent of her gesture, and carefully picking from the top of his sleeve a bit of fluff which she holds carefully between her fingers, then blows into the air, and watches intently as it floats away. Orgon is paralysed by her innocence of expression, and compelled to hide his rage.--Regnier, _Le Tartuffe des Comediens_.] ORGON Daughter, you must approve of my design.... Think of this husband ... I have chosen for you... (To Dorine) Why don't you talk to yourself? DORINE Nothing to say. ORGON One little word more. DORINE Oh, no, thanks. Not now. ORGON Sure, I'd have caught you. DORINE Faith, I'm no such fool. ORGON So, daughter, now obedience is the word; You must accept my choice with reverence. DORINE (running away) You'd never catch me marrying such a creature. ORGON (swinging his hand at her and missing her) Daughter, you've such a pestilent hussy there I can't live with her longer, without sin. I can't discuss things in the state I'm in. My mind's so flustered by her insolent talk, To calm myself, I must go take a walk. SCENE III MARIANE, DORINE DORINE Say, have you lost the tongue from out your head? And must I speak your role from A to Zed? You let them broach a project that's absurd, And don't oppose it with a single word! MARIANE What can I do? My father is the master. DORINE Do? Everything, to ward off such disaster. MARIANE But what? DORINE Tell him one doesn't love by proxy; Tell him you'll marry for yourself, not him; Since you're the one for whom the thing is done, You are the one, not he, the man must please; If his Tartuffe has charmed him so, why let him Just marry him himself--no one will hinder. MARIANE A father's rights are such, it seems to me, That I could never dare to say a word. DORINE Came, talk it out. Valere has asked your hand: Now do you love him, pray, or do you not? MARIANE Dorine! How can you wrong my love so much, And ask me such a question? Have I not A hundred times laid bare my heart to you? Do you know how ardently I love him? DORINE How do I know if heart and words agree, And if in honest truth you really love him? MARIANE Dorine, you wrong me greatly if you doubt it; I've shown my inmost feelings, all too plainly. DORINE So then, you love him? MARIANE Yes, devotedly. DORINE And he returns your love, apparently? MARIANE I think so. DORINE And you both alike are eager To be well married to each other? MARIANE Surely. DORINE Then what's your plan about this other match? MARIANE To kill myself, if it is forced upon me. DORINE Good! That's a remedy I hadn't thought of. Just die, and everything will be all right. This medicine is marvellous, indeed! It drives me mad to hear folk talk such nonsense. MARIANE Oh dear, Dorine you get in such a temper! You have no sympathy for people's troubles. DORINE I have no sympathy when folk talk nonsense, And flatten out as you do, at a pinch. MARIANE But what can you expect?--if one is timid?-- DORINE But what is love worth, if it has no courage? MARIANE Am I not constant in my love for him? Is't not his place to win me from my father? DORINE But if your father is a crazy fool, And quite bewitched with his Tartuffe? And breaks His bounden word? Is that your lover's fault? MARIANE But shall I publicly refuse and scorn This match, and make it plain that I'm in love? Shall I cast off for him, whate'er he be, Womanly modesty and filial duty? You ask me to display my love in public ... ? DORINE No, no, I ask you nothing. You shall be Mister Tartuffe's; why, now I think of it, I should be wrong to turn you from this marriage. What cause can I have to oppose your wishes? So fine a match! An excellent good match! Mister Tartuffe! Oh ho! No mean proposal! Mister Tartuffe, sure, take it all in all, Is not a man to sneeze at--oh, by no means! 'Tis no small luck to be his happy spouse. The whole world joins to sing his praise already; He's noble--in his parish; handsome too; Red ears and high complexion--oh, my lud! You'll be too happy, sure, with him for husband. MARIANE Oh dear! ... DORINE What joy and pride will fill your heart To be the bride of such a handsome fellow! MARIANE Oh, stop, I beg you; try to find some way To help break off the match. I quite give in, I'm ready to do anything you say. DORINE No, no, a daughter must obey her father, Though he should want to make her wed a monkey. Besides, your fate is fine. What could be better! You'll take the stage-coach to his little village, And find it full of uncles and of cousins, Whose conversation will delight you. Then You'll be presented in their best society. You'll even go to call, by way of welcome, On Mrs. Bailiff, Mrs. Tax-Collector, Who'll patronise you with a folding-stool. There, once a year, at carnival, you'll have Perhaps--a ball; with orchestra--two bag-pipes; And sometimes a trained ape, and Punch and Judy; Though if your husband ... MARIANE Oh, you'll kill me. Please Contrive to help me out with your advice. DORINE I thank you kindly. MARIANE Oh! Dorine, I beg you ... DORINE To serve you right, this marriage must go through. MARIANE Dear girl! DORINE No. MARIANE If I say I love Valere ... DORINE No, no. Tartuffe's your man, and you shall taste him. MARIANE You know I've always trusted you; now help me ... DORINE No, you shall be, my faith! Tartuffified. MARIANE Well, then, since you've no pity for my fate Let me take counsel only of despair; It will advise and help and give me courage; There's one sure cure, I know, for all my troubles. (She starts to go.) DORINE There, there! Come back. I can't be angry long. I must take pity on you, after all. MARIANE Oh, don't you see, Dorine, if I must bear This martyrdom, I certainly shall die. DORINE Now don't you fret. We'll surely find some way. To hinder this ... But here's Valere, your lover. SCENE IV VALERE, MARIANE, DORINE VALERE Madam, a piece of news--quite new to me-- Has just come out, and very fine it is. MARIANE What piece of news? VALERE Your marriage with Tartuffe. MARIANE 'Tis true my father has this plan in mind. VALERE Your father, madam ... MARIANE Yes, he's changed his plans, And did but now propose it to me. VALERE What! Seriously? MARIANE Yes, he was serious, And openly insisted on the match. VALERE And what's your resolution in the matter, Madam? MARIANE I don't know. VALERE That's a pretty answer. You don't know? MARIANE No. VALERE No? MARIANE What do you advise? VALERE I? My advice is, marry him, by all means. MARIANE That's your advice? VALERE Yes. MARIANE Do you mean it? VALERE Surely. A splendid choice, and worthy of your acceptance. MARIANE Oh, very well, sir! I shall take your counsel. VALERE You'll find no trouble taking it, I warrant. MARIANE No more than you did giving it, be sure. VALERE I gave it, truly, to oblige you, madam. MARIANE And I shall take it to oblige you, sir. Dorine (withdrawing to the back of the stage) Let's see what this affair will come to. VALERE So, That is your love? And it was all deceit When you ... MARIANE I beg you, say no more of that. You told me, squarely, sir, I should accept The husband that is offered me; and I Will tell you squarely that I mean to do so, Since you have given me this good advice. VALERE Don't shield yourself with talk of my advice. You had your mind made up, that's evident; And now you're snatching at a trifling pretext To justify the breaking of your word. MARIANE Exactly so. VALERE Of course it is; your heart Has never known true love for me. MARIANE Alas! You're free to think so, if you please. VALERE Yes, yes, I'm free to think so; and my outraged love May yet forestall you in your perfidy, And offer elsewhere both my heart and hand. MARIANE No doubt of it; the love your high deserts May win ... VALERE Good Lord, have done with my deserts! I know I have but few, and you have proved it. But I may find more kindness in another; I know of someone, who'll not be ashamed To take your leavings, and make up my loss. MARIANE The loss is not so great; you'll easily Console yourself completely for this change. VALERE I'll try my best, that you may well believe. When we're forgotten by a woman's heart, Our pride is challenged; we, too, must forget; Or if we cannot, must at least pretend to. No other way can man such baseness prove, As be a lover scorned, and still in love. MARIANE In faith, a high and noble sentiment. VALERE Yes; and it's one that all men must approve. What! Would you have me keep my love alive, And see you fly into another's arms Before my very eyes; and never offer To someone else the heart that you had scorned? MARIANE Oh, no, indeed! For my part, I could wish That it were done already. VALERE What! You wish it? MARIANE Yes. VALERE This is insult heaped on injury; I'll go at once and do as you desire. (He takes a step or two as if to go away.) MARIANE Oh, very well then. VALERE (turning back) But remember this. 'Twas you that drove me to this desperate pass. MARIANE Of course. VALERE (turning back again) And in the plan that I have formed I only follow your example. MARIANE Yes. VALERE (at the door) Enough; you shall be punctually obeyed. MARIANE So much the better. VALERE (coming back again) This is once for all. MARIANE So be it, then. VALERE (He goes toward the door, but just as he reaches it, turns around) Eh? MARIANE What? VALERE You didn't call me? MARIANE I? You are dreaming. VALERE Very well, I'm gone. Madam, farewell. (He walks slowly away.) MARIANE Farewell, sir. DORINE I must say You've lost your senses and both gone clean daft! I've let you fight it out to the end o' the chapter To see how far the thing could go. Oho, there, Mister Valere! (She goes and seizes him by the arm, to stop him. He makes a great show of resistance.) VALERE What do you want, Dorine? DORINE Come here. VALERE No, no, I'm quite beside myself. Don't hinder me from doing as she wishes. DORINE Stop! VALERE No. You see, I'm fixed, resolved, determined. DORINE So! MARIANE (aside) Since my presence pains him, makes him go, I'd better go myself, and leave him free. DORINE (leaving Valere, and running after Mariane) Now t'other! Where are you going? MARIANE Let me be. DORINE. Come back. MARIANE No, no, it isn't any use. VALERE (aside) 'Tis clear the sight of me is torture to her; No doubt, t'were better I should free her from it. DORINE (leaving Mariane and running after Valere) Same thing again! Deuce take you both, I say. Now stop your fooling; come here, you; and you. (She pulls first one, then the other, toward the middle of the stage.) VALERE (to Dorine) What's your idea? MARIANE (to Dorine) What can you mean to do? DORINE Set you to rights, and pull you out o' the scrape. (To Valere) Are you quite mad, to quarrel with her now? VALERE Didn't you hear the things she said to me? DORINE (to Mariane) Are you quite mad, to get in such a passion? MARIANE Didn't you see the way he treated me? DORINE Fools, both of you. (To Valere) She thinks of nothing else But to keep faith with you, I vouch for it. (To Mariane) And he loves none but you, and longs for nothing But just to marry you, I stake my life on't. MARIANE (to Valere) Why did you give me such advice then, pray? VALERE (to Mariane) Why ask for my advice on such a matter? DORINE You both are daft, I tell you. Here, your hands. (To Valere) Come, yours. VALERE (giving Dorine his hand) What for? DORINE (to Mariane) Now, yours. MARIANE (giving Dorine her hand) But what's the use? DORINE Oh, quick now, come along. There, both of you-- You love each other better than you think. (Valere and Mariane hold each other's hands some time without looking at each other.) VALERE (at last turning toward Mariane) Come, don't be so ungracious now about it; Look at a man as if you didn't hate him. (Mariane looks sideways toward Valere, with just a bit of a smile.) DORINE My faith and troth, what fools these lovers be! VALERE (to Mariane) But come now, have I not a just complaint? And truly, are you not a wicked creature To take delight in saying what would pain me? MARIANE And are you not yourself the most ungrateful ... ? DORINE Leave this discussion till another time; Now, think how you'll stave off this plaguy marriage. MARIANE Then tell us how to go about it. DORINE Well, We'll try all sorts of ways. (To Mariane) Your father's daft; (To Valere) This plan is nonsense. (To Mariane) You had better humour His notions by a semblance of consent, So that in case of danger, you can still Find means to block the marriage by delay. If you gain time, the rest is easy, trust me. One day you'll fool them with a sudden illness, Causing delay; another day, ill omens: You've met a funeral, or broke a mirror, Or dreamed of muddy water. Best of all, They cannot marry you to anyone Without your saying yes. But now, methinks, They mustn't find you chattering together. (To Valere) You, go at once and set your friends at work To make him keep his word to you; while we Will bring the brother's influence to bear, And get the step-mother on our side, too. Good-bye. VALERE (to Mariane) Whatever efforts we may make, My greatest hope, be sure, must rest on you. MARIANE (to Valere) I cannot answer for my father's whims; But no one save Valere shall ever have me. VALERE You thrill me through with joy! Whatever comes ... DORINE Oho! These lovers! Never done with prattling! Now go. VALERE (starting to go, and coming back again) One last word ... DORINE What a gabble and pother! Be off! By this door, you. And you, by t'other. (She pushes them off, by the shoulders, in opposite directions.) ACT III SCENE I DAMIS, DORINE DAMIS May lightning strike me dead this very instant, May I be everywhere proclaimed a scoundrel, If any reverence or power shall stop me, And if I don't do straightway something desperate! DORINE I beg you, moderate this towering passion; Your father did but merely mention it. Not all things that are talked of turn to facts; The road is long, sometimes, from plans to acts. DAMIS No, I must end this paltry fellow's plots, And he shall hear from me a truth or two. DORINE So ho! Go slow now. Just you leave the fellow-- Your father too--in your step-mother's hands. She has some influence with this Tartuffe, He makes a point of heeding all she says, And I suspect that he is fond of her. Would God 'twere true!--'Twould be the height of humour Now, she has sent for him, in your behalf, To sound him on this marriage, to find out What his ideas are, and to show him plainly What troubles he may cause, if he persists In giving countenance to this design. His man says, he's at prayers, I mustn't see him, But likewise says, he'll presently be down. So off with you, and let me wait for him. DAMIS I may be present at this interview. DORINE No, no! They must be left alone. DAMIS I won't So much as speak to him. DORINE Go on! We know you And your high tantrums. Just the way to spoil things! Be off. DAMIS No, I must see--I'll keep my temper. DORINE Out on you, what a plague! He's coming. Hide! (Damis goes and hides in the closet at the back of the stage.) SCENE II TARTUFFE, DORINE TARTUFFE (speaking to his valet, off the stage, as soon as he sees Dorine is there) Lawrence, put up my hair-cloth shirt and scourge, And pray that Heaven may shed its light upon you. If any come to see me, say I'm gone To share my alms among the prisoners. DORINE (aside) What affectation and what showing off! TARTUFFE What do you want with me? DORINE To tell you ... TARTUFFE (taking a handkerchief from his pocket) Ah! Before you speak, pray take this handkerchief. DORINE What? TARTUFFE Cover up that bosom, which I can't Endure to look on. Things like that offend Our souls, and fill our minds with sinful thoughts. DORINE Are you so tender to temptation, then, And has the flesh such power upon your senses? I don't know how you get in such a heat; For my part, I am not so prone to lust, And I could see you stripped from head to foot, And all your hide not tempt me in the least. TARTUFFE Show in your speech some little modesty, Or I must instantly take leave of you. DORINE No, no, I'll leave you to yourself; I've only One thing to say: Madam will soon be down, And begs the favour of a word with you. TARTUFFE Ah! Willingly. DORINE (aside) How gentle all at once! My faith, I still believe I've hit upon it. TARTUFFE Will she come soon? DORINE I think I hear her now. Yes, here she is herself; I'll leave you with her. SCENE III ELMIRE, TARTUFFE TARTUFFE May Heaven's overflowing kindness ever Give you good health of body and of soul, And bless your days according to the wishes And prayers of its most humble votary! ELMIRE I'm very grateful for your pious wishes. But let's sit down, so we may talk at ease. TARTUFFE (after sitting down) And how are you recovered from your illness? ELMIRE (sitting down also) Quite well; the fever soon let go its hold. TARTUFFE My prayers, I fear, have not sufficient merit To have drawn down this favour from on high; But each entreaty that I made to Heaven Had for its object your recovery. ELMIRE You're too solicitous on my behalf. TARTUFFE We could not cherish your dear health too much; I would have given mine, to help restore it. ELMIRE That's pushing Christian charity too far; I owe you many thanks for so much kindness. TARTUFFE I do far less for you than you deserve. ELMIRE There is a matter that I wished to speak of In private; I am glad there's no one here To listen. TARTUFFE Madam, I am overjoyed. 'Tis sweet to find myself alone with you. This is an opportunity I've asked Of Heaven, many a time; till now, in vain. ELMIRE All that I wish, is just a word from you, Quite frank and open, hiding nothing from me. (DAMIS, without their seeing him, opens the closet door halfway.) TARTUFFE I too could wish, as Heaven's especial favour, To lay my soul quite open to your eyes, And swear to you, the trouble that I made About those visits which your charms attract, Does not result from any hatred toward you, But rather from a passionate devotion, And purest motives ... ELMIRE That is how I take it, I think 'tis my salvation that concerns you. TARTUFFE (pressing her finger tips) Madam, 'tis so; and such is my devotion ... ELMIRE Ouch! but you squeeze too hard. TARTUFFE Excess of zeal. In no way could I ever mean to hurt you, And I'd as soon ... (He puts his hand on her knee.) ELMIRE What's your hand doing there? TARTUFFE Feeling your gown; the stuff is very soft. ELMIRE Let be, I beg you; I am very ticklish. (She moves her chair away, and Tartuffe brings his nearer.) TARTUFFE (handling the lace yoke of Elmire's dress) Dear me how wonderful in workmanship This lace is! They do marvels, nowadays; Things of all kinds were never better made. ELMIRE Yes, very true. But let us come to business. They say my husband means to break his word. And marry Mariane to you. Is't so? TARTUFFE He did hint some such thing; but truly, madam, That's not the happiness I'm yearning after; I see elsewhere the sweet compelling charms Of such a joy as fills my every wish. ELMIRE You mean you cannot love terrestrial things. TARTUFFE The heart within my bosom is not stone. ELMIRE I well believe your sighs all tend to Heaven, And nothing here below can stay your thoughts. TARTUFFE Love for the beauty of eternal things Cannot destroy our love for earthly beauty; Our mortal senses well may be entranced By perfect works that Heaven has fashioned here. Its charms reflected shine in such as you, And in yourself, its rarest miracles; It has displayed such marvels in your face, That eyes are dazed, and hearts are rapt away; I could not look on you, the perfect creature, Without admiring Nature's great Creator, And feeling all my heart inflamed with love For you, His fairest image of Himself. At first I trembled lest this secret love Might be the Evil Spirit's artful snare; I even schooled my heart to flee your beauty, Thinking it was a bar to my salvation. But soon, enlightened, O all lovely one, I saw how this my passion may be blameless, How I may make it fit with modesty, And thus completely yield my heart to it. 'Tis I must own, a great presumption in me To dare make you the offer of my heart; My love hopes all things from your perfect goodness, And nothing from my own poor weak endeavour. You are my hope, my stay, my peace of heart; On you depends my torment or my bliss; And by your doom of judgment, I shall be Blest, if you will; or damned, by your decree. ELMIRE Your declaration's turned most gallantly; But truly, it is just a bit surprising. You should have better armed your heart, methinks, And taken thought somewhat on such a matter. A pious man like you, known everywhere ... TARTUFFE Though pious, I am none the less a man; And when a man beholds your heavenly charms, The heart surrenders, and can think no more. I know such words seem strange, coming from me; But, madam, I'm no angel, after all; If you condemn my frankly made avowal You only have your charming self to blame. Soon as I saw your more than human beauty, You were thenceforth the sovereign of my soul; Sweetness ineffable was in your eyes, That took by storm my still resisting heart, And conquered everything, fasts, prayers, and tears, And turned my worship wholly to yourself. My looks, my sighs, have spoke a thousand times; Now, to express it all, my voice must speak. If but you will look down with gracious favour Upon the sorrows of your worthless slave, If in your goodness you will give me comfort And condescend unto my nothingness, I'll ever pay you, O sweet miracle, An unexampled worship and devotion. Then too, with me your honour runs no risk; With me you need not fear a public scandal. These court gallants, that women are so fond of, Are boastful of their acts, and vain in speech; They always brag in public of their progress; Soon as a favour's granted, they'll divulge it; Their tattling tongues, if you but trust to them, Will foul the altar where their hearts have worshipped. But men like me are so discreet in love, That you may trust their lasting secrecy. The care we take to guard our own good name May fully guarantee the one we love; So you may find, with hearts like ours sincere, Love without scandal, pleasure without fear. ELMIRE I've heard you through--your speech is clear, at least. But don't you fear that I may take a fancy To tell my husband of your gallant passion, And that a prompt report of this affair May somewhat change the friendship which he bears you? TARTUFFE I know that you're too good and generous, That you will pardon my temerity, Excuse, upon the score of human frailty, The violence of passion that offends you, And not forget, when you consult your mirror, That I'm not blind, and man is made of flesh. ELMIRE Some women might do otherwise, perhaps, But I am willing to employ discretion, And not repeat the matter to my husband; But in return, I'll ask one thing of you: That you urge forward, frankly and sincerely, The marriage of Valere to Mariane; That you give up the unjust influence By which you

promised

How many times the word 'promised' appears in the text?

And he who weds his child against her will Owes heaven account for it, if she do ill. Think then what perils wait on your design. ORGON (to Mariane) So! I must learn what's what from her, you see! DORINE You might do worse than follow my advice. ORGON Daughter, we can't waste time upon this nonsense; I know what's good for you, and I'm your father. True, I had promised you to young Valere; But, first, they tell me he's inclined to gamble, And then, I fear his faith is not quite sound. I haven't noticed that he's regular At church. DORINE You'd have him run there just when you do. Like those who go on purpose to be seen? ORGON I don't ask your opinion on the matter. In short, the other is in Heaven's best graces, And that is riches quite beyond compare. This match will bring you every joy you long for; 'Twill be all steeped in sweetness and delight. You'll live together, in your faithful loves, Like two sweet children, like two turtle-doves; You'll never fail to quarrel, scold, or tease, And you may do with him whate'er you please. DORINE With him? Do naught but give him horns, I'll warrant. ORGON Out on thee, wench! DORINE I tell you he's cut out for't; However great your daughter's virtue, sir, His destiny is sure to prove the stronger. ORGON Have done with interrupting. Hold your tongue. Don't poke your nose in other people's business. DORINE (She keeps interrupting him, just as he turns and starts to speak to his daughter). If I make bold, sir, 'tis for your own good. ORGON You're too officious; pray you, hold your tongue. DORINE 'Tis love of you ... ORGON I want none of your love. DORINE Then I will love you in your own despite. ORGON You will, eh? DORINE Yes, your honour's dear to me; I can't endure to see you made the butt Of all men's ridicule. ORGON Won't you be still? DORINE 'Twould be a sin to let you make this match. ORGON Won't you be still, I say, you impudent viper! DORINE What! you are pious, and you lose your temper? ORGON I'm all wrought up, with your confounded nonsense; Now, once for all, I tell you hold your tongue. DORINE Then mum's the word; I'll take it out in thinking. ORGON Think all you please; but not a syllable To me about it, or ... you understand! (Turning to his daughter.) As a wise father, I've considered all With due deliberation. DORINE I'll go mad If I can't speak. (She stops the instant he turns his head.) ORGON Though he's no lady's man, Tartuffe is well enough ... DORINE A pretty phiz! ORGON So that, although you may not care at all For his best qualities ... DORINE A handsome dowry! (Orgon turns and stands in front of her, with arms folded, eyeing her.) Were I in her place, any man should rue it Who married me by force, that's mighty certain; I'd let him know, and that within a week, A woman's vengeance isn't far to seek. ORGON (to Dorine) So--nothing that I say has any weight? DORINE Eh? What's wrong now? I didn't speak to you. ORGON What were you doing? DORINE Talking to myself. ORGON Oh! Very well. (Aside.) Her monstrous impudence Must be chastised with one good slap in the face. (He stands ready to strike her, and, each time he speaks to his daughter, he glances toward her; but she stands still and says not a word.) [3] [Footnote 3: As given at the Comedie francaise, the action is as follows: While Orgon says, "You must approve of my design," Dorine is making signs to Mariane to resist his orders; Orgon turns around suddenly; but Dorine quickly changes her gesture and with the hand which she had lifted calmly arranges her hair and her cap. Orgon goes on, "Think of the husband ..." and stops before the middle of his sentence to turn and catch the beginning of Dorine's gesture; but he is too quick this time, and Dorine stands looking at his furious countenance with a sweet and gentle expression. He turns and goes on, and the obstinate Dorine again lifts her hand behind his shoulder to urge Mariane to resistance: this time he catches her; but just as he swings his shoulder to give her the promised blow, she stops him by changing the intent of her gesture, and carefully picking from the top of his sleeve a bit of fluff which she holds carefully between her fingers, then blows into the air, and watches intently as it floats away. Orgon is paralysed by her innocence of expression, and compelled to hide his rage.--Regnier, _Le Tartuffe des Comediens_.] ORGON Daughter, you must approve of my design.... Think of this husband ... I have chosen for you... (To Dorine) Why don't you talk to yourself? DORINE Nothing to say. ORGON One little word more. DORINE Oh, no, thanks. Not now. ORGON Sure, I'd have caught you. DORINE Faith, I'm no such fool. ORGON So, daughter, now obedience is the word; You must accept my choice with reverence. DORINE (running away) You'd never catch me marrying such a creature. ORGON (swinging his hand at her and missing her) Daughter, you've such a pestilent hussy there I can't live with her longer, without sin. I can't discuss things in the state I'm in. My mind's so flustered by her insolent talk, To calm myself, I must go take a walk. SCENE III MARIANE, DORINE DORINE Say, have you lost the tongue from out your head? And must I speak your role from A to Zed? You let them broach a project that's absurd, And don't oppose it with a single word! MARIANE What can I do? My father is the master. DORINE Do? Everything, to ward off such disaster. MARIANE But what? DORINE Tell him one doesn't love by proxy; Tell him you'll marry for yourself, not him; Since you're the one for whom the thing is done, You are the one, not he, the man must please; If his Tartuffe has charmed him so, why let him Just marry him himself--no one will hinder. MARIANE A father's rights are such, it seems to me, That I could never dare to say a word. DORINE Came, talk it out. Valere has asked your hand: Now do you love him, pray, or do you not? MARIANE Dorine! How can you wrong my love so much, And ask me such a question? Have I not A hundred times laid bare my heart to you? Do you know how ardently I love him? DORINE How do I know if heart and words agree, And if in honest truth you really love him? MARIANE Dorine, you wrong me greatly if you doubt it; I've shown my inmost feelings, all too plainly. DORINE So then, you love him? MARIANE Yes, devotedly. DORINE And he returns your love, apparently? MARIANE I think so. DORINE And you both alike are eager To be well married to each other? MARIANE Surely. DORINE Then what's your plan about this other match? MARIANE To kill myself, if it is forced upon me. DORINE Good! That's a remedy I hadn't thought of. Just die, and everything will be all right. This medicine is marvellous, indeed! It drives me mad to hear folk talk such nonsense. MARIANE Oh dear, Dorine you get in such a temper! You have no sympathy for people's troubles. DORINE I have no sympathy when folk talk nonsense, And flatten out as you do, at a pinch. MARIANE But what can you expect?--if one is timid?-- DORINE But what is love worth, if it has no courage? MARIANE Am I not constant in my love for him? Is't not his place to win me from my father? DORINE But if your father is a crazy fool, And quite bewitched with his Tartuffe? And breaks His bounden word? Is that your lover's fault? MARIANE But shall I publicly refuse and scorn This match, and make it plain that I'm in love? Shall I cast off for him, whate'er he be, Womanly modesty and filial duty? You ask me to display my love in public ... ? DORINE No, no, I ask you nothing. You shall be Mister Tartuffe's; why, now I think of it, I should be wrong to turn you from this marriage. What cause can I have to oppose your wishes? So fine a match! An excellent good match! Mister Tartuffe! Oh ho! No mean proposal! Mister Tartuffe, sure, take it all in all, Is not a man to sneeze at--oh, by no means! 'Tis no small luck to be his happy spouse. The whole world joins to sing his praise already; He's noble--in his parish; handsome too; Red ears and high complexion--oh, my lud! You'll be too happy, sure, with him for husband. MARIANE Oh dear! ... DORINE What joy and pride will fill your heart To be the bride of such a handsome fellow! MARIANE Oh, stop, I beg you; try to find some way To help break off the match. I quite give in, I'm ready to do anything you say. DORINE No, no, a daughter must obey her father, Though he should want to make her wed a monkey. Besides, your fate is fine. What could be better! You'll take the stage-coach to his little village, And find it full of uncles and of cousins, Whose conversation will delight you. Then You'll be presented in their best society. You'll even go to call, by way of welcome, On Mrs. Bailiff, Mrs. Tax-Collector, Who'll patronise you with a folding-stool. There, once a year, at carnival, you'll have Perhaps--a ball; with orchestra--two bag-pipes; And sometimes a trained ape, and Punch and Judy; Though if your husband ... MARIANE Oh, you'll kill me. Please Contrive to help me out with your advice. DORINE I thank you kindly. MARIANE Oh! Dorine, I beg you ... DORINE To serve you right, this marriage must go through. MARIANE Dear girl! DORINE No. MARIANE If I say I love Valere ... DORINE No, no. Tartuffe's your man, and you shall taste him. MARIANE You know I've always trusted you; now help me ... DORINE No, you shall be, my faith! Tartuffified. MARIANE Well, then, since you've no pity for my fate Let me take counsel only of despair; It will advise and help and give me courage; There's one sure cure, I know, for all my troubles. (She starts to go.) DORINE There, there! Come back. I can't be angry long. I must take pity on you, after all. MARIANE Oh, don't you see, Dorine, if I must bear This martyrdom, I certainly shall die. DORINE Now don't you fret. We'll surely find some way. To hinder this ... But here's Valere, your lover. SCENE IV VALERE, MARIANE, DORINE VALERE Madam, a piece of news--quite new to me-- Has just come out, and very fine it is. MARIANE What piece of news? VALERE Your marriage with Tartuffe. MARIANE 'Tis true my father has this plan in mind. VALERE Your father, madam ... MARIANE Yes, he's changed his plans, And did but now propose it to me. VALERE What! Seriously? MARIANE Yes, he was serious, And openly insisted on the match. VALERE And what's your resolution in the matter, Madam? MARIANE I don't know. VALERE That's a pretty answer. You don't know? MARIANE No. VALERE No? MARIANE What do you advise? VALERE I? My advice is, marry him, by all means. MARIANE That's your advice? VALERE Yes. MARIANE Do you mean it? VALERE Surely. A splendid choice, and worthy of your acceptance. MARIANE Oh, very well, sir! I shall take your counsel. VALERE You'll find no trouble taking it, I warrant. MARIANE No more than you did giving it, be sure. VALERE I gave it, truly, to oblige you, madam. MARIANE And I shall take it to oblige you, sir. Dorine (withdrawing to the back of the stage) Let's see what this affair will come to. VALERE So, That is your love? And it was all deceit When you ... MARIANE I beg you, say no more of that. You told me, squarely, sir, I should accept The husband that is offered me; and I Will tell you squarely that I mean to do so, Since you have given me this good advice. VALERE Don't shield yourself with talk of my advice. You had your mind made up, that's evident; And now you're snatching at a trifling pretext To justify the breaking of your word. MARIANE Exactly so. VALERE Of course it is; your heart Has never known true love for me. MARIANE Alas! You're free to think so, if you please. VALERE Yes, yes, I'm free to think so; and my outraged love May yet forestall you in your perfidy, And offer elsewhere both my heart and hand. MARIANE No doubt of it; the love your high deserts May win ... VALERE Good Lord, have done with my deserts! I know I have but few, and you have proved it. But I may find more kindness in another; I know of someone, who'll not be ashamed To take your leavings, and make up my loss. MARIANE The loss is not so great; you'll easily Console yourself completely for this change. VALERE I'll try my best, that you may well believe. When we're forgotten by a woman's heart, Our pride is challenged; we, too, must forget; Or if we cannot, must at least pretend to. No other way can man such baseness prove, As be a lover scorned, and still in love. MARIANE In faith, a high and noble sentiment. VALERE Yes; and it's one that all men must approve. What! Would you have me keep my love alive, And see you fly into another's arms Before my very eyes; and never offer To someone else the heart that you had scorned? MARIANE Oh, no, indeed! For my part, I could wish That it were done already. VALERE What! You wish it? MARIANE Yes. VALERE This is insult heaped on injury; I'll go at once and do as you desire. (He takes a step or two as if to go away.) MARIANE Oh, very well then. VALERE (turning back) But remember this. 'Twas you that drove me to this desperate pass. MARIANE Of course. VALERE (turning back again) And in the plan that I have formed I only follow your example. MARIANE Yes. VALERE (at the door) Enough; you shall be punctually obeyed. MARIANE So much the better. VALERE (coming back again) This is once for all. MARIANE So be it, then. VALERE (He goes toward the door, but just as he reaches it, turns around) Eh? MARIANE What? VALERE You didn't call me? MARIANE I? You are dreaming. VALERE Very well, I'm gone. Madam, farewell. (He walks slowly away.) MARIANE Farewell, sir. DORINE I must say You've lost your senses and both gone clean daft! I've let you fight it out to the end o' the chapter To see how far the thing could go. Oho, there, Mister Valere! (She goes and seizes him by the arm, to stop him. He makes a great show of resistance.) VALERE What do you want, Dorine? DORINE Come here. VALERE No, no, I'm quite beside myself. Don't hinder me from doing as she wishes. DORINE Stop! VALERE No. You see, I'm fixed, resolved, determined. DORINE So! MARIANE (aside) Since my presence pains him, makes him go, I'd better go myself, and leave him free. DORINE (leaving Valere, and running after Mariane) Now t'other! Where are you going? MARIANE Let me be. DORINE. Come back. MARIANE No, no, it isn't any use. VALERE (aside) 'Tis clear the sight of me is torture to her; No doubt, t'were better I should free her from it. DORINE (leaving Mariane and running after Valere) Same thing again! Deuce take you both, I say. Now stop your fooling; come here, you; and you. (She pulls first one, then the other, toward the middle of the stage.) VALERE (to Dorine) What's your idea? MARIANE (to Dorine) What can you mean to do? DORINE Set you to rights, and pull you out o' the scrape. (To Valere) Are you quite mad, to quarrel with her now? VALERE Didn't you hear the things she said to me? DORINE (to Mariane) Are you quite mad, to get in such a passion? MARIANE Didn't you see the way he treated me? DORINE Fools, both of you. (To Valere) She thinks of nothing else But to keep faith with you, I vouch for it. (To Mariane) And he loves none but you, and longs for nothing But just to marry you, I stake my life on't. MARIANE (to Valere) Why did you give me such advice then, pray? VALERE (to Mariane) Why ask for my advice on such a matter? DORINE You both are daft, I tell you. Here, your hands. (To Valere) Come, yours. VALERE (giving Dorine his hand) What for? DORINE (to Mariane) Now, yours. MARIANE (giving Dorine her hand) But what's the use? DORINE Oh, quick now, come along. There, both of you-- You love each other better than you think. (Valere and Mariane hold each other's hands some time without looking at each other.) VALERE (at last turning toward Mariane) Come, don't be so ungracious now about it; Look at a man as if you didn't hate him. (Mariane looks sideways toward Valere, with just a bit of a smile.) DORINE My faith and troth, what fools these lovers be! VALERE (to Mariane) But come now, have I not a just complaint? And truly, are you not a wicked creature To take delight in saying what would pain me? MARIANE And are you not yourself the most ungrateful ... ? DORINE Leave this discussion till another time; Now, think how you'll stave off this plaguy marriage. MARIANE Then tell us how to go about it. DORINE Well, We'll try all sorts of ways. (To Mariane) Your father's daft; (To Valere) This plan is nonsense. (To Mariane) You had better humour His notions by a semblance of consent, So that in case of danger, you can still Find means to block the marriage by delay. If you gain time, the rest is easy, trust me. One day you'll fool them with a sudden illness, Causing delay; another day, ill omens: You've met a funeral, or broke a mirror, Or dreamed of muddy water. Best of all, They cannot marry you to anyone Without your saying yes. But now, methinks, They mustn't find you chattering together. (To Valere) You, go at once and set your friends at work To make him keep his word to you; while we Will bring the brother's influence to bear, And get the step-mother on our side, too. Good-bye. VALERE (to Mariane) Whatever efforts we may make, My greatest hope, be sure, must rest on you. MARIANE (to Valere) I cannot answer for my father's whims; But no one save Valere shall ever have me. VALERE You thrill me through with joy! Whatever comes ... DORINE Oho! These lovers! Never done with prattling! Now go. VALERE (starting to go, and coming back again) One last word ... DORINE What a gabble and pother! Be off! By this door, you. And you, by t'other. (She pushes them off, by the shoulders, in opposite directions.) ACT III SCENE I DAMIS, DORINE DAMIS May lightning strike me dead this very instant, May I be everywhere proclaimed a scoundrel, If any reverence or power shall stop me, And if I don't do straightway something desperate! DORINE I beg you, moderate this towering passion; Your father did but merely mention it. Not all things that are talked of turn to facts; The road is long, sometimes, from plans to acts. DAMIS No, I must end this paltry fellow's plots, And he shall hear from me a truth or two. DORINE So ho! Go slow now. Just you leave the fellow-- Your father too--in your step-mother's hands. She has some influence with this Tartuffe, He makes a point of heeding all she says, And I suspect that he is fond of her. Would God 'twere true!--'Twould be the height of humour Now, she has sent for him, in your behalf, To sound him on this marriage, to find out What his ideas are, and to show him plainly What troubles he may cause, if he persists In giving countenance to this design. His man says, he's at prayers, I mustn't see him, But likewise says, he'll presently be down. So off with you, and let me wait for him. DAMIS I may be present at this interview. DORINE No, no! They must be left alone. DAMIS I won't So much as speak to him. DORINE Go on! We know you And your high tantrums. Just the way to spoil things! Be off. DAMIS No, I must see--I'll keep my temper. DORINE Out on you, what a plague! He's coming. Hide! (Damis goes and hides in the closet at the back of the stage.) SCENE II TARTUFFE, DORINE TARTUFFE (speaking to his valet, off the stage, as soon as he sees Dorine is there) Lawrence, put up my hair-cloth shirt and scourge, And pray that Heaven may shed its light upon you. If any come to see me, say I'm gone To share my alms among the prisoners. DORINE (aside) What affectation and what showing off! TARTUFFE What do you want with me? DORINE To tell you ... TARTUFFE (taking a handkerchief from his pocket) Ah! Before you speak, pray take this handkerchief. DORINE What? TARTUFFE Cover up that bosom, which I can't Endure to look on. Things like that offend Our souls, and fill our minds with sinful thoughts. DORINE Are you so tender to temptation, then, And has the flesh such power upon your senses? I don't know how you get in such a heat; For my part, I am not so prone to lust, And I could see you stripped from head to foot, And all your hide not tempt me in the least. TARTUFFE Show in your speech some little modesty, Or I must instantly take leave of you. DORINE No, no, I'll leave you to yourself; I've only One thing to say: Madam will soon be down, And begs the favour of a word with you. TARTUFFE Ah! Willingly. DORINE (aside) How gentle all at once! My faith, I still believe I've hit upon it. TARTUFFE Will she come soon? DORINE I think I hear her now. Yes, here she is herself; I'll leave you with her. SCENE III ELMIRE, TARTUFFE TARTUFFE May Heaven's overflowing kindness ever Give you good health of body and of soul, And bless your days according to the wishes And prayers of its most humble votary! ELMIRE I'm very grateful for your pious wishes. But let's sit down, so we may talk at ease. TARTUFFE (after sitting down) And how are you recovered from your illness? ELMIRE (sitting down also) Quite well; the fever soon let go its hold. TARTUFFE My prayers, I fear, have not sufficient merit To have drawn down this favour from on high; But each entreaty that I made to Heaven Had for its object your recovery. ELMIRE You're too solicitous on my behalf. TARTUFFE We could not cherish your dear health too much; I would have given mine, to help restore it. ELMIRE That's pushing Christian charity too far; I owe you many thanks for so much kindness. TARTUFFE I do far less for you than you deserve. ELMIRE There is a matter that I wished to speak of In private; I am glad there's no one here To listen. TARTUFFE Madam, I am overjoyed. 'Tis sweet to find myself alone with you. This is an opportunity I've asked Of Heaven, many a time; till now, in vain. ELMIRE All that I wish, is just a word from you, Quite frank and open, hiding nothing from me. (DAMIS, without their seeing him, opens the closet door halfway.) TARTUFFE I too could wish, as Heaven's especial favour, To lay my soul quite open to your eyes, And swear to you, the trouble that I made About those visits which your charms attract, Does not result from any hatred toward you, But rather from a passionate devotion, And purest motives ... ELMIRE That is how I take it, I think 'tis my salvation that concerns you. TARTUFFE (pressing her finger tips) Madam, 'tis so; and such is my devotion ... ELMIRE Ouch! but you squeeze too hard. TARTUFFE Excess of zeal. In no way could I ever mean to hurt you, And I'd as soon ... (He puts his hand on her knee.) ELMIRE What's your hand doing there? TARTUFFE Feeling your gown; the stuff is very soft. ELMIRE Let be, I beg you; I am very ticklish. (She moves her chair away, and Tartuffe brings his nearer.) TARTUFFE (handling the lace yoke of Elmire's dress) Dear me how wonderful in workmanship This lace is! They do marvels, nowadays; Things of all kinds were never better made. ELMIRE Yes, very true. But let us come to business. They say my husband means to break his word. And marry Mariane to you. Is't so? TARTUFFE He did hint some such thing; but truly, madam, That's not the happiness I'm yearning after; I see elsewhere the sweet compelling charms Of such a joy as fills my every wish. ELMIRE You mean you cannot love terrestrial things. TARTUFFE The heart within my bosom is not stone. ELMIRE I well believe your sighs all tend to Heaven, And nothing here below can stay your thoughts. TARTUFFE Love for the beauty of eternal things Cannot destroy our love for earthly beauty; Our mortal senses well may be entranced By perfect works that Heaven has fashioned here. Its charms reflected shine in such as you, And in yourself, its rarest miracles; It has displayed such marvels in your face, That eyes are dazed, and hearts are rapt away; I could not look on you, the perfect creature, Without admiring Nature's great Creator, And feeling all my heart inflamed with love For you, His fairest image of Himself. At first I trembled lest this secret love Might be the Evil Spirit's artful snare; I even schooled my heart to flee your beauty, Thinking it was a bar to my salvation. But soon, enlightened, O all lovely one, I saw how this my passion may be blameless, How I may make it fit with modesty, And thus completely yield my heart to it. 'Tis I must own, a great presumption in me To dare make you the offer of my heart; My love hopes all things from your perfect goodness, And nothing from my own poor weak endeavour. You are my hope, my stay, my peace of heart; On you depends my torment or my bliss; And by your doom of judgment, I shall be Blest, if you will; or damned, by your decree. ELMIRE Your declaration's turned most gallantly; But truly, it is just a bit surprising. You should have better armed your heart, methinks, And taken thought somewhat on such a matter. A pious man like you, known everywhere ... TARTUFFE Though pious, I am none the less a man; And when a man beholds your heavenly charms, The heart surrenders, and can think no more. I know such words seem strange, coming from me; But, madam, I'm no angel, after all; If you condemn my frankly made avowal You only have your charming self to blame. Soon as I saw your more than human beauty, You were thenceforth the sovereign of my soul; Sweetness ineffable was in your eyes, That took by storm my still resisting heart, And conquered everything, fasts, prayers, and tears, And turned my worship wholly to yourself. My looks, my sighs, have spoke a thousand times; Now, to express it all, my voice must speak. If but you will look down with gracious favour Upon the sorrows of your worthless slave, If in your goodness you will give me comfort And condescend unto my nothingness, I'll ever pay you, O sweet miracle, An unexampled worship and devotion. Then too, with me your honour runs no risk; With me you need not fear a public scandal. These court gallants, that women are so fond of, Are boastful of their acts, and vain in speech; They always brag in public of their progress; Soon as a favour's granted, they'll divulge it; Their tattling tongues, if you but trust to them, Will foul the altar where their hearts have worshipped. But men like me are so discreet in love, That you may trust their lasting secrecy. The care we take to guard our own good name May fully guarantee the one we love; So you may find, with hearts like ours sincere, Love without scandal, pleasure without fear. ELMIRE I've heard you through--your speech is clear, at least. But don't you fear that I may take a fancy To tell my husband of your gallant passion, And that a prompt report of this affair May somewhat change the friendship which he bears you? TARTUFFE I know that you're too good and generous, That you will pardon my temerity, Excuse, upon the score of human frailty, The violence of passion that offends you, And not forget, when you consult your mirror, That I'm not blind, and man is made of flesh. ELMIRE Some women might do otherwise, perhaps, But I am willing to employ discretion, And not repeat the matter to my husband; But in return, I'll ask one thing of you: That you urge forward, frankly and sincerely, The marriage of Valere to Mariane; That you give up the unjust influence By which you

afford

How many times the word 'afford' appears in the text?

And he who weds his child against her will Owes heaven account for it, if she do ill. Think then what perils wait on your design. ORGON (to Mariane) So! I must learn what's what from her, you see! DORINE You might do worse than follow my advice. ORGON Daughter, we can't waste time upon this nonsense; I know what's good for you, and I'm your father. True, I had promised you to young Valere; But, first, they tell me he's inclined to gamble, And then, I fear his faith is not quite sound. I haven't noticed that he's regular At church. DORINE You'd have him run there just when you do. Like those who go on purpose to be seen? ORGON I don't ask your opinion on the matter. In short, the other is in Heaven's best graces, And that is riches quite beyond compare. This match will bring you every joy you long for; 'Twill be all steeped in sweetness and delight. You'll live together, in your faithful loves, Like two sweet children, like two turtle-doves; You'll never fail to quarrel, scold, or tease, And you may do with him whate'er you please. DORINE With him? Do naught but give him horns, I'll warrant. ORGON Out on thee, wench! DORINE I tell you he's cut out for't; However great your daughter's virtue, sir, His destiny is sure to prove the stronger. ORGON Have done with interrupting. Hold your tongue. Don't poke your nose in other people's business. DORINE (She keeps interrupting him, just as he turns and starts to speak to his daughter). If I make bold, sir, 'tis for your own good. ORGON You're too officious; pray you, hold your tongue. DORINE 'Tis love of you ... ORGON I want none of your love. DORINE Then I will love you in your own despite. ORGON You will, eh? DORINE Yes, your honour's dear to me; I can't endure to see you made the butt Of all men's ridicule. ORGON Won't you be still? DORINE 'Twould be a sin to let you make this match. ORGON Won't you be still, I say, you impudent viper! DORINE What! you are pious, and you lose your temper? ORGON I'm all wrought up, with your confounded nonsense; Now, once for all, I tell you hold your tongue. DORINE Then mum's the word; I'll take it out in thinking. ORGON Think all you please; but not a syllable To me about it, or ... you understand! (Turning to his daughter.) As a wise father, I've considered all With due deliberation. DORINE I'll go mad If I can't speak. (She stops the instant he turns his head.) ORGON Though he's no lady's man, Tartuffe is well enough ... DORINE A pretty phiz! ORGON So that, although you may not care at all For his best qualities ... DORINE A handsome dowry! (Orgon turns and stands in front of her, with arms folded, eyeing her.) Were I in her place, any man should rue it Who married me by force, that's mighty certain; I'd let him know, and that within a week, A woman's vengeance isn't far to seek. ORGON (to Dorine) So--nothing that I say has any weight? DORINE Eh? What's wrong now? I didn't speak to you. ORGON What were you doing? DORINE Talking to myself. ORGON Oh! Very well. (Aside.) Her monstrous impudence Must be chastised with one good slap in the face. (He stands ready to strike her, and, each time he speaks to his daughter, he glances toward her; but she stands still and says not a word.) [3] [Footnote 3: As given at the Comedie francaise, the action is as follows: While Orgon says, "You must approve of my design," Dorine is making signs to Mariane to resist his orders; Orgon turns around suddenly; but Dorine quickly changes her gesture and with the hand which she had lifted calmly arranges her hair and her cap. Orgon goes on, "Think of the husband ..." and stops before the middle of his sentence to turn and catch the beginning of Dorine's gesture; but he is too quick this time, and Dorine stands looking at his furious countenance with a sweet and gentle expression. He turns and goes on, and the obstinate Dorine again lifts her hand behind his shoulder to urge Mariane to resistance: this time he catches her; but just as he swings his shoulder to give her the promised blow, she stops him by changing the intent of her gesture, and carefully picking from the top of his sleeve a bit of fluff which she holds carefully between her fingers, then blows into the air, and watches intently as it floats away. Orgon is paralysed by her innocence of expression, and compelled to hide his rage.--Regnier, _Le Tartuffe des Comediens_.] ORGON Daughter, you must approve of my design.... Think of this husband ... I have chosen for you... (To Dorine) Why don't you talk to yourself? DORINE Nothing to say. ORGON One little word more. DORINE Oh, no, thanks. Not now. ORGON Sure, I'd have caught you. DORINE Faith, I'm no such fool. ORGON So, daughter, now obedience is the word; You must accept my choice with reverence. DORINE (running away) You'd never catch me marrying such a creature. ORGON (swinging his hand at her and missing her) Daughter, you've such a pestilent hussy there I can't live with her longer, without sin. I can't discuss things in the state I'm in. My mind's so flustered by her insolent talk, To calm myself, I must go take a walk. SCENE III MARIANE, DORINE DORINE Say, have you lost the tongue from out your head? And must I speak your role from A to Zed? You let them broach a project that's absurd, And don't oppose it with a single word! MARIANE What can I do? My father is the master. DORINE Do? Everything, to ward off such disaster. MARIANE But what? DORINE Tell him one doesn't love by proxy; Tell him you'll marry for yourself, not him; Since you're the one for whom the thing is done, You are the one, not he, the man must please; If his Tartuffe has charmed him so, why let him Just marry him himself--no one will hinder. MARIANE A father's rights are such, it seems to me, That I could never dare to say a word. DORINE Came, talk it out. Valere has asked your hand: Now do you love him, pray, or do you not? MARIANE Dorine! How can you wrong my love so much, And ask me such a question? Have I not A hundred times laid bare my heart to you? Do you know how ardently I love him? DORINE How do I know if heart and words agree, And if in honest truth you really love him? MARIANE Dorine, you wrong me greatly if you doubt it; I've shown my inmost feelings, all too plainly. DORINE So then, you love him? MARIANE Yes, devotedly. DORINE And he returns your love, apparently? MARIANE I think so. DORINE And you both alike are eager To be well married to each other? MARIANE Surely. DORINE Then what's your plan about this other match? MARIANE To kill myself, if it is forced upon me. DORINE Good! That's a remedy I hadn't thought of. Just die, and everything will be all right. This medicine is marvellous, indeed! It drives me mad to hear folk talk such nonsense. MARIANE Oh dear, Dorine you get in such a temper! You have no sympathy for people's troubles. DORINE I have no sympathy when folk talk nonsense, And flatten out as you do, at a pinch. MARIANE But what can you expect?--if one is timid?-- DORINE But what is love worth, if it has no courage? MARIANE Am I not constant in my love for him? Is't not his place to win me from my father? DORINE But if your father is a crazy fool, And quite bewitched with his Tartuffe? And breaks His bounden word? Is that your lover's fault? MARIANE But shall I publicly refuse and scorn This match, and make it plain that I'm in love? Shall I cast off for him, whate'er he be, Womanly modesty and filial duty? You ask me to display my love in public ... ? DORINE No, no, I ask you nothing. You shall be Mister Tartuffe's; why, now I think of it, I should be wrong to turn you from this marriage. What cause can I have to oppose your wishes? So fine a match! An excellent good match! Mister Tartuffe! Oh ho! No mean proposal! Mister Tartuffe, sure, take it all in all, Is not a man to sneeze at--oh, by no means! 'Tis no small luck to be his happy spouse. The whole world joins to sing his praise already; He's noble--in his parish; handsome too; Red ears and high complexion--oh, my lud! You'll be too happy, sure, with him for husband. MARIANE Oh dear! ... DORINE What joy and pride will fill your heart To be the bride of such a handsome fellow! MARIANE Oh, stop, I beg you; try to find some way To help break off the match. I quite give in, I'm ready to do anything you say. DORINE No, no, a daughter must obey her father, Though he should want to make her wed a monkey. Besides, your fate is fine. What could be better! You'll take the stage-coach to his little village, And find it full of uncles and of cousins, Whose conversation will delight you. Then You'll be presented in their best society. You'll even go to call, by way of welcome, On Mrs. Bailiff, Mrs. Tax-Collector, Who'll patronise you with a folding-stool. There, once a year, at carnival, you'll have Perhaps--a ball; with orchestra--two bag-pipes; And sometimes a trained ape, and Punch and Judy; Though if your husband ... MARIANE Oh, you'll kill me. Please Contrive to help me out with your advice. DORINE I thank you kindly. MARIANE Oh! Dorine, I beg you ... DORINE To serve you right, this marriage must go through. MARIANE Dear girl! DORINE No. MARIANE If I say I love Valere ... DORINE No, no. Tartuffe's your man, and you shall taste him. MARIANE You know I've always trusted you; now help me ... DORINE No, you shall be, my faith! Tartuffified. MARIANE Well, then, since you've no pity for my fate Let me take counsel only of despair; It will advise and help and give me courage; There's one sure cure, I know, for all my troubles. (She starts to go.) DORINE There, there! Come back. I can't be angry long. I must take pity on you, after all. MARIANE Oh, don't you see, Dorine, if I must bear This martyrdom, I certainly shall die. DORINE Now don't you fret. We'll surely find some way. To hinder this ... But here's Valere, your lover. SCENE IV VALERE, MARIANE, DORINE VALERE Madam, a piece of news--quite new to me-- Has just come out, and very fine it is. MARIANE What piece of news? VALERE Your marriage with Tartuffe. MARIANE 'Tis true my father has this plan in mind. VALERE Your father, madam ... MARIANE Yes, he's changed his plans, And did but now propose it to me. VALERE What! Seriously? MARIANE Yes, he was serious, And openly insisted on the match. VALERE And what's your resolution in the matter, Madam? MARIANE I don't know. VALERE That's a pretty answer. You don't know? MARIANE No. VALERE No? MARIANE What do you advise? VALERE I? My advice is, marry him, by all means. MARIANE That's your advice? VALERE Yes. MARIANE Do you mean it? VALERE Surely. A splendid choice, and worthy of your acceptance. MARIANE Oh, very well, sir! I shall take your counsel. VALERE You'll find no trouble taking it, I warrant. MARIANE No more than you did giving it, be sure. VALERE I gave it, truly, to oblige you, madam. MARIANE And I shall take it to oblige you, sir. Dorine (withdrawing to the back of the stage) Let's see what this affair will come to. VALERE So, That is your love? And it was all deceit When you ... MARIANE I beg you, say no more of that. You told me, squarely, sir, I should accept The husband that is offered me; and I Will tell you squarely that I mean to do so, Since you have given me this good advice. VALERE Don't shield yourself with talk of my advice. You had your mind made up, that's evident; And now you're snatching at a trifling pretext To justify the breaking of your word. MARIANE Exactly so. VALERE Of course it is; your heart Has never known true love for me. MARIANE Alas! You're free to think so, if you please. VALERE Yes, yes, I'm free to think so; and my outraged love May yet forestall you in your perfidy, And offer elsewhere both my heart and hand. MARIANE No doubt of it; the love your high deserts May win ... VALERE Good Lord, have done with my deserts! I know I have but few, and you have proved it. But I may find more kindness in another; I know of someone, who'll not be ashamed To take your leavings, and make up my loss. MARIANE The loss is not so great; you'll easily Console yourself completely for this change. VALERE I'll try my best, that you may well believe. When we're forgotten by a woman's heart, Our pride is challenged; we, too, must forget; Or if we cannot, must at least pretend to. No other way can man such baseness prove, As be a lover scorned, and still in love. MARIANE In faith, a high and noble sentiment. VALERE Yes; and it's one that all men must approve. What! Would you have me keep my love alive, And see you fly into another's arms Before my very eyes; and never offer To someone else the heart that you had scorned? MARIANE Oh, no, indeed! For my part, I could wish That it were done already. VALERE What! You wish it? MARIANE Yes. VALERE This is insult heaped on injury; I'll go at once and do as you desire. (He takes a step or two as if to go away.) MARIANE Oh, very well then. VALERE (turning back) But remember this. 'Twas you that drove me to this desperate pass. MARIANE Of course. VALERE (turning back again) And in the plan that I have formed I only follow your example. MARIANE Yes. VALERE (at the door) Enough; you shall be punctually obeyed. MARIANE So much the better. VALERE (coming back again) This is once for all. MARIANE So be it, then. VALERE (He goes toward the door, but just as he reaches it, turns around) Eh? MARIANE What? VALERE You didn't call me? MARIANE I? You are dreaming. VALERE Very well, I'm gone. Madam, farewell. (He walks slowly away.) MARIANE Farewell, sir. DORINE I must say You've lost your senses and both gone clean daft! I've let you fight it out to the end o' the chapter To see how far the thing could go. Oho, there, Mister Valere! (She goes and seizes him by the arm, to stop him. He makes a great show of resistance.) VALERE What do you want, Dorine? DORINE Come here. VALERE No, no, I'm quite beside myself. Don't hinder me from doing as she wishes. DORINE Stop! VALERE No. You see, I'm fixed, resolved, determined. DORINE So! MARIANE (aside) Since my presence pains him, makes him go, I'd better go myself, and leave him free. DORINE (leaving Valere, and running after Mariane) Now t'other! Where are you going? MARIANE Let me be. DORINE. Come back. MARIANE No, no, it isn't any use. VALERE (aside) 'Tis clear the sight of me is torture to her; No doubt, t'were better I should free her from it. DORINE (leaving Mariane and running after Valere) Same thing again! Deuce take you both, I say. Now stop your fooling; come here, you; and you. (She pulls first one, then the other, toward the middle of the stage.) VALERE (to Dorine) What's your idea? MARIANE (to Dorine) What can you mean to do? DORINE Set you to rights, and pull you out o' the scrape. (To Valere) Are you quite mad, to quarrel with her now? VALERE Didn't you hear the things she said to me? DORINE (to Mariane) Are you quite mad, to get in such a passion? MARIANE Didn't you see the way he treated me? DORINE Fools, both of you. (To Valere) She thinks of nothing else But to keep faith with you, I vouch for it. (To Mariane) And he loves none but you, and longs for nothing But just to marry you, I stake my life on't. MARIANE (to Valere) Why did you give me such advice then, pray? VALERE (to Mariane) Why ask for my advice on such a matter? DORINE You both are daft, I tell you. Here, your hands. (To Valere) Come, yours. VALERE (giving Dorine his hand) What for? DORINE (to Mariane) Now, yours. MARIANE (giving Dorine her hand) But what's the use? DORINE Oh, quick now, come along. There, both of you-- You love each other better than you think. (Valere and Mariane hold each other's hands some time without looking at each other.) VALERE (at last turning toward Mariane) Come, don't be so ungracious now about it; Look at a man as if you didn't hate him. (Mariane looks sideways toward Valere, with just a bit of a smile.) DORINE My faith and troth, what fools these lovers be! VALERE (to Mariane) But come now, have I not a just complaint? And truly, are you not a wicked creature To take delight in saying what would pain me? MARIANE And are you not yourself the most ungrateful ... ? DORINE Leave this discussion till another time; Now, think how you'll stave off this plaguy marriage. MARIANE Then tell us how to go about it. DORINE Well, We'll try all sorts of ways. (To Mariane) Your father's daft; (To Valere) This plan is nonsense. (To Mariane) You had better humour His notions by a semblance of consent, So that in case of danger, you can still Find means to block the marriage by delay. If you gain time, the rest is easy, trust me. One day you'll fool them with a sudden illness, Causing delay; another day, ill omens: You've met a funeral, or broke a mirror, Or dreamed of muddy water. Best of all, They cannot marry you to anyone Without your saying yes. But now, methinks, They mustn't find you chattering together. (To Valere) You, go at once and set your friends at work To make him keep his word to you; while we Will bring the brother's influence to bear, And get the step-mother on our side, too. Good-bye. VALERE (to Mariane) Whatever efforts we may make, My greatest hope, be sure, must rest on you. MARIANE (to Valere) I cannot answer for my father's whims; But no one save Valere shall ever have me. VALERE You thrill me through with joy! Whatever comes ... DORINE Oho! These lovers! Never done with prattling! Now go. VALERE (starting to go, and coming back again) One last word ... DORINE What a gabble and pother! Be off! By this door, you. And you, by t'other. (She pushes them off, by the shoulders, in opposite directions.) ACT III SCENE I DAMIS, DORINE DAMIS May lightning strike me dead this very instant, May I be everywhere proclaimed a scoundrel, If any reverence or power shall stop me, And if I don't do straightway something desperate! DORINE I beg you, moderate this towering passion; Your father did but merely mention it. Not all things that are talked of turn to facts; The road is long, sometimes, from plans to acts. DAMIS No, I must end this paltry fellow's plots, And he shall hear from me a truth or two. DORINE So ho! Go slow now. Just you leave the fellow-- Your father too--in your step-mother's hands. She has some influence with this Tartuffe, He makes a point of heeding all she says, And I suspect that he is fond of her. Would God 'twere true!--'Twould be the height of humour Now, she has sent for him, in your behalf, To sound him on this marriage, to find out What his ideas are, and to show him plainly What troubles he may cause, if he persists In giving countenance to this design. His man says, he's at prayers, I mustn't see him, But likewise says, he'll presently be down. So off with you, and let me wait for him. DAMIS I may be present at this interview. DORINE No, no! They must be left alone. DAMIS I won't So much as speak to him. DORINE Go on! We know you And your high tantrums. Just the way to spoil things! Be off. DAMIS No, I must see--I'll keep my temper. DORINE Out on you, what a plague! He's coming. Hide! (Damis goes and hides in the closet at the back of the stage.) SCENE II TARTUFFE, DORINE TARTUFFE (speaking to his valet, off the stage, as soon as he sees Dorine is there) Lawrence, put up my hair-cloth shirt and scourge, And pray that Heaven may shed its light upon you. If any come to see me, say I'm gone To share my alms among the prisoners. DORINE (aside) What affectation and what showing off! TARTUFFE What do you want with me? DORINE To tell you ... TARTUFFE (taking a handkerchief from his pocket) Ah! Before you speak, pray take this handkerchief. DORINE What? TARTUFFE Cover up that bosom, which I can't Endure to look on. Things like that offend Our souls, and fill our minds with sinful thoughts. DORINE Are you so tender to temptation, then, And has the flesh such power upon your senses? I don't know how you get in such a heat; For my part, I am not so prone to lust, And I could see you stripped from head to foot, And all your hide not tempt me in the least. TARTUFFE Show in your speech some little modesty, Or I must instantly take leave of you. DORINE No, no, I'll leave you to yourself; I've only One thing to say: Madam will soon be down, And begs the favour of a word with you. TARTUFFE Ah! Willingly. DORINE (aside) How gentle all at once! My faith, I still believe I've hit upon it. TARTUFFE Will she come soon? DORINE I think I hear her now. Yes, here she is herself; I'll leave you with her. SCENE III ELMIRE, TARTUFFE TARTUFFE May Heaven's overflowing kindness ever Give you good health of body and of soul, And bless your days according to the wishes And prayers of its most humble votary! ELMIRE I'm very grateful for your pious wishes. But let's sit down, so we may talk at ease. TARTUFFE (after sitting down) And how are you recovered from your illness? ELMIRE (sitting down also) Quite well; the fever soon let go its hold. TARTUFFE My prayers, I fear, have not sufficient merit To have drawn down this favour from on high; But each entreaty that I made to Heaven Had for its object your recovery. ELMIRE You're too solicitous on my behalf. TARTUFFE We could not cherish your dear health too much; I would have given mine, to help restore it. ELMIRE That's pushing Christian charity too far; I owe you many thanks for so much kindness. TARTUFFE I do far less for you than you deserve. ELMIRE There is a matter that I wished to speak of In private; I am glad there's no one here To listen. TARTUFFE Madam, I am overjoyed. 'Tis sweet to find myself alone with you. This is an opportunity I've asked Of Heaven, many a time; till now, in vain. ELMIRE All that I wish, is just a word from you, Quite frank and open, hiding nothing from me. (DAMIS, without their seeing him, opens the closet door halfway.) TARTUFFE I too could wish, as Heaven's especial favour, To lay my soul quite open to your eyes, And swear to you, the trouble that I made About those visits which your charms attract, Does not result from any hatred toward you, But rather from a passionate devotion, And purest motives ... ELMIRE That is how I take it, I think 'tis my salvation that concerns you. TARTUFFE (pressing her finger tips) Madam, 'tis so; and such is my devotion ... ELMIRE Ouch! but you squeeze too hard. TARTUFFE Excess of zeal. In no way could I ever mean to hurt you, And I'd as soon ... (He puts his hand on her knee.) ELMIRE What's your hand doing there? TARTUFFE Feeling your gown; the stuff is very soft. ELMIRE Let be, I beg you; I am very ticklish. (She moves her chair away, and Tartuffe brings his nearer.) TARTUFFE (handling the lace yoke of Elmire's dress) Dear me how wonderful in workmanship This lace is! They do marvels, nowadays; Things of all kinds were never better made. ELMIRE Yes, very true. But let us come to business. They say my husband means to break his word. And marry Mariane to you. Is't so? TARTUFFE He did hint some such thing; but truly, madam, That's not the happiness I'm yearning after; I see elsewhere the sweet compelling charms Of such a joy as fills my every wish. ELMIRE You mean you cannot love terrestrial things. TARTUFFE The heart within my bosom is not stone. ELMIRE I well believe your sighs all tend to Heaven, And nothing here below can stay your thoughts. TARTUFFE Love for the beauty of eternal things Cannot destroy our love for earthly beauty; Our mortal senses well may be entranced By perfect works that Heaven has fashioned here. Its charms reflected shine in such as you, And in yourself, its rarest miracles; It has displayed such marvels in your face, That eyes are dazed, and hearts are rapt away; I could not look on you, the perfect creature, Without admiring Nature's great Creator, And feeling all my heart inflamed with love For you, His fairest image of Himself. At first I trembled lest this secret love Might be the Evil Spirit's artful snare; I even schooled my heart to flee your beauty, Thinking it was a bar to my salvation. But soon, enlightened, O all lovely one, I saw how this my passion may be blameless, How I may make it fit with modesty, And thus completely yield my heart to it. 'Tis I must own, a great presumption in me To dare make you the offer of my heart; My love hopes all things from your perfect goodness, And nothing from my own poor weak endeavour. You are my hope, my stay, my peace of heart; On you depends my torment or my bliss; And by your doom of judgment, I shall be Blest, if you will; or damned, by your decree. ELMIRE Your declaration's turned most gallantly; But truly, it is just a bit surprising. You should have better armed your heart, methinks, And taken thought somewhat on such a matter. A pious man like you, known everywhere ... TARTUFFE Though pious, I am none the less a man; And when a man beholds your heavenly charms, The heart surrenders, and can think no more. I know such words seem strange, coming from me; But, madam, I'm no angel, after all; If you condemn my frankly made avowal You only have your charming self to blame. Soon as I saw your more than human beauty, You were thenceforth the sovereign of my soul; Sweetness ineffable was in your eyes, That took by storm my still resisting heart, And conquered everything, fasts, prayers, and tears, And turned my worship wholly to yourself. My looks, my sighs, have spoke a thousand times; Now, to express it all, my voice must speak. If but you will look down with gracious favour Upon the sorrows of your worthless slave, If in your goodness you will give me comfort And condescend unto my nothingness, I'll ever pay you, O sweet miracle, An unexampled worship and devotion. Then too, with me your honour runs no risk; With me you need not fear a public scandal. These court gallants, that women are so fond of, Are boastful of their acts, and vain in speech; They always brag in public of their progress; Soon as a favour's granted, they'll divulge it; Their tattling tongues, if you but trust to them, Will foul the altar where their hearts have worshipped. But men like me are so discreet in love, That you may trust their lasting secrecy. The care we take to guard our own good name May fully guarantee the one we love; So you may find, with hearts like ours sincere, Love without scandal, pleasure without fear. ELMIRE I've heard you through--your speech is clear, at least. But don't you fear that I may take a fancy To tell my husband of your gallant passion, And that a prompt report of this affair May somewhat change the friendship which he bears you? TARTUFFE I know that you're too good and generous, That you will pardon my temerity, Excuse, upon the score of human frailty, The violence of passion that offends you, And not forget, when you consult your mirror, That I'm not blind, and man is made of flesh. ELMIRE Some women might do otherwise, perhaps, But I am willing to employ discretion, And not repeat the matter to my husband; But in return, I'll ask one thing of you: That you urge forward, frankly and sincerely, The marriage of Valere to Mariane; That you give up the unjust influence By which you

annulled

How many times the word 'annulled' appears in the text?

And he who weds his child against her will Owes heaven account for it, if she do ill. Think then what perils wait on your design. ORGON (to Mariane) So! I must learn what's what from her, you see! DORINE You might do worse than follow my advice. ORGON Daughter, we can't waste time upon this nonsense; I know what's good for you, and I'm your father. True, I had promised you to young Valere; But, first, they tell me he's inclined to gamble, And then, I fear his faith is not quite sound. I haven't noticed that he's regular At church. DORINE You'd have him run there just when you do. Like those who go on purpose to be seen? ORGON I don't ask your opinion on the matter. In short, the other is in Heaven's best graces, And that is riches quite beyond compare. This match will bring you every joy you long for; 'Twill be all steeped in sweetness and delight. You'll live together, in your faithful loves, Like two sweet children, like two turtle-doves; You'll never fail to quarrel, scold, or tease, And you may do with him whate'er you please. DORINE With him? Do naught but give him horns, I'll warrant. ORGON Out on thee, wench! DORINE I tell you he's cut out for't; However great your daughter's virtue, sir, His destiny is sure to prove the stronger. ORGON Have done with interrupting. Hold your tongue. Don't poke your nose in other people's business. DORINE (She keeps interrupting him, just as he turns and starts to speak to his daughter). If I make bold, sir, 'tis for your own good. ORGON You're too officious; pray you, hold your tongue. DORINE 'Tis love of you ... ORGON I want none of your love. DORINE Then I will love you in your own despite. ORGON You will, eh? DORINE Yes, your honour's dear to me; I can't endure to see you made the butt Of all men's ridicule. ORGON Won't you be still? DORINE 'Twould be a sin to let you make this match. ORGON Won't you be still, I say, you impudent viper! DORINE What! you are pious, and you lose your temper? ORGON I'm all wrought up, with your confounded nonsense; Now, once for all, I tell you hold your tongue. DORINE Then mum's the word; I'll take it out in thinking. ORGON Think all you please; but not a syllable To me about it, or ... you understand! (Turning to his daughter.) As a wise father, I've considered all With due deliberation. DORINE I'll go mad If I can't speak. (She stops the instant he turns his head.) ORGON Though he's no lady's man, Tartuffe is well enough ... DORINE A pretty phiz! ORGON So that, although you may not care at all For his best qualities ... DORINE A handsome dowry! (Orgon turns and stands in front of her, with arms folded, eyeing her.) Were I in her place, any man should rue it Who married me by force, that's mighty certain; I'd let him know, and that within a week, A woman's vengeance isn't far to seek. ORGON (to Dorine) So--nothing that I say has any weight? DORINE Eh? What's wrong now? I didn't speak to you. ORGON What were you doing? DORINE Talking to myself. ORGON Oh! Very well. (Aside.) Her monstrous impudence Must be chastised with one good slap in the face. (He stands ready to strike her, and, each time he speaks to his daughter, he glances toward her; but she stands still and says not a word.) [3] [Footnote 3: As given at the Comedie francaise, the action is as follows: While Orgon says, "You must approve of my design," Dorine is making signs to Mariane to resist his orders; Orgon turns around suddenly; but Dorine quickly changes her gesture and with the hand which she had lifted calmly arranges her hair and her cap. Orgon goes on, "Think of the husband ..." and stops before the middle of his sentence to turn and catch the beginning of Dorine's gesture; but he is too quick this time, and Dorine stands looking at his furious countenance with a sweet and gentle expression. He turns and goes on, and the obstinate Dorine again lifts her hand behind his shoulder to urge Mariane to resistance: this time he catches her; but just as he swings his shoulder to give her the promised blow, she stops him by changing the intent of her gesture, and carefully picking from the top of his sleeve a bit of fluff which she holds carefully between her fingers, then blows into the air, and watches intently as it floats away. Orgon is paralysed by her innocence of expression, and compelled to hide his rage.--Regnier, _Le Tartuffe des Comediens_.] ORGON Daughter, you must approve of my design.... Think of this husband ... I have chosen for you... (To Dorine) Why don't you talk to yourself? DORINE Nothing to say. ORGON One little word more. DORINE Oh, no, thanks. Not now. ORGON Sure, I'd have caught you. DORINE Faith, I'm no such fool. ORGON So, daughter, now obedience is the word; You must accept my choice with reverence. DORINE (running away) You'd never catch me marrying such a creature. ORGON (swinging his hand at her and missing her) Daughter, you've such a pestilent hussy there I can't live with her longer, without sin. I can't discuss things in the state I'm in. My mind's so flustered by her insolent talk, To calm myself, I must go take a walk. SCENE III MARIANE, DORINE DORINE Say, have you lost the tongue from out your head? And must I speak your role from A to Zed? You let them broach a project that's absurd, And don't oppose it with a single word! MARIANE What can I do? My father is the master. DORINE Do? Everything, to ward off such disaster. MARIANE But what? DORINE Tell him one doesn't love by proxy; Tell him you'll marry for yourself, not him; Since you're the one for whom the thing is done, You are the one, not he, the man must please; If his Tartuffe has charmed him so, why let him Just marry him himself--no one will hinder. MARIANE A father's rights are such, it seems to me, That I could never dare to say a word. DORINE Came, talk it out. Valere has asked your hand: Now do you love him, pray, or do you not? MARIANE Dorine! How can you wrong my love so much, And ask me such a question? Have I not A hundred times laid bare my heart to you? Do you know how ardently I love him? DORINE How do I know if heart and words agree, And if in honest truth you really love him? MARIANE Dorine, you wrong me greatly if you doubt it; I've shown my inmost feelings, all too plainly. DORINE So then, you love him? MARIANE Yes, devotedly. DORINE And he returns your love, apparently? MARIANE I think so. DORINE And you both alike are eager To be well married to each other? MARIANE Surely. DORINE Then what's your plan about this other match? MARIANE To kill myself, if it is forced upon me. DORINE Good! That's a remedy I hadn't thought of. Just die, and everything will be all right. This medicine is marvellous, indeed! It drives me mad to hear folk talk such nonsense. MARIANE Oh dear, Dorine you get in such a temper! You have no sympathy for people's troubles. DORINE I have no sympathy when folk talk nonsense, And flatten out as you do, at a pinch. MARIANE But what can you expect?--if one is timid?-- DORINE But what is love worth, if it has no courage? MARIANE Am I not constant in my love for him? Is't not his place to win me from my father? DORINE But if your father is a crazy fool, And quite bewitched with his Tartuffe? And breaks His bounden word? Is that your lover's fault? MARIANE But shall I publicly refuse and scorn This match, and make it plain that I'm in love? Shall I cast off for him, whate'er he be, Womanly modesty and filial duty? You ask me to display my love in public ... ? DORINE No, no, I ask you nothing. You shall be Mister Tartuffe's; why, now I think of it, I should be wrong to turn you from this marriage. What cause can I have to oppose your wishes? So fine a match! An excellent good match! Mister Tartuffe! Oh ho! No mean proposal! Mister Tartuffe, sure, take it all in all, Is not a man to sneeze at--oh, by no means! 'Tis no small luck to be his happy spouse. The whole world joins to sing his praise already; He's noble--in his parish; handsome too; Red ears and high complexion--oh, my lud! You'll be too happy, sure, with him for husband. MARIANE Oh dear! ... DORINE What joy and pride will fill your heart To be the bride of such a handsome fellow! MARIANE Oh, stop, I beg you; try to find some way To help break off the match. I quite give in, I'm ready to do anything you say. DORINE No, no, a daughter must obey her father, Though he should want to make her wed a monkey. Besides, your fate is fine. What could be better! You'll take the stage-coach to his little village, And find it full of uncles and of cousins, Whose conversation will delight you. Then You'll be presented in their best society. You'll even go to call, by way of welcome, On Mrs. Bailiff, Mrs. Tax-Collector, Who'll patronise you with a folding-stool. There, once a year, at carnival, you'll have Perhaps--a ball; with orchestra--two bag-pipes; And sometimes a trained ape, and Punch and Judy; Though if your husband ... MARIANE Oh, you'll kill me. Please Contrive to help me out with your advice. DORINE I thank you kindly. MARIANE Oh! Dorine, I beg you ... DORINE To serve you right, this marriage must go through. MARIANE Dear girl! DORINE No. MARIANE If I say I love Valere ... DORINE No, no. Tartuffe's your man, and you shall taste him. MARIANE You know I've always trusted you; now help me ... DORINE No, you shall be, my faith! Tartuffified. MARIANE Well, then, since you've no pity for my fate Let me take counsel only of despair; It will advise and help and give me courage; There's one sure cure, I know, for all my troubles. (She starts to go.) DORINE There, there! Come back. I can't be angry long. I must take pity on you, after all. MARIANE Oh, don't you see, Dorine, if I must bear This martyrdom, I certainly shall die. DORINE Now don't you fret. We'll surely find some way. To hinder this ... But here's Valere, your lover. SCENE IV VALERE, MARIANE, DORINE VALERE Madam, a piece of news--quite new to me-- Has just come out, and very fine it is. MARIANE What piece of news? VALERE Your marriage with Tartuffe. MARIANE 'Tis true my father has this plan in mind. VALERE Your father, madam ... MARIANE Yes, he's changed his plans, And did but now propose it to me. VALERE What! Seriously? MARIANE Yes, he was serious, And openly insisted on the match. VALERE And what's your resolution in the matter, Madam? MARIANE I don't know. VALERE That's a pretty answer. You don't know? MARIANE No. VALERE No? MARIANE What do you advise? VALERE I? My advice is, marry him, by all means. MARIANE That's your advice? VALERE Yes. MARIANE Do you mean it? VALERE Surely. A splendid choice, and worthy of your acceptance. MARIANE Oh, very well, sir! I shall take your counsel. VALERE You'll find no trouble taking it, I warrant. MARIANE No more than you did giving it, be sure. VALERE I gave it, truly, to oblige you, madam. MARIANE And I shall take it to oblige you, sir. Dorine (withdrawing to the back of the stage) Let's see what this affair will come to. VALERE So, That is your love? And it was all deceit When you ... MARIANE I beg you, say no more of that. You told me, squarely, sir, I should accept The husband that is offered me; and I Will tell you squarely that I mean to do so, Since you have given me this good advice. VALERE Don't shield yourself with talk of my advice. You had your mind made up, that's evident; And now you're snatching at a trifling pretext To justify the breaking of your word. MARIANE Exactly so. VALERE Of course it is; your heart Has never known true love for me. MARIANE Alas! You're free to think so, if you please. VALERE Yes, yes, I'm free to think so; and my outraged love May yet forestall you in your perfidy, And offer elsewhere both my heart and hand. MARIANE No doubt of it; the love your high deserts May win ... VALERE Good Lord, have done with my deserts! I know I have but few, and you have proved it. But I may find more kindness in another; I know of someone, who'll not be ashamed To take your leavings, and make up my loss. MARIANE The loss is not so great; you'll easily Console yourself completely for this change. VALERE I'll try my best, that you may well believe. When we're forgotten by a woman's heart, Our pride is challenged; we, too, must forget; Or if we cannot, must at least pretend to. No other way can man such baseness prove, As be a lover scorned, and still in love. MARIANE In faith, a high and noble sentiment. VALERE Yes; and it's one that all men must approve. What! Would you have me keep my love alive, And see you fly into another's arms Before my very eyes; and never offer To someone else the heart that you had scorned? MARIANE Oh, no, indeed! For my part, I could wish That it were done already. VALERE What! You wish it? MARIANE Yes. VALERE This is insult heaped on injury; I'll go at once and do as you desire. (He takes a step or two as if to go away.) MARIANE Oh, very well then. VALERE (turning back) But remember this. 'Twas you that drove me to this desperate pass. MARIANE Of course. VALERE (turning back again) And in the plan that I have formed I only follow your example. MARIANE Yes. VALERE (at the door) Enough; you shall be punctually obeyed. MARIANE So much the better. VALERE (coming back again) This is once for all. MARIANE So be it, then. VALERE (He goes toward the door, but just as he reaches it, turns around) Eh? MARIANE What? VALERE You didn't call me? MARIANE I? You are dreaming. VALERE Very well, I'm gone. Madam, farewell. (He walks slowly away.) MARIANE Farewell, sir. DORINE I must say You've lost your senses and both gone clean daft! I've let you fight it out to the end o' the chapter To see how far the thing could go. Oho, there, Mister Valere! (She goes and seizes him by the arm, to stop him. He makes a great show of resistance.) VALERE What do you want, Dorine? DORINE Come here. VALERE No, no, I'm quite beside myself. Don't hinder me from doing as she wishes. DORINE Stop! VALERE No. You see, I'm fixed, resolved, determined. DORINE So! MARIANE (aside) Since my presence pains him, makes him go, I'd better go myself, and leave him free. DORINE (leaving Valere, and running after Mariane) Now t'other! Where are you going? MARIANE Let me be. DORINE. Come back. MARIANE No, no, it isn't any use. VALERE (aside) 'Tis clear the sight of me is torture to her; No doubt, t'were better I should free her from it. DORINE (leaving Mariane and running after Valere) Same thing again! Deuce take you both, I say. Now stop your fooling; come here, you; and you. (She pulls first one, then the other, toward the middle of the stage.) VALERE (to Dorine) What's your idea? MARIANE (to Dorine) What can you mean to do? DORINE Set you to rights, and pull you out o' the scrape. (To Valere) Are you quite mad, to quarrel with her now? VALERE Didn't you hear the things she said to me? DORINE (to Mariane) Are you quite mad, to get in such a passion? MARIANE Didn't you see the way he treated me? DORINE Fools, both of you. (To Valere) She thinks of nothing else But to keep faith with you, I vouch for it. (To Mariane) And he loves none but you, and longs for nothing But just to marry you, I stake my life on't. MARIANE (to Valere) Why did you give me such advice then, pray? VALERE (to Mariane) Why ask for my advice on such a matter? DORINE You both are daft, I tell you. Here, your hands. (To Valere) Come, yours. VALERE (giving Dorine his hand) What for? DORINE (to Mariane) Now, yours. MARIANE (giving Dorine her hand) But what's the use? DORINE Oh, quick now, come along. There, both of you-- You love each other better than you think. (Valere and Mariane hold each other's hands some time without looking at each other.) VALERE (at last turning toward Mariane) Come, don't be so ungracious now about it; Look at a man as if you didn't hate him. (Mariane looks sideways toward Valere, with just a bit of a smile.) DORINE My faith and troth, what fools these lovers be! VALERE (to Mariane) But come now, have I not a just complaint? And truly, are you not a wicked creature To take delight in saying what would pain me? MARIANE And are you not yourself the most ungrateful ... ? DORINE Leave this discussion till another time; Now, think how you'll stave off this plaguy marriage. MARIANE Then tell us how to go about it. DORINE Well, We'll try all sorts of ways. (To Mariane) Your father's daft; (To Valere) This plan is nonsense. (To Mariane) You had better humour His notions by a semblance of consent, So that in case of danger, you can still Find means to block the marriage by delay. If you gain time, the rest is easy, trust me. One day you'll fool them with a sudden illness, Causing delay; another day, ill omens: You've met a funeral, or broke a mirror, Or dreamed of muddy water. Best of all, They cannot marry you to anyone Without your saying yes. But now, methinks, They mustn't find you chattering together. (To Valere) You, go at once and set your friends at work To make him keep his word to you; while we Will bring the brother's influence to bear, And get the step-mother on our side, too. Good-bye. VALERE (to Mariane) Whatever efforts we may make, My greatest hope, be sure, must rest on you. MARIANE (to Valere) I cannot answer for my father's whims; But no one save Valere shall ever have me. VALERE You thrill me through with joy! Whatever comes ... DORINE Oho! These lovers! Never done with prattling! Now go. VALERE (starting to go, and coming back again) One last word ... DORINE What a gabble and pother! Be off! By this door, you. And you, by t'other. (She pushes them off, by the shoulders, in opposite directions.) ACT III SCENE I DAMIS, DORINE DAMIS May lightning strike me dead this very instant, May I be everywhere proclaimed a scoundrel, If any reverence or power shall stop me, And if I don't do straightway something desperate! DORINE I beg you, moderate this towering passion; Your father did but merely mention it. Not all things that are talked of turn to facts; The road is long, sometimes, from plans to acts. DAMIS No, I must end this paltry fellow's plots, And he shall hear from me a truth or two. DORINE So ho! Go slow now. Just you leave the fellow-- Your father too--in your step-mother's hands. She has some influence with this Tartuffe, He makes a point of heeding all she says, And I suspect that he is fond of her. Would God 'twere true!--'Twould be the height of humour Now, she has sent for him, in your behalf, To sound him on this marriage, to find out What his ideas are, and to show him plainly What troubles he may cause, if he persists In giving countenance to this design. His man says, he's at prayers, I mustn't see him, But likewise says, he'll presently be down. So off with you, and let me wait for him. DAMIS I may be present at this interview. DORINE No, no! They must be left alone. DAMIS I won't So much as speak to him. DORINE Go on! We know you And your high tantrums. Just the way to spoil things! Be off. DAMIS No, I must see--I'll keep my temper. DORINE Out on you, what a plague! He's coming. Hide! (Damis goes and hides in the closet at the back of the stage.) SCENE II TARTUFFE, DORINE TARTUFFE (speaking to his valet, off the stage, as soon as he sees Dorine is there) Lawrence, put up my hair-cloth shirt and scourge, And pray that Heaven may shed its light upon you. If any come to see me, say I'm gone To share my alms among the prisoners. DORINE (aside) What affectation and what showing off! TARTUFFE What do you want with me? DORINE To tell you ... TARTUFFE (taking a handkerchief from his pocket) Ah! Before you speak, pray take this handkerchief. DORINE What? TARTUFFE Cover up that bosom, which I can't Endure to look on. Things like that offend Our souls, and fill our minds with sinful thoughts. DORINE Are you so tender to temptation, then, And has the flesh such power upon your senses? I don't know how you get in such a heat; For my part, I am not so prone to lust, And I could see you stripped from head to foot, And all your hide not tempt me in the least. TARTUFFE Show in your speech some little modesty, Or I must instantly take leave of you. DORINE No, no, I'll leave you to yourself; I've only One thing to say: Madam will soon be down, And begs the favour of a word with you. TARTUFFE Ah! Willingly. DORINE (aside) How gentle all at once! My faith, I still believe I've hit upon it. TARTUFFE Will she come soon? DORINE I think I hear her now. Yes, here she is herself; I'll leave you with her. SCENE III ELMIRE, TARTUFFE TARTUFFE May Heaven's overflowing kindness ever Give you good health of body and of soul, And bless your days according to the wishes And prayers of its most humble votary! ELMIRE I'm very grateful for your pious wishes. But let's sit down, so we may talk at ease. TARTUFFE (after sitting down) And how are you recovered from your illness? ELMIRE (sitting down also) Quite well; the fever soon let go its hold. TARTUFFE My prayers, I fear, have not sufficient merit To have drawn down this favour from on high; But each entreaty that I made to Heaven Had for its object your recovery. ELMIRE You're too solicitous on my behalf. TARTUFFE We could not cherish your dear health too much; I would have given mine, to help restore it. ELMIRE That's pushing Christian charity too far; I owe you many thanks for so much kindness. TARTUFFE I do far less for you than you deserve. ELMIRE There is a matter that I wished to speak of In private; I am glad there's no one here To listen. TARTUFFE Madam, I am overjoyed. 'Tis sweet to find myself alone with you. This is an opportunity I've asked Of Heaven, many a time; till now, in vain. ELMIRE All that I wish, is just a word from you, Quite frank and open, hiding nothing from me. (DAMIS, without their seeing him, opens the closet door halfway.) TARTUFFE I too could wish, as Heaven's especial favour, To lay my soul quite open to your eyes, And swear to you, the trouble that I made About those visits which your charms attract, Does not result from any hatred toward you, But rather from a passionate devotion, And purest motives ... ELMIRE That is how I take it, I think 'tis my salvation that concerns you. TARTUFFE (pressing her finger tips) Madam, 'tis so; and such is my devotion ... ELMIRE Ouch! but you squeeze too hard. TARTUFFE Excess of zeal. In no way could I ever mean to hurt you, And I'd as soon ... (He puts his hand on her knee.) ELMIRE What's your hand doing there? TARTUFFE Feeling your gown; the stuff is very soft. ELMIRE Let be, I beg you; I am very ticklish. (She moves her chair away, and Tartuffe brings his nearer.) TARTUFFE (handling the lace yoke of Elmire's dress) Dear me how wonderful in workmanship This lace is! They do marvels, nowadays; Things of all kinds were never better made. ELMIRE Yes, very true. But let us come to business. They say my husband means to break his word. And marry Mariane to you. Is't so? TARTUFFE He did hint some such thing; but truly, madam, That's not the happiness I'm yearning after; I see elsewhere the sweet compelling charms Of such a joy as fills my every wish. ELMIRE You mean you cannot love terrestrial things. TARTUFFE The heart within my bosom is not stone. ELMIRE I well believe your sighs all tend to Heaven, And nothing here below can stay your thoughts. TARTUFFE Love for the beauty of eternal things Cannot destroy our love for earthly beauty; Our mortal senses well may be entranced By perfect works that Heaven has fashioned here. Its charms reflected shine in such as you, And in yourself, its rarest miracles; It has displayed such marvels in your face, That eyes are dazed, and hearts are rapt away; I could not look on you, the perfect creature, Without admiring Nature's great Creator, And feeling all my heart inflamed with love For you, His fairest image of Himself. At first I trembled lest this secret love Might be the Evil Spirit's artful snare; I even schooled my heart to flee your beauty, Thinking it was a bar to my salvation. But soon, enlightened, O all lovely one, I saw how this my passion may be blameless, How I may make it fit with modesty, And thus completely yield my heart to it. 'Tis I must own, a great presumption in me To dare make you the offer of my heart; My love hopes all things from your perfect goodness, And nothing from my own poor weak endeavour. You are my hope, my stay, my peace of heart; On you depends my torment or my bliss; And by your doom of judgment, I shall be Blest, if you will; or damned, by your decree. ELMIRE Your declaration's turned most gallantly; But truly, it is just a bit surprising. You should have better armed your heart, methinks, And taken thought somewhat on such a matter. A pious man like you, known everywhere ... TARTUFFE Though pious, I am none the less a man; And when a man beholds your heavenly charms, The heart surrenders, and can think no more. I know such words seem strange, coming from me; But, madam, I'm no angel, after all; If you condemn my frankly made avowal You only have your charming self to blame. Soon as I saw your more than human beauty, You were thenceforth the sovereign of my soul; Sweetness ineffable was in your eyes, That took by storm my still resisting heart, And conquered everything, fasts, prayers, and tears, And turned my worship wholly to yourself. My looks, my sighs, have spoke a thousand times; Now, to express it all, my voice must speak. If but you will look down with gracious favour Upon the sorrows of your worthless slave, If in your goodness you will give me comfort And condescend unto my nothingness, I'll ever pay you, O sweet miracle, An unexampled worship and devotion. Then too, with me your honour runs no risk; With me you need not fear a public scandal. These court gallants, that women are so fond of, Are boastful of their acts, and vain in speech; They always brag in public of their progress; Soon as a favour's granted, they'll divulge it; Their tattling tongues, if you but trust to them, Will foul the altar where their hearts have worshipped. But men like me are so discreet in love, That you may trust their lasting secrecy. The care we take to guard our own good name May fully guarantee the one we love; So you may find, with hearts like ours sincere, Love without scandal, pleasure without fear. ELMIRE I've heard you through--your speech is clear, at least. But don't you fear that I may take a fancy To tell my husband of your gallant passion, And that a prompt report of this affair May somewhat change the friendship which he bears you? TARTUFFE I know that you're too good and generous, That you will pardon my temerity, Excuse, upon the score of human frailty, The violence of passion that offends you, And not forget, when you consult your mirror, That I'm not blind, and man is made of flesh. ELMIRE Some women might do otherwise, perhaps, But I am willing to employ discretion, And not repeat the matter to my husband; But in return, I'll ask one thing of you: That you urge forward, frankly and sincerely, The marriage of Valere to Mariane; That you give up the unjust influence By which you

stops

How many times the word 'stops' appears in the text?

And he who weds his child against her will Owes heaven account for it, if she do ill. Think then what perils wait on your design. ORGON (to Mariane) So! I must learn what's what from her, you see! DORINE You might do worse than follow my advice. ORGON Daughter, we can't waste time upon this nonsense; I know what's good for you, and I'm your father. True, I had promised you to young Valere; But, first, they tell me he's inclined to gamble, And then, I fear his faith is not quite sound. I haven't noticed that he's regular At church. DORINE You'd have him run there just when you do. Like those who go on purpose to be seen? ORGON I don't ask your opinion on the matter. In short, the other is in Heaven's best graces, And that is riches quite beyond compare. This match will bring you every joy you long for; 'Twill be all steeped in sweetness and delight. You'll live together, in your faithful loves, Like two sweet children, like two turtle-doves; You'll never fail to quarrel, scold, or tease, And you may do with him whate'er you please. DORINE With him? Do naught but give him horns, I'll warrant. ORGON Out on thee, wench! DORINE I tell you he's cut out for't; However great your daughter's virtue, sir, His destiny is sure to prove the stronger. ORGON Have done with interrupting. Hold your tongue. Don't poke your nose in other people's business. DORINE (She keeps interrupting him, just as he turns and starts to speak to his daughter). If I make bold, sir, 'tis for your own good. ORGON You're too officious; pray you, hold your tongue. DORINE 'Tis love of you ... ORGON I want none of your love. DORINE Then I will love you in your own despite. ORGON You will, eh? DORINE Yes, your honour's dear to me; I can't endure to see you made the butt Of all men's ridicule. ORGON Won't you be still? DORINE 'Twould be a sin to let you make this match. ORGON Won't you be still, I say, you impudent viper! DORINE What! you are pious, and you lose your temper? ORGON I'm all wrought up, with your confounded nonsense; Now, once for all, I tell you hold your tongue. DORINE Then mum's the word; I'll take it out in thinking. ORGON Think all you please; but not a syllable To me about it, or ... you understand! (Turning to his daughter.) As a wise father, I've considered all With due deliberation. DORINE I'll go mad If I can't speak. (She stops the instant he turns his head.) ORGON Though he's no lady's man, Tartuffe is well enough ... DORINE A pretty phiz! ORGON So that, although you may not care at all For his best qualities ... DORINE A handsome dowry! (Orgon turns and stands in front of her, with arms folded, eyeing her.) Were I in her place, any man should rue it Who married me by force, that's mighty certain; I'd let him know, and that within a week, A woman's vengeance isn't far to seek. ORGON (to Dorine) So--nothing that I say has any weight? DORINE Eh? What's wrong now? I didn't speak to you. ORGON What were you doing? DORINE Talking to myself. ORGON Oh! Very well. (Aside.) Her monstrous impudence Must be chastised with one good slap in the face. (He stands ready to strike her, and, each time he speaks to his daughter, he glances toward her; but she stands still and says not a word.) [3] [Footnote 3: As given at the Comedie francaise, the action is as follows: While Orgon says, "You must approve of my design," Dorine is making signs to Mariane to resist his orders; Orgon turns around suddenly; but Dorine quickly changes her gesture and with the hand which she had lifted calmly arranges her hair and her cap. Orgon goes on, "Think of the husband ..." and stops before the middle of his sentence to turn and catch the beginning of Dorine's gesture; but he is too quick this time, and Dorine stands looking at his furious countenance with a sweet and gentle expression. He turns and goes on, and the obstinate Dorine again lifts her hand behind his shoulder to urge Mariane to resistance: this time he catches her; but just as he swings his shoulder to give her the promised blow, she stops him by changing the intent of her gesture, and carefully picking from the top of his sleeve a bit of fluff which she holds carefully between her fingers, then blows into the air, and watches intently as it floats away. Orgon is paralysed by her innocence of expression, and compelled to hide his rage.--Regnier, _Le Tartuffe des Comediens_.] ORGON Daughter, you must approve of my design.... Think of this husband ... I have chosen for you... (To Dorine) Why don't you talk to yourself? DORINE Nothing to say. ORGON One little word more. DORINE Oh, no, thanks. Not now. ORGON Sure, I'd have caught you. DORINE Faith, I'm no such fool. ORGON So, daughter, now obedience is the word; You must accept my choice with reverence. DORINE (running away) You'd never catch me marrying such a creature. ORGON (swinging his hand at her and missing her) Daughter, you've such a pestilent hussy there I can't live with her longer, without sin. I can't discuss things in the state I'm in. My mind's so flustered by her insolent talk, To calm myself, I must go take a walk. SCENE III MARIANE, DORINE DORINE Say, have you lost the tongue from out your head? And must I speak your role from A to Zed? You let them broach a project that's absurd, And don't oppose it with a single word! MARIANE What can I do? My father is the master. DORINE Do? Everything, to ward off such disaster. MARIANE But what? DORINE Tell him one doesn't love by proxy; Tell him you'll marry for yourself, not him; Since you're the one for whom the thing is done, You are the one, not he, the man must please; If his Tartuffe has charmed him so, why let him Just marry him himself--no one will hinder. MARIANE A father's rights are such, it seems to me, That I could never dare to say a word. DORINE Came, talk it out. Valere has asked your hand: Now do you love him, pray, or do you not? MARIANE Dorine! How can you wrong my love so much, And ask me such a question? Have I not A hundred times laid bare my heart to you? Do you know how ardently I love him? DORINE How do I know if heart and words agree, And if in honest truth you really love him? MARIANE Dorine, you wrong me greatly if you doubt it; I've shown my inmost feelings, all too plainly. DORINE So then, you love him? MARIANE Yes, devotedly. DORINE And he returns your love, apparently? MARIANE I think so. DORINE And you both alike are eager To be well married to each other? MARIANE Surely. DORINE Then what's your plan about this other match? MARIANE To kill myself, if it is forced upon me. DORINE Good! That's a remedy I hadn't thought of. Just die, and everything will be all right. This medicine is marvellous, indeed! It drives me mad to hear folk talk such nonsense. MARIANE Oh dear, Dorine you get in such a temper! You have no sympathy for people's troubles. DORINE I have no sympathy when folk talk nonsense, And flatten out as you do, at a pinch. MARIANE But what can you expect?--if one is timid?-- DORINE But what is love worth, if it has no courage? MARIANE Am I not constant in my love for him? Is't not his place to win me from my father? DORINE But if your father is a crazy fool, And quite bewitched with his Tartuffe? And breaks His bounden word? Is that your lover's fault? MARIANE But shall I publicly refuse and scorn This match, and make it plain that I'm in love? Shall I cast off for him, whate'er he be, Womanly modesty and filial duty? You ask me to display my love in public ... ? DORINE No, no, I ask you nothing. You shall be Mister Tartuffe's; why, now I think of it, I should be wrong to turn you from this marriage. What cause can I have to oppose your wishes? So fine a match! An excellent good match! Mister Tartuffe! Oh ho! No mean proposal! Mister Tartuffe, sure, take it all in all, Is not a man to sneeze at--oh, by no means! 'Tis no small luck to be his happy spouse. The whole world joins to sing his praise already; He's noble--in his parish; handsome too; Red ears and high complexion--oh, my lud! You'll be too happy, sure, with him for husband. MARIANE Oh dear! ... DORINE What joy and pride will fill your heart To be the bride of such a handsome fellow! MARIANE Oh, stop, I beg you; try to find some way To help break off the match. I quite give in, I'm ready to do anything you say. DORINE No, no, a daughter must obey her father, Though he should want to make her wed a monkey. Besides, your fate is fine. What could be better! You'll take the stage-coach to his little village, And find it full of uncles and of cousins, Whose conversation will delight you. Then You'll be presented in their best society. You'll even go to call, by way of welcome, On Mrs. Bailiff, Mrs. Tax-Collector, Who'll patronise you with a folding-stool. There, once a year, at carnival, you'll have Perhaps--a ball; with orchestra--two bag-pipes; And sometimes a trained ape, and Punch and Judy; Though if your husband ... MARIANE Oh, you'll kill me. Please Contrive to help me out with your advice. DORINE I thank you kindly. MARIANE Oh! Dorine, I beg you ... DORINE To serve you right, this marriage must go through. MARIANE Dear girl! DORINE No. MARIANE If I say I love Valere ... DORINE No, no. Tartuffe's your man, and you shall taste him. MARIANE You know I've always trusted you; now help me ... DORINE No, you shall be, my faith! Tartuffified. MARIANE Well, then, since you've no pity for my fate Let me take counsel only of despair; It will advise and help and give me courage; There's one sure cure, I know, for all my troubles. (She starts to go.) DORINE There, there! Come back. I can't be angry long. I must take pity on you, after all. MARIANE Oh, don't you see, Dorine, if I must bear This martyrdom, I certainly shall die. DORINE Now don't you fret. We'll surely find some way. To hinder this ... But here's Valere, your lover. SCENE IV VALERE, MARIANE, DORINE VALERE Madam, a piece of news--quite new to me-- Has just come out, and very fine it is. MARIANE What piece of news? VALERE Your marriage with Tartuffe. MARIANE 'Tis true my father has this plan in mind. VALERE Your father, madam ... MARIANE Yes, he's changed his plans, And did but now propose it to me. VALERE What! Seriously? MARIANE Yes, he was serious, And openly insisted on the match. VALERE And what's your resolution in the matter, Madam? MARIANE I don't know. VALERE That's a pretty answer. You don't know? MARIANE No. VALERE No? MARIANE What do you advise? VALERE I? My advice is, marry him, by all means. MARIANE That's your advice? VALERE Yes. MARIANE Do you mean it? VALERE Surely. A splendid choice, and worthy of your acceptance. MARIANE Oh, very well, sir! I shall take your counsel. VALERE You'll find no trouble taking it, I warrant. MARIANE No more than you did giving it, be sure. VALERE I gave it, truly, to oblige you, madam. MARIANE And I shall take it to oblige you, sir. Dorine (withdrawing to the back of the stage) Let's see what this affair will come to. VALERE So, That is your love? And it was all deceit When you ... MARIANE I beg you, say no more of that. You told me, squarely, sir, I should accept The husband that is offered me; and I Will tell you squarely that I mean to do so, Since you have given me this good advice. VALERE Don't shield yourself with talk of my advice. You had your mind made up, that's evident; And now you're snatching at a trifling pretext To justify the breaking of your word. MARIANE Exactly so. VALERE Of course it is; your heart Has never known true love for me. MARIANE Alas! You're free to think so, if you please. VALERE Yes, yes, I'm free to think so; and my outraged love May yet forestall you in your perfidy, And offer elsewhere both my heart and hand. MARIANE No doubt of it; the love your high deserts May win ... VALERE Good Lord, have done with my deserts! I know I have but few, and you have proved it. But I may find more kindness in another; I know of someone, who'll not be ashamed To take your leavings, and make up my loss. MARIANE The loss is not so great; you'll easily Console yourself completely for this change. VALERE I'll try my best, that you may well believe. When we're forgotten by a woman's heart, Our pride is challenged; we, too, must forget; Or if we cannot, must at least pretend to. No other way can man such baseness prove, As be a lover scorned, and still in love. MARIANE In faith, a high and noble sentiment. VALERE Yes; and it's one that all men must approve. What! Would you have me keep my love alive, And see you fly into another's arms Before my very eyes; and never offer To someone else the heart that you had scorned? MARIANE Oh, no, indeed! For my part, I could wish That it were done already. VALERE What! You wish it? MARIANE Yes. VALERE This is insult heaped on injury; I'll go at once and do as you desire. (He takes a step or two as if to go away.) MARIANE Oh, very well then. VALERE (turning back) But remember this. 'Twas you that drove me to this desperate pass. MARIANE Of course. VALERE (turning back again) And in the plan that I have formed I only follow your example. MARIANE Yes. VALERE (at the door) Enough; you shall be punctually obeyed. MARIANE So much the better. VALERE (coming back again) This is once for all. MARIANE So be it, then. VALERE (He goes toward the door, but just as he reaches it, turns around) Eh? MARIANE What? VALERE You didn't call me? MARIANE I? You are dreaming. VALERE Very well, I'm gone. Madam, farewell. (He walks slowly away.) MARIANE Farewell, sir. DORINE I must say You've lost your senses and both gone clean daft! I've let you fight it out to the end o' the chapter To see how far the thing could go. Oho, there, Mister Valere! (She goes and seizes him by the arm, to stop him. He makes a great show of resistance.) VALERE What do you want, Dorine? DORINE Come here. VALERE No, no, I'm quite beside myself. Don't hinder me from doing as she wishes. DORINE Stop! VALERE No. You see, I'm fixed, resolved, determined. DORINE So! MARIANE (aside) Since my presence pains him, makes him go, I'd better go myself, and leave him free. DORINE (leaving Valere, and running after Mariane) Now t'other! Where are you going? MARIANE Let me be. DORINE. Come back. MARIANE No, no, it isn't any use. VALERE (aside) 'Tis clear the sight of me is torture to her; No doubt, t'were better I should free her from it. DORINE (leaving Mariane and running after Valere) Same thing again! Deuce take you both, I say. Now stop your fooling; come here, you; and you. (She pulls first one, then the other, toward the middle of the stage.) VALERE (to Dorine) What's your idea? MARIANE (to Dorine) What can you mean to do? DORINE Set you to rights, and pull you out o' the scrape. (To Valere) Are you quite mad, to quarrel with her now? VALERE Didn't you hear the things she said to me? DORINE (to Mariane) Are you quite mad, to get in such a passion? MARIANE Didn't you see the way he treated me? DORINE Fools, both of you. (To Valere) She thinks of nothing else But to keep faith with you, I vouch for it. (To Mariane) And he loves none but you, and longs for nothing But just to marry you, I stake my life on't. MARIANE (to Valere) Why did you give me such advice then, pray? VALERE (to Mariane) Why ask for my advice on such a matter? DORINE You both are daft, I tell you. Here, your hands. (To Valere) Come, yours. VALERE (giving Dorine his hand) What for? DORINE (to Mariane) Now, yours. MARIANE (giving Dorine her hand) But what's the use? DORINE Oh, quick now, come along. There, both of you-- You love each other better than you think. (Valere and Mariane hold each other's hands some time without looking at each other.) VALERE (at last turning toward Mariane) Come, don't be so ungracious now about it; Look at a man as if you didn't hate him. (Mariane looks sideways toward Valere, with just a bit of a smile.) DORINE My faith and troth, what fools these lovers be! VALERE (to Mariane) But come now, have I not a just complaint? And truly, are you not a wicked creature To take delight in saying what would pain me? MARIANE And are you not yourself the most ungrateful ... ? DORINE Leave this discussion till another time; Now, think how you'll stave off this plaguy marriage. MARIANE Then tell us how to go about it. DORINE Well, We'll try all sorts of ways. (To Mariane) Your father's daft; (To Valere) This plan is nonsense. (To Mariane) You had better humour His notions by a semblance of consent, So that in case of danger, you can still Find means to block the marriage by delay. If you gain time, the rest is easy, trust me. One day you'll fool them with a sudden illness, Causing delay; another day, ill omens: You've met a funeral, or broke a mirror, Or dreamed of muddy water. Best of all, They cannot marry you to anyone Without your saying yes. But now, methinks, They mustn't find you chattering together. (To Valere) You, go at once and set your friends at work To make him keep his word to you; while we Will bring the brother's influence to bear, And get the step-mother on our side, too. Good-bye. VALERE (to Mariane) Whatever efforts we may make, My greatest hope, be sure, must rest on you. MARIANE (to Valere) I cannot answer for my father's whims; But no one save Valere shall ever have me. VALERE You thrill me through with joy! Whatever comes ... DORINE Oho! These lovers! Never done with prattling! Now go. VALERE (starting to go, and coming back again) One last word ... DORINE What a gabble and pother! Be off! By this door, you. And you, by t'other. (She pushes them off, by the shoulders, in opposite directions.) ACT III SCENE I DAMIS, DORINE DAMIS May lightning strike me dead this very instant, May I be everywhere proclaimed a scoundrel, If any reverence or power shall stop me, And if I don't do straightway something desperate! DORINE I beg you, moderate this towering passion; Your father did but merely mention it. Not all things that are talked of turn to facts; The road is long, sometimes, from plans to acts. DAMIS No, I must end this paltry fellow's plots, And he shall hear from me a truth or two. DORINE So ho! Go slow now. Just you leave the fellow-- Your father too--in your step-mother's hands. She has some influence with this Tartuffe, He makes a point of heeding all she says, And I suspect that he is fond of her. Would God 'twere true!--'Twould be the height of humour Now, she has sent for him, in your behalf, To sound him on this marriage, to find out What his ideas are, and to show him plainly What troubles he may cause, if he persists In giving countenance to this design. His man says, he's at prayers, I mustn't see him, But likewise says, he'll presently be down. So off with you, and let me wait for him. DAMIS I may be present at this interview. DORINE No, no! They must be left alone. DAMIS I won't So much as speak to him. DORINE Go on! We know you And your high tantrums. Just the way to spoil things! Be off. DAMIS No, I must see--I'll keep my temper. DORINE Out on you, what a plague! He's coming. Hide! (Damis goes and hides in the closet at the back of the stage.) SCENE II TARTUFFE, DORINE TARTUFFE (speaking to his valet, off the stage, as soon as he sees Dorine is there) Lawrence, put up my hair-cloth shirt and scourge, And pray that Heaven may shed its light upon you. If any come to see me, say I'm gone To share my alms among the prisoners. DORINE (aside) What affectation and what showing off! TARTUFFE What do you want with me? DORINE To tell you ... TARTUFFE (taking a handkerchief from his pocket) Ah! Before you speak, pray take this handkerchief. DORINE What? TARTUFFE Cover up that bosom, which I can't Endure to look on. Things like that offend Our souls, and fill our minds with sinful thoughts. DORINE Are you so tender to temptation, then, And has the flesh such power upon your senses? I don't know how you get in such a heat; For my part, I am not so prone to lust, And I could see you stripped from head to foot, And all your hide not tempt me in the least. TARTUFFE Show in your speech some little modesty, Or I must instantly take leave of you. DORINE No, no, I'll leave you to yourself; I've only One thing to say: Madam will soon be down, And begs the favour of a word with you. TARTUFFE Ah! Willingly. DORINE (aside) How gentle all at once! My faith, I still believe I've hit upon it. TARTUFFE Will she come soon? DORINE I think I hear her now. Yes, here she is herself; I'll leave you with her. SCENE III ELMIRE, TARTUFFE TARTUFFE May Heaven's overflowing kindness ever Give you good health of body and of soul, And bless your days according to the wishes And prayers of its most humble votary! ELMIRE I'm very grateful for your pious wishes. But let's sit down, so we may talk at ease. TARTUFFE (after sitting down) And how are you recovered from your illness? ELMIRE (sitting down also) Quite well; the fever soon let go its hold. TARTUFFE My prayers, I fear, have not sufficient merit To have drawn down this favour from on high; But each entreaty that I made to Heaven Had for its object your recovery. ELMIRE You're too solicitous on my behalf. TARTUFFE We could not cherish your dear health too much; I would have given mine, to help restore it. ELMIRE That's pushing Christian charity too far; I owe you many thanks for so much kindness. TARTUFFE I do far less for you than you deserve. ELMIRE There is a matter that I wished to speak of In private; I am glad there's no one here To listen. TARTUFFE Madam, I am overjoyed. 'Tis sweet to find myself alone with you. This is an opportunity I've asked Of Heaven, many a time; till now, in vain. ELMIRE All that I wish, is just a word from you, Quite frank and open, hiding nothing from me. (DAMIS, without their seeing him, opens the closet door halfway.) TARTUFFE I too could wish, as Heaven's especial favour, To lay my soul quite open to your eyes, And swear to you, the trouble that I made About those visits which your charms attract, Does not result from any hatred toward you, But rather from a passionate devotion, And purest motives ... ELMIRE That is how I take it, I think 'tis my salvation that concerns you. TARTUFFE (pressing her finger tips) Madam, 'tis so; and such is my devotion ... ELMIRE Ouch! but you squeeze too hard. TARTUFFE Excess of zeal. In no way could I ever mean to hurt you, And I'd as soon ... (He puts his hand on her knee.) ELMIRE What's your hand doing there? TARTUFFE Feeling your gown; the stuff is very soft. ELMIRE Let be, I beg you; I am very ticklish. (She moves her chair away, and Tartuffe brings his nearer.) TARTUFFE (handling the lace yoke of Elmire's dress) Dear me how wonderful in workmanship This lace is! They do marvels, nowadays; Things of all kinds were never better made. ELMIRE Yes, very true. But let us come to business. They say my husband means to break his word. And marry Mariane to you. Is't so? TARTUFFE He did hint some such thing; but truly, madam, That's not the happiness I'm yearning after; I see elsewhere the sweet compelling charms Of such a joy as fills my every wish. ELMIRE You mean you cannot love terrestrial things. TARTUFFE The heart within my bosom is not stone. ELMIRE I well believe your sighs all tend to Heaven, And nothing here below can stay your thoughts. TARTUFFE Love for the beauty of eternal things Cannot destroy our love for earthly beauty; Our mortal senses well may be entranced By perfect works that Heaven has fashioned here. Its charms reflected shine in such as you, And in yourself, its rarest miracles; It has displayed such marvels in your face, That eyes are dazed, and hearts are rapt away; I could not look on you, the perfect creature, Without admiring Nature's great Creator, And feeling all my heart inflamed with love For you, His fairest image of Himself. At first I trembled lest this secret love Might be the Evil Spirit's artful snare; I even schooled my heart to flee your beauty, Thinking it was a bar to my salvation. But soon, enlightened, O all lovely one, I saw how this my passion may be blameless, How I may make it fit with modesty, And thus completely yield my heart to it. 'Tis I must own, a great presumption in me To dare make you the offer of my heart; My love hopes all things from your perfect goodness, And nothing from my own poor weak endeavour. You are my hope, my stay, my peace of heart; On you depends my torment or my bliss; And by your doom of judgment, I shall be Blest, if you will; or damned, by your decree. ELMIRE Your declaration's turned most gallantly; But truly, it is just a bit surprising. You should have better armed your heart, methinks, And taken thought somewhat on such a matter. A pious man like you, known everywhere ... TARTUFFE Though pious, I am none the less a man; And when a man beholds your heavenly charms, The heart surrenders, and can think no more. I know such words seem strange, coming from me; But, madam, I'm no angel, after all; If you condemn my frankly made avowal You only have your charming self to blame. Soon as I saw your more than human beauty, You were thenceforth the sovereign of my soul; Sweetness ineffable was in your eyes, That took by storm my still resisting heart, And conquered everything, fasts, prayers, and tears, And turned my worship wholly to yourself. My looks, my sighs, have spoke a thousand times; Now, to express it all, my voice must speak. If but you will look down with gracious favour Upon the sorrows of your worthless slave, If in your goodness you will give me comfort And condescend unto my nothingness, I'll ever pay you, O sweet miracle, An unexampled worship and devotion. Then too, with me your honour runs no risk; With me you need not fear a public scandal. These court gallants, that women are so fond of, Are boastful of their acts, and vain in speech; They always brag in public of their progress; Soon as a favour's granted, they'll divulge it; Their tattling tongues, if you but trust to them, Will foul the altar where their hearts have worshipped. But men like me are so discreet in love, That you may trust their lasting secrecy. The care we take to guard our own good name May fully guarantee the one we love; So you may find, with hearts like ours sincere, Love without scandal, pleasure without fear. ELMIRE I've heard you through--your speech is clear, at least. But don't you fear that I may take a fancy To tell my husband of your gallant passion, And that a prompt report of this affair May somewhat change the friendship which he bears you? TARTUFFE I know that you're too good and generous, That you will pardon my temerity, Excuse, upon the score of human frailty, The violence of passion that offends you, And not forget, when you consult your mirror, That I'm not blind, and man is made of flesh. ELMIRE Some women might do otherwise, perhaps, But I am willing to employ discretion, And not repeat the matter to my husband; But in return, I'll ask one thing of you: That you urge forward, frankly and sincerely, The marriage of Valere to Mariane; That you give up the unjust influence By which you

beyond

How many times the word 'beyond' appears in the text?

And he who weds his child against her will Owes heaven account for it, if she do ill. Think then what perils wait on your design. ORGON (to Mariane) So! I must learn what's what from her, you see! DORINE You might do worse than follow my advice. ORGON Daughter, we can't waste time upon this nonsense; I know what's good for you, and I'm your father. True, I had promised you to young Valere; But, first, they tell me he's inclined to gamble, And then, I fear his faith is not quite sound. I haven't noticed that he's regular At church. DORINE You'd have him run there just when you do. Like those who go on purpose to be seen? ORGON I don't ask your opinion on the matter. In short, the other is in Heaven's best graces, And that is riches quite beyond compare. This match will bring you every joy you long for; 'Twill be all steeped in sweetness and delight. You'll live together, in your faithful loves, Like two sweet children, like two turtle-doves; You'll never fail to quarrel, scold, or tease, And you may do with him whate'er you please. DORINE With him? Do naught but give him horns, I'll warrant. ORGON Out on thee, wench! DORINE I tell you he's cut out for't; However great your daughter's virtue, sir, His destiny is sure to prove the stronger. ORGON Have done with interrupting. Hold your tongue. Don't poke your nose in other people's business. DORINE (She keeps interrupting him, just as he turns and starts to speak to his daughter). If I make bold, sir, 'tis for your own good. ORGON You're too officious; pray you, hold your tongue. DORINE 'Tis love of you ... ORGON I want none of your love. DORINE Then I will love you in your own despite. ORGON You will, eh? DORINE Yes, your honour's dear to me; I can't endure to see you made the butt Of all men's ridicule. ORGON Won't you be still? DORINE 'Twould be a sin to let you make this match. ORGON Won't you be still, I say, you impudent viper! DORINE What! you are pious, and you lose your temper? ORGON I'm all wrought up, with your confounded nonsense; Now, once for all, I tell you hold your tongue. DORINE Then mum's the word; I'll take it out in thinking. ORGON Think all you please; but not a syllable To me about it, or ... you understand! (Turning to his daughter.) As a wise father, I've considered all With due deliberation. DORINE I'll go mad If I can't speak. (She stops the instant he turns his head.) ORGON Though he's no lady's man, Tartuffe is well enough ... DORINE A pretty phiz! ORGON So that, although you may not care at all For his best qualities ... DORINE A handsome dowry! (Orgon turns and stands in front of her, with arms folded, eyeing her.) Were I in her place, any man should rue it Who married me by force, that's mighty certain; I'd let him know, and that within a week, A woman's vengeance isn't far to seek. ORGON (to Dorine) So--nothing that I say has any weight? DORINE Eh? What's wrong now? I didn't speak to you. ORGON What were you doing? DORINE Talking to myself. ORGON Oh! Very well. (Aside.) Her monstrous impudence Must be chastised with one good slap in the face. (He stands ready to strike her, and, each time he speaks to his daughter, he glances toward her; but she stands still and says not a word.) [3] [Footnote 3: As given at the Comedie francaise, the action is as follows: While Orgon says, "You must approve of my design," Dorine is making signs to Mariane to resist his orders; Orgon turns around suddenly; but Dorine quickly changes her gesture and with the hand which she had lifted calmly arranges her hair and her cap. Orgon goes on, "Think of the husband ..." and stops before the middle of his sentence to turn and catch the beginning of Dorine's gesture; but he is too quick this time, and Dorine stands looking at his furious countenance with a sweet and gentle expression. He turns and goes on, and the obstinate Dorine again lifts her hand behind his shoulder to urge Mariane to resistance: this time he catches her; but just as he swings his shoulder to give her the promised blow, she stops him by changing the intent of her gesture, and carefully picking from the top of his sleeve a bit of fluff which she holds carefully between her fingers, then blows into the air, and watches intently as it floats away. Orgon is paralysed by her innocence of expression, and compelled to hide his rage.--Regnier, _Le Tartuffe des Comediens_.] ORGON Daughter, you must approve of my design.... Think of this husband ... I have chosen for you... (To Dorine) Why don't you talk to yourself? DORINE Nothing to say. ORGON One little word more. DORINE Oh, no, thanks. Not now. ORGON Sure, I'd have caught you. DORINE Faith, I'm no such fool. ORGON So, daughter, now obedience is the word; You must accept my choice with reverence. DORINE (running away) You'd never catch me marrying such a creature. ORGON (swinging his hand at her and missing her) Daughter, you've such a pestilent hussy there I can't live with her longer, without sin. I can't discuss things in the state I'm in. My mind's so flustered by her insolent talk, To calm myself, I must go take a walk. SCENE III MARIANE, DORINE DORINE Say, have you lost the tongue from out your head? And must I speak your role from A to Zed? You let them broach a project that's absurd, And don't oppose it with a single word! MARIANE What can I do? My father is the master. DORINE Do? Everything, to ward off such disaster. MARIANE But what? DORINE Tell him one doesn't love by proxy; Tell him you'll marry for yourself, not him; Since you're the one for whom the thing is done, You are the one, not he, the man must please; If his Tartuffe has charmed him so, why let him Just marry him himself--no one will hinder. MARIANE A father's rights are such, it seems to me, That I could never dare to say a word. DORINE Came, talk it out. Valere has asked your hand: Now do you love him, pray, or do you not? MARIANE Dorine! How can you wrong my love so much, And ask me such a question? Have I not A hundred times laid bare my heart to you? Do you know how ardently I love him? DORINE How do I know if heart and words agree, And if in honest truth you really love him? MARIANE Dorine, you wrong me greatly if you doubt it; I've shown my inmost feelings, all too plainly. DORINE So then, you love him? MARIANE Yes, devotedly. DORINE And he returns your love, apparently? MARIANE I think so. DORINE And you both alike are eager To be well married to each other? MARIANE Surely. DORINE Then what's your plan about this other match? MARIANE To kill myself, if it is forced upon me. DORINE Good! That's a remedy I hadn't thought of. Just die, and everything will be all right. This medicine is marvellous, indeed! It drives me mad to hear folk talk such nonsense. MARIANE Oh dear, Dorine you get in such a temper! You have no sympathy for people's troubles. DORINE I have no sympathy when folk talk nonsense, And flatten out as you do, at a pinch. MARIANE But what can you expect?--if one is timid?-- DORINE But what is love worth, if it has no courage? MARIANE Am I not constant in my love for him? Is't not his place to win me from my father? DORINE But if your father is a crazy fool, And quite bewitched with his Tartuffe? And breaks His bounden word? Is that your lover's fault? MARIANE But shall I publicly refuse and scorn This match, and make it plain that I'm in love? Shall I cast off for him, whate'er he be, Womanly modesty and filial duty? You ask me to display my love in public ... ? DORINE No, no, I ask you nothing. You shall be Mister Tartuffe's; why, now I think of it, I should be wrong to turn you from this marriage. What cause can I have to oppose your wishes? So fine a match! An excellent good match! Mister Tartuffe! Oh ho! No mean proposal! Mister Tartuffe, sure, take it all in all, Is not a man to sneeze at--oh, by no means! 'Tis no small luck to be his happy spouse. The whole world joins to sing his praise already; He's noble--in his parish; handsome too; Red ears and high complexion--oh, my lud! You'll be too happy, sure, with him for husband. MARIANE Oh dear! ... DORINE What joy and pride will fill your heart To be the bride of such a handsome fellow! MARIANE Oh, stop, I beg you; try to find some way To help break off the match. I quite give in, I'm ready to do anything you say. DORINE No, no, a daughter must obey her father, Though he should want to make her wed a monkey. Besides, your fate is fine. What could be better! You'll take the stage-coach to his little village, And find it full of uncles and of cousins, Whose conversation will delight you. Then You'll be presented in their best society. You'll even go to call, by way of welcome, On Mrs. Bailiff, Mrs. Tax-Collector, Who'll patronise you with a folding-stool. There, once a year, at carnival, you'll have Perhaps--a ball; with orchestra--two bag-pipes; And sometimes a trained ape, and Punch and Judy; Though if your husband ... MARIANE Oh, you'll kill me. Please Contrive to help me out with your advice. DORINE I thank you kindly. MARIANE Oh! Dorine, I beg you ... DORINE To serve you right, this marriage must go through. MARIANE Dear girl! DORINE No. MARIANE If I say I love Valere ... DORINE No, no. Tartuffe's your man, and you shall taste him. MARIANE You know I've always trusted you; now help me ... DORINE No, you shall be, my faith! Tartuffified. MARIANE Well, then, since you've no pity for my fate Let me take counsel only of despair; It will advise and help and give me courage; There's one sure cure, I know, for all my troubles. (She starts to go.) DORINE There, there! Come back. I can't be angry long. I must take pity on you, after all. MARIANE Oh, don't you see, Dorine, if I must bear This martyrdom, I certainly shall die. DORINE Now don't you fret. We'll surely find some way. To hinder this ... But here's Valere, your lover. SCENE IV VALERE, MARIANE, DORINE VALERE Madam, a piece of news--quite new to me-- Has just come out, and very fine it is. MARIANE What piece of news? VALERE Your marriage with Tartuffe. MARIANE 'Tis true my father has this plan in mind. VALERE Your father, madam ... MARIANE Yes, he's changed his plans, And did but now propose it to me. VALERE What! Seriously? MARIANE Yes, he was serious, And openly insisted on the match. VALERE And what's your resolution in the matter, Madam? MARIANE I don't know. VALERE That's a pretty answer. You don't know? MARIANE No. VALERE No? MARIANE What do you advise? VALERE I? My advice is, marry him, by all means. MARIANE That's your advice? VALERE Yes. MARIANE Do you mean it? VALERE Surely. A splendid choice, and worthy of your acceptance. MARIANE Oh, very well, sir! I shall take your counsel. VALERE You'll find no trouble taking it, I warrant. MARIANE No more than you did giving it, be sure. VALERE I gave it, truly, to oblige you, madam. MARIANE And I shall take it to oblige you, sir. Dorine (withdrawing to the back of the stage) Let's see what this affair will come to. VALERE So, That is your love? And it was all deceit When you ... MARIANE I beg you, say no more of that. You told me, squarely, sir, I should accept The husband that is offered me; and I Will tell you squarely that I mean to do so, Since you have given me this good advice. VALERE Don't shield yourself with talk of my advice. You had your mind made up, that's evident; And now you're snatching at a trifling pretext To justify the breaking of your word. MARIANE Exactly so. VALERE Of course it is; your heart Has never known true love for me. MARIANE Alas! You're free to think so, if you please. VALERE Yes, yes, I'm free to think so; and my outraged love May yet forestall you in your perfidy, And offer elsewhere both my heart and hand. MARIANE No doubt of it; the love your high deserts May win ... VALERE Good Lord, have done with my deserts! I know I have but few, and you have proved it. But I may find more kindness in another; I know of someone, who'll not be ashamed To take your leavings, and make up my loss. MARIANE The loss is not so great; you'll easily Console yourself completely for this change. VALERE I'll try my best, that you may well believe. When we're forgotten by a woman's heart, Our pride is challenged; we, too, must forget; Or if we cannot, must at least pretend to. No other way can man such baseness prove, As be a lover scorned, and still in love. MARIANE In faith, a high and noble sentiment. VALERE Yes; and it's one that all men must approve. What! Would you have me keep my love alive, And see you fly into another's arms Before my very eyes; and never offer To someone else the heart that you had scorned? MARIANE Oh, no, indeed! For my part, I could wish That it were done already. VALERE What! You wish it? MARIANE Yes. VALERE This is insult heaped on injury; I'll go at once and do as you desire. (He takes a step or two as if to go away.) MARIANE Oh, very well then. VALERE (turning back) But remember this. 'Twas you that drove me to this desperate pass. MARIANE Of course. VALERE (turning back again) And in the plan that I have formed I only follow your example. MARIANE Yes. VALERE (at the door) Enough; you shall be punctually obeyed. MARIANE So much the better. VALERE (coming back again) This is once for all. MARIANE So be it, then. VALERE (He goes toward the door, but just as he reaches it, turns around) Eh? MARIANE What? VALERE You didn't call me? MARIANE I? You are dreaming. VALERE Very well, I'm gone. Madam, farewell. (He walks slowly away.) MARIANE Farewell, sir. DORINE I must say You've lost your senses and both gone clean daft! I've let you fight it out to the end o' the chapter To see how far the thing could go. Oho, there, Mister Valere! (She goes and seizes him by the arm, to stop him. He makes a great show of resistance.) VALERE What do you want, Dorine? DORINE Come here. VALERE No, no, I'm quite beside myself. Don't hinder me from doing as she wishes. DORINE Stop! VALERE No. You see, I'm fixed, resolved, determined. DORINE So! MARIANE (aside) Since my presence pains him, makes him go, I'd better go myself, and leave him free. DORINE (leaving Valere, and running after Mariane) Now t'other! Where are you going? MARIANE Let me be. DORINE. Come back. MARIANE No, no, it isn't any use. VALERE (aside) 'Tis clear the sight of me is torture to her; No doubt, t'were better I should free her from it. DORINE (leaving Mariane and running after Valere) Same thing again! Deuce take you both, I say. Now stop your fooling; come here, you; and you. (She pulls first one, then the other, toward the middle of the stage.) VALERE (to Dorine) What's your idea? MARIANE (to Dorine) What can you mean to do? DORINE Set you to rights, and pull you out o' the scrape. (To Valere) Are you quite mad, to quarrel with her now? VALERE Didn't you hear the things she said to me? DORINE (to Mariane) Are you quite mad, to get in such a passion? MARIANE Didn't you see the way he treated me? DORINE Fools, both of you. (To Valere) She thinks of nothing else But to keep faith with you, I vouch for it. (To Mariane) And he loves none but you, and longs for nothing But just to marry you, I stake my life on't. MARIANE (to Valere) Why did you give me such advice then, pray? VALERE (to Mariane) Why ask for my advice on such a matter? DORINE You both are daft, I tell you. Here, your hands. (To Valere) Come, yours. VALERE (giving Dorine his hand) What for? DORINE (to Mariane) Now, yours. MARIANE (giving Dorine her hand) But what's the use? DORINE Oh, quick now, come along. There, both of you-- You love each other better than you think. (Valere and Mariane hold each other's hands some time without looking at each other.) VALERE (at last turning toward Mariane) Come, don't be so ungracious now about it; Look at a man as if you didn't hate him. (Mariane looks sideways toward Valere, with just a bit of a smile.) DORINE My faith and troth, what fools these lovers be! VALERE (to Mariane) But come now, have I not a just complaint? And truly, are you not a wicked creature To take delight in saying what would pain me? MARIANE And are you not yourself the most ungrateful ... ? DORINE Leave this discussion till another time; Now, think how you'll stave off this plaguy marriage. MARIANE Then tell us how to go about it. DORINE Well, We'll try all sorts of ways. (To Mariane) Your father's daft; (To Valere) This plan is nonsense. (To Mariane) You had better humour His notions by a semblance of consent, So that in case of danger, you can still Find means to block the marriage by delay. If you gain time, the rest is easy, trust me. One day you'll fool them with a sudden illness, Causing delay; another day, ill omens: You've met a funeral, or broke a mirror, Or dreamed of muddy water. Best of all, They cannot marry you to anyone Without your saying yes. But now, methinks, They mustn't find you chattering together. (To Valere) You, go at once and set your friends at work To make him keep his word to you; while we Will bring the brother's influence to bear, And get the step-mother on our side, too. Good-bye. VALERE (to Mariane) Whatever efforts we may make, My greatest hope, be sure, must rest on you. MARIANE (to Valere) I cannot answer for my father's whims; But no one save Valere shall ever have me. VALERE You thrill me through with joy! Whatever comes ... DORINE Oho! These lovers! Never done with prattling! Now go. VALERE (starting to go, and coming back again) One last word ... DORINE What a gabble and pother! Be off! By this door, you. And you, by t'other. (She pushes them off, by the shoulders, in opposite directions.) ACT III SCENE I DAMIS, DORINE DAMIS May lightning strike me dead this very instant, May I be everywhere proclaimed a scoundrel, If any reverence or power shall stop me, And if I don't do straightway something desperate! DORINE I beg you, moderate this towering passion; Your father did but merely mention it. Not all things that are talked of turn to facts; The road is long, sometimes, from plans to acts. DAMIS No, I must end this paltry fellow's plots, And he shall hear from me a truth or two. DORINE So ho! Go slow now. Just you leave the fellow-- Your father too--in your step-mother's hands. She has some influence with this Tartuffe, He makes a point of heeding all she says, And I suspect that he is fond of her. Would God 'twere true!--'Twould be the height of humour Now, she has sent for him, in your behalf, To sound him on this marriage, to find out What his ideas are, and to show him plainly What troubles he may cause, if he persists In giving countenance to this design. His man says, he's at prayers, I mustn't see him, But likewise says, he'll presently be down. So off with you, and let me wait for him. DAMIS I may be present at this interview. DORINE No, no! They must be left alone. DAMIS I won't So much as speak to him. DORINE Go on! We know you And your high tantrums. Just the way to spoil things! Be off. DAMIS No, I must see--I'll keep my temper. DORINE Out on you, what a plague! He's coming. Hide! (Damis goes and hides in the closet at the back of the stage.) SCENE II TARTUFFE, DORINE TARTUFFE (speaking to his valet, off the stage, as soon as he sees Dorine is there) Lawrence, put up my hair-cloth shirt and scourge, And pray that Heaven may shed its light upon you. If any come to see me, say I'm gone To share my alms among the prisoners. DORINE (aside) What affectation and what showing off! TARTUFFE What do you want with me? DORINE To tell you ... TARTUFFE (taking a handkerchief from his pocket) Ah! Before you speak, pray take this handkerchief. DORINE What? TARTUFFE Cover up that bosom, which I can't Endure to look on. Things like that offend Our souls, and fill our minds with sinful thoughts. DORINE Are you so tender to temptation, then, And has the flesh such power upon your senses? I don't know how you get in such a heat; For my part, I am not so prone to lust, And I could see you stripped from head to foot, And all your hide not tempt me in the least. TARTUFFE Show in your speech some little modesty, Or I must instantly take leave of you. DORINE No, no, I'll leave you to yourself; I've only One thing to say: Madam will soon be down, And begs the favour of a word with you. TARTUFFE Ah! Willingly. DORINE (aside) How gentle all at once! My faith, I still believe I've hit upon it. TARTUFFE Will she come soon? DORINE I think I hear her now. Yes, here she is herself; I'll leave you with her. SCENE III ELMIRE, TARTUFFE TARTUFFE May Heaven's overflowing kindness ever Give you good health of body and of soul, And bless your days according to the wishes And prayers of its most humble votary! ELMIRE I'm very grateful for your pious wishes. But let's sit down, so we may talk at ease. TARTUFFE (after sitting down) And how are you recovered from your illness? ELMIRE (sitting down also) Quite well; the fever soon let go its hold. TARTUFFE My prayers, I fear, have not sufficient merit To have drawn down this favour from on high; But each entreaty that I made to Heaven Had for its object your recovery. ELMIRE You're too solicitous on my behalf. TARTUFFE We could not cherish your dear health too much; I would have given mine, to help restore it. ELMIRE That's pushing Christian charity too far; I owe you many thanks for so much kindness. TARTUFFE I do far less for you than you deserve. ELMIRE There is a matter that I wished to speak of In private; I am glad there's no one here To listen. TARTUFFE Madam, I am overjoyed. 'Tis sweet to find myself alone with you. This is an opportunity I've asked Of Heaven, many a time; till now, in vain. ELMIRE All that I wish, is just a word from you, Quite frank and open, hiding nothing from me. (DAMIS, without their seeing him, opens the closet door halfway.) TARTUFFE I too could wish, as Heaven's especial favour, To lay my soul quite open to your eyes, And swear to you, the trouble that I made About those visits which your charms attract, Does not result from any hatred toward you, But rather from a passionate devotion, And purest motives ... ELMIRE That is how I take it, I think 'tis my salvation that concerns you. TARTUFFE (pressing her finger tips) Madam, 'tis so; and such is my devotion ... ELMIRE Ouch! but you squeeze too hard. TARTUFFE Excess of zeal. In no way could I ever mean to hurt you, And I'd as soon ... (He puts his hand on her knee.) ELMIRE What's your hand doing there? TARTUFFE Feeling your gown; the stuff is very soft. ELMIRE Let be, I beg you; I am very ticklish. (She moves her chair away, and Tartuffe brings his nearer.) TARTUFFE (handling the lace yoke of Elmire's dress) Dear me how wonderful in workmanship This lace is! They do marvels, nowadays; Things of all kinds were never better made. ELMIRE Yes, very true. But let us come to business. They say my husband means to break his word. And marry Mariane to you. Is't so? TARTUFFE He did hint some such thing; but truly, madam, That's not the happiness I'm yearning after; I see elsewhere the sweet compelling charms Of such a joy as fills my every wish. ELMIRE You mean you cannot love terrestrial things. TARTUFFE The heart within my bosom is not stone. ELMIRE I well believe your sighs all tend to Heaven, And nothing here below can stay your thoughts. TARTUFFE Love for the beauty of eternal things Cannot destroy our love for earthly beauty; Our mortal senses well may be entranced By perfect works that Heaven has fashioned here. Its charms reflected shine in such as you, And in yourself, its rarest miracles; It has displayed such marvels in your face, That eyes are dazed, and hearts are rapt away; I could not look on you, the perfect creature, Without admiring Nature's great Creator, And feeling all my heart inflamed with love For you, His fairest image of Himself. At first I trembled lest this secret love Might be the Evil Spirit's artful snare; I even schooled my heart to flee your beauty, Thinking it was a bar to my salvation. But soon, enlightened, O all lovely one, I saw how this my passion may be blameless, How I may make it fit with modesty, And thus completely yield my heart to it. 'Tis I must own, a great presumption in me To dare make you the offer of my heart; My love hopes all things from your perfect goodness, And nothing from my own poor weak endeavour. You are my hope, my stay, my peace of heart; On you depends my torment or my bliss; And by your doom of judgment, I shall be Blest, if you will; or damned, by your decree. ELMIRE Your declaration's turned most gallantly; But truly, it is just a bit surprising. You should have better armed your heart, methinks, And taken thought somewhat on such a matter. A pious man like you, known everywhere ... TARTUFFE Though pious, I am none the less a man; And when a man beholds your heavenly charms, The heart surrenders, and can think no more. I know such words seem strange, coming from me; But, madam, I'm no angel, after all; If you condemn my frankly made avowal You only have your charming self to blame. Soon as I saw your more than human beauty, You were thenceforth the sovereign of my soul; Sweetness ineffable was in your eyes, That took by storm my still resisting heart, And conquered everything, fasts, prayers, and tears, And turned my worship wholly to yourself. My looks, my sighs, have spoke a thousand times; Now, to express it all, my voice must speak. If but you will look down with gracious favour Upon the sorrows of your worthless slave, If in your goodness you will give me comfort And condescend unto my nothingness, I'll ever pay you, O sweet miracle, An unexampled worship and devotion. Then too, with me your honour runs no risk; With me you need not fear a public scandal. These court gallants, that women are so fond of, Are boastful of their acts, and vain in speech; They always brag in public of their progress; Soon as a favour's granted, they'll divulge it; Their tattling tongues, if you but trust to them, Will foul the altar where their hearts have worshipped. But men like me are so discreet in love, That you may trust their lasting secrecy. The care we take to guard our own good name May fully guarantee the one we love; So you may find, with hearts like ours sincere, Love without scandal, pleasure without fear. ELMIRE I've heard you through--your speech is clear, at least. But don't you fear that I may take a fancy To tell my husband of your gallant passion, And that a prompt report of this affair May somewhat change the friendship which he bears you? TARTUFFE I know that you're too good and generous, That you will pardon my temerity, Excuse, upon the score of human frailty, The violence of passion that offends you, And not forget, when you consult your mirror, That I'm not blind, and man is made of flesh. ELMIRE Some women might do otherwise, perhaps, But I am willing to employ discretion, And not repeat the matter to my husband; But in return, I'll ask one thing of you: That you urge forward, frankly and sincerely, The marriage of Valere to Mariane; That you give up the unjust influence By which you

ca

How many times the word 'ca' appears in the text?

And he who weds his child against her will Owes heaven account for it, if she do ill. Think then what perils wait on your design. ORGON (to Mariane) So! I must learn what's what from her, you see! DORINE You might do worse than follow my advice. ORGON Daughter, we can't waste time upon this nonsense; I know what's good for you, and I'm your father. True, I had promised you to young Valere; But, first, they tell me he's inclined to gamble, And then, I fear his faith is not quite sound. I haven't noticed that he's regular At church. DORINE You'd have him run there just when you do. Like those who go on purpose to be seen? ORGON I don't ask your opinion on the matter. In short, the other is in Heaven's best graces, And that is riches quite beyond compare. This match will bring you every joy you long for; 'Twill be all steeped in sweetness and delight. You'll live together, in your faithful loves, Like two sweet children, like two turtle-doves; You'll never fail to quarrel, scold, or tease, And you may do with him whate'er you please. DORINE With him? Do naught but give him horns, I'll warrant. ORGON Out on thee, wench! DORINE I tell you he's cut out for't; However great your daughter's virtue, sir, His destiny is sure to prove the stronger. ORGON Have done with interrupting. Hold your tongue. Don't poke your nose in other people's business. DORINE (She keeps interrupting him, just as he turns and starts to speak to his daughter). If I make bold, sir, 'tis for your own good. ORGON You're too officious; pray you, hold your tongue. DORINE 'Tis love of you ... ORGON I want none of your love. DORINE Then I will love you in your own despite. ORGON You will, eh? DORINE Yes, your honour's dear to me; I can't endure to see you made the butt Of all men's ridicule. ORGON Won't you be still? DORINE 'Twould be a sin to let you make this match. ORGON Won't you be still, I say, you impudent viper! DORINE What! you are pious, and you lose your temper? ORGON I'm all wrought up, with your confounded nonsense; Now, once for all, I tell you hold your tongue. DORINE Then mum's the word; I'll take it out in thinking. ORGON Think all you please; but not a syllable To me about it, or ... you understand! (Turning to his daughter.) As a wise father, I've considered all With due deliberation. DORINE I'll go mad If I can't speak. (She stops the instant he turns his head.) ORGON Though he's no lady's man, Tartuffe is well enough ... DORINE A pretty phiz! ORGON So that, although you may not care at all For his best qualities ... DORINE A handsome dowry! (Orgon turns and stands in front of her, with arms folded, eyeing her.) Were I in her place, any man should rue it Who married me by force, that's mighty certain; I'd let him know, and that within a week, A woman's vengeance isn't far to seek. ORGON (to Dorine) So--nothing that I say has any weight? DORINE Eh? What's wrong now? I didn't speak to you. ORGON What were you doing? DORINE Talking to myself. ORGON Oh! Very well. (Aside.) Her monstrous impudence Must be chastised with one good slap in the face. (He stands ready to strike her, and, each time he speaks to his daughter, he glances toward her; but she stands still and says not a word.) [3] [Footnote 3: As given at the Comedie francaise, the action is as follows: While Orgon says, "You must approve of my design," Dorine is making signs to Mariane to resist his orders; Orgon turns around suddenly; but Dorine quickly changes her gesture and with the hand which she had lifted calmly arranges her hair and her cap. Orgon goes on, "Think of the husband ..." and stops before the middle of his sentence to turn and catch the beginning of Dorine's gesture; but he is too quick this time, and Dorine stands looking at his furious countenance with a sweet and gentle expression. He turns and goes on, and the obstinate Dorine again lifts her hand behind his shoulder to urge Mariane to resistance: this time he catches her; but just as he swings his shoulder to give her the promised blow, she stops him by changing the intent of her gesture, and carefully picking from the top of his sleeve a bit of fluff which she holds carefully between her fingers, then blows into the air, and watches intently as it floats away. Orgon is paralysed by her innocence of expression, and compelled to hide his rage.--Regnier, _Le Tartuffe des Comediens_.] ORGON Daughter, you must approve of my design.... Think of this husband ... I have chosen for you... (To Dorine) Why don't you talk to yourself? DORINE Nothing to say. ORGON One little word more. DORINE Oh, no, thanks. Not now. ORGON Sure, I'd have caught you. DORINE Faith, I'm no such fool. ORGON So, daughter, now obedience is the word; You must accept my choice with reverence. DORINE (running away) You'd never catch me marrying such a creature. ORGON (swinging his hand at her and missing her) Daughter, you've such a pestilent hussy there I can't live with her longer, without sin. I can't discuss things in the state I'm in. My mind's so flustered by her insolent talk, To calm myself, I must go take a walk. SCENE III MARIANE, DORINE DORINE Say, have you lost the tongue from out your head? And must I speak your role from A to Zed? You let them broach a project that's absurd, And don't oppose it with a single word! MARIANE What can I do? My father is the master. DORINE Do? Everything, to ward off such disaster. MARIANE But what? DORINE Tell him one doesn't love by proxy; Tell him you'll marry for yourself, not him; Since you're the one for whom the thing is done, You are the one, not he, the man must please; If his Tartuffe has charmed him so, why let him Just marry him himself--no one will hinder. MARIANE A father's rights are such, it seems to me, That I could never dare to say a word. DORINE Came, talk it out. Valere has asked your hand: Now do you love him, pray, or do you not? MARIANE Dorine! How can you wrong my love so much, And ask me such a question? Have I not A hundred times laid bare my heart to you? Do you know how ardently I love him? DORINE How do I know if heart and words agree, And if in honest truth you really love him? MARIANE Dorine, you wrong me greatly if you doubt it; I've shown my inmost feelings, all too plainly. DORINE So then, you love him? MARIANE Yes, devotedly. DORINE And he returns your love, apparently? MARIANE I think so. DORINE And you both alike are eager To be well married to each other? MARIANE Surely. DORINE Then what's your plan about this other match? MARIANE To kill myself, if it is forced upon me. DORINE Good! That's a remedy I hadn't thought of. Just die, and everything will be all right. This medicine is marvellous, indeed! It drives me mad to hear folk talk such nonsense. MARIANE Oh dear, Dorine you get in such a temper! You have no sympathy for people's troubles. DORINE I have no sympathy when folk talk nonsense, And flatten out as you do, at a pinch. MARIANE But what can you expect?--if one is timid?-- DORINE But what is love worth, if it has no courage? MARIANE Am I not constant in my love for him? Is't not his place to win me from my father? DORINE But if your father is a crazy fool, And quite bewitched with his Tartuffe? And breaks His bounden word? Is that your lover's fault? MARIANE But shall I publicly refuse and scorn This match, and make it plain that I'm in love? Shall I cast off for him, whate'er he be, Womanly modesty and filial duty? You ask me to display my love in public ... ? DORINE No, no, I ask you nothing. You shall be Mister Tartuffe's; why, now I think of it, I should be wrong to turn you from this marriage. What cause can I have to oppose your wishes? So fine a match! An excellent good match! Mister Tartuffe! Oh ho! No mean proposal! Mister Tartuffe, sure, take it all in all, Is not a man to sneeze at--oh, by no means! 'Tis no small luck to be his happy spouse. The whole world joins to sing his praise already; He's noble--in his parish; handsome too; Red ears and high complexion--oh, my lud! You'll be too happy, sure, with him for husband. MARIANE Oh dear! ... DORINE What joy and pride will fill your heart To be the bride of such a handsome fellow! MARIANE Oh, stop, I beg you; try to find some way To help break off the match. I quite give in, I'm ready to do anything you say. DORINE No, no, a daughter must obey her father, Though he should want to make her wed a monkey. Besides, your fate is fine. What could be better! You'll take the stage-coach to his little village, And find it full of uncles and of cousins, Whose conversation will delight you. Then You'll be presented in their best society. You'll even go to call, by way of welcome, On Mrs. Bailiff, Mrs. Tax-Collector, Who'll patronise you with a folding-stool. There, once a year, at carnival, you'll have Perhaps--a ball; with orchestra--two bag-pipes; And sometimes a trained ape, and Punch and Judy; Though if your husband ... MARIANE Oh, you'll kill me. Please Contrive to help me out with your advice. DORINE I thank you kindly. MARIANE Oh! Dorine, I beg you ... DORINE To serve you right, this marriage must go through. MARIANE Dear girl! DORINE No. MARIANE If I say I love Valere ... DORINE No, no. Tartuffe's your man, and you shall taste him. MARIANE You know I've always trusted you; now help me ... DORINE No, you shall be, my faith! Tartuffified. MARIANE Well, then, since you've no pity for my fate Let me take counsel only of despair; It will advise and help and give me courage; There's one sure cure, I know, for all my troubles. (She starts to go.) DORINE There, there! Come back. I can't be angry long. I must take pity on you, after all. MARIANE Oh, don't you see, Dorine, if I must bear This martyrdom, I certainly shall die. DORINE Now don't you fret. We'll surely find some way. To hinder this ... But here's Valere, your lover. SCENE IV VALERE, MARIANE, DORINE VALERE Madam, a piece of news--quite new to me-- Has just come out, and very fine it is. MARIANE What piece of news? VALERE Your marriage with Tartuffe. MARIANE 'Tis true my father has this plan in mind. VALERE Your father, madam ... MARIANE Yes, he's changed his plans, And did but now propose it to me. VALERE What! Seriously? MARIANE Yes, he was serious, And openly insisted on the match. VALERE And what's your resolution in the matter, Madam? MARIANE I don't know. VALERE That's a pretty answer. You don't know? MARIANE No. VALERE No? MARIANE What do you advise? VALERE I? My advice is, marry him, by all means. MARIANE That's your advice? VALERE Yes. MARIANE Do you mean it? VALERE Surely. A splendid choice, and worthy of your acceptance. MARIANE Oh, very well, sir! I shall take your counsel. VALERE You'll find no trouble taking it, I warrant. MARIANE No more than you did giving it, be sure. VALERE I gave it, truly, to oblige you, madam. MARIANE And I shall take it to oblige you, sir. Dorine (withdrawing to the back of the stage) Let's see what this affair will come to. VALERE So, That is your love? And it was all deceit When you ... MARIANE I beg you, say no more of that. You told me, squarely, sir, I should accept The husband that is offered me; and I Will tell you squarely that I mean to do so, Since you have given me this good advice. VALERE Don't shield yourself with talk of my advice. You had your mind made up, that's evident; And now you're snatching at a trifling pretext To justify the breaking of your word. MARIANE Exactly so. VALERE Of course it is; your heart Has never known true love for me. MARIANE Alas! You're free to think so, if you please. VALERE Yes, yes, I'm free to think so; and my outraged love May yet forestall you in your perfidy, And offer elsewhere both my heart and hand. MARIANE No doubt of it; the love your high deserts May win ... VALERE Good Lord, have done with my deserts! I know I have but few, and you have proved it. But I may find more kindness in another; I know of someone, who'll not be ashamed To take your leavings, and make up my loss. MARIANE The loss is not so great; you'll easily Console yourself completely for this change. VALERE I'll try my best, that you may well believe. When we're forgotten by a woman's heart, Our pride is challenged; we, too, must forget; Or if we cannot, must at least pretend to. No other way can man such baseness prove, As be a lover scorned, and still in love. MARIANE In faith, a high and noble sentiment. VALERE Yes; and it's one that all men must approve. What! Would you have me keep my love alive, And see you fly into another's arms Before my very eyes; and never offer To someone else the heart that you had scorned? MARIANE Oh, no, indeed! For my part, I could wish That it were done already. VALERE What! You wish it? MARIANE Yes. VALERE This is insult heaped on injury; I'll go at once and do as you desire. (He takes a step or two as if to go away.) MARIANE Oh, very well then. VALERE (turning back) But remember this. 'Twas you that drove me to this desperate pass. MARIANE Of course. VALERE (turning back again) And in the plan that I have formed I only follow your example. MARIANE Yes. VALERE (at the door) Enough; you shall be punctually obeyed. MARIANE So much the better. VALERE (coming back again) This is once for all. MARIANE So be it, then. VALERE (He goes toward the door, but just as he reaches it, turns around) Eh? MARIANE What? VALERE You didn't call me? MARIANE I? You are dreaming. VALERE Very well, I'm gone. Madam, farewell. (He walks slowly away.) MARIANE Farewell, sir. DORINE I must say You've lost your senses and both gone clean daft! I've let you fight it out to the end o' the chapter To see how far the thing could go. Oho, there, Mister Valere! (She goes and seizes him by the arm, to stop him. He makes a great show of resistance.) VALERE What do you want, Dorine? DORINE Come here. VALERE No, no, I'm quite beside myself. Don't hinder me from doing as she wishes. DORINE Stop! VALERE No. You see, I'm fixed, resolved, determined. DORINE So! MARIANE (aside) Since my presence pains him, makes him go, I'd better go myself, and leave him free. DORINE (leaving Valere, and running after Mariane) Now t'other! Where are you going? MARIANE Let me be. DORINE. Come back. MARIANE No, no, it isn't any use. VALERE (aside) 'Tis clear the sight of me is torture to her; No doubt, t'were better I should free her from it. DORINE (leaving Mariane and running after Valere) Same thing again! Deuce take you both, I say. Now stop your fooling; come here, you; and you. (She pulls first one, then the other, toward the middle of the stage.) VALERE (to Dorine) What's your idea? MARIANE (to Dorine) What can you mean to do? DORINE Set you to rights, and pull you out o' the scrape. (To Valere) Are you quite mad, to quarrel with her now? VALERE Didn't you hear the things she said to me? DORINE (to Mariane) Are you quite mad, to get in such a passion? MARIANE Didn't you see the way he treated me? DORINE Fools, both of you. (To Valere) She thinks of nothing else But to keep faith with you, I vouch for it. (To Mariane) And he loves none but you, and longs for nothing But just to marry you, I stake my life on't. MARIANE (to Valere) Why did you give me such advice then, pray? VALERE (to Mariane) Why ask for my advice on such a matter? DORINE You both are daft, I tell you. Here, your hands. (To Valere) Come, yours. VALERE (giving Dorine his hand) What for? DORINE (to Mariane) Now, yours. MARIANE (giving Dorine her hand) But what's the use? DORINE Oh, quick now, come along. There, both of you-- You love each other better than you think. (Valere and Mariane hold each other's hands some time without looking at each other.) VALERE (at last turning toward Mariane) Come, don't be so ungracious now about it; Look at a man as if you didn't hate him. (Mariane looks sideways toward Valere, with just a bit of a smile.) DORINE My faith and troth, what fools these lovers be! VALERE (to Mariane) But come now, have I not a just complaint? And truly, are you not a wicked creature To take delight in saying what would pain me? MARIANE And are you not yourself the most ungrateful ... ? DORINE Leave this discussion till another time; Now, think how you'll stave off this plaguy marriage. MARIANE Then tell us how to go about it. DORINE Well, We'll try all sorts of ways. (To Mariane) Your father's daft; (To Valere) This plan is nonsense. (To Mariane) You had better humour His notions by a semblance of consent, So that in case of danger, you can still Find means to block the marriage by delay. If you gain time, the rest is easy, trust me. One day you'll fool them with a sudden illness, Causing delay; another day, ill omens: You've met a funeral, or broke a mirror, Or dreamed of muddy water. Best of all, They cannot marry you to anyone Without your saying yes. But now, methinks, They mustn't find you chattering together. (To Valere) You, go at once and set your friends at work To make him keep his word to you; while we Will bring the brother's influence to bear, And get the step-mother on our side, too. Good-bye. VALERE (to Mariane) Whatever efforts we may make, My greatest hope, be sure, must rest on you. MARIANE (to Valere) I cannot answer for my father's whims; But no one save Valere shall ever have me. VALERE You thrill me through with joy! Whatever comes ... DORINE Oho! These lovers! Never done with prattling! Now go. VALERE (starting to go, and coming back again) One last word ... DORINE What a gabble and pother! Be off! By this door, you. And you, by t'other. (She pushes them off, by the shoulders, in opposite directions.) ACT III SCENE I DAMIS, DORINE DAMIS May lightning strike me dead this very instant, May I be everywhere proclaimed a scoundrel, If any reverence or power shall stop me, And if I don't do straightway something desperate! DORINE I beg you, moderate this towering passion; Your father did but merely mention it. Not all things that are talked of turn to facts; The road is long, sometimes, from plans to acts. DAMIS No, I must end this paltry fellow's plots, And he shall hear from me a truth or two. DORINE So ho! Go slow now. Just you leave the fellow-- Your father too--in your step-mother's hands. She has some influence with this Tartuffe, He makes a point of heeding all she says, And I suspect that he is fond of her. Would God 'twere true!--'Twould be the height of humour Now, she has sent for him, in your behalf, To sound him on this marriage, to find out What his ideas are, and to show him plainly What troubles he may cause, if he persists In giving countenance to this design. His man says, he's at prayers, I mustn't see him, But likewise says, he'll presently be down. So off with you, and let me wait for him. DAMIS I may be present at this interview. DORINE No, no! They must be left alone. DAMIS I won't So much as speak to him. DORINE Go on! We know you And your high tantrums. Just the way to spoil things! Be off. DAMIS No, I must see--I'll keep my temper. DORINE Out on you, what a plague! He's coming. Hide! (Damis goes and hides in the closet at the back of the stage.) SCENE II TARTUFFE, DORINE TARTUFFE (speaking to his valet, off the stage, as soon as he sees Dorine is there) Lawrence, put up my hair-cloth shirt and scourge, And pray that Heaven may shed its light upon you. If any come to see me, say I'm gone To share my alms among the prisoners. DORINE (aside) What affectation and what showing off! TARTUFFE What do you want with me? DORINE To tell you ... TARTUFFE (taking a handkerchief from his pocket) Ah! Before you speak, pray take this handkerchief. DORINE What? TARTUFFE Cover up that bosom, which I can't Endure to look on. Things like that offend Our souls, and fill our minds with sinful thoughts. DORINE Are you so tender to temptation, then, And has the flesh such power upon your senses? I don't know how you get in such a heat; For my part, I am not so prone to lust, And I could see you stripped from head to foot, And all your hide not tempt me in the least. TARTUFFE Show in your speech some little modesty, Or I must instantly take leave of you. DORINE No, no, I'll leave you to yourself; I've only One thing to say: Madam will soon be down, And begs the favour of a word with you. TARTUFFE Ah! Willingly. DORINE (aside) How gentle all at once! My faith, I still believe I've hit upon it. TARTUFFE Will she come soon? DORINE I think I hear her now. Yes, here she is herself; I'll leave you with her. SCENE III ELMIRE, TARTUFFE TARTUFFE May Heaven's overflowing kindness ever Give you good health of body and of soul, And bless your days according to the wishes And prayers of its most humble votary! ELMIRE I'm very grateful for your pious wishes. But let's sit down, so we may talk at ease. TARTUFFE (after sitting down) And how are you recovered from your illness? ELMIRE (sitting down also) Quite well; the fever soon let go its hold. TARTUFFE My prayers, I fear, have not sufficient merit To have drawn down this favour from on high; But each entreaty that I made to Heaven Had for its object your recovery. ELMIRE You're too solicitous on my behalf. TARTUFFE We could not cherish your dear health too much; I would have given mine, to help restore it. ELMIRE That's pushing Christian charity too far; I owe you many thanks for so much kindness. TARTUFFE I do far less for you than you deserve. ELMIRE There is a matter that I wished to speak of In private; I am glad there's no one here To listen. TARTUFFE Madam, I am overjoyed. 'Tis sweet to find myself alone with you. This is an opportunity I've asked Of Heaven, many a time; till now, in vain. ELMIRE All that I wish, is just a word from you, Quite frank and open, hiding nothing from me. (DAMIS, without their seeing him, opens the closet door halfway.) TARTUFFE I too could wish, as Heaven's especial favour, To lay my soul quite open to your eyes, And swear to you, the trouble that I made About those visits which your charms attract, Does not result from any hatred toward you, But rather from a passionate devotion, And purest motives ... ELMIRE That is how I take it, I think 'tis my salvation that concerns you. TARTUFFE (pressing her finger tips) Madam, 'tis so; and such is my devotion ... ELMIRE Ouch! but you squeeze too hard. TARTUFFE Excess of zeal. In no way could I ever mean to hurt you, And I'd as soon ... (He puts his hand on her knee.) ELMIRE What's your hand doing there? TARTUFFE Feeling your gown; the stuff is very soft. ELMIRE Let be, I beg you; I am very ticklish. (She moves her chair away, and Tartuffe brings his nearer.) TARTUFFE (handling the lace yoke of Elmire's dress) Dear me how wonderful in workmanship This lace is! They do marvels, nowadays; Things of all kinds were never better made. ELMIRE Yes, very true. But let us come to business. They say my husband means to break his word. And marry Mariane to you. Is't so? TARTUFFE He did hint some such thing; but truly, madam, That's not the happiness I'm yearning after; I see elsewhere the sweet compelling charms Of such a joy as fills my every wish. ELMIRE You mean you cannot love terrestrial things. TARTUFFE The heart within my bosom is not stone. ELMIRE I well believe your sighs all tend to Heaven, And nothing here below can stay your thoughts. TARTUFFE Love for the beauty of eternal things Cannot destroy our love for earthly beauty; Our mortal senses well may be entranced By perfect works that Heaven has fashioned here. Its charms reflected shine in such as you, And in yourself, its rarest miracles; It has displayed such marvels in your face, That eyes are dazed, and hearts are rapt away; I could not look on you, the perfect creature, Without admiring Nature's great Creator, And feeling all my heart inflamed with love For you, His fairest image of Himself. At first I trembled lest this secret love Might be the Evil Spirit's artful snare; I even schooled my heart to flee your beauty, Thinking it was a bar to my salvation. But soon, enlightened, O all lovely one, I saw how this my passion may be blameless, How I may make it fit with modesty, And thus completely yield my heart to it. 'Tis I must own, a great presumption in me To dare make you the offer of my heart; My love hopes all things from your perfect goodness, And nothing from my own poor weak endeavour. You are my hope, my stay, my peace of heart; On you depends my torment or my bliss; And by your doom of judgment, I shall be Blest, if you will; or damned, by your decree. ELMIRE Your declaration's turned most gallantly; But truly, it is just a bit surprising. You should have better armed your heart, methinks, And taken thought somewhat on such a matter. A pious man like you, known everywhere ... TARTUFFE Though pious, I am none the less a man; And when a man beholds your heavenly charms, The heart surrenders, and can think no more. I know such words seem strange, coming from me; But, madam, I'm no angel, after all; If you condemn my frankly made avowal You only have your charming self to blame. Soon as I saw your more than human beauty, You were thenceforth the sovereign of my soul; Sweetness ineffable was in your eyes, That took by storm my still resisting heart, And conquered everything, fasts, prayers, and tears, And turned my worship wholly to yourself. My looks, my sighs, have spoke a thousand times; Now, to express it all, my voice must speak. If but you will look down with gracious favour Upon the sorrows of your worthless slave, If in your goodness you will give me comfort And condescend unto my nothingness, I'll ever pay you, O sweet miracle, An unexampled worship and devotion. Then too, with me your honour runs no risk; With me you need not fear a public scandal. These court gallants, that women are so fond of, Are boastful of their acts, and vain in speech; They always brag in public of their progress; Soon as a favour's granted, they'll divulge it; Their tattling tongues, if you but trust to them, Will foul the altar where their hearts have worshipped. But men like me are so discreet in love, That you may trust their lasting secrecy. The care we take to guard our own good name May fully guarantee the one we love; So you may find, with hearts like ours sincere, Love without scandal, pleasure without fear. ELMIRE I've heard you through--your speech is clear, at least. But don't you fear that I may take a fancy To tell my husband of your gallant passion, And that a prompt report of this affair May somewhat change the friendship which he bears you? TARTUFFE I know that you're too good and generous, That you will pardon my temerity, Excuse, upon the score of human frailty, The violence of passion that offends you, And not forget, when you consult your mirror, That I'm not blind, and man is made of flesh. ELMIRE Some women might do otherwise, perhaps, But I am willing to employ discretion, And not repeat the matter to my husband; But in return, I'll ask one thing of you: That you urge forward, frankly and sincerely, The marriage of Valere to Mariane; That you give up the unjust influence By which you

sin

How many times the word 'sin' appears in the text?

And he who weds his child against her will Owes heaven account for it, if she do ill. Think then what perils wait on your design. ORGON (to Mariane) So! I must learn what's what from her, you see! DORINE You might do worse than follow my advice. ORGON Daughter, we can't waste time upon this nonsense; I know what's good for you, and I'm your father. True, I had promised you to young Valere; But, first, they tell me he's inclined to gamble, And then, I fear his faith is not quite sound. I haven't noticed that he's regular At church. DORINE You'd have him run there just when you do. Like those who go on purpose to be seen? ORGON I don't ask your opinion on the matter. In short, the other is in Heaven's best graces, And that is riches quite beyond compare. This match will bring you every joy you long for; 'Twill be all steeped in sweetness and delight. You'll live together, in your faithful loves, Like two sweet children, like two turtle-doves; You'll never fail to quarrel, scold, or tease, And you may do with him whate'er you please. DORINE With him? Do naught but give him horns, I'll warrant. ORGON Out on thee, wench! DORINE I tell you he's cut out for't; However great your daughter's virtue, sir, His destiny is sure to prove the stronger. ORGON Have done with interrupting. Hold your tongue. Don't poke your nose in other people's business. DORINE (She keeps interrupting him, just as he turns and starts to speak to his daughter). If I make bold, sir, 'tis for your own good. ORGON You're too officious; pray you, hold your tongue. DORINE 'Tis love of you ... ORGON I want none of your love. DORINE Then I will love you in your own despite. ORGON You will, eh? DORINE Yes, your honour's dear to me; I can't endure to see you made the butt Of all men's ridicule. ORGON Won't you be still? DORINE 'Twould be a sin to let you make this match. ORGON Won't you be still, I say, you impudent viper! DORINE What! you are pious, and you lose your temper? ORGON I'm all wrought up, with your confounded nonsense; Now, once for all, I tell you hold your tongue. DORINE Then mum's the word; I'll take it out in thinking. ORGON Think all you please; but not a syllable To me about it, or ... you understand! (Turning to his daughter.) As a wise father, I've considered all With due deliberation. DORINE I'll go mad If I can't speak. (She stops the instant he turns his head.) ORGON Though he's no lady's man, Tartuffe is well enough ... DORINE A pretty phiz! ORGON So that, although you may not care at all For his best qualities ... DORINE A handsome dowry! (Orgon turns and stands in front of her, with arms folded, eyeing her.) Were I in her place, any man should rue it Who married me by force, that's mighty certain; I'd let him know, and that within a week, A woman's vengeance isn't far to seek. ORGON (to Dorine) So--nothing that I say has any weight? DORINE Eh? What's wrong now? I didn't speak to you. ORGON What were you doing? DORINE Talking to myself. ORGON Oh! Very well. (Aside.) Her monstrous impudence Must be chastised with one good slap in the face. (He stands ready to strike her, and, each time he speaks to his daughter, he glances toward her; but she stands still and says not a word.) [3] [Footnote 3: As given at the Comedie francaise, the action is as follows: While Orgon says, "You must approve of my design," Dorine is making signs to Mariane to resist his orders; Orgon turns around suddenly; but Dorine quickly changes her gesture and with the hand which she had lifted calmly arranges her hair and her cap. Orgon goes on, "Think of the husband ..." and stops before the middle of his sentence to turn and catch the beginning of Dorine's gesture; but he is too quick this time, and Dorine stands looking at his furious countenance with a sweet and gentle expression. He turns and goes on, and the obstinate Dorine again lifts her hand behind his shoulder to urge Mariane to resistance: this time he catches her; but just as he swings his shoulder to give her the promised blow, she stops him by changing the intent of her gesture, and carefully picking from the top of his sleeve a bit of fluff which she holds carefully between her fingers, then blows into the air, and watches intently as it floats away. Orgon is paralysed by her innocence of expression, and compelled to hide his rage.--Regnier, _Le Tartuffe des Comediens_.] ORGON Daughter, you must approve of my design.... Think of this husband ... I have chosen for you... (To Dorine) Why don't you talk to yourself? DORINE Nothing to say. ORGON One little word more. DORINE Oh, no, thanks. Not now. ORGON Sure, I'd have caught you. DORINE Faith, I'm no such fool. ORGON So, daughter, now obedience is the word; You must accept my choice with reverence. DORINE (running away) You'd never catch me marrying such a creature. ORGON (swinging his hand at her and missing her) Daughter, you've such a pestilent hussy there I can't live with her longer, without sin. I can't discuss things in the state I'm in. My mind's so flustered by her insolent talk, To calm myself, I must go take a walk. SCENE III MARIANE, DORINE DORINE Say, have you lost the tongue from out your head? And must I speak your role from A to Zed? You let them broach a project that's absurd, And don't oppose it with a single word! MARIANE What can I do? My father is the master. DORINE Do? Everything, to ward off such disaster. MARIANE But what? DORINE Tell him one doesn't love by proxy; Tell him you'll marry for yourself, not him; Since you're the one for whom the thing is done, You are the one, not he, the man must please; If his Tartuffe has charmed him so, why let him Just marry him himself--no one will hinder. MARIANE A father's rights are such, it seems to me, That I could never dare to say a word. DORINE Came, talk it out. Valere has asked your hand: Now do you love him, pray, or do you not? MARIANE Dorine! How can you wrong my love so much, And ask me such a question? Have I not A hundred times laid bare my heart to you? Do you know how ardently I love him? DORINE How do I know if heart and words agree, And if in honest truth you really love him? MARIANE Dorine, you wrong me greatly if you doubt it; I've shown my inmost feelings, all too plainly. DORINE So then, you love him? MARIANE Yes, devotedly. DORINE And he returns your love, apparently? MARIANE I think so. DORINE And you both alike are eager To be well married to each other? MARIANE Surely. DORINE Then what's your plan about this other match? MARIANE To kill myself, if it is forced upon me. DORINE Good! That's a remedy I hadn't thought of. Just die, and everything will be all right. This medicine is marvellous, indeed! It drives me mad to hear folk talk such nonsense. MARIANE Oh dear, Dorine you get in such a temper! You have no sympathy for people's troubles. DORINE I have no sympathy when folk talk nonsense, And flatten out as you do, at a pinch. MARIANE But what can you expect?--if one is timid?-- DORINE But what is love worth, if it has no courage? MARIANE Am I not constant in my love for him? Is't not his place to win me from my father? DORINE But if your father is a crazy fool, And quite bewitched with his Tartuffe? And breaks His bounden word? Is that your lover's fault? MARIANE But shall I publicly refuse and scorn This match, and make it plain that I'm in love? Shall I cast off for him, whate'er he be, Womanly modesty and filial duty? You ask me to display my love in public ... ? DORINE No, no, I ask you nothing. You shall be Mister Tartuffe's; why, now I think of it, I should be wrong to turn you from this marriage. What cause can I have to oppose your wishes? So fine a match! An excellent good match! Mister Tartuffe! Oh ho! No mean proposal! Mister Tartuffe, sure, take it all in all, Is not a man to sneeze at--oh, by no means! 'Tis no small luck to be his happy spouse. The whole world joins to sing his praise already; He's noble--in his parish; handsome too; Red ears and high complexion--oh, my lud! You'll be too happy, sure, with him for husband. MARIANE Oh dear! ... DORINE What joy and pride will fill your heart To be the bride of such a handsome fellow! MARIANE Oh, stop, I beg you; try to find some way To help break off the match. I quite give in, I'm ready to do anything you say. DORINE No, no, a daughter must obey her father, Though he should want to make her wed a monkey. Besides, your fate is fine. What could be better! You'll take the stage-coach to his little village, And find it full of uncles and of cousins, Whose conversation will delight you. Then You'll be presented in their best society. You'll even go to call, by way of welcome, On Mrs. Bailiff, Mrs. Tax-Collector, Who'll patronise you with a folding-stool. There, once a year, at carnival, you'll have Perhaps--a ball; with orchestra--two bag-pipes; And sometimes a trained ape, and Punch and Judy; Though if your husband ... MARIANE Oh, you'll kill me. Please Contrive to help me out with your advice. DORINE I thank you kindly. MARIANE Oh! Dorine, I beg you ... DORINE To serve you right, this marriage must go through. MARIANE Dear girl! DORINE No. MARIANE If I say I love Valere ... DORINE No, no. Tartuffe's your man, and you shall taste him. MARIANE You know I've always trusted you; now help me ... DORINE No, you shall be, my faith! Tartuffified. MARIANE Well, then, since you've no pity for my fate Let me take counsel only of despair; It will advise and help and give me courage; There's one sure cure, I know, for all my troubles. (She starts to go.) DORINE There, there! Come back. I can't be angry long. I must take pity on you, after all. MARIANE Oh, don't you see, Dorine, if I must bear This martyrdom, I certainly shall die. DORINE Now don't you fret. We'll surely find some way. To hinder this ... But here's Valere, your lover. SCENE IV VALERE, MARIANE, DORINE VALERE Madam, a piece of news--quite new to me-- Has just come out, and very fine it is. MARIANE What piece of news? VALERE Your marriage with Tartuffe. MARIANE 'Tis true my father has this plan in mind. VALERE Your father, madam ... MARIANE Yes, he's changed his plans, And did but now propose it to me. VALERE What! Seriously? MARIANE Yes, he was serious, And openly insisted on the match. VALERE And what's your resolution in the matter, Madam? MARIANE I don't know. VALERE That's a pretty answer. You don't know? MARIANE No. VALERE No? MARIANE What do you advise? VALERE I? My advice is, marry him, by all means. MARIANE That's your advice? VALERE Yes. MARIANE Do you mean it? VALERE Surely. A splendid choice, and worthy of your acceptance. MARIANE Oh, very well, sir! I shall take your counsel. VALERE You'll find no trouble taking it, I warrant. MARIANE No more than you did giving it, be sure. VALERE I gave it, truly, to oblige you, madam. MARIANE And I shall take it to oblige you, sir. Dorine (withdrawing to the back of the stage) Let's see what this affair will come to. VALERE So, That is your love? And it was all deceit When you ... MARIANE I beg you, say no more of that. You told me, squarely, sir, I should accept The husband that is offered me; and I Will tell you squarely that I mean to do so, Since you have given me this good advice. VALERE Don't shield yourself with talk of my advice. You had your mind made up, that's evident; And now you're snatching at a trifling pretext To justify the breaking of your word. MARIANE Exactly so. VALERE Of course it is; your heart Has never known true love for me. MARIANE Alas! You're free to think so, if you please. VALERE Yes, yes, I'm free to think so; and my outraged love May yet forestall you in your perfidy, And offer elsewhere both my heart and hand. MARIANE No doubt of it; the love your high deserts May win ... VALERE Good Lord, have done with my deserts! I know I have but few, and you have proved it. But I may find more kindness in another; I know of someone, who'll not be ashamed To take your leavings, and make up my loss. MARIANE The loss is not so great; you'll easily Console yourself completely for this change. VALERE I'll try my best, that you may well believe. When we're forgotten by a woman's heart, Our pride is challenged; we, too, must forget; Or if we cannot, must at least pretend to. No other way can man such baseness prove, As be a lover scorned, and still in love. MARIANE In faith, a high and noble sentiment. VALERE Yes; and it's one that all men must approve. What! Would you have me keep my love alive, And see you fly into another's arms Before my very eyes; and never offer To someone else the heart that you had scorned? MARIANE Oh, no, indeed! For my part, I could wish That it were done already. VALERE What! You wish it? MARIANE Yes. VALERE This is insult heaped on injury; I'll go at once and do as you desire. (He takes a step or two as if to go away.) MARIANE Oh, very well then. VALERE (turning back) But remember this. 'Twas you that drove me to this desperate pass. MARIANE Of course. VALERE (turning back again) And in the plan that I have formed I only follow your example. MARIANE Yes. VALERE (at the door) Enough; you shall be punctually obeyed. MARIANE So much the better. VALERE (coming back again) This is once for all. MARIANE So be it, then. VALERE (He goes toward the door, but just as he reaches it, turns around) Eh? MARIANE What? VALERE You didn't call me? MARIANE I? You are dreaming. VALERE Very well, I'm gone. Madam, farewell. (He walks slowly away.) MARIANE Farewell, sir. DORINE I must say You've lost your senses and both gone clean daft! I've let you fight it out to the end o' the chapter To see how far the thing could go. Oho, there, Mister Valere! (She goes and seizes him by the arm, to stop him. He makes a great show of resistance.) VALERE What do you want, Dorine? DORINE Come here. VALERE No, no, I'm quite beside myself. Don't hinder me from doing as she wishes. DORINE Stop! VALERE No. You see, I'm fixed, resolved, determined. DORINE So! MARIANE (aside) Since my presence pains him, makes him go, I'd better go myself, and leave him free. DORINE (leaving Valere, and running after Mariane) Now t'other! Where are you going? MARIANE Let me be. DORINE. Come back. MARIANE No, no, it isn't any use. VALERE (aside) 'Tis clear the sight of me is torture to her; No doubt, t'were better I should free her from it. DORINE (leaving Mariane and running after Valere) Same thing again! Deuce take you both, I say. Now stop your fooling; come here, you; and you. (She pulls first one, then the other, toward the middle of the stage.) VALERE (to Dorine) What's your idea? MARIANE (to Dorine) What can you mean to do? DORINE Set you to rights, and pull you out o' the scrape. (To Valere) Are you quite mad, to quarrel with her now? VALERE Didn't you hear the things she said to me? DORINE (to Mariane) Are you quite mad, to get in such a passion? MARIANE Didn't you see the way he treated me? DORINE Fools, both of you. (To Valere) She thinks of nothing else But to keep faith with you, I vouch for it. (To Mariane) And he loves none but you, and longs for nothing But just to marry you, I stake my life on't. MARIANE (to Valere) Why did you give me such advice then, pray? VALERE (to Mariane) Why ask for my advice on such a matter? DORINE You both are daft, I tell you. Here, your hands. (To Valere) Come, yours. VALERE (giving Dorine his hand) What for? DORINE (to Mariane) Now, yours. MARIANE (giving Dorine her hand) But what's the use? DORINE Oh, quick now, come along. There, both of you-- You love each other better than you think. (Valere and Mariane hold each other's hands some time without looking at each other.) VALERE (at last turning toward Mariane) Come, don't be so ungracious now about it; Look at a man as if you didn't hate him. (Mariane looks sideways toward Valere, with just a bit of a smile.) DORINE My faith and troth, what fools these lovers be! VALERE (to Mariane) But come now, have I not a just complaint? And truly, are you not a wicked creature To take delight in saying what would pain me? MARIANE And are you not yourself the most ungrateful ... ? DORINE Leave this discussion till another time; Now, think how you'll stave off this plaguy marriage. MARIANE Then tell us how to go about it. DORINE Well, We'll try all sorts of ways. (To Mariane) Your father's daft; (To Valere) This plan is nonsense. (To Mariane) You had better humour His notions by a semblance of consent, So that in case of danger, you can still Find means to block the marriage by delay. If you gain time, the rest is easy, trust me. One day you'll fool them with a sudden illness, Causing delay; another day, ill omens: You've met a funeral, or broke a mirror, Or dreamed of muddy water. Best of all, They cannot marry you to anyone Without your saying yes. But now, methinks, They mustn't find you chattering together. (To Valere) You, go at once and set your friends at work To make him keep his word to you; while we Will bring the brother's influence to bear, And get the step-mother on our side, too. Good-bye. VALERE (to Mariane) Whatever efforts we may make, My greatest hope, be sure, must rest on you. MARIANE (to Valere) I cannot answer for my father's whims; But no one save Valere shall ever have me. VALERE You thrill me through with joy! Whatever comes ... DORINE Oho! These lovers! Never done with prattling! Now go. VALERE (starting to go, and coming back again) One last word ... DORINE What a gabble and pother! Be off! By this door, you. And you, by t'other. (She pushes them off, by the shoulders, in opposite directions.) ACT III SCENE I DAMIS, DORINE DAMIS May lightning strike me dead this very instant, May I be everywhere proclaimed a scoundrel, If any reverence or power shall stop me, And if I don't do straightway something desperate! DORINE I beg you, moderate this towering passion; Your father did but merely mention it. Not all things that are talked of turn to facts; The road is long, sometimes, from plans to acts. DAMIS No, I must end this paltry fellow's plots, And he shall hear from me a truth or two. DORINE So ho! Go slow now. Just you leave the fellow-- Your father too--in your step-mother's hands. She has some influence with this Tartuffe, He makes a point of heeding all she says, And I suspect that he is fond of her. Would God 'twere true!--'Twould be the height of humour Now, she has sent for him, in your behalf, To sound him on this marriage, to find out What his ideas are, and to show him plainly What troubles he may cause, if he persists In giving countenance to this design. His man says, he's at prayers, I mustn't see him, But likewise says, he'll presently be down. So off with you, and let me wait for him. DAMIS I may be present at this interview. DORINE No, no! They must be left alone. DAMIS I won't So much as speak to him. DORINE Go on! We know you And your high tantrums. Just the way to spoil things! Be off. DAMIS No, I must see--I'll keep my temper. DORINE Out on you, what a plague! He's coming. Hide! (Damis goes and hides in the closet at the back of the stage.) SCENE II TARTUFFE, DORINE TARTUFFE (speaking to his valet, off the stage, as soon as he sees Dorine is there) Lawrence, put up my hair-cloth shirt and scourge, And pray that Heaven may shed its light upon you. If any come to see me, say I'm gone To share my alms among the prisoners. DORINE (aside) What affectation and what showing off! TARTUFFE What do you want with me? DORINE To tell you ... TARTUFFE (taking a handkerchief from his pocket) Ah! Before you speak, pray take this handkerchief. DORINE What? TARTUFFE Cover up that bosom, which I can't Endure to look on. Things like that offend Our souls, and fill our minds with sinful thoughts. DORINE Are you so tender to temptation, then, And has the flesh such power upon your senses? I don't know how you get in such a heat; For my part, I am not so prone to lust, And I could see you stripped from head to foot, And all your hide not tempt me in the least. TARTUFFE Show in your speech some little modesty, Or I must instantly take leave of you. DORINE No, no, I'll leave you to yourself; I've only One thing to say: Madam will soon be down, And begs the favour of a word with you. TARTUFFE Ah! Willingly. DORINE (aside) How gentle all at once! My faith, I still believe I've hit upon it. TARTUFFE Will she come soon? DORINE I think I hear her now. Yes, here she is herself; I'll leave you with her. SCENE III ELMIRE, TARTUFFE TARTUFFE May Heaven's overflowing kindness ever Give you good health of body and of soul, And bless your days according to the wishes And prayers of its most humble votary! ELMIRE I'm very grateful for your pious wishes. But let's sit down, so we may talk at ease. TARTUFFE (after sitting down) And how are you recovered from your illness? ELMIRE (sitting down also) Quite well; the fever soon let go its hold. TARTUFFE My prayers, I fear, have not sufficient merit To have drawn down this favour from on high; But each entreaty that I made to Heaven Had for its object your recovery. ELMIRE You're too solicitous on my behalf. TARTUFFE We could not cherish your dear health too much; I would have given mine, to help restore it. ELMIRE That's pushing Christian charity too far; I owe you many thanks for so much kindness. TARTUFFE I do far less for you than you deserve. ELMIRE There is a matter that I wished to speak of In private; I am glad there's no one here To listen. TARTUFFE Madam, I am overjoyed. 'Tis sweet to find myself alone with you. This is an opportunity I've asked Of Heaven, many a time; till now, in vain. ELMIRE All that I wish, is just a word from you, Quite frank and open, hiding nothing from me. (DAMIS, without their seeing him, opens the closet door halfway.) TARTUFFE I too could wish, as Heaven's especial favour, To lay my soul quite open to your eyes, And swear to you, the trouble that I made About those visits which your charms attract, Does not result from any hatred toward you, But rather from a passionate devotion, And purest motives ... ELMIRE That is how I take it, I think 'tis my salvation that concerns you. TARTUFFE (pressing her finger tips) Madam, 'tis so; and such is my devotion ... ELMIRE Ouch! but you squeeze too hard. TARTUFFE Excess of zeal. In no way could I ever mean to hurt you, And I'd as soon ... (He puts his hand on her knee.) ELMIRE What's your hand doing there? TARTUFFE Feeling your gown; the stuff is very soft. ELMIRE Let be, I beg you; I am very ticklish. (She moves her chair away, and Tartuffe brings his nearer.) TARTUFFE (handling the lace yoke of Elmire's dress) Dear me how wonderful in workmanship This lace is! They do marvels, nowadays; Things of all kinds were never better made. ELMIRE Yes, very true. But let us come to business. They say my husband means to break his word. And marry Mariane to you. Is't so? TARTUFFE He did hint some such thing; but truly, madam, That's not the happiness I'm yearning after; I see elsewhere the sweet compelling charms Of such a joy as fills my every wish. ELMIRE You mean you cannot love terrestrial things. TARTUFFE The heart within my bosom is not stone. ELMIRE I well believe your sighs all tend to Heaven, And nothing here below can stay your thoughts. TARTUFFE Love for the beauty of eternal things Cannot destroy our love for earthly beauty; Our mortal senses well may be entranced By perfect works that Heaven has fashioned here. Its charms reflected shine in such as you, And in yourself, its rarest miracles; It has displayed such marvels in your face, That eyes are dazed, and hearts are rapt away; I could not look on you, the perfect creature, Without admiring Nature's great Creator, And feeling all my heart inflamed with love For you, His fairest image of Himself. At first I trembled lest this secret love Might be the Evil Spirit's artful snare; I even schooled my heart to flee your beauty, Thinking it was a bar to my salvation. But soon, enlightened, O all lovely one, I saw how this my passion may be blameless, How I may make it fit with modesty, And thus completely yield my heart to it. 'Tis I must own, a great presumption in me To dare make you the offer of my heart; My love hopes all things from your perfect goodness, And nothing from my own poor weak endeavour. You are my hope, my stay, my peace of heart; On you depends my torment or my bliss; And by your doom of judgment, I shall be Blest, if you will; or damned, by your decree. ELMIRE Your declaration's turned most gallantly; But truly, it is just a bit surprising. You should have better armed your heart, methinks, And taken thought somewhat on such a matter. A pious man like you, known everywhere ... TARTUFFE Though pious, I am none the less a man; And when a man beholds your heavenly charms, The heart surrenders, and can think no more. I know such words seem strange, coming from me; But, madam, I'm no angel, after all; If you condemn my frankly made avowal You only have your charming self to blame. Soon as I saw your more than human beauty, You were thenceforth the sovereign of my soul; Sweetness ineffable was in your eyes, That took by storm my still resisting heart, And conquered everything, fasts, prayers, and tears, And turned my worship wholly to yourself. My looks, my sighs, have spoke a thousand times; Now, to express it all, my voice must speak. If but you will look down with gracious favour Upon the sorrows of your worthless slave, If in your goodness you will give me comfort And condescend unto my nothingness, I'll ever pay you, O sweet miracle, An unexampled worship and devotion. Then too, with me your honour runs no risk; With me you need not fear a public scandal. These court gallants, that women are so fond of, Are boastful of their acts, and vain in speech; They always brag in public of their progress; Soon as a favour's granted, they'll divulge it; Their tattling tongues, if you but trust to them, Will foul the altar where their hearts have worshipped. But men like me are so discreet in love, That you may trust their lasting secrecy. The care we take to guard our own good name May fully guarantee the one we love; So you may find, with hearts like ours sincere, Love without scandal, pleasure without fear. ELMIRE I've heard you through--your speech is clear, at least. But don't you fear that I may take a fancy To tell my husband of your gallant passion, And that a prompt report of this affair May somewhat change the friendship which he bears you? TARTUFFE I know that you're too good and generous, That you will pardon my temerity, Excuse, upon the score of human frailty, The violence of passion that offends you, And not forget, when you consult your mirror, That I'm not blind, and man is made of flesh. ELMIRE Some women might do otherwise, perhaps, But I am willing to employ discretion, And not repeat the matter to my husband; But in return, I'll ask one thing of you: That you urge forward, frankly and sincerely, The marriage of Valere to Mariane; That you give up the unjust influence By which you

ma

How many times the word 'ma' appears in the text?

And he who weds his child against her will Owes heaven account for it, if she do ill. Think then what perils wait on your design. ORGON (to Mariane) So! I must learn what's what from her, you see! DORINE You might do worse than follow my advice. ORGON Daughter, we can't waste time upon this nonsense; I know what's good for you, and I'm your father. True, I had promised you to young Valere; But, first, they tell me he's inclined to gamble, And then, I fear his faith is not quite sound. I haven't noticed that he's regular At church. DORINE You'd have him run there just when you do. Like those who go on purpose to be seen? ORGON I don't ask your opinion on the matter. In short, the other is in Heaven's best graces, And that is riches quite beyond compare. This match will bring you every joy you long for; 'Twill be all steeped in sweetness and delight. You'll live together, in your faithful loves, Like two sweet children, like two turtle-doves; You'll never fail to quarrel, scold, or tease, And you may do with him whate'er you please. DORINE With him? Do naught but give him horns, I'll warrant. ORGON Out on thee, wench! DORINE I tell you he's cut out for't; However great your daughter's virtue, sir, His destiny is sure to prove the stronger. ORGON Have done with interrupting. Hold your tongue. Don't poke your nose in other people's business. DORINE (She keeps interrupting him, just as he turns and starts to speak to his daughter). If I make bold, sir, 'tis for your own good. ORGON You're too officious; pray you, hold your tongue. DORINE 'Tis love of you ... ORGON I want none of your love. DORINE Then I will love you in your own despite. ORGON You will, eh? DORINE Yes, your honour's dear to me; I can't endure to see you made the butt Of all men's ridicule. ORGON Won't you be still? DORINE 'Twould be a sin to let you make this match. ORGON Won't you be still, I say, you impudent viper! DORINE What! you are pious, and you lose your temper? ORGON I'm all wrought up, with your confounded nonsense; Now, once for all, I tell you hold your tongue. DORINE Then mum's the word; I'll take it out in thinking. ORGON Think all you please; but not a syllable To me about it, or ... you understand! (Turning to his daughter.) As a wise father, I've considered all With due deliberation. DORINE I'll go mad If I can't speak. (She stops the instant he turns his head.) ORGON Though he's no lady's man, Tartuffe is well enough ... DORINE A pretty phiz! ORGON So that, although you may not care at all For his best qualities ... DORINE A handsome dowry! (Orgon turns and stands in front of her, with arms folded, eyeing her.) Were I in her place, any man should rue it Who married me by force, that's mighty certain; I'd let him know, and that within a week, A woman's vengeance isn't far to seek. ORGON (to Dorine) So--nothing that I say has any weight? DORINE Eh? What's wrong now? I didn't speak to you. ORGON What were you doing? DORINE Talking to myself. ORGON Oh! Very well. (Aside.) Her monstrous impudence Must be chastised with one good slap in the face. (He stands ready to strike her, and, each time he speaks to his daughter, he glances toward her; but she stands still and says not a word.) [3] [Footnote 3: As given at the Comedie francaise, the action is as follows: While Orgon says, "You must approve of my design," Dorine is making signs to Mariane to resist his orders; Orgon turns around suddenly; but Dorine quickly changes her gesture and with the hand which she had lifted calmly arranges her hair and her cap. Orgon goes on, "Think of the husband ..." and stops before the middle of his sentence to turn and catch the beginning of Dorine's gesture; but he is too quick this time, and Dorine stands looking at his furious countenance with a sweet and gentle expression. He turns and goes on, and the obstinate Dorine again lifts her hand behind his shoulder to urge Mariane to resistance: this time he catches her; but just as he swings his shoulder to give her the promised blow, she stops him by changing the intent of her gesture, and carefully picking from the top of his sleeve a bit of fluff which she holds carefully between her fingers, then blows into the air, and watches intently as it floats away. Orgon is paralysed by her innocence of expression, and compelled to hide his rage.--Regnier, _Le Tartuffe des Comediens_.] ORGON Daughter, you must approve of my design.... Think of this husband ... I have chosen for you... (To Dorine) Why don't you talk to yourself? DORINE Nothing to say. ORGON One little word more. DORINE Oh, no, thanks. Not now. ORGON Sure, I'd have caught you. DORINE Faith, I'm no such fool. ORGON So, daughter, now obedience is the word; You must accept my choice with reverence. DORINE (running away) You'd never catch me marrying such a creature. ORGON (swinging his hand at her and missing her) Daughter, you've such a pestilent hussy there I can't live with her longer, without sin. I can't discuss things in the state I'm in. My mind's so flustered by her insolent talk, To calm myself, I must go take a walk. SCENE III MARIANE, DORINE DORINE Say, have you lost the tongue from out your head? And must I speak your role from A to Zed? You let them broach a project that's absurd, And don't oppose it with a single word! MARIANE What can I do? My father is the master. DORINE Do? Everything, to ward off such disaster. MARIANE But what? DORINE Tell him one doesn't love by proxy; Tell him you'll marry for yourself, not him; Since you're the one for whom the thing is done, You are the one, not he, the man must please; If his Tartuffe has charmed him so, why let him Just marry him himself--no one will hinder. MARIANE A father's rights are such, it seems to me, That I could never dare to say a word. DORINE Came, talk it out. Valere has asked your hand: Now do you love him, pray, or do you not? MARIANE Dorine! How can you wrong my love so much, And ask me such a question? Have I not A hundred times laid bare my heart to you? Do you know how ardently I love him? DORINE How do I know if heart and words agree, And if in honest truth you really love him? MARIANE Dorine, you wrong me greatly if you doubt it; I've shown my inmost feelings, all too plainly. DORINE So then, you love him? MARIANE Yes, devotedly. DORINE And he returns your love, apparently? MARIANE I think so. DORINE And you both alike are eager To be well married to each other? MARIANE Surely. DORINE Then what's your plan about this other match? MARIANE To kill myself, if it is forced upon me. DORINE Good! That's a remedy I hadn't thought of. Just die, and everything will be all right. This medicine is marvellous, indeed! It drives me mad to hear folk talk such nonsense. MARIANE Oh dear, Dorine you get in such a temper! You have no sympathy for people's troubles. DORINE I have no sympathy when folk talk nonsense, And flatten out as you do, at a pinch. MARIANE But what can you expect?--if one is timid?-- DORINE But what is love worth, if it has no courage? MARIANE Am I not constant in my love for him? Is't not his place to win me from my father? DORINE But if your father is a crazy fool, And quite bewitched with his Tartuffe? And breaks His bounden word? Is that your lover's fault? MARIANE But shall I publicly refuse and scorn This match, and make it plain that I'm in love? Shall I cast off for him, whate'er he be, Womanly modesty and filial duty? You ask me to display my love in public ... ? DORINE No, no, I ask you nothing. You shall be Mister Tartuffe's; why, now I think of it, I should be wrong to turn you from this marriage. What cause can I have to oppose your wishes? So fine a match! An excellent good match! Mister Tartuffe! Oh ho! No mean proposal! Mister Tartuffe, sure, take it all in all, Is not a man to sneeze at--oh, by no means! 'Tis no small luck to be his happy spouse. The whole world joins to sing his praise already; He's noble--in his parish; handsome too; Red ears and high complexion--oh, my lud! You'll be too happy, sure, with him for husband. MARIANE Oh dear! ... DORINE What joy and pride will fill your heart To be the bride of such a handsome fellow! MARIANE Oh, stop, I beg you; try to find some way To help break off the match. I quite give in, I'm ready to do anything you say. DORINE No, no, a daughter must obey her father, Though he should want to make her wed a monkey. Besides, your fate is fine. What could be better! You'll take the stage-coach to his little village, And find it full of uncles and of cousins, Whose conversation will delight you. Then You'll be presented in their best society. You'll even go to call, by way of welcome, On Mrs. Bailiff, Mrs. Tax-Collector, Who'll patronise you with a folding-stool. There, once a year, at carnival, you'll have Perhaps--a ball; with orchestra--two bag-pipes; And sometimes a trained ape, and Punch and Judy; Though if your husband ... MARIANE Oh, you'll kill me. Please Contrive to help me out with your advice. DORINE I thank you kindly. MARIANE Oh! Dorine, I beg you ... DORINE To serve you right, this marriage must go through. MARIANE Dear girl! DORINE No. MARIANE If I say I love Valere ... DORINE No, no. Tartuffe's your man, and you shall taste him. MARIANE You know I've always trusted you; now help me ... DORINE No, you shall be, my faith! Tartuffified. MARIANE Well, then, since you've no pity for my fate Let me take counsel only of despair; It will advise and help and give me courage; There's one sure cure, I know, for all my troubles. (She starts to go.) DORINE There, there! Come back. I can't be angry long. I must take pity on you, after all. MARIANE Oh, don't you see, Dorine, if I must bear This martyrdom, I certainly shall die. DORINE Now don't you fret. We'll surely find some way. To hinder this ... But here's Valere, your lover. SCENE IV VALERE, MARIANE, DORINE VALERE Madam, a piece of news--quite new to me-- Has just come out, and very fine it is. MARIANE What piece of news? VALERE Your marriage with Tartuffe. MARIANE 'Tis true my father has this plan in mind. VALERE Your father, madam ... MARIANE Yes, he's changed his plans, And did but now propose it to me. VALERE What! Seriously? MARIANE Yes, he was serious, And openly insisted on the match. VALERE And what's your resolution in the matter, Madam? MARIANE I don't know. VALERE That's a pretty answer. You don't know? MARIANE No. VALERE No? MARIANE What do you advise? VALERE I? My advice is, marry him, by all means. MARIANE That's your advice? VALERE Yes. MARIANE Do you mean it? VALERE Surely. A splendid choice, and worthy of your acceptance. MARIANE Oh, very well, sir! I shall take your counsel. VALERE You'll find no trouble taking it, I warrant. MARIANE No more than you did giving it, be sure. VALERE I gave it, truly, to oblige you, madam. MARIANE And I shall take it to oblige you, sir. Dorine (withdrawing to the back of the stage) Let's see what this affair will come to. VALERE So, That is your love? And it was all deceit When you ... MARIANE I beg you, say no more of that. You told me, squarely, sir, I should accept The husband that is offered me; and I Will tell you squarely that I mean to do so, Since you have given me this good advice. VALERE Don't shield yourself with talk of my advice. You had your mind made up, that's evident; And now you're snatching at a trifling pretext To justify the breaking of your word. MARIANE Exactly so. VALERE Of course it is; your heart Has never known true love for me. MARIANE Alas! You're free to think so, if you please. VALERE Yes, yes, I'm free to think so; and my outraged love May yet forestall you in your perfidy, And offer elsewhere both my heart and hand. MARIANE No doubt of it; the love your high deserts May win ... VALERE Good Lord, have done with my deserts! I know I have but few, and you have proved it. But I may find more kindness in another; I know of someone, who'll not be ashamed To take your leavings, and make up my loss. MARIANE The loss is not so great; you'll easily Console yourself completely for this change. VALERE I'll try my best, that you may well believe. When we're forgotten by a woman's heart, Our pride is challenged; we, too, must forget; Or if we cannot, must at least pretend to. No other way can man such baseness prove, As be a lover scorned, and still in love. MARIANE In faith, a high and noble sentiment. VALERE Yes; and it's one that all men must approve. What! Would you have me keep my love alive, And see you fly into another's arms Before my very eyes; and never offer To someone else the heart that you had scorned? MARIANE Oh, no, indeed! For my part, I could wish That it were done already. VALERE What! You wish it? MARIANE Yes. VALERE This is insult heaped on injury; I'll go at once and do as you desire. (He takes a step or two as if to go away.) MARIANE Oh, very well then. VALERE (turning back) But remember this. 'Twas you that drove me to this desperate pass. MARIANE Of course. VALERE (turning back again) And in the plan that I have formed I only follow your example. MARIANE Yes. VALERE (at the door) Enough; you shall be punctually obeyed. MARIANE So much the better. VALERE (coming back again) This is once for all. MARIANE So be it, then. VALERE (He goes toward the door, but just as he reaches it, turns around) Eh? MARIANE What? VALERE You didn't call me? MARIANE I? You are dreaming. VALERE Very well, I'm gone. Madam, farewell. (He walks slowly away.) MARIANE Farewell, sir. DORINE I must say You've lost your senses and both gone clean daft! I've let you fight it out to the end o' the chapter To see how far the thing could go. Oho, there, Mister Valere! (She goes and seizes him by the arm, to stop him. He makes a great show of resistance.) VALERE What do you want, Dorine? DORINE Come here. VALERE No, no, I'm quite beside myself. Don't hinder me from doing as she wishes. DORINE Stop! VALERE No. You see, I'm fixed, resolved, determined. DORINE So! MARIANE (aside) Since my presence pains him, makes him go, I'd better go myself, and leave him free. DORINE (leaving Valere, and running after Mariane) Now t'other! Where are you going? MARIANE Let me be. DORINE. Come back. MARIANE No, no, it isn't any use. VALERE (aside) 'Tis clear the sight of me is torture to her; No doubt, t'were better I should free her from it. DORINE (leaving Mariane and running after Valere) Same thing again! Deuce take you both, I say. Now stop your fooling; come here, you; and you. (She pulls first one, then the other, toward the middle of the stage.) VALERE (to Dorine) What's your idea? MARIANE (to Dorine) What can you mean to do? DORINE Set you to rights, and pull you out o' the scrape. (To Valere) Are you quite mad, to quarrel with her now? VALERE Didn't you hear the things she said to me? DORINE (to Mariane) Are you quite mad, to get in such a passion? MARIANE Didn't you see the way he treated me? DORINE Fools, both of you. (To Valere) She thinks of nothing else But to keep faith with you, I vouch for it. (To Mariane) And he loves none but you, and longs for nothing But just to marry you, I stake my life on't. MARIANE (to Valere) Why did you give me such advice then, pray? VALERE (to Mariane) Why ask for my advice on such a matter? DORINE You both are daft, I tell you. Here, your hands. (To Valere) Come, yours. VALERE (giving Dorine his hand) What for? DORINE (to Mariane) Now, yours. MARIANE (giving Dorine her hand) But what's the use? DORINE Oh, quick now, come along. There, both of you-- You love each other better than you think. (Valere and Mariane hold each other's hands some time without looking at each other.) VALERE (at last turning toward Mariane) Come, don't be so ungracious now about it; Look at a man as if you didn't hate him. (Mariane looks sideways toward Valere, with just a bit of a smile.) DORINE My faith and troth, what fools these lovers be! VALERE (to Mariane) But come now, have I not a just complaint? And truly, are you not a wicked creature To take delight in saying what would pain me? MARIANE And are you not yourself the most ungrateful ... ? DORINE Leave this discussion till another time; Now, think how you'll stave off this plaguy marriage. MARIANE Then tell us how to go about it. DORINE Well, We'll try all sorts of ways. (To Mariane) Your father's daft; (To Valere) This plan is nonsense. (To Mariane) You had better humour His notions by a semblance of consent, So that in case of danger, you can still Find means to block the marriage by delay. If you gain time, the rest is easy, trust me. One day you'll fool them with a sudden illness, Causing delay; another day, ill omens: You've met a funeral, or broke a mirror, Or dreamed of muddy water. Best of all, They cannot marry you to anyone Without your saying yes. But now, methinks, They mustn't find you chattering together. (To Valere) You, go at once and set your friends at work To make him keep his word to you; while we Will bring the brother's influence to bear, And get the step-mother on our side, too. Good-bye. VALERE (to Mariane) Whatever efforts we may make, My greatest hope, be sure, must rest on you. MARIANE (to Valere) I cannot answer for my father's whims; But no one save Valere shall ever have me. VALERE You thrill me through with joy! Whatever comes ... DORINE Oho! These lovers! Never done with prattling! Now go. VALERE (starting to go, and coming back again) One last word ... DORINE What a gabble and pother! Be off! By this door, you. And you, by t'other. (She pushes them off, by the shoulders, in opposite directions.) ACT III SCENE I DAMIS, DORINE DAMIS May lightning strike me dead this very instant, May I be everywhere proclaimed a scoundrel, If any reverence or power shall stop me, And if I don't do straightway something desperate! DORINE I beg you, moderate this towering passion; Your father did but merely mention it. Not all things that are talked of turn to facts; The road is long, sometimes, from plans to acts. DAMIS No, I must end this paltry fellow's plots, And he shall hear from me a truth or two. DORINE So ho! Go slow now. Just you leave the fellow-- Your father too--in your step-mother's hands. She has some influence with this Tartuffe, He makes a point of heeding all she says, And I suspect that he is fond of her. Would God 'twere true!--'Twould be the height of humour Now, she has sent for him, in your behalf, To sound him on this marriage, to find out What his ideas are, and to show him plainly What troubles he may cause, if he persists In giving countenance to this design. His man says, he's at prayers, I mustn't see him, But likewise says, he'll presently be down. So off with you, and let me wait for him. DAMIS I may be present at this interview. DORINE No, no! They must be left alone. DAMIS I won't So much as speak to him. DORINE Go on! We know you And your high tantrums. Just the way to spoil things! Be off. DAMIS No, I must see--I'll keep my temper. DORINE Out on you, what a plague! He's coming. Hide! (Damis goes and hides in the closet at the back of the stage.) SCENE II TARTUFFE, DORINE TARTUFFE (speaking to his valet, off the stage, as soon as he sees Dorine is there) Lawrence, put up my hair-cloth shirt and scourge, And pray that Heaven may shed its light upon you. If any come to see me, say I'm gone To share my alms among the prisoners. DORINE (aside) What affectation and what showing off! TARTUFFE What do you want with me? DORINE To tell you ... TARTUFFE (taking a handkerchief from his pocket) Ah! Before you speak, pray take this handkerchief. DORINE What? TARTUFFE Cover up that bosom, which I can't Endure to look on. Things like that offend Our souls, and fill our minds with sinful thoughts. DORINE Are you so tender to temptation, then, And has the flesh such power upon your senses? I don't know how you get in such a heat; For my part, I am not so prone to lust, And I could see you stripped from head to foot, And all your hide not tempt me in the least. TARTUFFE Show in your speech some little modesty, Or I must instantly take leave of you. DORINE No, no, I'll leave you to yourself; I've only One thing to say: Madam will soon be down, And begs the favour of a word with you. TARTUFFE Ah! Willingly. DORINE (aside) How gentle all at once! My faith, I still believe I've hit upon it. TARTUFFE Will she come soon? DORINE I think I hear her now. Yes, here she is herself; I'll leave you with her. SCENE III ELMIRE, TARTUFFE TARTUFFE May Heaven's overflowing kindness ever Give you good health of body and of soul, And bless your days according to the wishes And prayers of its most humble votary! ELMIRE I'm very grateful for your pious wishes. But let's sit down, so we may talk at ease. TARTUFFE (after sitting down) And how are you recovered from your illness? ELMIRE (sitting down also) Quite well; the fever soon let go its hold. TARTUFFE My prayers, I fear, have not sufficient merit To have drawn down this favour from on high; But each entreaty that I made to Heaven Had for its object your recovery. ELMIRE You're too solicitous on my behalf. TARTUFFE We could not cherish your dear health too much; I would have given mine, to help restore it. ELMIRE That's pushing Christian charity too far; I owe you many thanks for so much kindness. TARTUFFE I do far less for you than you deserve. ELMIRE There is a matter that I wished to speak of In private; I am glad there's no one here To listen. TARTUFFE Madam, I am overjoyed. 'Tis sweet to find myself alone with you. This is an opportunity I've asked Of Heaven, many a time; till now, in vain. ELMIRE All that I wish, is just a word from you, Quite frank and open, hiding nothing from me. (DAMIS, without their seeing him, opens the closet door halfway.) TARTUFFE I too could wish, as Heaven's especial favour, To lay my soul quite open to your eyes, And swear to you, the trouble that I made About those visits which your charms attract, Does not result from any hatred toward you, But rather from a passionate devotion, And purest motives ... ELMIRE That is how I take it, I think 'tis my salvation that concerns you. TARTUFFE (pressing her finger tips) Madam, 'tis so; and such is my devotion ... ELMIRE Ouch! but you squeeze too hard. TARTUFFE Excess of zeal. In no way could I ever mean to hurt you, And I'd as soon ... (He puts his hand on her knee.) ELMIRE What's your hand doing there? TARTUFFE Feeling your gown; the stuff is very soft. ELMIRE Let be, I beg you; I am very ticklish. (She moves her chair away, and Tartuffe brings his nearer.) TARTUFFE (handling the lace yoke of Elmire's dress) Dear me how wonderful in workmanship This lace is! They do marvels, nowadays; Things of all kinds were never better made. ELMIRE Yes, very true. But let us come to business. They say my husband means to break his word. And marry Mariane to you. Is't so? TARTUFFE He did hint some such thing; but truly, madam, That's not the happiness I'm yearning after; I see elsewhere the sweet compelling charms Of such a joy as fills my every wish. ELMIRE You mean you cannot love terrestrial things. TARTUFFE The heart within my bosom is not stone. ELMIRE I well believe your sighs all tend to Heaven, And nothing here below can stay your thoughts. TARTUFFE Love for the beauty of eternal things Cannot destroy our love for earthly beauty; Our mortal senses well may be entranced By perfect works that Heaven has fashioned here. Its charms reflected shine in such as you, And in yourself, its rarest miracles; It has displayed such marvels in your face, That eyes are dazed, and hearts are rapt away; I could not look on you, the perfect creature, Without admiring Nature's great Creator, And feeling all my heart inflamed with love For you, His fairest image of Himself. At first I trembled lest this secret love Might be the Evil Spirit's artful snare; I even schooled my heart to flee your beauty, Thinking it was a bar to my salvation. But soon, enlightened, O all lovely one, I saw how this my passion may be blameless, How I may make it fit with modesty, And thus completely yield my heart to it. 'Tis I must own, a great presumption in me To dare make you the offer of my heart; My love hopes all things from your perfect goodness, And nothing from my own poor weak endeavour. You are my hope, my stay, my peace of heart; On you depends my torment or my bliss; And by your doom of judgment, I shall be Blest, if you will; or damned, by your decree. ELMIRE Your declaration's turned most gallantly; But truly, it is just a bit surprising. You should have better armed your heart, methinks, And taken thought somewhat on such a matter. A pious man like you, known everywhere ... TARTUFFE Though pious, I am none the less a man; And when a man beholds your heavenly charms, The heart surrenders, and can think no more. I know such words seem strange, coming from me; But, madam, I'm no angel, after all; If you condemn my frankly made avowal You only have your charming self to blame. Soon as I saw your more than human beauty, You were thenceforth the sovereign of my soul; Sweetness ineffable was in your eyes, That took by storm my still resisting heart, And conquered everything, fasts, prayers, and tears, And turned my worship wholly to yourself. My looks, my sighs, have spoke a thousand times; Now, to express it all, my voice must speak. If but you will look down with gracious favour Upon the sorrows of your worthless slave, If in your goodness you will give me comfort And condescend unto my nothingness, I'll ever pay you, O sweet miracle, An unexampled worship and devotion. Then too, with me your honour runs no risk; With me you need not fear a public scandal. These court gallants, that women are so fond of, Are boastful of their acts, and vain in speech; They always brag in public of their progress; Soon as a favour's granted, they'll divulge it; Their tattling tongues, if you but trust to them, Will foul the altar where their hearts have worshipped. But men like me are so discreet in love, That you may trust their lasting secrecy. The care we take to guard our own good name May fully guarantee the one we love; So you may find, with hearts like ours sincere, Love without scandal, pleasure without fear. ELMIRE I've heard you through--your speech is clear, at least. But don't you fear that I may take a fancy To tell my husband of your gallant passion, And that a prompt report of this affair May somewhat change the friendship which he bears you? TARTUFFE I know that you're too good and generous, That you will pardon my temerity, Excuse, upon the score of human frailty, The violence of passion that offends you, And not forget, when you consult your mirror, That I'm not blind, and man is made of flesh. ELMIRE Some women might do otherwise, perhaps, But I am willing to employ discretion, And not repeat the matter to my husband; But in return, I'll ask one thing of you: That you urge forward, frankly and sincerely, The marriage of Valere to Mariane; That you give up the unjust influence By which you

dowry

How many times the word 'dowry' appears in the text?

And he who weds his child against her will Owes heaven account for it, if she do ill. Think then what perils wait on your design. ORGON (to Mariane) So! I must learn what's what from her, you see! DORINE You might do worse than follow my advice. ORGON Daughter, we can't waste time upon this nonsense; I know what's good for you, and I'm your father. True, I had promised you to young Valere; But, first, they tell me he's inclined to gamble, And then, I fear his faith is not quite sound. I haven't noticed that he's regular At church. DORINE You'd have him run there just when you do. Like those who go on purpose to be seen? ORGON I don't ask your opinion on the matter. In short, the other is in Heaven's best graces, And that is riches quite beyond compare. This match will bring you every joy you long for; 'Twill be all steeped in sweetness and delight. You'll live together, in your faithful loves, Like two sweet children, like two turtle-doves; You'll never fail to quarrel, scold, or tease, And you may do with him whate'er you please. DORINE With him? Do naught but give him horns, I'll warrant. ORGON Out on thee, wench! DORINE I tell you he's cut out for't; However great your daughter's virtue, sir, His destiny is sure to prove the stronger. ORGON Have done with interrupting. Hold your tongue. Don't poke your nose in other people's business. DORINE (She keeps interrupting him, just as he turns and starts to speak to his daughter). If I make bold, sir, 'tis for your own good. ORGON You're too officious; pray you, hold your tongue. DORINE 'Tis love of you ... ORGON I want none of your love. DORINE Then I will love you in your own despite. ORGON You will, eh? DORINE Yes, your honour's dear to me; I can't endure to see you made the butt Of all men's ridicule. ORGON Won't you be still? DORINE 'Twould be a sin to let you make this match. ORGON Won't you be still, I say, you impudent viper! DORINE What! you are pious, and you lose your temper? ORGON I'm all wrought up, with your confounded nonsense; Now, once for all, I tell you hold your tongue. DORINE Then mum's the word; I'll take it out in thinking. ORGON Think all you please; but not a syllable To me about it, or ... you understand! (Turning to his daughter.) As a wise father, I've considered all With due deliberation. DORINE I'll go mad If I can't speak. (She stops the instant he turns his head.) ORGON Though he's no lady's man, Tartuffe is well enough ... DORINE A pretty phiz! ORGON So that, although you may not care at all For his best qualities ... DORINE A handsome dowry! (Orgon turns and stands in front of her, with arms folded, eyeing her.) Were I in her place, any man should rue it Who married me by force, that's mighty certain; I'd let him know, and that within a week, A woman's vengeance isn't far to seek. ORGON (to Dorine) So--nothing that I say has any weight? DORINE Eh? What's wrong now? I didn't speak to you. ORGON What were you doing? DORINE Talking to myself. ORGON Oh! Very well. (Aside.) Her monstrous impudence Must be chastised with one good slap in the face. (He stands ready to strike her, and, each time he speaks to his daughter, he glances toward her; but she stands still and says not a word.) [3] [Footnote 3: As given at the Comedie francaise, the action is as follows: While Orgon says, "You must approve of my design," Dorine is making signs to Mariane to resist his orders; Orgon turns around suddenly; but Dorine quickly changes her gesture and with the hand which she had lifted calmly arranges her hair and her cap. Orgon goes on, "Think of the husband ..." and stops before the middle of his sentence to turn and catch the beginning of Dorine's gesture; but he is too quick this time, and Dorine stands looking at his furious countenance with a sweet and gentle expression. He turns and goes on, and the obstinate Dorine again lifts her hand behind his shoulder to urge Mariane to resistance: this time he catches her; but just as he swings his shoulder to give her the promised blow, she stops him by changing the intent of her gesture, and carefully picking from the top of his sleeve a bit of fluff which she holds carefully between her fingers, then blows into the air, and watches intently as it floats away. Orgon is paralysed by her innocence of expression, and compelled to hide his rage.--Regnier, _Le Tartuffe des Comediens_.] ORGON Daughter, you must approve of my design.... Think of this husband ... I have chosen for you... (To Dorine) Why don't you talk to yourself? DORINE Nothing to say. ORGON One little word more. DORINE Oh, no, thanks. Not now. ORGON Sure, I'd have caught you. DORINE Faith, I'm no such fool. ORGON So, daughter, now obedience is the word; You must accept my choice with reverence. DORINE (running away) You'd never catch me marrying such a creature. ORGON (swinging his hand at her and missing her) Daughter, you've such a pestilent hussy there I can't live with her longer, without sin. I can't discuss things in the state I'm in. My mind's so flustered by her insolent talk, To calm myself, I must go take a walk. SCENE III MARIANE, DORINE DORINE Say, have you lost the tongue from out your head? And must I speak your role from A to Zed? You let them broach a project that's absurd, And don't oppose it with a single word! MARIANE What can I do? My father is the master. DORINE Do? Everything, to ward off such disaster. MARIANE But what? DORINE Tell him one doesn't love by proxy; Tell him you'll marry for yourself, not him; Since you're the one for whom the thing is done, You are the one, not he, the man must please; If his Tartuffe has charmed him so, why let him Just marry him himself--no one will hinder. MARIANE A father's rights are such, it seems to me, That I could never dare to say a word. DORINE Came, talk it out. Valere has asked your hand: Now do you love him, pray, or do you not? MARIANE Dorine! How can you wrong my love so much, And ask me such a question? Have I not A hundred times laid bare my heart to you? Do you know how ardently I love him? DORINE How do I know if heart and words agree, And if in honest truth you really love him? MARIANE Dorine, you wrong me greatly if you doubt it; I've shown my inmost feelings, all too plainly. DORINE So then, you love him? MARIANE Yes, devotedly. DORINE And he returns your love, apparently? MARIANE I think so. DORINE And you both alike are eager To be well married to each other? MARIANE Surely. DORINE Then what's your plan about this other match? MARIANE To kill myself, if it is forced upon me. DORINE Good! That's a remedy I hadn't thought of. Just die, and everything will be all right. This medicine is marvellous, indeed! It drives me mad to hear folk talk such nonsense. MARIANE Oh dear, Dorine you get in such a temper! You have no sympathy for people's troubles. DORINE I have no sympathy when folk talk nonsense, And flatten out as you do, at a pinch. MARIANE But what can you expect?--if one is timid?-- DORINE But what is love worth, if it has no courage? MARIANE Am I not constant in my love for him? Is't not his place to win me from my father? DORINE But if your father is a crazy fool, And quite bewitched with his Tartuffe? And breaks His bounden word? Is that your lover's fault? MARIANE But shall I publicly refuse and scorn This match, and make it plain that I'm in love? Shall I cast off for him, whate'er he be, Womanly modesty and filial duty? You ask me to display my love in public ... ? DORINE No, no, I ask you nothing. You shall be Mister Tartuffe's; why, now I think of it, I should be wrong to turn you from this marriage. What cause can I have to oppose your wishes? So fine a match! An excellent good match! Mister Tartuffe! Oh ho! No mean proposal! Mister Tartuffe, sure, take it all in all, Is not a man to sneeze at--oh, by no means! 'Tis no small luck to be his happy spouse. The whole world joins to sing his praise already; He's noble--in his parish; handsome too; Red ears and high complexion--oh, my lud! You'll be too happy, sure, with him for husband. MARIANE Oh dear! ... DORINE What joy and pride will fill your heart To be the bride of such a handsome fellow! MARIANE Oh, stop, I beg you; try to find some way To help break off the match. I quite give in, I'm ready to do anything you say. DORINE No, no, a daughter must obey her father, Though he should want to make her wed a monkey. Besides, your fate is fine. What could be better! You'll take the stage-coach to his little village, And find it full of uncles and of cousins, Whose conversation will delight you. Then You'll be presented in their best society. You'll even go to call, by way of welcome, On Mrs. Bailiff, Mrs. Tax-Collector, Who'll patronise you with a folding-stool. There, once a year, at carnival, you'll have Perhaps--a ball; with orchestra--two bag-pipes; And sometimes a trained ape, and Punch and Judy; Though if your husband ... MARIANE Oh, you'll kill me. Please Contrive to help me out with your advice. DORINE I thank you kindly. MARIANE Oh! Dorine, I beg you ... DORINE To serve you right, this marriage must go through. MARIANE Dear girl! DORINE No. MARIANE If I say I love Valere ... DORINE No, no. Tartuffe's your man, and you shall taste him. MARIANE You know I've always trusted you; now help me ... DORINE No, you shall be, my faith! Tartuffified. MARIANE Well, then, since you've no pity for my fate Let me take counsel only of despair; It will advise and help and give me courage; There's one sure cure, I know, for all my troubles. (She starts to go.) DORINE There, there! Come back. I can't be angry long. I must take pity on you, after all. MARIANE Oh, don't you see, Dorine, if I must bear This martyrdom, I certainly shall die. DORINE Now don't you fret. We'll surely find some way. To hinder this ... But here's Valere, your lover. SCENE IV VALERE, MARIANE, DORINE VALERE Madam, a piece of news--quite new to me-- Has just come out, and very fine it is. MARIANE What piece of news? VALERE Your marriage with Tartuffe. MARIANE 'Tis true my father has this plan in mind. VALERE Your father, madam ... MARIANE Yes, he's changed his plans, And did but now propose it to me. VALERE What! Seriously? MARIANE Yes, he was serious, And openly insisted on the match. VALERE And what's your resolution in the matter, Madam? MARIANE I don't know. VALERE That's a pretty answer. You don't know? MARIANE No. VALERE No? MARIANE What do you advise? VALERE I? My advice is, marry him, by all means. MARIANE That's your advice? VALERE Yes. MARIANE Do you mean it? VALERE Surely. A splendid choice, and worthy of your acceptance. MARIANE Oh, very well, sir! I shall take your counsel. VALERE You'll find no trouble taking it, I warrant. MARIANE No more than you did giving it, be sure. VALERE I gave it, truly, to oblige you, madam. MARIANE And I shall take it to oblige you, sir. Dorine (withdrawing to the back of the stage) Let's see what this affair will come to. VALERE So, That is your love? And it was all deceit When you ... MARIANE I beg you, say no more of that. You told me, squarely, sir, I should accept The husband that is offered me; and I Will tell you squarely that I mean to do so, Since you have given me this good advice. VALERE Don't shield yourself with talk of my advice. You had your mind made up, that's evident; And now you're snatching at a trifling pretext To justify the breaking of your word. MARIANE Exactly so. VALERE Of course it is; your heart Has never known true love for me. MARIANE Alas! You're free to think so, if you please. VALERE Yes, yes, I'm free to think so; and my outraged love May yet forestall you in your perfidy, And offer elsewhere both my heart and hand. MARIANE No doubt of it; the love your high deserts May win ... VALERE Good Lord, have done with my deserts! I know I have but few, and you have proved it. But I may find more kindness in another; I know of someone, who'll not be ashamed To take your leavings, and make up my loss. MARIANE The loss is not so great; you'll easily Console yourself completely for this change. VALERE I'll try my best, that you may well believe. When we're forgotten by a woman's heart, Our pride is challenged; we, too, must forget; Or if we cannot, must at least pretend to. No other way can man such baseness prove, As be a lover scorned, and still in love. MARIANE In faith, a high and noble sentiment. VALERE Yes; and it's one that all men must approve. What! Would you have me keep my love alive, And see you fly into another's arms Before my very eyes; and never offer To someone else the heart that you had scorned? MARIANE Oh, no, indeed! For my part, I could wish That it were done already. VALERE What! You wish it? MARIANE Yes. VALERE This is insult heaped on injury; I'll go at once and do as you desire. (He takes a step or two as if to go away.) MARIANE Oh, very well then. VALERE (turning back) But remember this. 'Twas you that drove me to this desperate pass. MARIANE Of course. VALERE (turning back again) And in the plan that I have formed I only follow your example. MARIANE Yes. VALERE (at the door) Enough; you shall be punctually obeyed. MARIANE So much the better. VALERE (coming back again) This is once for all. MARIANE So be it, then. VALERE (He goes toward the door, but just as he reaches it, turns around) Eh? MARIANE What? VALERE You didn't call me? MARIANE I? You are dreaming. VALERE Very well, I'm gone. Madam, farewell. (He walks slowly away.) MARIANE Farewell, sir. DORINE I must say You've lost your senses and both gone clean daft! I've let you fight it out to the end o' the chapter To see how far the thing could go. Oho, there, Mister Valere! (She goes and seizes him by the arm, to stop him. He makes a great show of resistance.) VALERE What do you want, Dorine? DORINE Come here. VALERE No, no, I'm quite beside myself. Don't hinder me from doing as she wishes. DORINE Stop! VALERE No. You see, I'm fixed, resolved, determined. DORINE So! MARIANE (aside) Since my presence pains him, makes him go, I'd better go myself, and leave him free. DORINE (leaving Valere, and running after Mariane) Now t'other! Where are you going? MARIANE Let me be. DORINE. Come back. MARIANE No, no, it isn't any use. VALERE (aside) 'Tis clear the sight of me is torture to her; No doubt, t'were better I should free her from it. DORINE (leaving Mariane and running after Valere) Same thing again! Deuce take you both, I say. Now stop your fooling; come here, you; and you. (She pulls first one, then the other, toward the middle of the stage.) VALERE (to Dorine) What's your idea? MARIANE (to Dorine) What can you mean to do? DORINE Set you to rights, and pull you out o' the scrape. (To Valere) Are you quite mad, to quarrel with her now? VALERE Didn't you hear the things she said to me? DORINE (to Mariane) Are you quite mad, to get in such a passion? MARIANE Didn't you see the way he treated me? DORINE Fools, both of you. (To Valere) She thinks of nothing else But to keep faith with you, I vouch for it. (To Mariane) And he loves none but you, and longs for nothing But just to marry you, I stake my life on't. MARIANE (to Valere) Why did you give me such advice then, pray? VALERE (to Mariane) Why ask for my advice on such a matter? DORINE You both are daft, I tell you. Here, your hands. (To Valere) Come, yours. VALERE (giving Dorine his hand) What for? DORINE (to Mariane) Now, yours. MARIANE (giving Dorine her hand) But what's the use? DORINE Oh, quick now, come along. There, both of you-- You love each other better than you think. (Valere and Mariane hold each other's hands some time without looking at each other.) VALERE (at last turning toward Mariane) Come, don't be so ungracious now about it; Look at a man as if you didn't hate him. (Mariane looks sideways toward Valere, with just a bit of a smile.) DORINE My faith and troth, what fools these lovers be! VALERE (to Mariane) But come now, have I not a just complaint? And truly, are you not a wicked creature To take delight in saying what would pain me? MARIANE And are you not yourself the most ungrateful ... ? DORINE Leave this discussion till another time; Now, think how you'll stave off this plaguy marriage. MARIANE Then tell us how to go about it. DORINE Well, We'll try all sorts of ways. (To Mariane) Your father's daft; (To Valere) This plan is nonsense. (To Mariane) You had better humour His notions by a semblance of consent, So that in case of danger, you can still Find means to block the marriage by delay. If you gain time, the rest is easy, trust me. One day you'll fool them with a sudden illness, Causing delay; another day, ill omens: You've met a funeral, or broke a mirror, Or dreamed of muddy water. Best of all, They cannot marry you to anyone Without your saying yes. But now, methinks, They mustn't find you chattering together. (To Valere) You, go at once and set your friends at work To make him keep his word to you; while we Will bring the brother's influence to bear, And get the step-mother on our side, too. Good-bye. VALERE (to Mariane) Whatever efforts we may make, My greatest hope, be sure, must rest on you. MARIANE (to Valere) I cannot answer for my father's whims; But no one save Valere shall ever have me. VALERE You thrill me through with joy! Whatever comes ... DORINE Oho! These lovers! Never done with prattling! Now go. VALERE (starting to go, and coming back again) One last word ... DORINE What a gabble and pother! Be off! By this door, you. And you, by t'other. (She pushes them off, by the shoulders, in opposite directions.) ACT III SCENE I DAMIS, DORINE DAMIS May lightning strike me dead this very instant, May I be everywhere proclaimed a scoundrel, If any reverence or power shall stop me, And if I don't do straightway something desperate! DORINE I beg you, moderate this towering passion; Your father did but merely mention it. Not all things that are talked of turn to facts; The road is long, sometimes, from plans to acts. DAMIS No, I must end this paltry fellow's plots, And he shall hear from me a truth or two. DORINE So ho! Go slow now. Just you leave the fellow-- Your father too--in your step-mother's hands. She has some influence with this Tartuffe, He makes a point of heeding all she says, And I suspect that he is fond of her. Would God 'twere true!--'Twould be the height of humour Now, she has sent for him, in your behalf, To sound him on this marriage, to find out What his ideas are, and to show him plainly What troubles he may cause, if he persists In giving countenance to this design. His man says, he's at prayers, I mustn't see him, But likewise says, he'll presently be down. So off with you, and let me wait for him. DAMIS I may be present at this interview. DORINE No, no! They must be left alone. DAMIS I won't So much as speak to him. DORINE Go on! We know you And your high tantrums. Just the way to spoil things! Be off. DAMIS No, I must see--I'll keep my temper. DORINE Out on you, what a plague! He's coming. Hide! (Damis goes and hides in the closet at the back of the stage.) SCENE II TARTUFFE, DORINE TARTUFFE (speaking to his valet, off the stage, as soon as he sees Dorine is there) Lawrence, put up my hair-cloth shirt and scourge, And pray that Heaven may shed its light upon you. If any come to see me, say I'm gone To share my alms among the prisoners. DORINE (aside) What affectation and what showing off! TARTUFFE What do you want with me? DORINE To tell you ... TARTUFFE (taking a handkerchief from his pocket) Ah! Before you speak, pray take this handkerchief. DORINE What? TARTUFFE Cover up that bosom, which I can't Endure to look on. Things like that offend Our souls, and fill our minds with sinful thoughts. DORINE Are you so tender to temptation, then, And has the flesh such power upon your senses? I don't know how you get in such a heat; For my part, I am not so prone to lust, And I could see you stripped from head to foot, And all your hide not tempt me in the least. TARTUFFE Show in your speech some little modesty, Or I must instantly take leave of you. DORINE No, no, I'll leave you to yourself; I've only One thing to say: Madam will soon be down, And begs the favour of a word with you. TARTUFFE Ah! Willingly. DORINE (aside) How gentle all at once! My faith, I still believe I've hit upon it. TARTUFFE Will she come soon? DORINE I think I hear her now. Yes, here she is herself; I'll leave you with her. SCENE III ELMIRE, TARTUFFE TARTUFFE May Heaven's overflowing kindness ever Give you good health of body and of soul, And bless your days according to the wishes And prayers of its most humble votary! ELMIRE I'm very grateful for your pious wishes. But let's sit down, so we may talk at ease. TARTUFFE (after sitting down) And how are you recovered from your illness? ELMIRE (sitting down also) Quite well; the fever soon let go its hold. TARTUFFE My prayers, I fear, have not sufficient merit To have drawn down this favour from on high; But each entreaty that I made to Heaven Had for its object your recovery. ELMIRE You're too solicitous on my behalf. TARTUFFE We could not cherish your dear health too much; I would have given mine, to help restore it. ELMIRE That's pushing Christian charity too far; I owe you many thanks for so much kindness. TARTUFFE I do far less for you than you deserve. ELMIRE There is a matter that I wished to speak of In private; I am glad there's no one here To listen. TARTUFFE Madam, I am overjoyed. 'Tis sweet to find myself alone with you. This is an opportunity I've asked Of Heaven, many a time; till now, in vain. ELMIRE All that I wish, is just a word from you, Quite frank and open, hiding nothing from me. (DAMIS, without their seeing him, opens the closet door halfway.) TARTUFFE I too could wish, as Heaven's especial favour, To lay my soul quite open to your eyes, And swear to you, the trouble that I made About those visits which your charms attract, Does not result from any hatred toward you, But rather from a passionate devotion, And purest motives ... ELMIRE That is how I take it, I think 'tis my salvation that concerns you. TARTUFFE (pressing her finger tips) Madam, 'tis so; and such is my devotion ... ELMIRE Ouch! but you squeeze too hard. TARTUFFE Excess of zeal. In no way could I ever mean to hurt you, And I'd as soon ... (He puts his hand on her knee.) ELMIRE What's your hand doing there? TARTUFFE Feeling your gown; the stuff is very soft. ELMIRE Let be, I beg you; I am very ticklish. (She moves her chair away, and Tartuffe brings his nearer.) TARTUFFE (handling the lace yoke of Elmire's dress) Dear me how wonderful in workmanship This lace is! They do marvels, nowadays; Things of all kinds were never better made. ELMIRE Yes, very true. But let us come to business. They say my husband means to break his word. And marry Mariane to you. Is't so? TARTUFFE He did hint some such thing; but truly, madam, That's not the happiness I'm yearning after; I see elsewhere the sweet compelling charms Of such a joy as fills my every wish. ELMIRE You mean you cannot love terrestrial things. TARTUFFE The heart within my bosom is not stone. ELMIRE I well believe your sighs all tend to Heaven, And nothing here below can stay your thoughts. TARTUFFE Love for the beauty of eternal things Cannot destroy our love for earthly beauty; Our mortal senses well may be entranced By perfect works that Heaven has fashioned here. Its charms reflected shine in such as you, And in yourself, its rarest miracles; It has displayed such marvels in your face, That eyes are dazed, and hearts are rapt away; I could not look on you, the perfect creature, Without admiring Nature's great Creator, And feeling all my heart inflamed with love For you, His fairest image of Himself. At first I trembled lest this secret love Might be the Evil Spirit's artful snare; I even schooled my heart to flee your beauty, Thinking it was a bar to my salvation. But soon, enlightened, O all lovely one, I saw how this my passion may be blameless, How I may make it fit with modesty, And thus completely yield my heart to it. 'Tis I must own, a great presumption in me To dare make you the offer of my heart; My love hopes all things from your perfect goodness, And nothing from my own poor weak endeavour. You are my hope, my stay, my peace of heart; On you depends my torment or my bliss; And by your doom of judgment, I shall be Blest, if you will; or damned, by your decree. ELMIRE Your declaration's turned most gallantly; But truly, it is just a bit surprising. You should have better armed your heart, methinks, And taken thought somewhat on such a matter. A pious man like you, known everywhere ... TARTUFFE Though pious, I am none the less a man; And when a man beholds your heavenly charms, The heart surrenders, and can think no more. I know such words seem strange, coming from me; But, madam, I'm no angel, after all; If you condemn my frankly made avowal You only have your charming self to blame. Soon as I saw your more than human beauty, You were thenceforth the sovereign of my soul; Sweetness ineffable was in your eyes, That took by storm my still resisting heart, And conquered everything, fasts, prayers, and tears, And turned my worship wholly to yourself. My looks, my sighs, have spoke a thousand times; Now, to express it all, my voice must speak. If but you will look down with gracious favour Upon the sorrows of your worthless slave, If in your goodness you will give me comfort And condescend unto my nothingness, I'll ever pay you, O sweet miracle, An unexampled worship and devotion. Then too, with me your honour runs no risk; With me you need not fear a public scandal. These court gallants, that women are so fond of, Are boastful of their acts, and vain in speech; They always brag in public of their progress; Soon as a favour's granted, they'll divulge it; Their tattling tongues, if you but trust to them, Will foul the altar where their hearts have worshipped. But men like me are so discreet in love, That you may trust their lasting secrecy. The care we take to guard our own good name May fully guarantee the one we love; So you may find, with hearts like ours sincere, Love without scandal, pleasure without fear. ELMIRE I've heard you through--your speech is clear, at least. But don't you fear that I may take a fancy To tell my husband of your gallant passion, And that a prompt report of this affair May somewhat change the friendship which he bears you? TARTUFFE I know that you're too good and generous, That you will pardon my temerity, Excuse, upon the score of human frailty, The violence of passion that offends you, And not forget, when you consult your mirror, That I'm not blind, and man is made of flesh. ELMIRE Some women might do otherwise, perhaps, But I am willing to employ discretion, And not repeat the matter to my husband; But in return, I'll ask one thing of you: That you urge forward, frankly and sincerely, The marriage of Valere to Mariane; That you give up the unjust influence By which you

resist

How many times the word 'resist' appears in the text?

And he who weds his child against her will Owes heaven account for it, if she do ill. Think then what perils wait on your design. ORGON (to Mariane) So! I must learn what's what from her, you see! DORINE You might do worse than follow my advice. ORGON Daughter, we can't waste time upon this nonsense; I know what's good for you, and I'm your father. True, I had promised you to young Valere; But, first, they tell me he's inclined to gamble, And then, I fear his faith is not quite sound. I haven't noticed that he's regular At church. DORINE You'd have him run there just when you do. Like those who go on purpose to be seen? ORGON I don't ask your opinion on the matter. In short, the other is in Heaven's best graces, And that is riches quite beyond compare. This match will bring you every joy you long for; 'Twill be all steeped in sweetness and delight. You'll live together, in your faithful loves, Like two sweet children, like two turtle-doves; You'll never fail to quarrel, scold, or tease, And you may do with him whate'er you please. DORINE With him? Do naught but give him horns, I'll warrant. ORGON Out on thee, wench! DORINE I tell you he's cut out for't; However great your daughter's virtue, sir, His destiny is sure to prove the stronger. ORGON Have done with interrupting. Hold your tongue. Don't poke your nose in other people's business. DORINE (She keeps interrupting him, just as he turns and starts to speak to his daughter). If I make bold, sir, 'tis for your own good. ORGON You're too officious; pray you, hold your tongue. DORINE 'Tis love of you ... ORGON I want none of your love. DORINE Then I will love you in your own despite. ORGON You will, eh? DORINE Yes, your honour's dear to me; I can't endure to see you made the butt Of all men's ridicule. ORGON Won't you be still? DORINE 'Twould be a sin to let you make this match. ORGON Won't you be still, I say, you impudent viper! DORINE What! you are pious, and you lose your temper? ORGON I'm all wrought up, with your confounded nonsense; Now, once for all, I tell you hold your tongue. DORINE Then mum's the word; I'll take it out in thinking. ORGON Think all you please; but not a syllable To me about it, or ... you understand! (Turning to his daughter.) As a wise father, I've considered all With due deliberation. DORINE I'll go mad If I can't speak. (She stops the instant he turns his head.) ORGON Though he's no lady's man, Tartuffe is well enough ... DORINE A pretty phiz! ORGON So that, although you may not care at all For his best qualities ... DORINE A handsome dowry! (Orgon turns and stands in front of her, with arms folded, eyeing her.) Were I in her place, any man should rue it Who married me by force, that's mighty certain; I'd let him know, and that within a week, A woman's vengeance isn't far to seek. ORGON (to Dorine) So--nothing that I say has any weight? DORINE Eh? What's wrong now? I didn't speak to you. ORGON What were you doing? DORINE Talking to myself. ORGON Oh! Very well. (Aside.) Her monstrous impudence Must be chastised with one good slap in the face. (He stands ready to strike her, and, each time he speaks to his daughter, he glances toward her; but she stands still and says not a word.) [3] [Footnote 3: As given at the Comedie francaise, the action is as follows: While Orgon says, "You must approve of my design," Dorine is making signs to Mariane to resist his orders; Orgon turns around suddenly; but Dorine quickly changes her gesture and with the hand which she had lifted calmly arranges her hair and her cap. Orgon goes on, "Think of the husband ..." and stops before the middle of his sentence to turn and catch the beginning of Dorine's gesture; but he is too quick this time, and Dorine stands looking at his furious countenance with a sweet and gentle expression. He turns and goes on, and the obstinate Dorine again lifts her hand behind his shoulder to urge Mariane to resistance: this time he catches her; but just as he swings his shoulder to give her the promised blow, she stops him by changing the intent of her gesture, and carefully picking from the top of his sleeve a bit of fluff which she holds carefully between her fingers, then blows into the air, and watches intently as it floats away. Orgon is paralysed by her innocence of expression, and compelled to hide his rage.--Regnier, _Le Tartuffe des Comediens_.] ORGON Daughter, you must approve of my design.... Think of this husband ... I have chosen for you... (To Dorine) Why don't you talk to yourself? DORINE Nothing to say. ORGON One little word more. DORINE Oh, no, thanks. Not now. ORGON Sure, I'd have caught you. DORINE Faith, I'm no such fool. ORGON So, daughter, now obedience is the word; You must accept my choice with reverence. DORINE (running away) You'd never catch me marrying such a creature. ORGON (swinging his hand at her and missing her) Daughter, you've such a pestilent hussy there I can't live with her longer, without sin. I can't discuss things in the state I'm in. My mind's so flustered by her insolent talk, To calm myself, I must go take a walk. SCENE III MARIANE, DORINE DORINE Say, have you lost the tongue from out your head? And must I speak your role from A to Zed? You let them broach a project that's absurd, And don't oppose it with a single word! MARIANE What can I do? My father is the master. DORINE Do? Everything, to ward off such disaster. MARIANE But what? DORINE Tell him one doesn't love by proxy; Tell him you'll marry for yourself, not him; Since you're the one for whom the thing is done, You are the one, not he, the man must please; If his Tartuffe has charmed him so, why let him Just marry him himself--no one will hinder. MARIANE A father's rights are such, it seems to me, That I could never dare to say a word. DORINE Came, talk it out. Valere has asked your hand: Now do you love him, pray, or do you not? MARIANE Dorine! How can you wrong my love so much, And ask me such a question? Have I not A hundred times laid bare my heart to you? Do you know how ardently I love him? DORINE How do I know if heart and words agree, And if in honest truth you really love him? MARIANE Dorine, you wrong me greatly if you doubt it; I've shown my inmost feelings, all too plainly. DORINE So then, you love him? MARIANE Yes, devotedly. DORINE And he returns your love, apparently? MARIANE I think so. DORINE And you both alike are eager To be well married to each other? MARIANE Surely. DORINE Then what's your plan about this other match? MARIANE To kill myself, if it is forced upon me. DORINE Good! That's a remedy I hadn't thought of. Just die, and everything will be all right. This medicine is marvellous, indeed! It drives me mad to hear folk talk such nonsense. MARIANE Oh dear, Dorine you get in such a temper! You have no sympathy for people's troubles. DORINE I have no sympathy when folk talk nonsense, And flatten out as you do, at a pinch. MARIANE But what can you expect?--if one is timid?-- DORINE But what is love worth, if it has no courage? MARIANE Am I not constant in my love for him? Is't not his place to win me from my father? DORINE But if your father is a crazy fool, And quite bewitched with his Tartuffe? And breaks His bounden word? Is that your lover's fault? MARIANE But shall I publicly refuse and scorn This match, and make it plain that I'm in love? Shall I cast off for him, whate'er he be, Womanly modesty and filial duty? You ask me to display my love in public ... ? DORINE No, no, I ask you nothing. You shall be Mister Tartuffe's; why, now I think of it, I should be wrong to turn you from this marriage. What cause can I have to oppose your wishes? So fine a match! An excellent good match! Mister Tartuffe! Oh ho! No mean proposal! Mister Tartuffe, sure, take it all in all, Is not a man to sneeze at--oh, by no means! 'Tis no small luck to be his happy spouse. The whole world joins to sing his praise already; He's noble--in his parish; handsome too; Red ears and high complexion--oh, my lud! You'll be too happy, sure, with him for husband. MARIANE Oh dear! ... DORINE What joy and pride will fill your heart To be the bride of such a handsome fellow! MARIANE Oh, stop, I beg you; try to find some way To help break off the match. I quite give in, I'm ready to do anything you say. DORINE No, no, a daughter must obey her father, Though he should want to make her wed a monkey. Besides, your fate is fine. What could be better! You'll take the stage-coach to his little village, And find it full of uncles and of cousins, Whose conversation will delight you. Then You'll be presented in their best society. You'll even go to call, by way of welcome, On Mrs. Bailiff, Mrs. Tax-Collector, Who'll patronise you with a folding-stool. There, once a year, at carnival, you'll have Perhaps--a ball; with orchestra--two bag-pipes; And sometimes a trained ape, and Punch and Judy; Though if your husband ... MARIANE Oh, you'll kill me. Please Contrive to help me out with your advice. DORINE I thank you kindly. MARIANE Oh! Dorine, I beg you ... DORINE To serve you right, this marriage must go through. MARIANE Dear girl! DORINE No. MARIANE If I say I love Valere ... DORINE No, no. Tartuffe's your man, and you shall taste him. MARIANE You know I've always trusted you; now help me ... DORINE No, you shall be, my faith! Tartuffified. MARIANE Well, then, since you've no pity for my fate Let me take counsel only of despair; It will advise and help and give me courage; There's one sure cure, I know, for all my troubles. (She starts to go.) DORINE There, there! Come back. I can't be angry long. I must take pity on you, after all. MARIANE Oh, don't you see, Dorine, if I must bear This martyrdom, I certainly shall die. DORINE Now don't you fret. We'll surely find some way. To hinder this ... But here's Valere, your lover. SCENE IV VALERE, MARIANE, DORINE VALERE Madam, a piece of news--quite new to me-- Has just come out, and very fine it is. MARIANE What piece of news? VALERE Your marriage with Tartuffe. MARIANE 'Tis true my father has this plan in mind. VALERE Your father, madam ... MARIANE Yes, he's changed his plans, And did but now propose it to me. VALERE What! Seriously? MARIANE Yes, he was serious, And openly insisted on the match. VALERE And what's your resolution in the matter, Madam? MARIANE I don't know. VALERE That's a pretty answer. You don't know? MARIANE No. VALERE No? MARIANE What do you advise? VALERE I? My advice is, marry him, by all means. MARIANE That's your advice? VALERE Yes. MARIANE Do you mean it? VALERE Surely. A splendid choice, and worthy of your acceptance. MARIANE Oh, very well, sir! I shall take your counsel. VALERE You'll find no trouble taking it, I warrant. MARIANE No more than you did giving it, be sure. VALERE I gave it, truly, to oblige you, madam. MARIANE And I shall take it to oblige you, sir. Dorine (withdrawing to the back of the stage) Let's see what this affair will come to. VALERE So, That is your love? And it was all deceit When you ... MARIANE I beg you, say no more of that. You told me, squarely, sir, I should accept The husband that is offered me; and I Will tell you squarely that I mean to do so, Since you have given me this good advice. VALERE Don't shield yourself with talk of my advice. You had your mind made up, that's evident; And now you're snatching at a trifling pretext To justify the breaking of your word. MARIANE Exactly so. VALERE Of course it is; your heart Has never known true love for me. MARIANE Alas! You're free to think so, if you please. VALERE Yes, yes, I'm free to think so; and my outraged love May yet forestall you in your perfidy, And offer elsewhere both my heart and hand. MARIANE No doubt of it; the love your high deserts May win ... VALERE Good Lord, have done with my deserts! I know I have but few, and you have proved it. But I may find more kindness in another; I know of someone, who'll not be ashamed To take your leavings, and make up my loss. MARIANE The loss is not so great; you'll easily Console yourself completely for this change. VALERE I'll try my best, that you may well believe. When we're forgotten by a woman's heart, Our pride is challenged; we, too, must forget; Or if we cannot, must at least pretend to. No other way can man such baseness prove, As be a lover scorned, and still in love. MARIANE In faith, a high and noble sentiment. VALERE Yes; and it's one that all men must approve. What! Would you have me keep my love alive, And see you fly into another's arms Before my very eyes; and never offer To someone else the heart that you had scorned? MARIANE Oh, no, indeed! For my part, I could wish That it were done already. VALERE What! You wish it? MARIANE Yes. VALERE This is insult heaped on injury; I'll go at once and do as you desire. (He takes a step or two as if to go away.) MARIANE Oh, very well then. VALERE (turning back) But remember this. 'Twas you that drove me to this desperate pass. MARIANE Of course. VALERE (turning back again) And in the plan that I have formed I only follow your example. MARIANE Yes. VALERE (at the door) Enough; you shall be punctually obeyed. MARIANE So much the better. VALERE (coming back again) This is once for all. MARIANE So be it, then. VALERE (He goes toward the door, but just as he reaches it, turns around) Eh? MARIANE What? VALERE You didn't call me? MARIANE I? You are dreaming. VALERE Very well, I'm gone. Madam, farewell. (He walks slowly away.) MARIANE Farewell, sir. DORINE I must say You've lost your senses and both gone clean daft! I've let you fight it out to the end o' the chapter To see how far the thing could go. Oho, there, Mister Valere! (She goes and seizes him by the arm, to stop him. He makes a great show of resistance.) VALERE What do you want, Dorine? DORINE Come here. VALERE No, no, I'm quite beside myself. Don't hinder me from doing as she wishes. DORINE Stop! VALERE No. You see, I'm fixed, resolved, determined. DORINE So! MARIANE (aside) Since my presence pains him, makes him go, I'd better go myself, and leave him free. DORINE (leaving Valere, and running after Mariane) Now t'other! Where are you going? MARIANE Let me be. DORINE. Come back. MARIANE No, no, it isn't any use. VALERE (aside) 'Tis clear the sight of me is torture to her; No doubt, t'were better I should free her from it. DORINE (leaving Mariane and running after Valere) Same thing again! Deuce take you both, I say. Now stop your fooling; come here, you; and you. (She pulls first one, then the other, toward the middle of the stage.) VALERE (to Dorine) What's your idea? MARIANE (to Dorine) What can you mean to do? DORINE Set you to rights, and pull you out o' the scrape. (To Valere) Are you quite mad, to quarrel with her now? VALERE Didn't you hear the things she said to me? DORINE (to Mariane) Are you quite mad, to get in such a passion? MARIANE Didn't you see the way he treated me? DORINE Fools, both of you. (To Valere) She thinks of nothing else But to keep faith with you, I vouch for it. (To Mariane) And he loves none but you, and longs for nothing But just to marry you, I stake my life on't. MARIANE (to Valere) Why did you give me such advice then, pray? VALERE (to Mariane) Why ask for my advice on such a matter? DORINE You both are daft, I tell you. Here, your hands. (To Valere) Come, yours. VALERE (giving Dorine his hand) What for? DORINE (to Mariane) Now, yours. MARIANE (giving Dorine her hand) But what's the use? DORINE Oh, quick now, come along. There, both of you-- You love each other better than you think. (Valere and Mariane hold each other's hands some time without looking at each other.) VALERE (at last turning toward Mariane) Come, don't be so ungracious now about it; Look at a man as if you didn't hate him. (Mariane looks sideways toward Valere, with just a bit of a smile.) DORINE My faith and troth, what fools these lovers be! VALERE (to Mariane) But come now, have I not a just complaint? And truly, are you not a wicked creature To take delight in saying what would pain me? MARIANE And are you not yourself the most ungrateful ... ? DORINE Leave this discussion till another time; Now, think how you'll stave off this plaguy marriage. MARIANE Then tell us how to go about it. DORINE Well, We'll try all sorts of ways. (To Mariane) Your father's daft; (To Valere) This plan is nonsense. (To Mariane) You had better humour His notions by a semblance of consent, So that in case of danger, you can still Find means to block the marriage by delay. If you gain time, the rest is easy, trust me. One day you'll fool them with a sudden illness, Causing delay; another day, ill omens: You've met a funeral, or broke a mirror, Or dreamed of muddy water. Best of all, They cannot marry you to anyone Without your saying yes. But now, methinks, They mustn't find you chattering together. (To Valere) You, go at once and set your friends at work To make him keep his word to you; while we Will bring the brother's influence to bear, And get the step-mother on our side, too. Good-bye. VALERE (to Mariane) Whatever efforts we may make, My greatest hope, be sure, must rest on you. MARIANE (to Valere) I cannot answer for my father's whims; But no one save Valere shall ever have me. VALERE You thrill me through with joy! Whatever comes ... DORINE Oho! These lovers! Never done with prattling! Now go. VALERE (starting to go, and coming back again) One last word ... DORINE What a gabble and pother! Be off! By this door, you. And you, by t'other. (She pushes them off, by the shoulders, in opposite directions.) ACT III SCENE I DAMIS, DORINE DAMIS May lightning strike me dead this very instant, May I be everywhere proclaimed a scoundrel, If any reverence or power shall stop me, And if I don't do straightway something desperate! DORINE I beg you, moderate this towering passion; Your father did but merely mention it. Not all things that are talked of turn to facts; The road is long, sometimes, from plans to acts. DAMIS No, I must end this paltry fellow's plots, And he shall hear from me a truth or two. DORINE So ho! Go slow now. Just you leave the fellow-- Your father too--in your step-mother's hands. She has some influence with this Tartuffe, He makes a point of heeding all she says, And I suspect that he is fond of her. Would God 'twere true!--'Twould be the height of humour Now, she has sent for him, in your behalf, To sound him on this marriage, to find out What his ideas are, and to show him plainly What troubles he may cause, if he persists In giving countenance to this design. His man says, he's at prayers, I mustn't see him, But likewise says, he'll presently be down. So off with you, and let me wait for him. DAMIS I may be present at this interview. DORINE No, no! They must be left alone. DAMIS I won't So much as speak to him. DORINE Go on! We know you And your high tantrums. Just the way to spoil things! Be off. DAMIS No, I must see--I'll keep my temper. DORINE Out on you, what a plague! He's coming. Hide! (Damis goes and hides in the closet at the back of the stage.) SCENE II TARTUFFE, DORINE TARTUFFE (speaking to his valet, off the stage, as soon as he sees Dorine is there) Lawrence, put up my hair-cloth shirt and scourge, And pray that Heaven may shed its light upon you. If any come to see me, say I'm gone To share my alms among the prisoners. DORINE (aside) What affectation and what showing off! TARTUFFE What do you want with me? DORINE To tell you ... TARTUFFE (taking a handkerchief from his pocket) Ah! Before you speak, pray take this handkerchief. DORINE What? TARTUFFE Cover up that bosom, which I can't Endure to look on. Things like that offend Our souls, and fill our minds with sinful thoughts. DORINE Are you so tender to temptation, then, And has the flesh such power upon your senses? I don't know how you get in such a heat; For my part, I am not so prone to lust, And I could see you stripped from head to foot, And all your hide not tempt me in the least. TARTUFFE Show in your speech some little modesty, Or I must instantly take leave of you. DORINE No, no, I'll leave you to yourself; I've only One thing to say: Madam will soon be down, And begs the favour of a word with you. TARTUFFE Ah! Willingly. DORINE (aside) How gentle all at once! My faith, I still believe I've hit upon it. TARTUFFE Will she come soon? DORINE I think I hear her now. Yes, here she is herself; I'll leave you with her. SCENE III ELMIRE, TARTUFFE TARTUFFE May Heaven's overflowing kindness ever Give you good health of body and of soul, And bless your days according to the wishes And prayers of its most humble votary! ELMIRE I'm very grateful for your pious wishes. But let's sit down, so we may talk at ease. TARTUFFE (after sitting down) And how are you recovered from your illness? ELMIRE (sitting down also) Quite well; the fever soon let go its hold. TARTUFFE My prayers, I fear, have not sufficient merit To have drawn down this favour from on high; But each entreaty that I made to Heaven Had for its object your recovery. ELMIRE You're too solicitous on my behalf. TARTUFFE We could not cherish your dear health too much; I would have given mine, to help restore it. ELMIRE That's pushing Christian charity too far; I owe you many thanks for so much kindness. TARTUFFE I do far less for you than you deserve. ELMIRE There is a matter that I wished to speak of In private; I am glad there's no one here To listen. TARTUFFE Madam, I am overjoyed. 'Tis sweet to find myself alone with you. This is an opportunity I've asked Of Heaven, many a time; till now, in vain. ELMIRE All that I wish, is just a word from you, Quite frank and open, hiding nothing from me. (DAMIS, without their seeing him, opens the closet door halfway.) TARTUFFE I too could wish, as Heaven's especial favour, To lay my soul quite open to your eyes, And swear to you, the trouble that I made About those visits which your charms attract, Does not result from any hatred toward you, But rather from a passionate devotion, And purest motives ... ELMIRE That is how I take it, I think 'tis my salvation that concerns you. TARTUFFE (pressing her finger tips) Madam, 'tis so; and such is my devotion ... ELMIRE Ouch! but you squeeze too hard. TARTUFFE Excess of zeal. In no way could I ever mean to hurt you, And I'd as soon ... (He puts his hand on her knee.) ELMIRE What's your hand doing there? TARTUFFE Feeling your gown; the stuff is very soft. ELMIRE Let be, I beg you; I am very ticklish. (She moves her chair away, and Tartuffe brings his nearer.) TARTUFFE (handling the lace yoke of Elmire's dress) Dear me how wonderful in workmanship This lace is! They do marvels, nowadays; Things of all kinds were never better made. ELMIRE Yes, very true. But let us come to business. They say my husband means to break his word. And marry Mariane to you. Is't so? TARTUFFE He did hint some such thing; but truly, madam, That's not the happiness I'm yearning after; I see elsewhere the sweet compelling charms Of such a joy as fills my every wish. ELMIRE You mean you cannot love terrestrial things. TARTUFFE The heart within my bosom is not stone. ELMIRE I well believe your sighs all tend to Heaven, And nothing here below can stay your thoughts. TARTUFFE Love for the beauty of eternal things Cannot destroy our love for earthly beauty; Our mortal senses well may be entranced By perfect works that Heaven has fashioned here. Its charms reflected shine in such as you, And in yourself, its rarest miracles; It has displayed such marvels in your face, That eyes are dazed, and hearts are rapt away; I could not look on you, the perfect creature, Without admiring Nature's great Creator, And feeling all my heart inflamed with love For you, His fairest image of Himself. At first I trembled lest this secret love Might be the Evil Spirit's artful snare; I even schooled my heart to flee your beauty, Thinking it was a bar to my salvation. But soon, enlightened, O all lovely one, I saw how this my passion may be blameless, How I may make it fit with modesty, And thus completely yield my heart to it. 'Tis I must own, a great presumption in me To dare make you the offer of my heart; My love hopes all things from your perfect goodness, And nothing from my own poor weak endeavour. You are my hope, my stay, my peace of heart; On you depends my torment or my bliss; And by your doom of judgment, I shall be Blest, if you will; or damned, by your decree. ELMIRE Your declaration's turned most gallantly; But truly, it is just a bit surprising. You should have better armed your heart, methinks, And taken thought somewhat on such a matter. A pious man like you, known everywhere ... TARTUFFE Though pious, I am none the less a man; And when a man beholds your heavenly charms, The heart surrenders, and can think no more. I know such words seem strange, coming from me; But, madam, I'm no angel, after all; If you condemn my frankly made avowal You only have your charming self to blame. Soon as I saw your more than human beauty, You were thenceforth the sovereign of my soul; Sweetness ineffable was in your eyes, That took by storm my still resisting heart, And conquered everything, fasts, prayers, and tears, And turned my worship wholly to yourself. My looks, my sighs, have spoke a thousand times; Now, to express it all, my voice must speak. If but you will look down with gracious favour Upon the sorrows of your worthless slave, If in your goodness you will give me comfort And condescend unto my nothingness, I'll ever pay you, O sweet miracle, An unexampled worship and devotion. Then too, with me your honour runs no risk; With me you need not fear a public scandal. These court gallants, that women are so fond of, Are boastful of their acts, and vain in speech; They always brag in public of their progress; Soon as a favour's granted, they'll divulge it; Their tattling tongues, if you but trust to them, Will foul the altar where their hearts have worshipped. But men like me are so discreet in love, That you may trust their lasting secrecy. The care we take to guard our own good name May fully guarantee the one we love; So you may find, with hearts like ours sincere, Love without scandal, pleasure without fear. ELMIRE I've heard you through--your speech is clear, at least. But don't you fear that I may take a fancy To tell my husband of your gallant passion, And that a prompt report of this affair May somewhat change the friendship which he bears you? TARTUFFE I know that you're too good and generous, That you will pardon my temerity, Excuse, upon the score of human frailty, The violence of passion that offends you, And not forget, when you consult your mirror, That I'm not blind, and man is made of flesh. ELMIRE Some women might do otherwise, perhaps, But I am willing to employ discretion, And not repeat the matter to my husband; But in return, I'll ask one thing of you: That you urge forward, frankly and sincerely, The marriage of Valere to Mariane; That you give up the unjust influence By which you

due

How many times the word 'due' appears in the text?

And he who weds his child against her will Owes heaven account for it, if she do ill. Think then what perils wait on your design. ORGON (to Mariane) So! I must learn what's what from her, you see! DORINE You might do worse than follow my advice. ORGON Daughter, we can't waste time upon this nonsense; I know what's good for you, and I'm your father. True, I had promised you to young Valere; But, first, they tell me he's inclined to gamble, And then, I fear his faith is not quite sound. I haven't noticed that he's regular At church. DORINE You'd have him run there just when you do. Like those who go on purpose to be seen? ORGON I don't ask your opinion on the matter. In short, the other is in Heaven's best graces, And that is riches quite beyond compare. This match will bring you every joy you long for; 'Twill be all steeped in sweetness and delight. You'll live together, in your faithful loves, Like two sweet children, like two turtle-doves; You'll never fail to quarrel, scold, or tease, And you may do with him whate'er you please. DORINE With him? Do naught but give him horns, I'll warrant. ORGON Out on thee, wench! DORINE I tell you he's cut out for't; However great your daughter's virtue, sir, His destiny is sure to prove the stronger. ORGON Have done with interrupting. Hold your tongue. Don't poke your nose in other people's business. DORINE (She keeps interrupting him, just as he turns and starts to speak to his daughter). If I make bold, sir, 'tis for your own good. ORGON You're too officious; pray you, hold your tongue. DORINE 'Tis love of you ... ORGON I want none of your love. DORINE Then I will love you in your own despite. ORGON You will, eh? DORINE Yes, your honour's dear to me; I can't endure to see you made the butt Of all men's ridicule. ORGON Won't you be still? DORINE 'Twould be a sin to let you make this match. ORGON Won't you be still, I say, you impudent viper! DORINE What! you are pious, and you lose your temper? ORGON I'm all wrought up, with your confounded nonsense; Now, once for all, I tell you hold your tongue. DORINE Then mum's the word; I'll take it out in thinking. ORGON Think all you please; but not a syllable To me about it, or ... you understand! (Turning to his daughter.) As a wise father, I've considered all With due deliberation. DORINE I'll go mad If I can't speak. (She stops the instant he turns his head.) ORGON Though he's no lady's man, Tartuffe is well enough ... DORINE A pretty phiz! ORGON So that, although you may not care at all For his best qualities ... DORINE A handsome dowry! (Orgon turns and stands in front of her, with arms folded, eyeing her.) Were I in her place, any man should rue it Who married me by force, that's mighty certain; I'd let him know, and that within a week, A woman's vengeance isn't far to seek. ORGON (to Dorine) So--nothing that I say has any weight? DORINE Eh? What's wrong now? I didn't speak to you. ORGON What were you doing? DORINE Talking to myself. ORGON Oh! Very well. (Aside.) Her monstrous impudence Must be chastised with one good slap in the face. (He stands ready to strike her, and, each time he speaks to his daughter, he glances toward her; but she stands still and says not a word.) [3] [Footnote 3: As given at the Comedie francaise, the action is as follows: While Orgon says, "You must approve of my design," Dorine is making signs to Mariane to resist his orders; Orgon turns around suddenly; but Dorine quickly changes her gesture and with the hand which she had lifted calmly arranges her hair and her cap. Orgon goes on, "Think of the husband ..." and stops before the middle of his sentence to turn and catch the beginning of Dorine's gesture; but he is too quick this time, and Dorine stands looking at his furious countenance with a sweet and gentle expression. He turns and goes on, and the obstinate Dorine again lifts her hand behind his shoulder to urge Mariane to resistance: this time he catches her; but just as he swings his shoulder to give her the promised blow, she stops him by changing the intent of her gesture, and carefully picking from the top of his sleeve a bit of fluff which she holds carefully between her fingers, then blows into the air, and watches intently as it floats away. Orgon is paralysed by her innocence of expression, and compelled to hide his rage.--Regnier, _Le Tartuffe des Comediens_.] ORGON Daughter, you must approve of my design.... Think of this husband ... I have chosen for you... (To Dorine) Why don't you talk to yourself? DORINE Nothing to say. ORGON One little word more. DORINE Oh, no, thanks. Not now. ORGON Sure, I'd have caught you. DORINE Faith, I'm no such fool. ORGON So, daughter, now obedience is the word; You must accept my choice with reverence. DORINE (running away) You'd never catch me marrying such a creature. ORGON (swinging his hand at her and missing her) Daughter, you've such a pestilent hussy there I can't live with her longer, without sin. I can't discuss things in the state I'm in. My mind's so flustered by her insolent talk, To calm myself, I must go take a walk. SCENE III MARIANE, DORINE DORINE Say, have you lost the tongue from out your head? And must I speak your role from A to Zed? You let them broach a project that's absurd, And don't oppose it with a single word! MARIANE What can I do? My father is the master. DORINE Do? Everything, to ward off such disaster. MARIANE But what? DORINE Tell him one doesn't love by proxy; Tell him you'll marry for yourself, not him; Since you're the one for whom the thing is done, You are the one, not he, the man must please; If his Tartuffe has charmed him so, why let him Just marry him himself--no one will hinder. MARIANE A father's rights are such, it seems to me, That I could never dare to say a word. DORINE Came, talk it out. Valere has asked your hand: Now do you love him, pray, or do you not? MARIANE Dorine! How can you wrong my love so much, And ask me such a question? Have I not A hundred times laid bare my heart to you? Do you know how ardently I love him? DORINE How do I know if heart and words agree, And if in honest truth you really love him? MARIANE Dorine, you wrong me greatly if you doubt it; I've shown my inmost feelings, all too plainly. DORINE So then, you love him? MARIANE Yes, devotedly. DORINE And he returns your love, apparently? MARIANE I think so. DORINE And you both alike are eager To be well married to each other? MARIANE Surely. DORINE Then what's your plan about this other match? MARIANE To kill myself, if it is forced upon me. DORINE Good! That's a remedy I hadn't thought of. Just die, and everything will be all right. This medicine is marvellous, indeed! It drives me mad to hear folk talk such nonsense. MARIANE Oh dear, Dorine you get in such a temper! You have no sympathy for people's troubles. DORINE I have no sympathy when folk talk nonsense, And flatten out as you do, at a pinch. MARIANE But what can you expect?--if one is timid?-- DORINE But what is love worth, if it has no courage? MARIANE Am I not constant in my love for him? Is't not his place to win me from my father? DORINE But if your father is a crazy fool, And quite bewitched with his Tartuffe? And breaks His bounden word? Is that your lover's fault? MARIANE But shall I publicly refuse and scorn This match, and make it plain that I'm in love? Shall I cast off for him, whate'er he be, Womanly modesty and filial duty? You ask me to display my love in public ... ? DORINE No, no, I ask you nothing. You shall be Mister Tartuffe's; why, now I think of it, I should be wrong to turn you from this marriage. What cause can I have to oppose your wishes? So fine a match! An excellent good match! Mister Tartuffe! Oh ho! No mean proposal! Mister Tartuffe, sure, take it all in all, Is not a man to sneeze at--oh, by no means! 'Tis no small luck to be his happy spouse. The whole world joins to sing his praise already; He's noble--in his parish; handsome too; Red ears and high complexion--oh, my lud! You'll be too happy, sure, with him for husband. MARIANE Oh dear! ... DORINE What joy and pride will fill your heart To be the bride of such a handsome fellow! MARIANE Oh, stop, I beg you; try to find some way To help break off the match. I quite give in, I'm ready to do anything you say. DORINE No, no, a daughter must obey her father, Though he should want to make her wed a monkey. Besides, your fate is fine. What could be better! You'll take the stage-coach to his little village, And find it full of uncles and of cousins, Whose conversation will delight you. Then You'll be presented in their best society. You'll even go to call, by way of welcome, On Mrs. Bailiff, Mrs. Tax-Collector, Who'll patronise you with a folding-stool. There, once a year, at carnival, you'll have Perhaps--a ball; with orchestra--two bag-pipes; And sometimes a trained ape, and Punch and Judy; Though if your husband ... MARIANE Oh, you'll kill me. Please Contrive to help me out with your advice. DORINE I thank you kindly. MARIANE Oh! Dorine, I beg you ... DORINE To serve you right, this marriage must go through. MARIANE Dear girl! DORINE No. MARIANE If I say I love Valere ... DORINE No, no. Tartuffe's your man, and you shall taste him. MARIANE You know I've always trusted you; now help me ... DORINE No, you shall be, my faith! Tartuffified. MARIANE Well, then, since you've no pity for my fate Let me take counsel only of despair; It will advise and help and give me courage; There's one sure cure, I know, for all my troubles. (She starts to go.) DORINE There, there! Come back. I can't be angry long. I must take pity on you, after all. MARIANE Oh, don't you see, Dorine, if I must bear This martyrdom, I certainly shall die. DORINE Now don't you fret. We'll surely find some way. To hinder this ... But here's Valere, your lover. SCENE IV VALERE, MARIANE, DORINE VALERE Madam, a piece of news--quite new to me-- Has just come out, and very fine it is. MARIANE What piece of news? VALERE Your marriage with Tartuffe. MARIANE 'Tis true my father has this plan in mind. VALERE Your father, madam ... MARIANE Yes, he's changed his plans, And did but now propose it to me. VALERE What! Seriously? MARIANE Yes, he was serious, And openly insisted on the match. VALERE And what's your resolution in the matter, Madam? MARIANE I don't know. VALERE That's a pretty answer. You don't know? MARIANE No. VALERE No? MARIANE What do you advise? VALERE I? My advice is, marry him, by all means. MARIANE That's your advice? VALERE Yes. MARIANE Do you mean it? VALERE Surely. A splendid choice, and worthy of your acceptance. MARIANE Oh, very well, sir! I shall take your counsel. VALERE You'll find no trouble taking it, I warrant. MARIANE No more than you did giving it, be sure. VALERE I gave it, truly, to oblige you, madam. MARIANE And I shall take it to oblige you, sir. Dorine (withdrawing to the back of the stage) Let's see what this affair will come to. VALERE So, That is your love? And it was all deceit When you ... MARIANE I beg you, say no more of that. You told me, squarely, sir, I should accept The husband that is offered me; and I Will tell you squarely that I mean to do so, Since you have given me this good advice. VALERE Don't shield yourself with talk of my advice. You had your mind made up, that's evident; And now you're snatching at a trifling pretext To justify the breaking of your word. MARIANE Exactly so. VALERE Of course it is; your heart Has never known true love for me. MARIANE Alas! You're free to think so, if you please. VALERE Yes, yes, I'm free to think so; and my outraged love May yet forestall you in your perfidy, And offer elsewhere both my heart and hand. MARIANE No doubt of it; the love your high deserts May win ... VALERE Good Lord, have done with my deserts! I know I have but few, and you have proved it. But I may find more kindness in another; I know of someone, who'll not be ashamed To take your leavings, and make up my loss. MARIANE The loss is not so great; you'll easily Console yourself completely for this change. VALERE I'll try my best, that you may well believe. When we're forgotten by a woman's heart, Our pride is challenged; we, too, must forget; Or if we cannot, must at least pretend to. No other way can man such baseness prove, As be a lover scorned, and still in love. MARIANE In faith, a high and noble sentiment. VALERE Yes; and it's one that all men must approve. What! Would you have me keep my love alive, And see you fly into another's arms Before my very eyes; and never offer To someone else the heart that you had scorned? MARIANE Oh, no, indeed! For my part, I could wish That it were done already. VALERE What! You wish it? MARIANE Yes. VALERE This is insult heaped on injury; I'll go at once and do as you desire. (He takes a step or two as if to go away.) MARIANE Oh, very well then. VALERE (turning back) But remember this. 'Twas you that drove me to this desperate pass. MARIANE Of course. VALERE (turning back again) And in the plan that I have formed I only follow your example. MARIANE Yes. VALERE (at the door) Enough; you shall be punctually obeyed. MARIANE So much the better. VALERE (coming back again) This is once for all. MARIANE So be it, then. VALERE (He goes toward the door, but just as he reaches it, turns around) Eh? MARIANE What? VALERE You didn't call me? MARIANE I? You are dreaming. VALERE Very well, I'm gone. Madam, farewell. (He walks slowly away.) MARIANE Farewell, sir. DORINE I must say You've lost your senses and both gone clean daft! I've let you fight it out to the end o' the chapter To see how far the thing could go. Oho, there, Mister Valere! (She goes and seizes him by the arm, to stop him. He makes a great show of resistance.) VALERE What do you want, Dorine? DORINE Come here. VALERE No, no, I'm quite beside myself. Don't hinder me from doing as she wishes. DORINE Stop! VALERE No. You see, I'm fixed, resolved, determined. DORINE So! MARIANE (aside) Since my presence pains him, makes him go, I'd better go myself, and leave him free. DORINE (leaving Valere, and running after Mariane) Now t'other! Where are you going? MARIANE Let me be. DORINE. Come back. MARIANE No, no, it isn't any use. VALERE (aside) 'Tis clear the sight of me is torture to her; No doubt, t'were better I should free her from it. DORINE (leaving Mariane and running after Valere) Same thing again! Deuce take you both, I say. Now stop your fooling; come here, you; and you. (She pulls first one, then the other, toward the middle of the stage.) VALERE (to Dorine) What's your idea? MARIANE (to Dorine) What can you mean to do? DORINE Set you to rights, and pull you out o' the scrape. (To Valere) Are you quite mad, to quarrel with her now? VALERE Didn't you hear the things she said to me? DORINE (to Mariane) Are you quite mad, to get in such a passion? MARIANE Didn't you see the way he treated me? DORINE Fools, both of you. (To Valere) She thinks of nothing else But to keep faith with you, I vouch for it. (To Mariane) And he loves none but you, and longs for nothing But just to marry you, I stake my life on't. MARIANE (to Valere) Why did you give me such advice then, pray? VALERE (to Mariane) Why ask for my advice on such a matter? DORINE You both are daft, I tell you. Here, your hands. (To Valere) Come, yours. VALERE (giving Dorine his hand) What for? DORINE (to Mariane) Now, yours. MARIANE (giving Dorine her hand) But what's the use? DORINE Oh, quick now, come along. There, both of you-- You love each other better than you think. (Valere and Mariane hold each other's hands some time without looking at each other.) VALERE (at last turning toward Mariane) Come, don't be so ungracious now about it; Look at a man as if you didn't hate him. (Mariane looks sideways toward Valere, with just a bit of a smile.) DORINE My faith and troth, what fools these lovers be! VALERE (to Mariane) But come now, have I not a just complaint? And truly, are you not a wicked creature To take delight in saying what would pain me? MARIANE And are you not yourself the most ungrateful ... ? DORINE Leave this discussion till another time; Now, think how you'll stave off this plaguy marriage. MARIANE Then tell us how to go about it. DORINE Well, We'll try all sorts of ways. (To Mariane) Your father's daft; (To Valere) This plan is nonsense. (To Mariane) You had better humour His notions by a semblance of consent, So that in case of danger, you can still Find means to block the marriage by delay. If you gain time, the rest is easy, trust me. One day you'll fool them with a sudden illness, Causing delay; another day, ill omens: You've met a funeral, or broke a mirror, Or dreamed of muddy water. Best of all, They cannot marry you to anyone Without your saying yes. But now, methinks, They mustn't find you chattering together. (To Valere) You, go at once and set your friends at work To make him keep his word to you; while we Will bring the brother's influence to bear, And get the step-mother on our side, too. Good-bye. VALERE (to Mariane) Whatever efforts we may make, My greatest hope, be sure, must rest on you. MARIANE (to Valere) I cannot answer for my father's whims; But no one save Valere shall ever have me. VALERE You thrill me through with joy! Whatever comes ... DORINE Oho! These lovers! Never done with prattling! Now go. VALERE (starting to go, and coming back again) One last word ... DORINE What a gabble and pother! Be off! By this door, you. And you, by t'other. (She pushes them off, by the shoulders, in opposite directions.) ACT III SCENE I DAMIS, DORINE DAMIS May lightning strike me dead this very instant, May I be everywhere proclaimed a scoundrel, If any reverence or power shall stop me, And if I don't do straightway something desperate! DORINE I beg you, moderate this towering passion; Your father did but merely mention it. Not all things that are talked of turn to facts; The road is long, sometimes, from plans to acts. DAMIS No, I must end this paltry fellow's plots, And he shall hear from me a truth or two. DORINE So ho! Go slow now. Just you leave the fellow-- Your father too--in your step-mother's hands. She has some influence with this Tartuffe, He makes a point of heeding all she says, And I suspect that he is fond of her. Would God 'twere true!--'Twould be the height of humour Now, she has sent for him, in your behalf, To sound him on this marriage, to find out What his ideas are, and to show him plainly What troubles he may cause, if he persists In giving countenance to this design. His man says, he's at prayers, I mustn't see him, But likewise says, he'll presently be down. So off with you, and let me wait for him. DAMIS I may be present at this interview. DORINE No, no! They must be left alone. DAMIS I won't So much as speak to him. DORINE Go on! We know you And your high tantrums. Just the way to spoil things! Be off. DAMIS No, I must see--I'll keep my temper. DORINE Out on you, what a plague! He's coming. Hide! (Damis goes and hides in the closet at the back of the stage.) SCENE II TARTUFFE, DORINE TARTUFFE (speaking to his valet, off the stage, as soon as he sees Dorine is there) Lawrence, put up my hair-cloth shirt and scourge, And pray that Heaven may shed its light upon you. If any come to see me, say I'm gone To share my alms among the prisoners. DORINE (aside) What affectation and what showing off! TARTUFFE What do you want with me? DORINE To tell you ... TARTUFFE (taking a handkerchief from his pocket) Ah! Before you speak, pray take this handkerchief. DORINE What? TARTUFFE Cover up that bosom, which I can't Endure to look on. Things like that offend Our souls, and fill our minds with sinful thoughts. DORINE Are you so tender to temptation, then, And has the flesh such power upon your senses? I don't know how you get in such a heat; For my part, I am not so prone to lust, And I could see you stripped from head to foot, And all your hide not tempt me in the least. TARTUFFE Show in your speech some little modesty, Or I must instantly take leave of you. DORINE No, no, I'll leave you to yourself; I've only One thing to say: Madam will soon be down, And begs the favour of a word with you. TARTUFFE Ah! Willingly. DORINE (aside) How gentle all at once! My faith, I still believe I've hit upon it. TARTUFFE Will she come soon? DORINE I think I hear her now. Yes, here she is herself; I'll leave you with her. SCENE III ELMIRE, TARTUFFE TARTUFFE May Heaven's overflowing kindness ever Give you good health of body and of soul, And bless your days according to the wishes And prayers of its most humble votary! ELMIRE I'm very grateful for your pious wishes. But let's sit down, so we may talk at ease. TARTUFFE (after sitting down) And how are you recovered from your illness? ELMIRE (sitting down also) Quite well; the fever soon let go its hold. TARTUFFE My prayers, I fear, have not sufficient merit To have drawn down this favour from on high; But each entreaty that I made to Heaven Had for its object your recovery. ELMIRE You're too solicitous on my behalf. TARTUFFE We could not cherish your dear health too much; I would have given mine, to help restore it. ELMIRE That's pushing Christian charity too far; I owe you many thanks for so much kindness. TARTUFFE I do far less for you than you deserve. ELMIRE There is a matter that I wished to speak of In private; I am glad there's no one here To listen. TARTUFFE Madam, I am overjoyed. 'Tis sweet to find myself alone with you. This is an opportunity I've asked Of Heaven, many a time; till now, in vain. ELMIRE All that I wish, is just a word from you, Quite frank and open, hiding nothing from me. (DAMIS, without their seeing him, opens the closet door halfway.) TARTUFFE I too could wish, as Heaven's especial favour, To lay my soul quite open to your eyes, And swear to you, the trouble that I made About those visits which your charms attract, Does not result from any hatred toward you, But rather from a passionate devotion, And purest motives ... ELMIRE That is how I take it, I think 'tis my salvation that concerns you. TARTUFFE (pressing her finger tips) Madam, 'tis so; and such is my devotion ... ELMIRE Ouch! but you squeeze too hard. TARTUFFE Excess of zeal. In no way could I ever mean to hurt you, And I'd as soon ... (He puts his hand on her knee.) ELMIRE What's your hand doing there? TARTUFFE Feeling your gown; the stuff is very soft. ELMIRE Let be, I beg you; I am very ticklish. (She moves her chair away, and Tartuffe brings his nearer.) TARTUFFE (handling the lace yoke of Elmire's dress) Dear me how wonderful in workmanship This lace is! They do marvels, nowadays; Things of all kinds were never better made. ELMIRE Yes, very true. But let us come to business. They say my husband means to break his word. And marry Mariane to you. Is't so? TARTUFFE He did hint some such thing; but truly, madam, That's not the happiness I'm yearning after; I see elsewhere the sweet compelling charms Of such a joy as fills my every wish. ELMIRE You mean you cannot love terrestrial things. TARTUFFE The heart within my bosom is not stone. ELMIRE I well believe your sighs all tend to Heaven, And nothing here below can stay your thoughts. TARTUFFE Love for the beauty of eternal things Cannot destroy our love for earthly beauty; Our mortal senses well may be entranced By perfect works that Heaven has fashioned here. Its charms reflected shine in such as you, And in yourself, its rarest miracles; It has displayed such marvels in your face, That eyes are dazed, and hearts are rapt away; I could not look on you, the perfect creature, Without admiring Nature's great Creator, And feeling all my heart inflamed with love For you, His fairest image of Himself. At first I trembled lest this secret love Might be the Evil Spirit's artful snare; I even schooled my heart to flee your beauty, Thinking it was a bar to my salvation. But soon, enlightened, O all lovely one, I saw how this my passion may be blameless, How I may make it fit with modesty, And thus completely yield my heart to it. 'Tis I must own, a great presumption in me To dare make you the offer of my heart; My love hopes all things from your perfect goodness, And nothing from my own poor weak endeavour. You are my hope, my stay, my peace of heart; On you depends my torment or my bliss; And by your doom of judgment, I shall be Blest, if you will; or damned, by your decree. ELMIRE Your declaration's turned most gallantly; But truly, it is just a bit surprising. You should have better armed your heart, methinks, And taken thought somewhat on such a matter. A pious man like you, known everywhere ... TARTUFFE Though pious, I am none the less a man; And when a man beholds your heavenly charms, The heart surrenders, and can think no more. I know such words seem strange, coming from me; But, madam, I'm no angel, after all; If you condemn my frankly made avowal You only have your charming self to blame. Soon as I saw your more than human beauty, You were thenceforth the sovereign of my soul; Sweetness ineffable was in your eyes, That took by storm my still resisting heart, And conquered everything, fasts, prayers, and tears, And turned my worship wholly to yourself. My looks, my sighs, have spoke a thousand times; Now, to express it all, my voice must speak. If but you will look down with gracious favour Upon the sorrows of your worthless slave, If in your goodness you will give me comfort And condescend unto my nothingness, I'll ever pay you, O sweet miracle, An unexampled worship and devotion. Then too, with me your honour runs no risk; With me you need not fear a public scandal. These court gallants, that women are so fond of, Are boastful of their acts, and vain in speech; They always brag in public of their progress; Soon as a favour's granted, they'll divulge it; Their tattling tongues, if you but trust to them, Will foul the altar where their hearts have worshipped. But men like me are so discreet in love, That you may trust their lasting secrecy. The care we take to guard our own good name May fully guarantee the one we love; So you may find, with hearts like ours sincere, Love without scandal, pleasure without fear. ELMIRE I've heard you through--your speech is clear, at least. But don't you fear that I may take a fancy To tell my husband of your gallant passion, And that a prompt report of this affair May somewhat change the friendship which he bears you? TARTUFFE I know that you're too good and generous, That you will pardon my temerity, Excuse, upon the score of human frailty, The violence of passion that offends you, And not forget, when you consult your mirror, That I'm not blind, and man is made of flesh. ELMIRE Some women might do otherwise, perhaps, But I am willing to employ discretion, And not repeat the matter to my husband; But in return, I'll ask one thing of you: That you urge forward, frankly and sincerely, The marriage of Valere to Mariane; That you give up the unjust influence By which you

stronger

How many times the word 'stronger' appears in the text?

And he who weds his child against her will Owes heaven account for it, if she do ill. Think then what perils wait on your design. ORGON (to Mariane) So! I must learn what's what from her, you see! DORINE You might do worse than follow my advice. ORGON Daughter, we can't waste time upon this nonsense; I know what's good for you, and I'm your father. True, I had promised you to young Valere; But, first, they tell me he's inclined to gamble, And then, I fear his faith is not quite sound. I haven't noticed that he's regular At church. DORINE You'd have him run there just when you do. Like those who go on purpose to be seen? ORGON I don't ask your opinion on the matter. In short, the other is in Heaven's best graces, And that is riches quite beyond compare. This match will bring you every joy you long for; 'Twill be all steeped in sweetness and delight. You'll live together, in your faithful loves, Like two sweet children, like two turtle-doves; You'll never fail to quarrel, scold, or tease, And you may do with him whate'er you please. DORINE With him? Do naught but give him horns, I'll warrant. ORGON Out on thee, wench! DORINE I tell you he's cut out for't; However great your daughter's virtue, sir, His destiny is sure to prove the stronger. ORGON Have done with interrupting. Hold your tongue. Don't poke your nose in other people's business. DORINE (She keeps interrupting him, just as he turns and starts to speak to his daughter). If I make bold, sir, 'tis for your own good. ORGON You're too officious; pray you, hold your tongue. DORINE 'Tis love of you ... ORGON I want none of your love. DORINE Then I will love you in your own despite. ORGON You will, eh? DORINE Yes, your honour's dear to me; I can't endure to see you made the butt Of all men's ridicule. ORGON Won't you be still? DORINE 'Twould be a sin to let you make this match. ORGON Won't you be still, I say, you impudent viper! DORINE What! you are pious, and you lose your temper? ORGON I'm all wrought up, with your confounded nonsense; Now, once for all, I tell you hold your tongue. DORINE Then mum's the word; I'll take it out in thinking. ORGON Think all you please; but not a syllable To me about it, or ... you understand! (Turning to his daughter.) As a wise father, I've considered all With due deliberation. DORINE I'll go mad If I can't speak. (She stops the instant he turns his head.) ORGON Though he's no lady's man, Tartuffe is well enough ... DORINE A pretty phiz! ORGON So that, although you may not care at all For his best qualities ... DORINE A handsome dowry! (Orgon turns and stands in front of her, with arms folded, eyeing her.) Were I in her place, any man should rue it Who married me by force, that's mighty certain; I'd let him know, and that within a week, A woman's vengeance isn't far to seek. ORGON (to Dorine) So--nothing that I say has any weight? DORINE Eh? What's wrong now? I didn't speak to you. ORGON What were you doing? DORINE Talking to myself. ORGON Oh! Very well. (Aside.) Her monstrous impudence Must be chastised with one good slap in the face. (He stands ready to strike her, and, each time he speaks to his daughter, he glances toward her; but she stands still and says not a word.) [3] [Footnote 3: As given at the Comedie francaise, the action is as follows: While Orgon says, "You must approve of my design," Dorine is making signs to Mariane to resist his orders; Orgon turns around suddenly; but Dorine quickly changes her gesture and with the hand which she had lifted calmly arranges her hair and her cap. Orgon goes on, "Think of the husband ..." and stops before the middle of his sentence to turn and catch the beginning of Dorine's gesture; but he is too quick this time, and Dorine stands looking at his furious countenance with a sweet and gentle expression. He turns and goes on, and the obstinate Dorine again lifts her hand behind his shoulder to urge Mariane to resistance: this time he catches her; but just as he swings his shoulder to give her the promised blow, she stops him by changing the intent of her gesture, and carefully picking from the top of his sleeve a bit of fluff which she holds carefully between her fingers, then blows into the air, and watches intently as it floats away. Orgon is paralysed by her innocence of expression, and compelled to hide his rage.--Regnier, _Le Tartuffe des Comediens_.] ORGON Daughter, you must approve of my design.... Think of this husband ... I have chosen for you... (To Dorine) Why don't you talk to yourself? DORINE Nothing to say. ORGON One little word more. DORINE Oh, no, thanks. Not now. ORGON Sure, I'd have caught you. DORINE Faith, I'm no such fool. ORGON So, daughter, now obedience is the word; You must accept my choice with reverence. DORINE (running away) You'd never catch me marrying such a creature. ORGON (swinging his hand at her and missing her) Daughter, you've such a pestilent hussy there I can't live with her longer, without sin. I can't discuss things in the state I'm in. My mind's so flustered by her insolent talk, To calm myself, I must go take a walk. SCENE III MARIANE, DORINE DORINE Say, have you lost the tongue from out your head? And must I speak your role from A to Zed? You let them broach a project that's absurd, And don't oppose it with a single word! MARIANE What can I do? My father is the master. DORINE Do? Everything, to ward off such disaster. MARIANE But what? DORINE Tell him one doesn't love by proxy; Tell him you'll marry for yourself, not him; Since you're the one for whom the thing is done, You are the one, not he, the man must please; If his Tartuffe has charmed him so, why let him Just marry him himself--no one will hinder. MARIANE A father's rights are such, it seems to me, That I could never dare to say a word. DORINE Came, talk it out. Valere has asked your hand: Now do you love him, pray, or do you not? MARIANE Dorine! How can you wrong my love so much, And ask me such a question? Have I not A hundred times laid bare my heart to you? Do you know how ardently I love him? DORINE How do I know if heart and words agree, And if in honest truth you really love him? MARIANE Dorine, you wrong me greatly if you doubt it; I've shown my inmost feelings, all too plainly. DORINE So then, you love him? MARIANE Yes, devotedly. DORINE And he returns your love, apparently? MARIANE I think so. DORINE And you both alike are eager To be well married to each other? MARIANE Surely. DORINE Then what's your plan about this other match? MARIANE To kill myself, if it is forced upon me. DORINE Good! That's a remedy I hadn't thought of. Just die, and everything will be all right. This medicine is marvellous, indeed! It drives me mad to hear folk talk such nonsense. MARIANE Oh dear, Dorine you get in such a temper! You have no sympathy for people's troubles. DORINE I have no sympathy when folk talk nonsense, And flatten out as you do, at a pinch. MARIANE But what can you expect?--if one is timid?-- DORINE But what is love worth, if it has no courage? MARIANE Am I not constant in my love for him? Is't not his place to win me from my father? DORINE But if your father is a crazy fool, And quite bewitched with his Tartuffe? And breaks His bounden word? Is that your lover's fault? MARIANE But shall I publicly refuse and scorn This match, and make it plain that I'm in love? Shall I cast off for him, whate'er he be, Womanly modesty and filial duty? You ask me to display my love in public ... ? DORINE No, no, I ask you nothing. You shall be Mister Tartuffe's; why, now I think of it, I should be wrong to turn you from this marriage. What cause can I have to oppose your wishes? So fine a match! An excellent good match! Mister Tartuffe! Oh ho! No mean proposal! Mister Tartuffe, sure, take it all in all, Is not a man to sneeze at--oh, by no means! 'Tis no small luck to be his happy spouse. The whole world joins to sing his praise already; He's noble--in his parish; handsome too; Red ears and high complexion--oh, my lud! You'll be too happy, sure, with him for husband. MARIANE Oh dear! ... DORINE What joy and pride will fill your heart To be the bride of such a handsome fellow! MARIANE Oh, stop, I beg you; try to find some way To help break off the match. I quite give in, I'm ready to do anything you say. DORINE No, no, a daughter must obey her father, Though he should want to make her wed a monkey. Besides, your fate is fine. What could be better! You'll take the stage-coach to his little village, And find it full of uncles and of cousins, Whose conversation will delight you. Then You'll be presented in their best society. You'll even go to call, by way of welcome, On Mrs. Bailiff, Mrs. Tax-Collector, Who'll patronise you with a folding-stool. There, once a year, at carnival, you'll have Perhaps--a ball; with orchestra--two bag-pipes; And sometimes a trained ape, and Punch and Judy; Though if your husband ... MARIANE Oh, you'll kill me. Please Contrive to help me out with your advice. DORINE I thank you kindly. MARIANE Oh! Dorine, I beg you ... DORINE To serve you right, this marriage must go through. MARIANE Dear girl! DORINE No. MARIANE If I say I love Valere ... DORINE No, no. Tartuffe's your man, and you shall taste him. MARIANE You know I've always trusted you; now help me ... DORINE No, you shall be, my faith! Tartuffified. MARIANE Well, then, since you've no pity for my fate Let me take counsel only of despair; It will advise and help and give me courage; There's one sure cure, I know, for all my troubles. (She starts to go.) DORINE There, there! Come back. I can't be angry long. I must take pity on you, after all. MARIANE Oh, don't you see, Dorine, if I must bear This martyrdom, I certainly shall die. DORINE Now don't you fret. We'll surely find some way. To hinder this ... But here's Valere, your lover. SCENE IV VALERE, MARIANE, DORINE VALERE Madam, a piece of news--quite new to me-- Has just come out, and very fine it is. MARIANE What piece of news? VALERE Your marriage with Tartuffe. MARIANE 'Tis true my father has this plan in mind. VALERE Your father, madam ... MARIANE Yes, he's changed his plans, And did but now propose it to me. VALERE What! Seriously? MARIANE Yes, he was serious, And openly insisted on the match. VALERE And what's your resolution in the matter, Madam? MARIANE I don't know. VALERE That's a pretty answer. You don't know? MARIANE No. VALERE No? MARIANE What do you advise? VALERE I? My advice is, marry him, by all means. MARIANE That's your advice? VALERE Yes. MARIANE Do you mean it? VALERE Surely. A splendid choice, and worthy of your acceptance. MARIANE Oh, very well, sir! I shall take your counsel. VALERE You'll find no trouble taking it, I warrant. MARIANE No more than you did giving it, be sure. VALERE I gave it, truly, to oblige you, madam. MARIANE And I shall take it to oblige you, sir. Dorine (withdrawing to the back of the stage) Let's see what this affair will come to. VALERE So, That is your love? And it was all deceit When you ... MARIANE I beg you, say no more of that. You told me, squarely, sir, I should accept The husband that is offered me; and I Will tell you squarely that I mean to do so, Since you have given me this good advice. VALERE Don't shield yourself with talk of my advice. You had your mind made up, that's evident; And now you're snatching at a trifling pretext To justify the breaking of your word. MARIANE Exactly so. VALERE Of course it is; your heart Has never known true love for me. MARIANE Alas! You're free to think so, if you please. VALERE Yes, yes, I'm free to think so; and my outraged love May yet forestall you in your perfidy, And offer elsewhere both my heart and hand. MARIANE No doubt of it; the love your high deserts May win ... VALERE Good Lord, have done with my deserts! I know I have but few, and you have proved it. But I may find more kindness in another; I know of someone, who'll not be ashamed To take your leavings, and make up my loss. MARIANE The loss is not so great; you'll easily Console yourself completely for this change. VALERE I'll try my best, that you may well believe. When we're forgotten by a woman's heart, Our pride is challenged; we, too, must forget; Or if we cannot, must at least pretend to. No other way can man such baseness prove, As be a lover scorned, and still in love. MARIANE In faith, a high and noble sentiment. VALERE Yes; and it's one that all men must approve. What! Would you have me keep my love alive, And see you fly into another's arms Before my very eyes; and never offer To someone else the heart that you had scorned? MARIANE Oh, no, indeed! For my part, I could wish That it were done already. VALERE What! You wish it? MARIANE Yes. VALERE This is insult heaped on injury; I'll go at once and do as you desire. (He takes a step or two as if to go away.) MARIANE Oh, very well then. VALERE (turning back) But remember this. 'Twas you that drove me to this desperate pass. MARIANE Of course. VALERE (turning back again) And in the plan that I have formed I only follow your example. MARIANE Yes. VALERE (at the door) Enough; you shall be punctually obeyed. MARIANE So much the better. VALERE (coming back again) This is once for all. MARIANE So be it, then. VALERE (He goes toward the door, but just as he reaches it, turns around) Eh? MARIANE What? VALERE You didn't call me? MARIANE I? You are dreaming. VALERE Very well, I'm gone. Madam, farewell. (He walks slowly away.) MARIANE Farewell, sir. DORINE I must say You've lost your senses and both gone clean daft! I've let you fight it out to the end o' the chapter To see how far the thing could go. Oho, there, Mister Valere! (She goes and seizes him by the arm, to stop him. He makes a great show of resistance.) VALERE What do you want, Dorine? DORINE Come here. VALERE No, no, I'm quite beside myself. Don't hinder me from doing as she wishes. DORINE Stop! VALERE No. You see, I'm fixed, resolved, determined. DORINE So! MARIANE (aside) Since my presence pains him, makes him go, I'd better go myself, and leave him free. DORINE (leaving Valere, and running after Mariane) Now t'other! Where are you going? MARIANE Let me be. DORINE. Come back. MARIANE No, no, it isn't any use. VALERE (aside) 'Tis clear the sight of me is torture to her; No doubt, t'were better I should free her from it. DORINE (leaving Mariane and running after Valere) Same thing again! Deuce take you both, I say. Now stop your fooling; come here, you; and you. (She pulls first one, then the other, toward the middle of the stage.) VALERE (to Dorine) What's your idea? MARIANE (to Dorine) What can you mean to do? DORINE Set you to rights, and pull you out o' the scrape. (To Valere) Are you quite mad, to quarrel with her now? VALERE Didn't you hear the things she said to me? DORINE (to Mariane) Are you quite mad, to get in such a passion? MARIANE Didn't you see the way he treated me? DORINE Fools, both of you. (To Valere) She thinks of nothing else But to keep faith with you, I vouch for it. (To Mariane) And he loves none but you, and longs for nothing But just to marry you, I stake my life on't. MARIANE (to Valere) Why did you give me such advice then, pray? VALERE (to Mariane) Why ask for my advice on such a matter? DORINE You both are daft, I tell you. Here, your hands. (To Valere) Come, yours. VALERE (giving Dorine his hand) What for? DORINE (to Mariane) Now, yours. MARIANE (giving Dorine her hand) But what's the use? DORINE Oh, quick now, come along. There, both of you-- You love each other better than you think. (Valere and Mariane hold each other's hands some time without looking at each other.) VALERE (at last turning toward Mariane) Come, don't be so ungracious now about it; Look at a man as if you didn't hate him. (Mariane looks sideways toward Valere, with just a bit of a smile.) DORINE My faith and troth, what fools these lovers be! VALERE (to Mariane) But come now, have I not a just complaint? And truly, are you not a wicked creature To take delight in saying what would pain me? MARIANE And are you not yourself the most ungrateful ... ? DORINE Leave this discussion till another time; Now, think how you'll stave off this plaguy marriage. MARIANE Then tell us how to go about it. DORINE Well, We'll try all sorts of ways. (To Mariane) Your father's daft; (To Valere) This plan is nonsense. (To Mariane) You had better humour His notions by a semblance of consent, So that in case of danger, you can still Find means to block the marriage by delay. If you gain time, the rest is easy, trust me. One day you'll fool them with a sudden illness, Causing delay; another day, ill omens: You've met a funeral, or broke a mirror, Or dreamed of muddy water. Best of all, They cannot marry you to anyone Without your saying yes. But now, methinks, They mustn't find you chattering together. (To Valere) You, go at once and set your friends at work To make him keep his word to you; while we Will bring the brother's influence to bear, And get the step-mother on our side, too. Good-bye. VALERE (to Mariane) Whatever efforts we may make, My greatest hope, be sure, must rest on you. MARIANE (to Valere) I cannot answer for my father's whims; But no one save Valere shall ever have me. VALERE You thrill me through with joy! Whatever comes ... DORINE Oho! These lovers! Never done with prattling! Now go. VALERE (starting to go, and coming back again) One last word ... DORINE What a gabble and pother! Be off! By this door, you. And you, by t'other. (She pushes them off, by the shoulders, in opposite directions.) ACT III SCENE I DAMIS, DORINE DAMIS May lightning strike me dead this very instant, May I be everywhere proclaimed a scoundrel, If any reverence or power shall stop me, And if I don't do straightway something desperate! DORINE I beg you, moderate this towering passion; Your father did but merely mention it. Not all things that are talked of turn to facts; The road is long, sometimes, from plans to acts. DAMIS No, I must end this paltry fellow's plots, And he shall hear from me a truth or two. DORINE So ho! Go slow now. Just you leave the fellow-- Your father too--in your step-mother's hands. She has some influence with this Tartuffe, He makes a point of heeding all she says, And I suspect that he is fond of her. Would God 'twere true!--'Twould be the height of humour Now, she has sent for him, in your behalf, To sound him on this marriage, to find out What his ideas are, and to show him plainly What troubles he may cause, if he persists In giving countenance to this design. His man says, he's at prayers, I mustn't see him, But likewise says, he'll presently be down. So off with you, and let me wait for him. DAMIS I may be present at this interview. DORINE No, no! They must be left alone. DAMIS I won't So much as speak to him. DORINE Go on! We know you And your high tantrums. Just the way to spoil things! Be off. DAMIS No, I must see--I'll keep my temper. DORINE Out on you, what a plague! He's coming. Hide! (Damis goes and hides in the closet at the back of the stage.) SCENE II TARTUFFE, DORINE TARTUFFE (speaking to his valet, off the stage, as soon as he sees Dorine is there) Lawrence, put up my hair-cloth shirt and scourge, And pray that Heaven may shed its light upon you. If any come to see me, say I'm gone To share my alms among the prisoners. DORINE (aside) What affectation and what showing off! TARTUFFE What do you want with me? DORINE To tell you ... TARTUFFE (taking a handkerchief from his pocket) Ah! Before you speak, pray take this handkerchief. DORINE What? TARTUFFE Cover up that bosom, which I can't Endure to look on. Things like that offend Our souls, and fill our minds with sinful thoughts. DORINE Are you so tender to temptation, then, And has the flesh such power upon your senses? I don't know how you get in such a heat; For my part, I am not so prone to lust, And I could see you stripped from head to foot, And all your hide not tempt me in the least. TARTUFFE Show in your speech some little modesty, Or I must instantly take leave of you. DORINE No, no, I'll leave you to yourself; I've only One thing to say: Madam will soon be down, And begs the favour of a word with you. TARTUFFE Ah! Willingly. DORINE (aside) How gentle all at once! My faith, I still believe I've hit upon it. TARTUFFE Will she come soon? DORINE I think I hear her now. Yes, here she is herself; I'll leave you with her. SCENE III ELMIRE, TARTUFFE TARTUFFE May Heaven's overflowing kindness ever Give you good health of body and of soul, And bless your days according to the wishes And prayers of its most humble votary! ELMIRE I'm very grateful for your pious wishes. But let's sit down, so we may talk at ease. TARTUFFE (after sitting down) And how are you recovered from your illness? ELMIRE (sitting down also) Quite well; the fever soon let go its hold. TARTUFFE My prayers, I fear, have not sufficient merit To have drawn down this favour from on high; But each entreaty that I made to Heaven Had for its object your recovery. ELMIRE You're too solicitous on my behalf. TARTUFFE We could not cherish your dear health too much; I would have given mine, to help restore it. ELMIRE That's pushing Christian charity too far; I owe you many thanks for so much kindness. TARTUFFE I do far less for you than you deserve. ELMIRE There is a matter that I wished to speak of In private; I am glad there's no one here To listen. TARTUFFE Madam, I am overjoyed. 'Tis sweet to find myself alone with you. This is an opportunity I've asked Of Heaven, many a time; till now, in vain. ELMIRE All that I wish, is just a word from you, Quite frank and open, hiding nothing from me. (DAMIS, without their seeing him, opens the closet door halfway.) TARTUFFE I too could wish, as Heaven's especial favour, To lay my soul quite open to your eyes, And swear to you, the trouble that I made About those visits which your charms attract, Does not result from any hatred toward you, But rather from a passionate devotion, And purest motives ... ELMIRE That is how I take it, I think 'tis my salvation that concerns you. TARTUFFE (pressing her finger tips) Madam, 'tis so; and such is my devotion ... ELMIRE Ouch! but you squeeze too hard. TARTUFFE Excess of zeal. In no way could I ever mean to hurt you, And I'd as soon ... (He puts his hand on her knee.) ELMIRE What's your hand doing there? TARTUFFE Feeling your gown; the stuff is very soft. ELMIRE Let be, I beg you; I am very ticklish. (She moves her chair away, and Tartuffe brings his nearer.) TARTUFFE (handling the lace yoke of Elmire's dress) Dear me how wonderful in workmanship This lace is! They do marvels, nowadays; Things of all kinds were never better made. ELMIRE Yes, very true. But let us come to business. They say my husband means to break his word. And marry Mariane to you. Is't so? TARTUFFE He did hint some such thing; but truly, madam, That's not the happiness I'm yearning after; I see elsewhere the sweet compelling charms Of such a joy as fills my every wish. ELMIRE You mean you cannot love terrestrial things. TARTUFFE The heart within my bosom is not stone. ELMIRE I well believe your sighs all tend to Heaven, And nothing here below can stay your thoughts. TARTUFFE Love for the beauty of eternal things Cannot destroy our love for earthly beauty; Our mortal senses well may be entranced By perfect works that Heaven has fashioned here. Its charms reflected shine in such as you, And in yourself, its rarest miracles; It has displayed such marvels in your face, That eyes are dazed, and hearts are rapt away; I could not look on you, the perfect creature, Without admiring Nature's great Creator, And feeling all my heart inflamed with love For you, His fairest image of Himself. At first I trembled lest this secret love Might be the Evil Spirit's artful snare; I even schooled my heart to flee your beauty, Thinking it was a bar to my salvation. But soon, enlightened, O all lovely one, I saw how this my passion may be blameless, How I may make it fit with modesty, And thus completely yield my heart to it. 'Tis I must own, a great presumption in me To dare make you the offer of my heart; My love hopes all things from your perfect goodness, And nothing from my own poor weak endeavour. You are my hope, my stay, my peace of heart; On you depends my torment or my bliss; And by your doom of judgment, I shall be Blest, if you will; or damned, by your decree. ELMIRE Your declaration's turned most gallantly; But truly, it is just a bit surprising. You should have better armed your heart, methinks, And taken thought somewhat on such a matter. A pious man like you, known everywhere ... TARTUFFE Though pious, I am none the less a man; And when a man beholds your heavenly charms, The heart surrenders, and can think no more. I know such words seem strange, coming from me; But, madam, I'm no angel, after all; If you condemn my frankly made avowal You only have your charming self to blame. Soon as I saw your more than human beauty, You were thenceforth the sovereign of my soul; Sweetness ineffable was in your eyes, That took by storm my still resisting heart, And conquered everything, fasts, prayers, and tears, And turned my worship wholly to yourself. My looks, my sighs, have spoke a thousand times; Now, to express it all, my voice must speak. If but you will look down with gracious favour Upon the sorrows of your worthless slave, If in your goodness you will give me comfort And condescend unto my nothingness, I'll ever pay you, O sweet miracle, An unexampled worship and devotion. Then too, with me your honour runs no risk; With me you need not fear a public scandal. These court gallants, that women are so fond of, Are boastful of their acts, and vain in speech; They always brag in public of their progress; Soon as a favour's granted, they'll divulge it; Their tattling tongues, if you but trust to them, Will foul the altar where their hearts have worshipped. But men like me are so discreet in love, That you may trust their lasting secrecy. The care we take to guard our own good name May fully guarantee the one we love; So you may find, with hearts like ours sincere, Love without scandal, pleasure without fear. ELMIRE I've heard you through--your speech is clear, at least. But don't you fear that I may take a fancy To tell my husband of your gallant passion, And that a prompt report of this affair May somewhat change the friendship which he bears you? TARTUFFE I know that you're too good and generous, That you will pardon my temerity, Excuse, upon the score of human frailty, The violence of passion that offends you, And not forget, when you consult your mirror, That I'm not blind, and man is made of flesh. ELMIRE Some women might do otherwise, perhaps, But I am willing to employ discretion, And not repeat the matter to my husband; But in return, I'll ask one thing of you: That you urge forward, frankly and sincerely, The marriage of Valere to Mariane; That you give up the unjust influence By which you

obstinate

How many times the word 'obstinate' appears in the text?

And he who weds his child against her will Owes heaven account for it, if she do ill. Think then what perils wait on your design. ORGON (to Mariane) So! I must learn what's what from her, you see! DORINE You might do worse than follow my advice. ORGON Daughter, we can't waste time upon this nonsense; I know what's good for you, and I'm your father. True, I had promised you to young Valere; But, first, they tell me he's inclined to gamble, And then, I fear his faith is not quite sound. I haven't noticed that he's regular At church. DORINE You'd have him run there just when you do. Like those who go on purpose to be seen? ORGON I don't ask your opinion on the matter. In short, the other is in Heaven's best graces, And that is riches quite beyond compare. This match will bring you every joy you long for; 'Twill be all steeped in sweetness and delight. You'll live together, in your faithful loves, Like two sweet children, like two turtle-doves; You'll never fail to quarrel, scold, or tease, And you may do with him whate'er you please. DORINE With him? Do naught but give him horns, I'll warrant. ORGON Out on thee, wench! DORINE I tell you he's cut out for't; However great your daughter's virtue, sir, His destiny is sure to prove the stronger. ORGON Have done with interrupting. Hold your tongue. Don't poke your nose in other people's business. DORINE (She keeps interrupting him, just as he turns and starts to speak to his daughter). If I make bold, sir, 'tis for your own good. ORGON You're too officious; pray you, hold your tongue. DORINE 'Tis love of you ... ORGON I want none of your love. DORINE Then I will love you in your own despite. ORGON You will, eh? DORINE Yes, your honour's dear to me; I can't endure to see you made the butt Of all men's ridicule. ORGON Won't you be still? DORINE 'Twould be a sin to let you make this match. ORGON Won't you be still, I say, you impudent viper! DORINE What! you are pious, and you lose your temper? ORGON I'm all wrought up, with your confounded nonsense; Now, once for all, I tell you hold your tongue. DORINE Then mum's the word; I'll take it out in thinking. ORGON Think all you please; but not a syllable To me about it, or ... you understand! (Turning to his daughter.) As a wise father, I've considered all With due deliberation. DORINE I'll go mad If I can't speak. (She stops the instant he turns his head.) ORGON Though he's no lady's man, Tartuffe is well enough ... DORINE A pretty phiz! ORGON So that, although you may not care at all For his best qualities ... DORINE A handsome dowry! (Orgon turns and stands in front of her, with arms folded, eyeing her.) Were I in her place, any man should rue it Who married me by force, that's mighty certain; I'd let him know, and that within a week, A woman's vengeance isn't far to seek. ORGON (to Dorine) So--nothing that I say has any weight? DORINE Eh? What's wrong now? I didn't speak to you. ORGON What were you doing? DORINE Talking to myself. ORGON Oh! Very well. (Aside.) Her monstrous impudence Must be chastised with one good slap in the face. (He stands ready to strike her, and, each time he speaks to his daughter, he glances toward her; but she stands still and says not a word.) [3] [Footnote 3: As given at the Comedie francaise, the action is as follows: While Orgon says, "You must approve of my design," Dorine is making signs to Mariane to resist his orders; Orgon turns around suddenly; but Dorine quickly changes her gesture and with the hand which she had lifted calmly arranges her hair and her cap. Orgon goes on, "Think of the husband ..." and stops before the middle of his sentence to turn and catch the beginning of Dorine's gesture; but he is too quick this time, and Dorine stands looking at his furious countenance with a sweet and gentle expression. He turns and goes on, and the obstinate Dorine again lifts her hand behind his shoulder to urge Mariane to resistance: this time he catches her; but just as he swings his shoulder to give her the promised blow, she stops him by changing the intent of her gesture, and carefully picking from the top of his sleeve a bit of fluff which she holds carefully between her fingers, then blows into the air, and watches intently as it floats away. Orgon is paralysed by her innocence of expression, and compelled to hide his rage.--Regnier, _Le Tartuffe des Comediens_.] ORGON Daughter, you must approve of my design.... Think of this husband ... I have chosen for you... (To Dorine) Why don't you talk to yourself? DORINE Nothing to say. ORGON One little word more. DORINE Oh, no, thanks. Not now. ORGON Sure, I'd have caught you. DORINE Faith, I'm no such fool. ORGON So, daughter, now obedience is the word; You must accept my choice with reverence. DORINE (running away) You'd never catch me marrying such a creature. ORGON (swinging his hand at her and missing her) Daughter, you've such a pestilent hussy there I can't live with her longer, without sin. I can't discuss things in the state I'm in. My mind's so flustered by her insolent talk, To calm myself, I must go take a walk. SCENE III MARIANE, DORINE DORINE Say, have you lost the tongue from out your head? And must I speak your role from A to Zed? You let them broach a project that's absurd, And don't oppose it with a single word! MARIANE What can I do? My father is the master. DORINE Do? Everything, to ward off such disaster. MARIANE But what? DORINE Tell him one doesn't love by proxy; Tell him you'll marry for yourself, not him; Since you're the one for whom the thing is done, You are the one, not he, the man must please; If his Tartuffe has charmed him so, why let him Just marry him himself--no one will hinder. MARIANE A father's rights are such, it seems to me, That I could never dare to say a word. DORINE Came, talk it out. Valere has asked your hand: Now do you love him, pray, or do you not? MARIANE Dorine! How can you wrong my love so much, And ask me such a question? Have I not A hundred times laid bare my heart to you? Do you know how ardently I love him? DORINE How do I know if heart and words agree, And if in honest truth you really love him? MARIANE Dorine, you wrong me greatly if you doubt it; I've shown my inmost feelings, all too plainly. DORINE So then, you love him? MARIANE Yes, devotedly. DORINE And he returns your love, apparently? MARIANE I think so. DORINE And you both alike are eager To be well married to each other? MARIANE Surely. DORINE Then what's your plan about this other match? MARIANE To kill myself, if it is forced upon me. DORINE Good! That's a remedy I hadn't thought of. Just die, and everything will be all right. This medicine is marvellous, indeed! It drives me mad to hear folk talk such nonsense. MARIANE Oh dear, Dorine you get in such a temper! You have no sympathy for people's troubles. DORINE I have no sympathy when folk talk nonsense, And flatten out as you do, at a pinch. MARIANE But what can you expect?--if one is timid?-- DORINE But what is love worth, if it has no courage? MARIANE Am I not constant in my love for him? Is't not his place to win me from my father? DORINE But if your father is a crazy fool, And quite bewitched with his Tartuffe? And breaks His bounden word? Is that your lover's fault? MARIANE But shall I publicly refuse and scorn This match, and make it plain that I'm in love? Shall I cast off for him, whate'er he be, Womanly modesty and filial duty? You ask me to display my love in public ... ? DORINE No, no, I ask you nothing. You shall be Mister Tartuffe's; why, now I think of it, I should be wrong to turn you from this marriage. What cause can I have to oppose your wishes? So fine a match! An excellent good match! Mister Tartuffe! Oh ho! No mean proposal! Mister Tartuffe, sure, take it all in all, Is not a man to sneeze at--oh, by no means! 'Tis no small luck to be his happy spouse. The whole world joins to sing his praise already; He's noble--in his parish; handsome too; Red ears and high complexion--oh, my lud! You'll be too happy, sure, with him for husband. MARIANE Oh dear! ... DORINE What joy and pride will fill your heart To be the bride of such a handsome fellow! MARIANE Oh, stop, I beg you; try to find some way To help break off the match. I quite give in, I'm ready to do anything you say. DORINE No, no, a daughter must obey her father, Though he should want to make her wed a monkey. Besides, your fate is fine. What could be better! You'll take the stage-coach to his little village, And find it full of uncles and of cousins, Whose conversation will delight you. Then You'll be presented in their best society. You'll even go to call, by way of welcome, On Mrs. Bailiff, Mrs. Tax-Collector, Who'll patronise you with a folding-stool. There, once a year, at carnival, you'll have Perhaps--a ball; with orchestra--two bag-pipes; And sometimes a trained ape, and Punch and Judy; Though if your husband ... MARIANE Oh, you'll kill me. Please Contrive to help me out with your advice. DORINE I thank you kindly. MARIANE Oh! Dorine, I beg you ... DORINE To serve you right, this marriage must go through. MARIANE Dear girl! DORINE No. MARIANE If I say I love Valere ... DORINE No, no. Tartuffe's your man, and you shall taste him. MARIANE You know I've always trusted you; now help me ... DORINE No, you shall be, my faith! Tartuffified. MARIANE Well, then, since you've no pity for my fate Let me take counsel only of despair; It will advise and help and give me courage; There's one sure cure, I know, for all my troubles. (She starts to go.) DORINE There, there! Come back. I can't be angry long. I must take pity on you, after all. MARIANE Oh, don't you see, Dorine, if I must bear This martyrdom, I certainly shall die. DORINE Now don't you fret. We'll surely find some way. To hinder this ... But here's Valere, your lover. SCENE IV VALERE, MARIANE, DORINE VALERE Madam, a piece of news--quite new to me-- Has just come out, and very fine it is. MARIANE What piece of news? VALERE Your marriage with Tartuffe. MARIANE 'Tis true my father has this plan in mind. VALERE Your father, madam ... MARIANE Yes, he's changed his plans, And did but now propose it to me. VALERE What! Seriously? MARIANE Yes, he was serious, And openly insisted on the match. VALERE And what's your resolution in the matter, Madam? MARIANE I don't know. VALERE That's a pretty answer. You don't know? MARIANE No. VALERE No? MARIANE What do you advise? VALERE I? My advice is, marry him, by all means. MARIANE That's your advice? VALERE Yes. MARIANE Do you mean it? VALERE Surely. A splendid choice, and worthy of your acceptance. MARIANE Oh, very well, sir! I shall take your counsel. VALERE You'll find no trouble taking it, I warrant. MARIANE No more than you did giving it, be sure. VALERE I gave it, truly, to oblige you, madam. MARIANE And I shall take it to oblige you, sir. Dorine (withdrawing to the back of the stage) Let's see what this affair will come to. VALERE So, That is your love? And it was all deceit When you ... MARIANE I beg you, say no more of that. You told me, squarely, sir, I should accept The husband that is offered me; and I Will tell you squarely that I mean to do so, Since you have given me this good advice. VALERE Don't shield yourself with talk of my advice. You had your mind made up, that's evident; And now you're snatching at a trifling pretext To justify the breaking of your word. MARIANE Exactly so. VALERE Of course it is; your heart Has never known true love for me. MARIANE Alas! You're free to think so, if you please. VALERE Yes, yes, I'm free to think so; and my outraged love May yet forestall you in your perfidy, And offer elsewhere both my heart and hand. MARIANE No doubt of it; the love your high deserts May win ... VALERE Good Lord, have done with my deserts! I know I have but few, and you have proved it. But I may find more kindness in another; I know of someone, who'll not be ashamed To take your leavings, and make up my loss. MARIANE The loss is not so great; you'll easily Console yourself completely for this change. VALERE I'll try my best, that you may well believe. When we're forgotten by a woman's heart, Our pride is challenged; we, too, must forget; Or if we cannot, must at least pretend to. No other way can man such baseness prove, As be a lover scorned, and still in love. MARIANE In faith, a high and noble sentiment. VALERE Yes; and it's one that all men must approve. What! Would you have me keep my love alive, And see you fly into another's arms Before my very eyes; and never offer To someone else the heart that you had scorned? MARIANE Oh, no, indeed! For my part, I could wish That it were done already. VALERE What! You wish it? MARIANE Yes. VALERE This is insult heaped on injury; I'll go at once and do as you desire. (He takes a step or two as if to go away.) MARIANE Oh, very well then. VALERE (turning back) But remember this. 'Twas you that drove me to this desperate pass. MARIANE Of course. VALERE (turning back again) And in the plan that I have formed I only follow your example. MARIANE Yes. VALERE (at the door) Enough; you shall be punctually obeyed. MARIANE So much the better. VALERE (coming back again) This is once for all. MARIANE So be it, then. VALERE (He goes toward the door, but just as he reaches it, turns around) Eh? MARIANE What? VALERE You didn't call me? MARIANE I? You are dreaming. VALERE Very well, I'm gone. Madam, farewell. (He walks slowly away.) MARIANE Farewell, sir. DORINE I must say You've lost your senses and both gone clean daft! I've let you fight it out to the end o' the chapter To see how far the thing could go. Oho, there, Mister Valere! (She goes and seizes him by the arm, to stop him. He makes a great show of resistance.) VALERE What do you want, Dorine? DORINE Come here. VALERE No, no, I'm quite beside myself. Don't hinder me from doing as she wishes. DORINE Stop! VALERE No. You see, I'm fixed, resolved, determined. DORINE So! MARIANE (aside) Since my presence pains him, makes him go, I'd better go myself, and leave him free. DORINE (leaving Valere, and running after Mariane) Now t'other! Where are you going? MARIANE Let me be. DORINE. Come back. MARIANE No, no, it isn't any use. VALERE (aside) 'Tis clear the sight of me is torture to her; No doubt, t'were better I should free her from it. DORINE (leaving Mariane and running after Valere) Same thing again! Deuce take you both, I say. Now stop your fooling; come here, you; and you. (She pulls first one, then the other, toward the middle of the stage.) VALERE (to Dorine) What's your idea? MARIANE (to Dorine) What can you mean to do? DORINE Set you to rights, and pull you out o' the scrape. (To Valere) Are you quite mad, to quarrel with her now? VALERE Didn't you hear the things she said to me? DORINE (to Mariane) Are you quite mad, to get in such a passion? MARIANE Didn't you see the way he treated me? DORINE Fools, both of you. (To Valere) She thinks of nothing else But to keep faith with you, I vouch for it. (To Mariane) And he loves none but you, and longs for nothing But just to marry you, I stake my life on't. MARIANE (to Valere) Why did you give me such advice then, pray? VALERE (to Mariane) Why ask for my advice on such a matter? DORINE You both are daft, I tell you. Here, your hands. (To Valere) Come, yours. VALERE (giving Dorine his hand) What for? DORINE (to Mariane) Now, yours. MARIANE (giving Dorine her hand) But what's the use? DORINE Oh, quick now, come along. There, both of you-- You love each other better than you think. (Valere and Mariane hold each other's hands some time without looking at each other.) VALERE (at last turning toward Mariane) Come, don't be so ungracious now about it; Look at a man as if you didn't hate him. (Mariane looks sideways toward Valere, with just a bit of a smile.) DORINE My faith and troth, what fools these lovers be! VALERE (to Mariane) But come now, have I not a just complaint? And truly, are you not a wicked creature To take delight in saying what would pain me? MARIANE And are you not yourself the most ungrateful ... ? DORINE Leave this discussion till another time; Now, think how you'll stave off this plaguy marriage. MARIANE Then tell us how to go about it. DORINE Well, We'll try all sorts of ways. (To Mariane) Your father's daft; (To Valere) This plan is nonsense. (To Mariane) You had better humour His notions by a semblance of consent, So that in case of danger, you can still Find means to block the marriage by delay. If you gain time, the rest is easy, trust me. One day you'll fool them with a sudden illness, Causing delay; another day, ill omens: You've met a funeral, or broke a mirror, Or dreamed of muddy water. Best of all, They cannot marry you to anyone Without your saying yes. But now, methinks, They mustn't find you chattering together. (To Valere) You, go at once and set your friends at work To make him keep his word to you; while we Will bring the brother's influence to bear, And get the step-mother on our side, too. Good-bye. VALERE (to Mariane) Whatever efforts we may make, My greatest hope, be sure, must rest on you. MARIANE (to Valere) I cannot answer for my father's whims; But no one save Valere shall ever have me. VALERE You thrill me through with joy! Whatever comes ... DORINE Oho! These lovers! Never done with prattling! Now go. VALERE (starting to go, and coming back again) One last word ... DORINE What a gabble and pother! Be off! By this door, you. And you, by t'other. (She pushes them off, by the shoulders, in opposite directions.) ACT III SCENE I DAMIS, DORINE DAMIS May lightning strike me dead this very instant, May I be everywhere proclaimed a scoundrel, If any reverence or power shall stop me, And if I don't do straightway something desperate! DORINE I beg you, moderate this towering passion; Your father did but merely mention it. Not all things that are talked of turn to facts; The road is long, sometimes, from plans to acts. DAMIS No, I must end this paltry fellow's plots, And he shall hear from me a truth or two. DORINE So ho! Go slow now. Just you leave the fellow-- Your father too--in your step-mother's hands. She has some influence with this Tartuffe, He makes a point of heeding all she says, And I suspect that he is fond of her. Would God 'twere true!--'Twould be the height of humour Now, she has sent for him, in your behalf, To sound him on this marriage, to find out What his ideas are, and to show him plainly What troubles he may cause, if he persists In giving countenance to this design. His man says, he's at prayers, I mustn't see him, But likewise says, he'll presently be down. So off with you, and let me wait for him. DAMIS I may be present at this interview. DORINE No, no! They must be left alone. DAMIS I won't So much as speak to him. DORINE Go on! We know you And your high tantrums. Just the way to spoil things! Be off. DAMIS No, I must see--I'll keep my temper. DORINE Out on you, what a plague! He's coming. Hide! (Damis goes and hides in the closet at the back of the stage.) SCENE II TARTUFFE, DORINE TARTUFFE (speaking to his valet, off the stage, as soon as he sees Dorine is there) Lawrence, put up my hair-cloth shirt and scourge, And pray that Heaven may shed its light upon you. If any come to see me, say I'm gone To share my alms among the prisoners. DORINE (aside) What affectation and what showing off! TARTUFFE What do you want with me? DORINE To tell you ... TARTUFFE (taking a handkerchief from his pocket) Ah! Before you speak, pray take this handkerchief. DORINE What? TARTUFFE Cover up that bosom, which I can't Endure to look on. Things like that offend Our souls, and fill our minds with sinful thoughts. DORINE Are you so tender to temptation, then, And has the flesh such power upon your senses? I don't know how you get in such a heat; For my part, I am not so prone to lust, And I could see you stripped from head to foot, And all your hide not tempt me in the least. TARTUFFE Show in your speech some little modesty, Or I must instantly take leave of you. DORINE No, no, I'll leave you to yourself; I've only One thing to say: Madam will soon be down, And begs the favour of a word with you. TARTUFFE Ah! Willingly. DORINE (aside) How gentle all at once! My faith, I still believe I've hit upon it. TARTUFFE Will she come soon? DORINE I think I hear her now. Yes, here she is herself; I'll leave you with her. SCENE III ELMIRE, TARTUFFE TARTUFFE May Heaven's overflowing kindness ever Give you good health of body and of soul, And bless your days according to the wishes And prayers of its most humble votary! ELMIRE I'm very grateful for your pious wishes. But let's sit down, so we may talk at ease. TARTUFFE (after sitting down) And how are you recovered from your illness? ELMIRE (sitting down also) Quite well; the fever soon let go its hold. TARTUFFE My prayers, I fear, have not sufficient merit To have drawn down this favour from on high; But each entreaty that I made to Heaven Had for its object your recovery. ELMIRE You're too solicitous on my behalf. TARTUFFE We could not cherish your dear health too much; I would have given mine, to help restore it. ELMIRE That's pushing Christian charity too far; I owe you many thanks for so much kindness. TARTUFFE I do far less for you than you deserve. ELMIRE There is a matter that I wished to speak of In private; I am glad there's no one here To listen. TARTUFFE Madam, I am overjoyed. 'Tis sweet to find myself alone with you. This is an opportunity I've asked Of Heaven, many a time; till now, in vain. ELMIRE All that I wish, is just a word from you, Quite frank and open, hiding nothing from me. (DAMIS, without their seeing him, opens the closet door halfway.) TARTUFFE I too could wish, as Heaven's especial favour, To lay my soul quite open to your eyes, And swear to you, the trouble that I made About those visits which your charms attract, Does not result from any hatred toward you, But rather from a passionate devotion, And purest motives ... ELMIRE That is how I take it, I think 'tis my salvation that concerns you. TARTUFFE (pressing her finger tips) Madam, 'tis so; and such is my devotion ... ELMIRE Ouch! but you squeeze too hard. TARTUFFE Excess of zeal. In no way could I ever mean to hurt you, And I'd as soon ... (He puts his hand on her knee.) ELMIRE What's your hand doing there? TARTUFFE Feeling your gown; the stuff is very soft. ELMIRE Let be, I beg you; I am very ticklish. (She moves her chair away, and Tartuffe brings his nearer.) TARTUFFE (handling the lace yoke of Elmire's dress) Dear me how wonderful in workmanship This lace is! They do marvels, nowadays; Things of all kinds were never better made. ELMIRE Yes, very true. But let us come to business. They say my husband means to break his word. And marry Mariane to you. Is't so? TARTUFFE He did hint some such thing; but truly, madam, That's not the happiness I'm yearning after; I see elsewhere the sweet compelling charms Of such a joy as fills my every wish. ELMIRE You mean you cannot love terrestrial things. TARTUFFE The heart within my bosom is not stone. ELMIRE I well believe your sighs all tend to Heaven, And nothing here below can stay your thoughts. TARTUFFE Love for the beauty of eternal things Cannot destroy our love for earthly beauty; Our mortal senses well may be entranced By perfect works that Heaven has fashioned here. Its charms reflected shine in such as you, And in yourself, its rarest miracles; It has displayed such marvels in your face, That eyes are dazed, and hearts are rapt away; I could not look on you, the perfect creature, Without admiring Nature's great Creator, And feeling all my heart inflamed with love For you, His fairest image of Himself. At first I trembled lest this secret love Might be the Evil Spirit's artful snare; I even schooled my heart to flee your beauty, Thinking it was a bar to my salvation. But soon, enlightened, O all lovely one, I saw how this my passion may be blameless, How I may make it fit with modesty, And thus completely yield my heart to it. 'Tis I must own, a great presumption in me To dare make you the offer of my heart; My love hopes all things from your perfect goodness, And nothing from my own poor weak endeavour. You are my hope, my stay, my peace of heart; On you depends my torment or my bliss; And by your doom of judgment, I shall be Blest, if you will; or damned, by your decree. ELMIRE Your declaration's turned most gallantly; But truly, it is just a bit surprising. You should have better armed your heart, methinks, And taken thought somewhat on such a matter. A pious man like you, known everywhere ... TARTUFFE Though pious, I am none the less a man; And when a man beholds your heavenly charms, The heart surrenders, and can think no more. I know such words seem strange, coming from me; But, madam, I'm no angel, after all; If you condemn my frankly made avowal You only have your charming self to blame. Soon as I saw your more than human beauty, You were thenceforth the sovereign of my soul; Sweetness ineffable was in your eyes, That took by storm my still resisting heart, And conquered everything, fasts, prayers, and tears, And turned my worship wholly to yourself. My looks, my sighs, have spoke a thousand times; Now, to express it all, my voice must speak. If but you will look down with gracious favour Upon the sorrows of your worthless slave, If in your goodness you will give me comfort And condescend unto my nothingness, I'll ever pay you, O sweet miracle, An unexampled worship and devotion. Then too, with me your honour runs no risk; With me you need not fear a public scandal. These court gallants, that women are so fond of, Are boastful of their acts, and vain in speech; They always brag in public of their progress; Soon as a favour's granted, they'll divulge it; Their tattling tongues, if you but trust to them, Will foul the altar where their hearts have worshipped. But men like me are so discreet in love, That you may trust their lasting secrecy. The care we take to guard our own good name May fully guarantee the one we love; So you may find, with hearts like ours sincere, Love without scandal, pleasure without fear. ELMIRE I've heard you through--your speech is clear, at least. But don't you fear that I may take a fancy To tell my husband of your gallant passion, And that a prompt report of this affair May somewhat change the friendship which he bears you? TARTUFFE I know that you're too good and generous, That you will pardon my temerity, Excuse, upon the score of human frailty, The violence of passion that offends you, And not forget, when you consult your mirror, That I'm not blind, and man is made of flesh. ELMIRE Some women might do otherwise, perhaps, But I am willing to employ discretion, And not repeat the matter to my husband; But in return, I'll ask one thing of you: That you urge forward, frankly and sincerely, The marriage of Valere to Mariane; That you give up the unjust influence By which you

gesture

How many times the word 'gesture' appears in the text?

And he who weds his child against her will Owes heaven account for it, if she do ill. Think then what perils wait on your design. ORGON (to Mariane) So! I must learn what's what from her, you see! DORINE You might do worse than follow my advice. ORGON Daughter, we can't waste time upon this nonsense; I know what's good for you, and I'm your father. True, I had promised you to young Valere; But, first, they tell me he's inclined to gamble, And then, I fear his faith is not quite sound. I haven't noticed that he's regular At church. DORINE You'd have him run there just when you do. Like those who go on purpose to be seen? ORGON I don't ask your opinion on the matter. In short, the other is in Heaven's best graces, And that is riches quite beyond compare. This match will bring you every joy you long for; 'Twill be all steeped in sweetness and delight. You'll live together, in your faithful loves, Like two sweet children, like two turtle-doves; You'll never fail to quarrel, scold, or tease, And you may do with him whate'er you please. DORINE With him? Do naught but give him horns, I'll warrant. ORGON Out on thee, wench! DORINE I tell you he's cut out for't; However great your daughter's virtue, sir, His destiny is sure to prove the stronger. ORGON Have done with interrupting. Hold your tongue. Don't poke your nose in other people's business. DORINE (She keeps interrupting him, just as he turns and starts to speak to his daughter). If I make bold, sir, 'tis for your own good. ORGON You're too officious; pray you, hold your tongue. DORINE 'Tis love of you ... ORGON I want none of your love. DORINE Then I will love you in your own despite. ORGON You will, eh? DORINE Yes, your honour's dear to me; I can't endure to see you made the butt Of all men's ridicule. ORGON Won't you be still? DORINE 'Twould be a sin to let you make this match. ORGON Won't you be still, I say, you impudent viper! DORINE What! you are pious, and you lose your temper? ORGON I'm all wrought up, with your confounded nonsense; Now, once for all, I tell you hold your tongue. DORINE Then mum's the word; I'll take it out in thinking. ORGON Think all you please; but not a syllable To me about it, or ... you understand! (Turning to his daughter.) As a wise father, I've considered all With due deliberation. DORINE I'll go mad If I can't speak. (She stops the instant he turns his head.) ORGON Though he's no lady's man, Tartuffe is well enough ... DORINE A pretty phiz! ORGON So that, although you may not care at all For his best qualities ... DORINE A handsome dowry! (Orgon turns and stands in front of her, with arms folded, eyeing her.) Were I in her place, any man should rue it Who married me by force, that's mighty certain; I'd let him know, and that within a week, A woman's vengeance isn't far to seek. ORGON (to Dorine) So--nothing that I say has any weight? DORINE Eh? What's wrong now? I didn't speak to you. ORGON What were you doing? DORINE Talking to myself. ORGON Oh! Very well. (Aside.) Her monstrous impudence Must be chastised with one good slap in the face. (He stands ready to strike her, and, each time he speaks to his daughter, he glances toward her; but she stands still and says not a word.) [3] [Footnote 3: As given at the Comedie francaise, the action is as follows: While Orgon says, "You must approve of my design," Dorine is making signs to Mariane to resist his orders; Orgon turns around suddenly; but Dorine quickly changes her gesture and with the hand which she had lifted calmly arranges her hair and her cap. Orgon goes on, "Think of the husband ..." and stops before the middle of his sentence to turn and catch the beginning of Dorine's gesture; but he is too quick this time, and Dorine stands looking at his furious countenance with a sweet and gentle expression. He turns and goes on, and the obstinate Dorine again lifts her hand behind his shoulder to urge Mariane to resistance: this time he catches her; but just as he swings his shoulder to give her the promised blow, she stops him by changing the intent of her gesture, and carefully picking from the top of his sleeve a bit of fluff which she holds carefully between her fingers, then blows into the air, and watches intently as it floats away. Orgon is paralysed by her innocence of expression, and compelled to hide his rage.--Regnier, _Le Tartuffe des Comediens_.] ORGON Daughter, you must approve of my design.... Think of this husband ... I have chosen for you... (To Dorine) Why don't you talk to yourself? DORINE Nothing to say. ORGON One little word more. DORINE Oh, no, thanks. Not now. ORGON Sure, I'd have caught you. DORINE Faith, I'm no such fool. ORGON So, daughter, now obedience is the word; You must accept my choice with reverence. DORINE (running away) You'd never catch me marrying such a creature. ORGON (swinging his hand at her and missing her) Daughter, you've such a pestilent hussy there I can't live with her longer, without sin. I can't discuss things in the state I'm in. My mind's so flustered by her insolent talk, To calm myself, I must go take a walk. SCENE III MARIANE, DORINE DORINE Say, have you lost the tongue from out your head? And must I speak your role from A to Zed? You let them broach a project that's absurd, And don't oppose it with a single word! MARIANE What can I do? My father is the master. DORINE Do? Everything, to ward off such disaster. MARIANE But what? DORINE Tell him one doesn't love by proxy; Tell him you'll marry for yourself, not him; Since you're the one for whom the thing is done, You are the one, not he, the man must please; If his Tartuffe has charmed him so, why let him Just marry him himself--no one will hinder. MARIANE A father's rights are such, it seems to me, That I could never dare to say a word. DORINE Came, talk it out. Valere has asked your hand: Now do you love him, pray, or do you not? MARIANE Dorine! How can you wrong my love so much, And ask me such a question? Have I not A hundred times laid bare my heart to you? Do you know how ardently I love him? DORINE How do I know if heart and words agree, And if in honest truth you really love him? MARIANE Dorine, you wrong me greatly if you doubt it; I've shown my inmost feelings, all too plainly. DORINE So then, you love him? MARIANE Yes, devotedly. DORINE And he returns your love, apparently? MARIANE I think so. DORINE And you both alike are eager To be well married to each other? MARIANE Surely. DORINE Then what's your plan about this other match? MARIANE To kill myself, if it is forced upon me. DORINE Good! That's a remedy I hadn't thought of. Just die, and everything will be all right. This medicine is marvellous, indeed! It drives me mad to hear folk talk such nonsense. MARIANE Oh dear, Dorine you get in such a temper! You have no sympathy for people's troubles. DORINE I have no sympathy when folk talk nonsense, And flatten out as you do, at a pinch. MARIANE But what can you expect?--if one is timid?-- DORINE But what is love worth, if it has no courage? MARIANE Am I not constant in my love for him? Is't not his place to win me from my father? DORINE But if your father is a crazy fool, And quite bewitched with his Tartuffe? And breaks His bounden word? Is that your lover's fault? MARIANE But shall I publicly refuse and scorn This match, and make it plain that I'm in love? Shall I cast off for him, whate'er he be, Womanly modesty and filial duty? You ask me to display my love in public ... ? DORINE No, no, I ask you nothing. You shall be Mister Tartuffe's; why, now I think of it, I should be wrong to turn you from this marriage. What cause can I have to oppose your wishes? So fine a match! An excellent good match! Mister Tartuffe! Oh ho! No mean proposal! Mister Tartuffe, sure, take it all in all, Is not a man to sneeze at--oh, by no means! 'Tis no small luck to be his happy spouse. The whole world joins to sing his praise already; He's noble--in his parish; handsome too; Red ears and high complexion--oh, my lud! You'll be too happy, sure, with him for husband. MARIANE Oh dear! ... DORINE What joy and pride will fill your heart To be the bride of such a handsome fellow! MARIANE Oh, stop, I beg you; try to find some way To help break off the match. I quite give in, I'm ready to do anything you say. DORINE No, no, a daughter must obey her father, Though he should want to make her wed a monkey. Besides, your fate is fine. What could be better! You'll take the stage-coach to his little village, And find it full of uncles and of cousins, Whose conversation will delight you. Then You'll be presented in their best society. You'll even go to call, by way of welcome, On Mrs. Bailiff, Mrs. Tax-Collector, Who'll patronise you with a folding-stool. There, once a year, at carnival, you'll have Perhaps--a ball; with orchestra--two bag-pipes; And sometimes a trained ape, and Punch and Judy; Though if your husband ... MARIANE Oh, you'll kill me. Please Contrive to help me out with your advice. DORINE I thank you kindly. MARIANE Oh! Dorine, I beg you ... DORINE To serve you right, this marriage must go through. MARIANE Dear girl! DORINE No. MARIANE If I say I love Valere ... DORINE No, no. Tartuffe's your man, and you shall taste him. MARIANE You know I've always trusted you; now help me ... DORINE No, you shall be, my faith! Tartuffified. MARIANE Well, then, since you've no pity for my fate Let me take counsel only of despair; It will advise and help and give me courage; There's one sure cure, I know, for all my troubles. (She starts to go.) DORINE There, there! Come back. I can't be angry long. I must take pity on you, after all. MARIANE Oh, don't you see, Dorine, if I must bear This martyrdom, I certainly shall die. DORINE Now don't you fret. We'll surely find some way. To hinder this ... But here's Valere, your lover. SCENE IV VALERE, MARIANE, DORINE VALERE Madam, a piece of news--quite new to me-- Has just come out, and very fine it is. MARIANE What piece of news? VALERE Your marriage with Tartuffe. MARIANE 'Tis true my father has this plan in mind. VALERE Your father, madam ... MARIANE Yes, he's changed his plans, And did but now propose it to me. VALERE What! Seriously? MARIANE Yes, he was serious, And openly insisted on the match. VALERE And what's your resolution in the matter, Madam? MARIANE I don't know. VALERE That's a pretty answer. You don't know? MARIANE No. VALERE No? MARIANE What do you advise? VALERE I? My advice is, marry him, by all means. MARIANE That's your advice? VALERE Yes. MARIANE Do you mean it? VALERE Surely. A splendid choice, and worthy of your acceptance. MARIANE Oh, very well, sir! I shall take your counsel. VALERE You'll find no trouble taking it, I warrant. MARIANE No more than you did giving it, be sure. VALERE I gave it, truly, to oblige you, madam. MARIANE And I shall take it to oblige you, sir. Dorine (withdrawing to the back of the stage) Let's see what this affair will come to. VALERE So, That is your love? And it was all deceit When you ... MARIANE I beg you, say no more of that. You told me, squarely, sir, I should accept The husband that is offered me; and I Will tell you squarely that I mean to do so, Since you have given me this good advice. VALERE Don't shield yourself with talk of my advice. You had your mind made up, that's evident; And now you're snatching at a trifling pretext To justify the breaking of your word. MARIANE Exactly so. VALERE Of course it is; your heart Has never known true love for me. MARIANE Alas! You're free to think so, if you please. VALERE Yes, yes, I'm free to think so; and my outraged love May yet forestall you in your perfidy, And offer elsewhere both my heart and hand. MARIANE No doubt of it; the love your high deserts May win ... VALERE Good Lord, have done with my deserts! I know I have but few, and you have proved it. But I may find more kindness in another; I know of someone, who'll not be ashamed To take your leavings, and make up my loss. MARIANE The loss is not so great; you'll easily Console yourself completely for this change. VALERE I'll try my best, that you may well believe. When we're forgotten by a woman's heart, Our pride is challenged; we, too, must forget; Or if we cannot, must at least pretend to. No other way can man such baseness prove, As be a lover scorned, and still in love. MARIANE In faith, a high and noble sentiment. VALERE Yes; and it's one that all men must approve. What! Would you have me keep my love alive, And see you fly into another's arms Before my very eyes; and never offer To someone else the heart that you had scorned? MARIANE Oh, no, indeed! For my part, I could wish That it were done already. VALERE What! You wish it? MARIANE Yes. VALERE This is insult heaped on injury; I'll go at once and do as you desire. (He takes a step or two as if to go away.) MARIANE Oh, very well then. VALERE (turning back) But remember this. 'Twas you that drove me to this desperate pass. MARIANE Of course. VALERE (turning back again) And in the plan that I have formed I only follow your example. MARIANE Yes. VALERE (at the door) Enough; you shall be punctually obeyed. MARIANE So much the better. VALERE (coming back again) This is once for all. MARIANE So be it, then. VALERE (He goes toward the door, but just as he reaches it, turns around) Eh? MARIANE What? VALERE You didn't call me? MARIANE I? You are dreaming. VALERE Very well, I'm gone. Madam, farewell. (He walks slowly away.) MARIANE Farewell, sir. DORINE I must say You've lost your senses and both gone clean daft! I've let you fight it out to the end o' the chapter To see how far the thing could go. Oho, there, Mister Valere! (She goes and seizes him by the arm, to stop him. He makes a great show of resistance.) VALERE What do you want, Dorine? DORINE Come here. VALERE No, no, I'm quite beside myself. Don't hinder me from doing as she wishes. DORINE Stop! VALERE No. You see, I'm fixed, resolved, determined. DORINE So! MARIANE (aside) Since my presence pains him, makes him go, I'd better go myself, and leave him free. DORINE (leaving Valere, and running after Mariane) Now t'other! Where are you going? MARIANE Let me be. DORINE. Come back. MARIANE No, no, it isn't any use. VALERE (aside) 'Tis clear the sight of me is torture to her; No doubt, t'were better I should free her from it. DORINE (leaving Mariane and running after Valere) Same thing again! Deuce take you both, I say. Now stop your fooling; come here, you; and you. (She pulls first one, then the other, toward the middle of the stage.) VALERE (to Dorine) What's your idea? MARIANE (to Dorine) What can you mean to do? DORINE Set you to rights, and pull you out o' the scrape. (To Valere) Are you quite mad, to quarrel with her now? VALERE Didn't you hear the things she said to me? DORINE (to Mariane) Are you quite mad, to get in such a passion? MARIANE Didn't you see the way he treated me? DORINE Fools, both of you. (To Valere) She thinks of nothing else But to keep faith with you, I vouch for it. (To Mariane) And he loves none but you, and longs for nothing But just to marry you, I stake my life on't. MARIANE (to Valere) Why did you give me such advice then, pray? VALERE (to Mariane) Why ask for my advice on such a matter? DORINE You both are daft, I tell you. Here, your hands. (To Valere) Come, yours. VALERE (giving Dorine his hand) What for? DORINE (to Mariane) Now, yours. MARIANE (giving Dorine her hand) But what's the use? DORINE Oh, quick now, come along. There, both of you-- You love each other better than you think. (Valere and Mariane hold each other's hands some time without looking at each other.) VALERE (at last turning toward Mariane) Come, don't be so ungracious now about it; Look at a man as if you didn't hate him. (Mariane looks sideways toward Valere, with just a bit of a smile.) DORINE My faith and troth, what fools these lovers be! VALERE (to Mariane) But come now, have I not a just complaint? And truly, are you not a wicked creature To take delight in saying what would pain me? MARIANE And are you not yourself the most ungrateful ... ? DORINE Leave this discussion till another time; Now, think how you'll stave off this plaguy marriage. MARIANE Then tell us how to go about it. DORINE Well, We'll try all sorts of ways. (To Mariane) Your father's daft; (To Valere) This plan is nonsense. (To Mariane) You had better humour His notions by a semblance of consent, So that in case of danger, you can still Find means to block the marriage by delay. If you gain time, the rest is easy, trust me. One day you'll fool them with a sudden illness, Causing delay; another day, ill omens: You've met a funeral, or broke a mirror, Or dreamed of muddy water. Best of all, They cannot marry you to anyone Without your saying yes. But now, methinks, They mustn't find you chattering together. (To Valere) You, go at once and set your friends at work To make him keep his word to you; while we Will bring the brother's influence to bear, And get the step-mother on our side, too. Good-bye. VALERE (to Mariane) Whatever efforts we may make, My greatest hope, be sure, must rest on you. MARIANE (to Valere) I cannot answer for my father's whims; But no one save Valere shall ever have me. VALERE You thrill me through with joy! Whatever comes ... DORINE Oho! These lovers! Never done with prattling! Now go. VALERE (starting to go, and coming back again) One last word ... DORINE What a gabble and pother! Be off! By this door, you. And you, by t'other. (She pushes them off, by the shoulders, in opposite directions.) ACT III SCENE I DAMIS, DORINE DAMIS May lightning strike me dead this very instant, May I be everywhere proclaimed a scoundrel, If any reverence or power shall stop me, And if I don't do straightway something desperate! DORINE I beg you, moderate this towering passion; Your father did but merely mention it. Not all things that are talked of turn to facts; The road is long, sometimes, from plans to acts. DAMIS No, I must end this paltry fellow's plots, And he shall hear from me a truth or two. DORINE So ho! Go slow now. Just you leave the fellow-- Your father too--in your step-mother's hands. She has some influence with this Tartuffe, He makes a point of heeding all she says, And I suspect that he is fond of her. Would God 'twere true!--'Twould be the height of humour Now, she has sent for him, in your behalf, To sound him on this marriage, to find out What his ideas are, and to show him plainly What troubles he may cause, if he persists In giving countenance to this design. His man says, he's at prayers, I mustn't see him, But likewise says, he'll presently be down. So off with you, and let me wait for him. DAMIS I may be present at this interview. DORINE No, no! They must be left alone. DAMIS I won't So much as speak to him. DORINE Go on! We know you And your high tantrums. Just the way to spoil things! Be off. DAMIS No, I must see--I'll keep my temper. DORINE Out on you, what a plague! He's coming. Hide! (Damis goes and hides in the closet at the back of the stage.) SCENE II TARTUFFE, DORINE TARTUFFE (speaking to his valet, off the stage, as soon as he sees Dorine is there) Lawrence, put up my hair-cloth shirt and scourge, And pray that Heaven may shed its light upon you. If any come to see me, say I'm gone To share my alms among the prisoners. DORINE (aside) What affectation and what showing off! TARTUFFE What do you want with me? DORINE To tell you ... TARTUFFE (taking a handkerchief from his pocket) Ah! Before you speak, pray take this handkerchief. DORINE What? TARTUFFE Cover up that bosom, which I can't Endure to look on. Things like that offend Our souls, and fill our minds with sinful thoughts. DORINE Are you so tender to temptation, then, And has the flesh such power upon your senses? I don't know how you get in such a heat; For my part, I am not so prone to lust, And I could see you stripped from head to foot, And all your hide not tempt me in the least. TARTUFFE Show in your speech some little modesty, Or I must instantly take leave of you. DORINE No, no, I'll leave you to yourself; I've only One thing to say: Madam will soon be down, And begs the favour of a word with you. TARTUFFE Ah! Willingly. DORINE (aside) How gentle all at once! My faith, I still believe I've hit upon it. TARTUFFE Will she come soon? DORINE I think I hear her now. Yes, here she is herself; I'll leave you with her. SCENE III ELMIRE, TARTUFFE TARTUFFE May Heaven's overflowing kindness ever Give you good health of body and of soul, And bless your days according to the wishes And prayers of its most humble votary! ELMIRE I'm very grateful for your pious wishes. But let's sit down, so we may talk at ease. TARTUFFE (after sitting down) And how are you recovered from your illness? ELMIRE (sitting down also) Quite well; the fever soon let go its hold. TARTUFFE My prayers, I fear, have not sufficient merit To have drawn down this favour from on high; But each entreaty that I made to Heaven Had for its object your recovery. ELMIRE You're too solicitous on my behalf. TARTUFFE We could not cherish your dear health too much; I would have given mine, to help restore it. ELMIRE That's pushing Christian charity too far; I owe you many thanks for so much kindness. TARTUFFE I do far less for you than you deserve. ELMIRE There is a matter that I wished to speak of In private; I am glad there's no one here To listen. TARTUFFE Madam, I am overjoyed. 'Tis sweet to find myself alone with you. This is an opportunity I've asked Of Heaven, many a time; till now, in vain. ELMIRE All that I wish, is just a word from you, Quite frank and open, hiding nothing from me. (DAMIS, without their seeing him, opens the closet door halfway.) TARTUFFE I too could wish, as Heaven's especial favour, To lay my soul quite open to your eyes, And swear to you, the trouble that I made About those visits which your charms attract, Does not result from any hatred toward you, But rather from a passionate devotion, And purest motives ... ELMIRE That is how I take it, I think 'tis my salvation that concerns you. TARTUFFE (pressing her finger tips) Madam, 'tis so; and such is my devotion ... ELMIRE Ouch! but you squeeze too hard. TARTUFFE Excess of zeal. In no way could I ever mean to hurt you, And I'd as soon ... (He puts his hand on her knee.) ELMIRE What's your hand doing there? TARTUFFE Feeling your gown; the stuff is very soft. ELMIRE Let be, I beg you; I am very ticklish. (She moves her chair away, and Tartuffe brings his nearer.) TARTUFFE (handling the lace yoke of Elmire's dress) Dear me how wonderful in workmanship This lace is! They do marvels, nowadays; Things of all kinds were never better made. ELMIRE Yes, very true. But let us come to business. They say my husband means to break his word. And marry Mariane to you. Is't so? TARTUFFE He did hint some such thing; but truly, madam, That's not the happiness I'm yearning after; I see elsewhere the sweet compelling charms Of such a joy as fills my every wish. ELMIRE You mean you cannot love terrestrial things. TARTUFFE The heart within my bosom is not stone. ELMIRE I well believe your sighs all tend to Heaven, And nothing here below can stay your thoughts. TARTUFFE Love for the beauty of eternal things Cannot destroy our love for earthly beauty; Our mortal senses well may be entranced By perfect works that Heaven has fashioned here. Its charms reflected shine in such as you, And in yourself, its rarest miracles; It has displayed such marvels in your face, That eyes are dazed, and hearts are rapt away; I could not look on you, the perfect creature, Without admiring Nature's great Creator, And feeling all my heart inflamed with love For you, His fairest image of Himself. At first I trembled lest this secret love Might be the Evil Spirit's artful snare; I even schooled my heart to flee your beauty, Thinking it was a bar to my salvation. But soon, enlightened, O all lovely one, I saw how this my passion may be blameless, How I may make it fit with modesty, And thus completely yield my heart to it. 'Tis I must own, a great presumption in me To dare make you the offer of my heart; My love hopes all things from your perfect goodness, And nothing from my own poor weak endeavour. You are my hope, my stay, my peace of heart; On you depends my torment or my bliss; And by your doom of judgment, I shall be Blest, if you will; or damned, by your decree. ELMIRE Your declaration's turned most gallantly; But truly, it is just a bit surprising. You should have better armed your heart, methinks, And taken thought somewhat on such a matter. A pious man like you, known everywhere ... TARTUFFE Though pious, I am none the less a man; And when a man beholds your heavenly charms, The heart surrenders, and can think no more. I know such words seem strange, coming from me; But, madam, I'm no angel, after all; If you condemn my frankly made avowal You only have your charming self to blame. Soon as I saw your more than human beauty, You were thenceforth the sovereign of my soul; Sweetness ineffable was in your eyes, That took by storm my still resisting heart, And conquered everything, fasts, prayers, and tears, And turned my worship wholly to yourself. My looks, my sighs, have spoke a thousand times; Now, to express it all, my voice must speak. If but you will look down with gracious favour Upon the sorrows of your worthless slave, If in your goodness you will give me comfort And condescend unto my nothingness, I'll ever pay you, O sweet miracle, An unexampled worship and devotion. Then too, with me your honour runs no risk; With me you need not fear a public scandal. These court gallants, that women are so fond of, Are boastful of their acts, and vain in speech; They always brag in public of their progress; Soon as a favour's granted, they'll divulge it; Their tattling tongues, if you but trust to them, Will foul the altar where their hearts have worshipped. But men like me are so discreet in love, That you may trust their lasting secrecy. The care we take to guard our own good name May fully guarantee the one we love; So you may find, with hearts like ours sincere, Love without scandal, pleasure without fear. ELMIRE I've heard you through--your speech is clear, at least. But don't you fear that I may take a fancy To tell my husband of your gallant passion, And that a prompt report of this affair May somewhat change the friendship which he bears you? TARTUFFE I know that you're too good and generous, That you will pardon my temerity, Excuse, upon the score of human frailty, The violence of passion that offends you, And not forget, when you consult your mirror, That I'm not blind, and man is made of flesh. ELMIRE Some women might do otherwise, perhaps, But I am willing to employ discretion, And not repeat the matter to my husband; But in return, I'll ask one thing of you: That you urge forward, frankly and sincerely, The marriage of Valere to Mariane; That you give up the unjust influence By which you

called

How many times the word 'called' appears in the text?

And he who weds his child against her will Owes heaven account for it, if she do ill. Think then what perils wait on your design. ORGON (to Mariane) So! I must learn what's what from her, you see! DORINE You might do worse than follow my advice. ORGON Daughter, we can't waste time upon this nonsense; I know what's good for you, and I'm your father. True, I had promised you to young Valere; But, first, they tell me he's inclined to gamble, And then, I fear his faith is not quite sound. I haven't noticed that he's regular At church. DORINE You'd have him run there just when you do. Like those who go on purpose to be seen? ORGON I don't ask your opinion on the matter. In short, the other is in Heaven's best graces, And that is riches quite beyond compare. This match will bring you every joy you long for; 'Twill be all steeped in sweetness and delight. You'll live together, in your faithful loves, Like two sweet children, like two turtle-doves; You'll never fail to quarrel, scold, or tease, And you may do with him whate'er you please. DORINE With him? Do naught but give him horns, I'll warrant. ORGON Out on thee, wench! DORINE I tell you he's cut out for't; However great your daughter's virtue, sir, His destiny is sure to prove the stronger. ORGON Have done with interrupting. Hold your tongue. Don't poke your nose in other people's business. DORINE (She keeps interrupting him, just as he turns and starts to speak to his daughter). If I make bold, sir, 'tis for your own good. ORGON You're too officious; pray you, hold your tongue. DORINE 'Tis love of you ... ORGON I want none of your love. DORINE Then I will love you in your own despite. ORGON You will, eh? DORINE Yes, your honour's dear to me; I can't endure to see you made the butt Of all men's ridicule. ORGON Won't you be still? DORINE 'Twould be a sin to let you make this match. ORGON Won't you be still, I say, you impudent viper! DORINE What! you are pious, and you lose your temper? ORGON I'm all wrought up, with your confounded nonsense; Now, once for all, I tell you hold your tongue. DORINE Then mum's the word; I'll take it out in thinking. ORGON Think all you please; but not a syllable To me about it, or ... you understand! (Turning to his daughter.) As a wise father, I've considered all With due deliberation. DORINE I'll go mad If I can't speak. (She stops the instant he turns his head.) ORGON Though he's no lady's man, Tartuffe is well enough ... DORINE A pretty phiz! ORGON So that, although you may not care at all For his best qualities ... DORINE A handsome dowry! (Orgon turns and stands in front of her, with arms folded, eyeing her.) Were I in her place, any man should rue it Who married me by force, that's mighty certain; I'd let him know, and that within a week, A woman's vengeance isn't far to seek. ORGON (to Dorine) So--nothing that I say has any weight? DORINE Eh? What's wrong now? I didn't speak to you. ORGON What were you doing? DORINE Talking to myself. ORGON Oh! Very well. (Aside.) Her monstrous impudence Must be chastised with one good slap in the face. (He stands ready to strike her, and, each time he speaks to his daughter, he glances toward her; but she stands still and says not a word.) [3] [Footnote 3: As given at the Comedie francaise, the action is as follows: While Orgon says, "You must approve of my design," Dorine is making signs to Mariane to resist his orders; Orgon turns around suddenly; but Dorine quickly changes her gesture and with the hand which she had lifted calmly arranges her hair and her cap. Orgon goes on, "Think of the husband ..." and stops before the middle of his sentence to turn and catch the beginning of Dorine's gesture; but he is too quick this time, and Dorine stands looking at his furious countenance with a sweet and gentle expression. He turns and goes on, and the obstinate Dorine again lifts her hand behind his shoulder to urge Mariane to resistance: this time he catches her; but just as he swings his shoulder to give her the promised blow, she stops him by changing the intent of her gesture, and carefully picking from the top of his sleeve a bit of fluff which she holds carefully between her fingers, then blows into the air, and watches intently as it floats away. Orgon is paralysed by her innocence of expression, and compelled to hide his rage.--Regnier, _Le Tartuffe des Comediens_.] ORGON Daughter, you must approve of my design.... Think of this husband ... I have chosen for you... (To Dorine) Why don't you talk to yourself? DORINE Nothing to say. ORGON One little word more. DORINE Oh, no, thanks. Not now. ORGON Sure, I'd have caught you. DORINE Faith, I'm no such fool. ORGON So, daughter, now obedience is the word; You must accept my choice with reverence. DORINE (running away) You'd never catch me marrying such a creature. ORGON (swinging his hand at her and missing her) Daughter, you've such a pestilent hussy there I can't live with her longer, without sin. I can't discuss things in the state I'm in. My mind's so flustered by her insolent talk, To calm myself, I must go take a walk. SCENE III MARIANE, DORINE DORINE Say, have you lost the tongue from out your head? And must I speak your role from A to Zed? You let them broach a project that's absurd, And don't oppose it with a single word! MARIANE What can I do? My father is the master. DORINE Do? Everything, to ward off such disaster. MARIANE But what? DORINE Tell him one doesn't love by proxy; Tell him you'll marry for yourself, not him; Since you're the one for whom the thing is done, You are the one, not he, the man must please; If his Tartuffe has charmed him so, why let him Just marry him himself--no one will hinder. MARIANE A father's rights are such, it seems to me, That I could never dare to say a word. DORINE Came, talk it out. Valere has asked your hand: Now do you love him, pray, or do you not? MARIANE Dorine! How can you wrong my love so much, And ask me such a question? Have I not A hundred times laid bare my heart to you? Do you know how ardently I love him? DORINE How do I know if heart and words agree, And if in honest truth you really love him? MARIANE Dorine, you wrong me greatly if you doubt it; I've shown my inmost feelings, all too plainly. DORINE So then, you love him? MARIANE Yes, devotedly. DORINE And he returns your love, apparently? MARIANE I think so. DORINE And you both alike are eager To be well married to each other? MARIANE Surely. DORINE Then what's your plan about this other match? MARIANE To kill myself, if it is forced upon me. DORINE Good! That's a remedy I hadn't thought of. Just die, and everything will be all right. This medicine is marvellous, indeed! It drives me mad to hear folk talk such nonsense. MARIANE Oh dear, Dorine you get in such a temper! You have no sympathy for people's troubles. DORINE I have no sympathy when folk talk nonsense, And flatten out as you do, at a pinch. MARIANE But what can you expect?--if one is timid?-- DORINE But what is love worth, if it has no courage? MARIANE Am I not constant in my love for him? Is't not his place to win me from my father? DORINE But if your father is a crazy fool, And quite bewitched with his Tartuffe? And breaks His bounden word? Is that your lover's fault? MARIANE But shall I publicly refuse and scorn This match, and make it plain that I'm in love? Shall I cast off for him, whate'er he be, Womanly modesty and filial duty? You ask me to display my love in public ... ? DORINE No, no, I ask you nothing. You shall be Mister Tartuffe's; why, now I think of it, I should be wrong to turn you from this marriage. What cause can I have to oppose your wishes? So fine a match! An excellent good match! Mister Tartuffe! Oh ho! No mean proposal! Mister Tartuffe, sure, take it all in all, Is not a man to sneeze at--oh, by no means! 'Tis no small luck to be his happy spouse. The whole world joins to sing his praise already; He's noble--in his parish; handsome too; Red ears and high complexion--oh, my lud! You'll be too happy, sure, with him for husband. MARIANE Oh dear! ... DORINE What joy and pride will fill your heart To be the bride of such a handsome fellow! MARIANE Oh, stop, I beg you; try to find some way To help break off the match. I quite give in, I'm ready to do anything you say. DORINE No, no, a daughter must obey her father, Though he should want to make her wed a monkey. Besides, your fate is fine. What could be better! You'll take the stage-coach to his little village, And find it full of uncles and of cousins, Whose conversation will delight you. Then You'll be presented in their best society. You'll even go to call, by way of welcome, On Mrs. Bailiff, Mrs. Tax-Collector, Who'll patronise you with a folding-stool. There, once a year, at carnival, you'll have Perhaps--a ball; with orchestra--two bag-pipes; And sometimes a trained ape, and Punch and Judy; Though if your husband ... MARIANE Oh, you'll kill me. Please Contrive to help me out with your advice. DORINE I thank you kindly. MARIANE Oh! Dorine, I beg you ... DORINE To serve you right, this marriage must go through. MARIANE Dear girl! DORINE No. MARIANE If I say I love Valere ... DORINE No, no. Tartuffe's your man, and you shall taste him. MARIANE You know I've always trusted you; now help me ... DORINE No, you shall be, my faith! Tartuffified. MARIANE Well, then, since you've no pity for my fate Let me take counsel only of despair; It will advise and help and give me courage; There's one sure cure, I know, for all my troubles. (She starts to go.) DORINE There, there! Come back. I can't be angry long. I must take pity on you, after all. MARIANE Oh, don't you see, Dorine, if I must bear This martyrdom, I certainly shall die. DORINE Now don't you fret. We'll surely find some way. To hinder this ... But here's Valere, your lover. SCENE IV VALERE, MARIANE, DORINE VALERE Madam, a piece of news--quite new to me-- Has just come out, and very fine it is. MARIANE What piece of news? VALERE Your marriage with Tartuffe. MARIANE 'Tis true my father has this plan in mind. VALERE Your father, madam ... MARIANE Yes, he's changed his plans, And did but now propose it to me. VALERE What! Seriously? MARIANE Yes, he was serious, And openly insisted on the match. VALERE And what's your resolution in the matter, Madam? MARIANE I don't know. VALERE That's a pretty answer. You don't know? MARIANE No. VALERE No? MARIANE What do you advise? VALERE I? My advice is, marry him, by all means. MARIANE That's your advice? VALERE Yes. MARIANE Do you mean it? VALERE Surely. A splendid choice, and worthy of your acceptance. MARIANE Oh, very well, sir! I shall take your counsel. VALERE You'll find no trouble taking it, I warrant. MARIANE No more than you did giving it, be sure. VALERE I gave it, truly, to oblige you, madam. MARIANE And I shall take it to oblige you, sir. Dorine (withdrawing to the back of the stage) Let's see what this affair will come to. VALERE So, That is your love? And it was all deceit When you ... MARIANE I beg you, say no more of that. You told me, squarely, sir, I should accept The husband that is offered me; and I Will tell you squarely that I mean to do so, Since you have given me this good advice. VALERE Don't shield yourself with talk of my advice. You had your mind made up, that's evident; And now you're snatching at a trifling pretext To justify the breaking of your word. MARIANE Exactly so. VALERE Of course it is; your heart Has never known true love for me. MARIANE Alas! You're free to think so, if you please. VALERE Yes, yes, I'm free to think so; and my outraged love May yet forestall you in your perfidy, And offer elsewhere both my heart and hand. MARIANE No doubt of it; the love your high deserts May win ... VALERE Good Lord, have done with my deserts! I know I have but few, and you have proved it. But I may find more kindness in another; I know of someone, who'll not be ashamed To take your leavings, and make up my loss. MARIANE The loss is not so great; you'll easily Console yourself completely for this change. VALERE I'll try my best, that you may well believe. When we're forgotten by a woman's heart, Our pride is challenged; we, too, must forget; Or if we cannot, must at least pretend to. No other way can man such baseness prove, As be a lover scorned, and still in love. MARIANE In faith, a high and noble sentiment. VALERE Yes; and it's one that all men must approve. What! Would you have me keep my love alive, And see you fly into another's arms Before my very eyes; and never offer To someone else the heart that you had scorned? MARIANE Oh, no, indeed! For my part, I could wish That it were done already. VALERE What! You wish it? MARIANE Yes. VALERE This is insult heaped on injury; I'll go at once and do as you desire. (He takes a step or two as if to go away.) MARIANE Oh, very well then. VALERE (turning back) But remember this. 'Twas you that drove me to this desperate pass. MARIANE Of course. VALERE (turning back again) And in the plan that I have formed I only follow your example. MARIANE Yes. VALERE (at the door) Enough; you shall be punctually obeyed. MARIANE So much the better. VALERE (coming back again) This is once for all. MARIANE So be it, then. VALERE (He goes toward the door, but just as he reaches it, turns around) Eh? MARIANE What? VALERE You didn't call me? MARIANE I? You are dreaming. VALERE Very well, I'm gone. Madam, farewell. (He walks slowly away.) MARIANE Farewell, sir. DORINE I must say You've lost your senses and both gone clean daft! I've let you fight it out to the end o' the chapter To see how far the thing could go. Oho, there, Mister Valere! (She goes and seizes him by the arm, to stop him. He makes a great show of resistance.) VALERE What do you want, Dorine? DORINE Come here. VALERE No, no, I'm quite beside myself. Don't hinder me from doing as she wishes. DORINE Stop! VALERE No. You see, I'm fixed, resolved, determined. DORINE So! MARIANE (aside) Since my presence pains him, makes him go, I'd better go myself, and leave him free. DORINE (leaving Valere, and running after Mariane) Now t'other! Where are you going? MARIANE Let me be. DORINE. Come back. MARIANE No, no, it isn't any use. VALERE (aside) 'Tis clear the sight of me is torture to her; No doubt, t'were better I should free her from it. DORINE (leaving Mariane and running after Valere) Same thing again! Deuce take you both, I say. Now stop your fooling; come here, you; and you. (She pulls first one, then the other, toward the middle of the stage.) VALERE (to Dorine) What's your idea? MARIANE (to Dorine) What can you mean to do? DORINE Set you to rights, and pull you out o' the scrape. (To Valere) Are you quite mad, to quarrel with her now? VALERE Didn't you hear the things she said to me? DORINE (to Mariane) Are you quite mad, to get in such a passion? MARIANE Didn't you see the way he treated me? DORINE Fools, both of you. (To Valere) She thinks of nothing else But to keep faith with you, I vouch for it. (To Mariane) And he loves none but you, and longs for nothing But just to marry you, I stake my life on't. MARIANE (to Valere) Why did you give me such advice then, pray? VALERE (to Mariane) Why ask for my advice on such a matter? DORINE You both are daft, I tell you. Here, your hands. (To Valere) Come, yours. VALERE (giving Dorine his hand) What for? DORINE (to Mariane) Now, yours. MARIANE (giving Dorine her hand) But what's the use? DORINE Oh, quick now, come along. There, both of you-- You love each other better than you think. (Valere and Mariane hold each other's hands some time without looking at each other.) VALERE (at last turning toward Mariane) Come, don't be so ungracious now about it; Look at a man as if you didn't hate him. (Mariane looks sideways toward Valere, with just a bit of a smile.) DORINE My faith and troth, what fools these lovers be! VALERE (to Mariane) But come now, have I not a just complaint? And truly, are you not a wicked creature To take delight in saying what would pain me? MARIANE And are you not yourself the most ungrateful ... ? DORINE Leave this discussion till another time; Now, think how you'll stave off this plaguy marriage. MARIANE Then tell us how to go about it. DORINE Well, We'll try all sorts of ways. (To Mariane) Your father's daft; (To Valere) This plan is nonsense. (To Mariane) You had better humour His notions by a semblance of consent, So that in case of danger, you can still Find means to block the marriage by delay. If you gain time, the rest is easy, trust me. One day you'll fool them with a sudden illness, Causing delay; another day, ill omens: You've met a funeral, or broke a mirror, Or dreamed of muddy water. Best of all, They cannot marry you to anyone Without your saying yes. But now, methinks, They mustn't find you chattering together. (To Valere) You, go at once and set your friends at work To make him keep his word to you; while we Will bring the brother's influence to bear, And get the step-mother on our side, too. Good-bye. VALERE (to Mariane) Whatever efforts we may make, My greatest hope, be sure, must rest on you. MARIANE (to Valere) I cannot answer for my father's whims; But no one save Valere shall ever have me. VALERE You thrill me through with joy! Whatever comes ... DORINE Oho! These lovers! Never done with prattling! Now go. VALERE (starting to go, and coming back again) One last word ... DORINE What a gabble and pother! Be off! By this door, you. And you, by t'other. (She pushes them off, by the shoulders, in opposite directions.) ACT III SCENE I DAMIS, DORINE DAMIS May lightning strike me dead this very instant, May I be everywhere proclaimed a scoundrel, If any reverence or power shall stop me, And if I don't do straightway something desperate! DORINE I beg you, moderate this towering passion; Your father did but merely mention it. Not all things that are talked of turn to facts; The road is long, sometimes, from plans to acts. DAMIS No, I must end this paltry fellow's plots, And he shall hear from me a truth or two. DORINE So ho! Go slow now. Just you leave the fellow-- Your father too--in your step-mother's hands. She has some influence with this Tartuffe, He makes a point of heeding all she says, And I suspect that he is fond of her. Would God 'twere true!--'Twould be the height of humour Now, she has sent for him, in your behalf, To sound him on this marriage, to find out What his ideas are, and to show him plainly What troubles he may cause, if he persists In giving countenance to this design. His man says, he's at prayers, I mustn't see him, But likewise says, he'll presently be down. So off with you, and let me wait for him. DAMIS I may be present at this interview. DORINE No, no! They must be left alone. DAMIS I won't So much as speak to him. DORINE Go on! We know you And your high tantrums. Just the way to spoil things! Be off. DAMIS No, I must see--I'll keep my temper. DORINE Out on you, what a plague! He's coming. Hide! (Damis goes and hides in the closet at the back of the stage.) SCENE II TARTUFFE, DORINE TARTUFFE (speaking to his valet, off the stage, as soon as he sees Dorine is there) Lawrence, put up my hair-cloth shirt and scourge, And pray that Heaven may shed its light upon you. If any come to see me, say I'm gone To share my alms among the prisoners. DORINE (aside) What affectation and what showing off! TARTUFFE What do you want with me? DORINE To tell you ... TARTUFFE (taking a handkerchief from his pocket) Ah! Before you speak, pray take this handkerchief. DORINE What? TARTUFFE Cover up that bosom, which I can't Endure to look on. Things like that offend Our souls, and fill our minds with sinful thoughts. DORINE Are you so tender to temptation, then, And has the flesh such power upon your senses? I don't know how you get in such a heat; For my part, I am not so prone to lust, And I could see you stripped from head to foot, And all your hide not tempt me in the least. TARTUFFE Show in your speech some little modesty, Or I must instantly take leave of you. DORINE No, no, I'll leave you to yourself; I've only One thing to say: Madam will soon be down, And begs the favour of a word with you. TARTUFFE Ah! Willingly. DORINE (aside) How gentle all at once! My faith, I still believe I've hit upon it. TARTUFFE Will she come soon? DORINE I think I hear her now. Yes, here she is herself; I'll leave you with her. SCENE III ELMIRE, TARTUFFE TARTUFFE May Heaven's overflowing kindness ever Give you good health of body and of soul, And bless your days according to the wishes And prayers of its most humble votary! ELMIRE I'm very grateful for your pious wishes. But let's sit down, so we may talk at ease. TARTUFFE (after sitting down) And how are you recovered from your illness? ELMIRE (sitting down also) Quite well; the fever soon let go its hold. TARTUFFE My prayers, I fear, have not sufficient merit To have drawn down this favour from on high; But each entreaty that I made to Heaven Had for its object your recovery. ELMIRE You're too solicitous on my behalf. TARTUFFE We could not cherish your dear health too much; I would have given mine, to help restore it. ELMIRE That's pushing Christian charity too far; I owe you many thanks for so much kindness. TARTUFFE I do far less for you than you deserve. ELMIRE There is a matter that I wished to speak of In private; I am glad there's no one here To listen. TARTUFFE Madam, I am overjoyed. 'Tis sweet to find myself alone with you. This is an opportunity I've asked Of Heaven, many a time; till now, in vain. ELMIRE All that I wish, is just a word from you, Quite frank and open, hiding nothing from me. (DAMIS, without their seeing him, opens the closet door halfway.) TARTUFFE I too could wish, as Heaven's especial favour, To lay my soul quite open to your eyes, And swear to you, the trouble that I made About those visits which your charms attract, Does not result from any hatred toward you, But rather from a passionate devotion, And purest motives ... ELMIRE That is how I take it, I think 'tis my salvation that concerns you. TARTUFFE (pressing her finger tips) Madam, 'tis so; and such is my devotion ... ELMIRE Ouch! but you squeeze too hard. TARTUFFE Excess of zeal. In no way could I ever mean to hurt you, And I'd as soon ... (He puts his hand on her knee.) ELMIRE What's your hand doing there? TARTUFFE Feeling your gown; the stuff is very soft. ELMIRE Let be, I beg you; I am very ticklish. (She moves her chair away, and Tartuffe brings his nearer.) TARTUFFE (handling the lace yoke of Elmire's dress) Dear me how wonderful in workmanship This lace is! They do marvels, nowadays; Things of all kinds were never better made. ELMIRE Yes, very true. But let us come to business. They say my husband means to break his word. And marry Mariane to you. Is't so? TARTUFFE He did hint some such thing; but truly, madam, That's not the happiness I'm yearning after; I see elsewhere the sweet compelling charms Of such a joy as fills my every wish. ELMIRE You mean you cannot love terrestrial things. TARTUFFE The heart within my bosom is not stone. ELMIRE I well believe your sighs all tend to Heaven, And nothing here below can stay your thoughts. TARTUFFE Love for the beauty of eternal things Cannot destroy our love for earthly beauty; Our mortal senses well may be entranced By perfect works that Heaven has fashioned here. Its charms reflected shine in such as you, And in yourself, its rarest miracles; It has displayed such marvels in your face, That eyes are dazed, and hearts are rapt away; I could not look on you, the perfect creature, Without admiring Nature's great Creator, And feeling all my heart inflamed with love For you, His fairest image of Himself. At first I trembled lest this secret love Might be the Evil Spirit's artful snare; I even schooled my heart to flee your beauty, Thinking it was a bar to my salvation. But soon, enlightened, O all lovely one, I saw how this my passion may be blameless, How I may make it fit with modesty, And thus completely yield my heart to it. 'Tis I must own, a great presumption in me To dare make you the offer of my heart; My love hopes all things from your perfect goodness, And nothing from my own poor weak endeavour. You are my hope, my stay, my peace of heart; On you depends my torment or my bliss; And by your doom of judgment, I shall be Blest, if you will; or damned, by your decree. ELMIRE Your declaration's turned most gallantly; But truly, it is just a bit surprising. You should have better armed your heart, methinks, And taken thought somewhat on such a matter. A pious man like you, known everywhere ... TARTUFFE Though pious, I am none the less a man; And when a man beholds your heavenly charms, The heart surrenders, and can think no more. I know such words seem strange, coming from me; But, madam, I'm no angel, after all; If you condemn my frankly made avowal You only have your charming self to blame. Soon as I saw your more than human beauty, You were thenceforth the sovereign of my soul; Sweetness ineffable was in your eyes, That took by storm my still resisting heart, And conquered everything, fasts, prayers, and tears, And turned my worship wholly to yourself. My looks, my sighs, have spoke a thousand times; Now, to express it all, my voice must speak. If but you will look down with gracious favour Upon the sorrows of your worthless slave, If in your goodness you will give me comfort And condescend unto my nothingness, I'll ever pay you, O sweet miracle, An unexampled worship and devotion. Then too, with me your honour runs no risk; With me you need not fear a public scandal. These court gallants, that women are so fond of, Are boastful of their acts, and vain in speech; They always brag in public of their progress; Soon as a favour's granted, they'll divulge it; Their tattling tongues, if you but trust to them, Will foul the altar where their hearts have worshipped. But men like me are so discreet in love, That you may trust their lasting secrecy. The care we take to guard our own good name May fully guarantee the one we love; So you may find, with hearts like ours sincere, Love without scandal, pleasure without fear. ELMIRE I've heard you through--your speech is clear, at least. But don't you fear that I may take a fancy To tell my husband of your gallant passion, And that a prompt report of this affair May somewhat change the friendship which he bears you? TARTUFFE I know that you're too good and generous, That you will pardon my temerity, Excuse, upon the score of human frailty, The violence of passion that offends you, And not forget, when you consult your mirror, That I'm not blind, and man is made of flesh. ELMIRE Some women might do otherwise, perhaps, But I am willing to employ discretion, And not repeat the matter to my husband; But in return, I'll ask one thing of you: That you urge forward, frankly and sincerely, The marriage of Valere to Mariane; That you give up the unjust influence By which you

expression

How many times the word 'expression' appears in the text?

And he who weds his child against her will Owes heaven account for it, if she do ill. Think then what perils wait on your design. ORGON (to Mariane) So! I must learn what's what from her, you see! DORINE You might do worse than follow my advice. ORGON Daughter, we can't waste time upon this nonsense; I know what's good for you, and I'm your father. True, I had promised you to young Valere; But, first, they tell me he's inclined to gamble, And then, I fear his faith is not quite sound. I haven't noticed that he's regular At church. DORINE You'd have him run there just when you do. Like those who go on purpose to be seen? ORGON I don't ask your opinion on the matter. In short, the other is in Heaven's best graces, And that is riches quite beyond compare. This match will bring you every joy you long for; 'Twill be all steeped in sweetness and delight. You'll live together, in your faithful loves, Like two sweet children, like two turtle-doves; You'll never fail to quarrel, scold, or tease, And you may do with him whate'er you please. DORINE With him? Do naught but give him horns, I'll warrant. ORGON Out on thee, wench! DORINE I tell you he's cut out for't; However great your daughter's virtue, sir, His destiny is sure to prove the stronger. ORGON Have done with interrupting. Hold your tongue. Don't poke your nose in other people's business. DORINE (She keeps interrupting him, just as he turns and starts to speak to his daughter). If I make bold, sir, 'tis for your own good. ORGON You're too officious; pray you, hold your tongue. DORINE 'Tis love of you ... ORGON I want none of your love. DORINE Then I will love you in your own despite. ORGON You will, eh? DORINE Yes, your honour's dear to me; I can't endure to see you made the butt Of all men's ridicule. ORGON Won't you be still? DORINE 'Twould be a sin to let you make this match. ORGON Won't you be still, I say, you impudent viper! DORINE What! you are pious, and you lose your temper? ORGON I'm all wrought up, with your confounded nonsense; Now, once for all, I tell you hold your tongue. DORINE Then mum's the word; I'll take it out in thinking. ORGON Think all you please; but not a syllable To me about it, or ... you understand! (Turning to his daughter.) As a wise father, I've considered all With due deliberation. DORINE I'll go mad If I can't speak. (She stops the instant he turns his head.) ORGON Though he's no lady's man, Tartuffe is well enough ... DORINE A pretty phiz! ORGON So that, although you may not care at all For his best qualities ... DORINE A handsome dowry! (Orgon turns and stands in front of her, with arms folded, eyeing her.) Were I in her place, any man should rue it Who married me by force, that's mighty certain; I'd let him know, and that within a week, A woman's vengeance isn't far to seek. ORGON (to Dorine) So--nothing that I say has any weight? DORINE Eh? What's wrong now? I didn't speak to you. ORGON What were you doing? DORINE Talking to myself. ORGON Oh! Very well. (Aside.) Her monstrous impudence Must be chastised with one good slap in the face. (He stands ready to strike her, and, each time he speaks to his daughter, he glances toward her; but she stands still and says not a word.) [3] [Footnote 3: As given at the Comedie francaise, the action is as follows: While Orgon says, "You must approve of my design," Dorine is making signs to Mariane to resist his orders; Orgon turns around suddenly; but Dorine quickly changes her gesture and with the hand which she had lifted calmly arranges her hair and her cap. Orgon goes on, "Think of the husband ..." and stops before the middle of his sentence to turn and catch the beginning of Dorine's gesture; but he is too quick this time, and Dorine stands looking at his furious countenance with a sweet and gentle expression. He turns and goes on, and the obstinate Dorine again lifts her hand behind his shoulder to urge Mariane to resistance: this time he catches her; but just as he swings his shoulder to give her the promised blow, she stops him by changing the intent of her gesture, and carefully picking from the top of his sleeve a bit of fluff which she holds carefully between her fingers, then blows into the air, and watches intently as it floats away. Orgon is paralysed by her innocence of expression, and compelled to hide his rage.--Regnier, _Le Tartuffe des Comediens_.] ORGON Daughter, you must approve of my design.... Think of this husband ... I have chosen for you... (To Dorine) Why don't you talk to yourself? DORINE Nothing to say. ORGON One little word more. DORINE Oh, no, thanks. Not now. ORGON Sure, I'd have caught you. DORINE Faith, I'm no such fool. ORGON So, daughter, now obedience is the word; You must accept my choice with reverence. DORINE (running away) You'd never catch me marrying such a creature. ORGON (swinging his hand at her and missing her) Daughter, you've such a pestilent hussy there I can't live with her longer, without sin. I can't discuss things in the state I'm in. My mind's so flustered by her insolent talk, To calm myself, I must go take a walk. SCENE III MARIANE, DORINE DORINE Say, have you lost the tongue from out your head? And must I speak your role from A to Zed? You let them broach a project that's absurd, And don't oppose it with a single word! MARIANE What can I do? My father is the master. DORINE Do? Everything, to ward off such disaster. MARIANE But what? DORINE Tell him one doesn't love by proxy; Tell him you'll marry for yourself, not him; Since you're the one for whom the thing is done, You are the one, not he, the man must please; If his Tartuffe has charmed him so, why let him Just marry him himself--no one will hinder. MARIANE A father's rights are such, it seems to me, That I could never dare to say a word. DORINE Came, talk it out. Valere has asked your hand: Now do you love him, pray, or do you not? MARIANE Dorine! How can you wrong my love so much, And ask me such a question? Have I not A hundred times laid bare my heart to you? Do you know how ardently I love him? DORINE How do I know if heart and words agree, And if in honest truth you really love him? MARIANE Dorine, you wrong me greatly if you doubt it; I've shown my inmost feelings, all too plainly. DORINE So then, you love him? MARIANE Yes, devotedly. DORINE And he returns your love, apparently? MARIANE I think so. DORINE And you both alike are eager To be well married to each other? MARIANE Surely. DORINE Then what's your plan about this other match? MARIANE To kill myself, if it is forced upon me. DORINE Good! That's a remedy I hadn't thought of. Just die, and everything will be all right. This medicine is marvellous, indeed! It drives me mad to hear folk talk such nonsense. MARIANE Oh dear, Dorine you get in such a temper! You have no sympathy for people's troubles. DORINE I have no sympathy when folk talk nonsense, And flatten out as you do, at a pinch. MARIANE But what can you expect?--if one is timid?-- DORINE But what is love worth, if it has no courage? MARIANE Am I not constant in my love for him? Is't not his place to win me from my father? DORINE But if your father is a crazy fool, And quite bewitched with his Tartuffe? And breaks His bounden word? Is that your lover's fault? MARIANE But shall I publicly refuse and scorn This match, and make it plain that I'm in love? Shall I cast off for him, whate'er he be, Womanly modesty and filial duty? You ask me to display my love in public ... ? DORINE No, no, I ask you nothing. You shall be Mister Tartuffe's; why, now I think of it, I should be wrong to turn you from this marriage. What cause can I have to oppose your wishes? So fine a match! An excellent good match! Mister Tartuffe! Oh ho! No mean proposal! Mister Tartuffe, sure, take it all in all, Is not a man to sneeze at--oh, by no means! 'Tis no small luck to be his happy spouse. The whole world joins to sing his praise already; He's noble--in his parish; handsome too; Red ears and high complexion--oh, my lud! You'll be too happy, sure, with him for husband. MARIANE Oh dear! ... DORINE What joy and pride will fill your heart To be the bride of such a handsome fellow! MARIANE Oh, stop, I beg you; try to find some way To help break off the match. I quite give in, I'm ready to do anything you say. DORINE No, no, a daughter must obey her father, Though he should want to make her wed a monkey. Besides, your fate is fine. What could be better! You'll take the stage-coach to his little village, And find it full of uncles and of cousins, Whose conversation will delight you. Then You'll be presented in their best society. You'll even go to call, by way of welcome, On Mrs. Bailiff, Mrs. Tax-Collector, Who'll patronise you with a folding-stool. There, once a year, at carnival, you'll have Perhaps--a ball; with orchestra--two bag-pipes; And sometimes a trained ape, and Punch and Judy; Though if your husband ... MARIANE Oh, you'll kill me. Please Contrive to help me out with your advice. DORINE I thank you kindly. MARIANE Oh! Dorine, I beg you ... DORINE To serve you right, this marriage must go through. MARIANE Dear girl! DORINE No. MARIANE If I say I love Valere ... DORINE No, no. Tartuffe's your man, and you shall taste him. MARIANE You know I've always trusted you; now help me ... DORINE No, you shall be, my faith! Tartuffified. MARIANE Well, then, since you've no pity for my fate Let me take counsel only of despair; It will advise and help and give me courage; There's one sure cure, I know, for all my troubles. (She starts to go.) DORINE There, there! Come back. I can't be angry long. I must take pity on you, after all. MARIANE Oh, don't you see, Dorine, if I must bear This martyrdom, I certainly shall die. DORINE Now don't you fret. We'll surely find some way. To hinder this ... But here's Valere, your lover. SCENE IV VALERE, MARIANE, DORINE VALERE Madam, a piece of news--quite new to me-- Has just come out, and very fine it is. MARIANE What piece of news? VALERE Your marriage with Tartuffe. MARIANE 'Tis true my father has this plan in mind. VALERE Your father, madam ... MARIANE Yes, he's changed his plans, And did but now propose it to me. VALERE What! Seriously? MARIANE Yes, he was serious, And openly insisted on the match. VALERE And what's your resolution in the matter, Madam? MARIANE I don't know. VALERE That's a pretty answer. You don't know? MARIANE No. VALERE No? MARIANE What do you advise? VALERE I? My advice is, marry him, by all means. MARIANE That's your advice? VALERE Yes. MARIANE Do you mean it? VALERE Surely. A splendid choice, and worthy of your acceptance. MARIANE Oh, very well, sir! I shall take your counsel. VALERE You'll find no trouble taking it, I warrant. MARIANE No more than you did giving it, be sure. VALERE I gave it, truly, to oblige you, madam. MARIANE And I shall take it to oblige you, sir. Dorine (withdrawing to the back of the stage) Let's see what this affair will come to. VALERE So, That is your love? And it was all deceit When you ... MARIANE I beg you, say no more of that. You told me, squarely, sir, I should accept The husband that is offered me; and I Will tell you squarely that I mean to do so, Since you have given me this good advice. VALERE Don't shield yourself with talk of my advice. You had your mind made up, that's evident; And now you're snatching at a trifling pretext To justify the breaking of your word. MARIANE Exactly so. VALERE Of course it is; your heart Has never known true love for me. MARIANE Alas! You're free to think so, if you please. VALERE Yes, yes, I'm free to think so; and my outraged love May yet forestall you in your perfidy, And offer elsewhere both my heart and hand. MARIANE No doubt of it; the love your high deserts May win ... VALERE Good Lord, have done with my deserts! I know I have but few, and you have proved it. But I may find more kindness in another; I know of someone, who'll not be ashamed To take your leavings, and make up my loss. MARIANE The loss is not so great; you'll easily Console yourself completely for this change. VALERE I'll try my best, that you may well believe. When we're forgotten by a woman's heart, Our pride is challenged; we, too, must forget; Or if we cannot, must at least pretend to. No other way can man such baseness prove, As be a lover scorned, and still in love. MARIANE In faith, a high and noble sentiment. VALERE Yes; and it's one that all men must approve. What! Would you have me keep my love alive, And see you fly into another's arms Before my very eyes; and never offer To someone else the heart that you had scorned? MARIANE Oh, no, indeed! For my part, I could wish That it were done already. VALERE What! You wish it? MARIANE Yes. VALERE This is insult heaped on injury; I'll go at once and do as you desire. (He takes a step or two as if to go away.) MARIANE Oh, very well then. VALERE (turning back) But remember this. 'Twas you that drove me to this desperate pass. MARIANE Of course. VALERE (turning back again) And in the plan that I have formed I only follow your example. MARIANE Yes. VALERE (at the door) Enough; you shall be punctually obeyed. MARIANE So much the better. VALERE (coming back again) This is once for all. MARIANE So be it, then. VALERE (He goes toward the door, but just as he reaches it, turns around) Eh? MARIANE What? VALERE You didn't call me? MARIANE I? You are dreaming. VALERE Very well, I'm gone. Madam, farewell. (He walks slowly away.) MARIANE Farewell, sir. DORINE I must say You've lost your senses and both gone clean daft! I've let you fight it out to the end o' the chapter To see how far the thing could go. Oho, there, Mister Valere! (She goes and seizes him by the arm, to stop him. He makes a great show of resistance.) VALERE What do you want, Dorine? DORINE Come here. VALERE No, no, I'm quite beside myself. Don't hinder me from doing as she wishes. DORINE Stop! VALERE No. You see, I'm fixed, resolved, determined. DORINE So! MARIANE (aside) Since my presence pains him, makes him go, I'd better go myself, and leave him free. DORINE (leaving Valere, and running after Mariane) Now t'other! Where are you going? MARIANE Let me be. DORINE. Come back. MARIANE No, no, it isn't any use. VALERE (aside) 'Tis clear the sight of me is torture to her; No doubt, t'were better I should free her from it. DORINE (leaving Mariane and running after Valere) Same thing again! Deuce take you both, I say. Now stop your fooling; come here, you; and you. (She pulls first one, then the other, toward the middle of the stage.) VALERE (to Dorine) What's your idea? MARIANE (to Dorine) What can you mean to do? DORINE Set you to rights, and pull you out o' the scrape. (To Valere) Are you quite mad, to quarrel with her now? VALERE Didn't you hear the things she said to me? DORINE (to Mariane) Are you quite mad, to get in such a passion? MARIANE Didn't you see the way he treated me? DORINE Fools, both of you. (To Valere) She thinks of nothing else But to keep faith with you, I vouch for it. (To Mariane) And he loves none but you, and longs for nothing But just to marry you, I stake my life on't. MARIANE (to Valere) Why did you give me such advice then, pray? VALERE (to Mariane) Why ask for my advice on such a matter? DORINE You both are daft, I tell you. Here, your hands. (To Valere) Come, yours. VALERE (giving Dorine his hand) What for? DORINE (to Mariane) Now, yours. MARIANE (giving Dorine her hand) But what's the use? DORINE Oh, quick now, come along. There, both of you-- You love each other better than you think. (Valere and Mariane hold each other's hands some time without looking at each other.) VALERE (at last turning toward Mariane) Come, don't be so ungracious now about it; Look at a man as if you didn't hate him. (Mariane looks sideways toward Valere, with just a bit of a smile.) DORINE My faith and troth, what fools these lovers be! VALERE (to Mariane) But come now, have I not a just complaint? And truly, are you not a wicked creature To take delight in saying what would pain me? MARIANE And are you not yourself the most ungrateful ... ? DORINE Leave this discussion till another time; Now, think how you'll stave off this plaguy marriage. MARIANE Then tell us how to go about it. DORINE Well, We'll try all sorts of ways. (To Mariane) Your father's daft; (To Valere) This plan is nonsense. (To Mariane) You had better humour His notions by a semblance of consent, So that in case of danger, you can still Find means to block the marriage by delay. If you gain time, the rest is easy, trust me. One day you'll fool them with a sudden illness, Causing delay; another day, ill omens: You've met a funeral, or broke a mirror, Or dreamed of muddy water. Best of all, They cannot marry you to anyone Without your saying yes. But now, methinks, They mustn't find you chattering together. (To Valere) You, go at once and set your friends at work To make him keep his word to you; while we Will bring the brother's influence to bear, And get the step-mother on our side, too. Good-bye. VALERE (to Mariane) Whatever efforts we may make, My greatest hope, be sure, must rest on you. MARIANE (to Valere) I cannot answer for my father's whims; But no one save Valere shall ever have me. VALERE You thrill me through with joy! Whatever comes ... DORINE Oho! These lovers! Never done with prattling! Now go. VALERE (starting to go, and coming back again) One last word ... DORINE What a gabble and pother! Be off! By this door, you. And you, by t'other. (She pushes them off, by the shoulders, in opposite directions.) ACT III SCENE I DAMIS, DORINE DAMIS May lightning strike me dead this very instant, May I be everywhere proclaimed a scoundrel, If any reverence or power shall stop me, And if I don't do straightway something desperate! DORINE I beg you, moderate this towering passion; Your father did but merely mention it. Not all things that are talked of turn to facts; The road is long, sometimes, from plans to acts. DAMIS No, I must end this paltry fellow's plots, And he shall hear from me a truth or two. DORINE So ho! Go slow now. Just you leave the fellow-- Your father too--in your step-mother's hands. She has some influence with this Tartuffe, He makes a point of heeding all she says, And I suspect that he is fond of her. Would God 'twere true!--'Twould be the height of humour Now, she has sent for him, in your behalf, To sound him on this marriage, to find out What his ideas are, and to show him plainly What troubles he may cause, if he persists In giving countenance to this design. His man says, he's at prayers, I mustn't see him, But likewise says, he'll presently be down. So off with you, and let me wait for him. DAMIS I may be present at this interview. DORINE No, no! They must be left alone. DAMIS I won't So much as speak to him. DORINE Go on! We know you And your high tantrums. Just the way to spoil things! Be off. DAMIS No, I must see--I'll keep my temper. DORINE Out on you, what a plague! He's coming. Hide! (Damis goes and hides in the closet at the back of the stage.) SCENE II TARTUFFE, DORINE TARTUFFE (speaking to his valet, off the stage, as soon as he sees Dorine is there) Lawrence, put up my hair-cloth shirt and scourge, And pray that Heaven may shed its light upon you. If any come to see me, say I'm gone To share my alms among the prisoners. DORINE (aside) What affectation and what showing off! TARTUFFE What do you want with me? DORINE To tell you ... TARTUFFE (taking a handkerchief from his pocket) Ah! Before you speak, pray take this handkerchief. DORINE What? TARTUFFE Cover up that bosom, which I can't Endure to look on. Things like that offend Our souls, and fill our minds with sinful thoughts. DORINE Are you so tender to temptation, then, And has the flesh such power upon your senses? I don't know how you get in such a heat; For my part, I am not so prone to lust, And I could see you stripped from head to foot, And all your hide not tempt me in the least. TARTUFFE Show in your speech some little modesty, Or I must instantly take leave of you. DORINE No, no, I'll leave you to yourself; I've only One thing to say: Madam will soon be down, And begs the favour of a word with you. TARTUFFE Ah! Willingly. DORINE (aside) How gentle all at once! My faith, I still believe I've hit upon it. TARTUFFE Will she come soon? DORINE I think I hear her now. Yes, here she is herself; I'll leave you with her. SCENE III ELMIRE, TARTUFFE TARTUFFE May Heaven's overflowing kindness ever Give you good health of body and of soul, And bless your days according to the wishes And prayers of its most humble votary! ELMIRE I'm very grateful for your pious wishes. But let's sit down, so we may talk at ease. TARTUFFE (after sitting down) And how are you recovered from your illness? ELMIRE (sitting down also) Quite well; the fever soon let go its hold. TARTUFFE My prayers, I fear, have not sufficient merit To have drawn down this favour from on high; But each entreaty that I made to Heaven Had for its object your recovery. ELMIRE You're too solicitous on my behalf. TARTUFFE We could not cherish your dear health too much; I would have given mine, to help restore it. ELMIRE That's pushing Christian charity too far; I owe you many thanks for so much kindness. TARTUFFE I do far less for you than you deserve. ELMIRE There is a matter that I wished to speak of In private; I am glad there's no one here To listen. TARTUFFE Madam, I am overjoyed. 'Tis sweet to find myself alone with you. This is an opportunity I've asked Of Heaven, many a time; till now, in vain. ELMIRE All that I wish, is just a word from you, Quite frank and open, hiding nothing from me. (DAMIS, without their seeing him, opens the closet door halfway.) TARTUFFE I too could wish, as Heaven's especial favour, To lay my soul quite open to your eyes, And swear to you, the trouble that I made About those visits which your charms attract, Does not result from any hatred toward you, But rather from a passionate devotion, And purest motives ... ELMIRE That is how I take it, I think 'tis my salvation that concerns you. TARTUFFE (pressing her finger tips) Madam, 'tis so; and such is my devotion ... ELMIRE Ouch! but you squeeze too hard. TARTUFFE Excess of zeal. In no way could I ever mean to hurt you, And I'd as soon ... (He puts his hand on her knee.) ELMIRE What's your hand doing there? TARTUFFE Feeling your gown; the stuff is very soft. ELMIRE Let be, I beg you; I am very ticklish. (She moves her chair away, and Tartuffe brings his nearer.) TARTUFFE (handling the lace yoke of Elmire's dress) Dear me how wonderful in workmanship This lace is! They do marvels, nowadays; Things of all kinds were never better made. ELMIRE Yes, very true. But let us come to business. They say my husband means to break his word. And marry Mariane to you. Is't so? TARTUFFE He did hint some such thing; but truly, madam, That's not the happiness I'm yearning after; I see elsewhere the sweet compelling charms Of such a joy as fills my every wish. ELMIRE You mean you cannot love terrestrial things. TARTUFFE The heart within my bosom is not stone. ELMIRE I well believe your sighs all tend to Heaven, And nothing here below can stay your thoughts. TARTUFFE Love for the beauty of eternal things Cannot destroy our love for earthly beauty; Our mortal senses well may be entranced By perfect works that Heaven has fashioned here. Its charms reflected shine in such as you, And in yourself, its rarest miracles; It has displayed such marvels in your face, That eyes are dazed, and hearts are rapt away; I could not look on you, the perfect creature, Without admiring Nature's great Creator, And feeling all my heart inflamed with love For you, His fairest image of Himself. At first I trembled lest this secret love Might be the Evil Spirit's artful snare; I even schooled my heart to flee your beauty, Thinking it was a bar to my salvation. But soon, enlightened, O all lovely one, I saw how this my passion may be blameless, How I may make it fit with modesty, And thus completely yield my heart to it. 'Tis I must own, a great presumption in me To dare make you the offer of my heart; My love hopes all things from your perfect goodness, And nothing from my own poor weak endeavour. You are my hope, my stay, my peace of heart; On you depends my torment or my bliss; And by your doom of judgment, I shall be Blest, if you will; or damned, by your decree. ELMIRE Your declaration's turned most gallantly; But truly, it is just a bit surprising. You should have better armed your heart, methinks, And taken thought somewhat on such a matter. A pious man like you, known everywhere ... TARTUFFE Though pious, I am none the less a man; And when a man beholds your heavenly charms, The heart surrenders, and can think no more. I know such words seem strange, coming from me; But, madam, I'm no angel, after all; If you condemn my frankly made avowal You only have your charming self to blame. Soon as I saw your more than human beauty, You were thenceforth the sovereign of my soul; Sweetness ineffable was in your eyes, That took by storm my still resisting heart, And conquered everything, fasts, prayers, and tears, And turned my worship wholly to yourself. My looks, my sighs, have spoke a thousand times; Now, to express it all, my voice must speak. If but you will look down with gracious favour Upon the sorrows of your worthless slave, If in your goodness you will give me comfort And condescend unto my nothingness, I'll ever pay you, O sweet miracle, An unexampled worship and devotion. Then too, with me your honour runs no risk; With me you need not fear a public scandal. These court gallants, that women are so fond of, Are boastful of their acts, and vain in speech; They always brag in public of their progress; Soon as a favour's granted, they'll divulge it; Their tattling tongues, if you but trust to them, Will foul the altar where their hearts have worshipped. But men like me are so discreet in love, That you may trust their lasting secrecy. The care we take to guard our own good name May fully guarantee the one we love; So you may find, with hearts like ours sincere, Love without scandal, pleasure without fear. ELMIRE I've heard you through--your speech is clear, at least. But don't you fear that I may take a fancy To tell my husband of your gallant passion, And that a prompt report of this affair May somewhat change the friendship which he bears you? TARTUFFE I know that you're too good and generous, That you will pardon my temerity, Excuse, upon the score of human frailty, The violence of passion that offends you, And not forget, when you consult your mirror, That I'm not blind, and man is made of flesh. ELMIRE Some women might do otherwise, perhaps, But I am willing to employ discretion, And not repeat the matter to my husband; But in return, I'll ask one thing of you: That you urge forward, frankly and sincerely, The marriage of Valere to Mariane; That you give up the unjust influence By which you

flustered

How many times the word 'flustered' appears in the text?

And he who weds his child against her will Owes heaven account for it, if she do ill. Think then what perils wait on your design. ORGON (to Mariane) So! I must learn what's what from her, you see! DORINE You might do worse than follow my advice. ORGON Daughter, we can't waste time upon this nonsense; I know what's good for you, and I'm your father. True, I had promised you to young Valere; But, first, they tell me he's inclined to gamble, And then, I fear his faith is not quite sound. I haven't noticed that he's regular At church. DORINE You'd have him run there just when you do. Like those who go on purpose to be seen? ORGON I don't ask your opinion on the matter. In short, the other is in Heaven's best graces, And that is riches quite beyond compare. This match will bring you every joy you long for; 'Twill be all steeped in sweetness and delight. You'll live together, in your faithful loves, Like two sweet children, like two turtle-doves; You'll never fail to quarrel, scold, or tease, And you may do with him whate'er you please. DORINE With him? Do naught but give him horns, I'll warrant. ORGON Out on thee, wench! DORINE I tell you he's cut out for't; However great your daughter's virtue, sir, His destiny is sure to prove the stronger. ORGON Have done with interrupting. Hold your tongue. Don't poke your nose in other people's business. DORINE (She keeps interrupting him, just as he turns and starts to speak to his daughter). If I make bold, sir, 'tis for your own good. ORGON You're too officious; pray you, hold your tongue. DORINE 'Tis love of you ... ORGON I want none of your love. DORINE Then I will love you in your own despite. ORGON You will, eh? DORINE Yes, your honour's dear to me; I can't endure to see you made the butt Of all men's ridicule. ORGON Won't you be still? DORINE 'Twould be a sin to let you make this match. ORGON Won't you be still, I say, you impudent viper! DORINE What! you are pious, and you lose your temper? ORGON I'm all wrought up, with your confounded nonsense; Now, once for all, I tell you hold your tongue. DORINE Then mum's the word; I'll take it out in thinking. ORGON Think all you please; but not a syllable To me about it, or ... you understand! (Turning to his daughter.) As a wise father, I've considered all With due deliberation. DORINE I'll go mad If I can't speak. (She stops the instant he turns his head.) ORGON Though he's no lady's man, Tartuffe is well enough ... DORINE A pretty phiz! ORGON So that, although you may not care at all For his best qualities ... DORINE A handsome dowry! (Orgon turns and stands in front of her, with arms folded, eyeing her.) Were I in her place, any man should rue it Who married me by force, that's mighty certain; I'd let him know, and that within a week, A woman's vengeance isn't far to seek. ORGON (to Dorine) So--nothing that I say has any weight? DORINE Eh? What's wrong now? I didn't speak to you. ORGON What were you doing? DORINE Talking to myself. ORGON Oh! Very well. (Aside.) Her monstrous impudence Must be chastised with one good slap in the face. (He stands ready to strike her, and, each time he speaks to his daughter, he glances toward her; but she stands still and says not a word.) [3] [Footnote 3: As given at the Comedie francaise, the action is as follows: While Orgon says, "You must approve of my design," Dorine is making signs to Mariane to resist his orders; Orgon turns around suddenly; but Dorine quickly changes her gesture and with the hand which she had lifted calmly arranges her hair and her cap. Orgon goes on, "Think of the husband ..." and stops before the middle of his sentence to turn and catch the beginning of Dorine's gesture; but he is too quick this time, and Dorine stands looking at his furious countenance with a sweet and gentle expression. He turns and goes on, and the obstinate Dorine again lifts her hand behind his shoulder to urge Mariane to resistance: this time he catches her; but just as he swings his shoulder to give her the promised blow, she stops him by changing the intent of her gesture, and carefully picking from the top of his sleeve a bit of fluff which she holds carefully between her fingers, then blows into the air, and watches intently as it floats away. Orgon is paralysed by her innocence of expression, and compelled to hide his rage.--Regnier, _Le Tartuffe des Comediens_.] ORGON Daughter, you must approve of my design.... Think of this husband ... I have chosen for you... (To Dorine) Why don't you talk to yourself? DORINE Nothing to say. ORGON One little word more. DORINE Oh, no, thanks. Not now. ORGON Sure, I'd have caught you. DORINE Faith, I'm no such fool. ORGON So, daughter, now obedience is the word; You must accept my choice with reverence. DORINE (running away) You'd never catch me marrying such a creature. ORGON (swinging his hand at her and missing her) Daughter, you've such a pestilent hussy there I can't live with her longer, without sin. I can't discuss things in the state I'm in. My mind's so flustered by her insolent talk, To calm myself, I must go take a walk. SCENE III MARIANE, DORINE DORINE Say, have you lost the tongue from out your head? And must I speak your role from A to Zed? You let them broach a project that's absurd, And don't oppose it with a single word! MARIANE What can I do? My father is the master. DORINE Do? Everything, to ward off such disaster. MARIANE But what? DORINE Tell him one doesn't love by proxy; Tell him you'll marry for yourself, not him; Since you're the one for whom the thing is done, You are the one, not he, the man must please; If his Tartuffe has charmed him so, why let him Just marry him himself--no one will hinder. MARIANE A father's rights are such, it seems to me, That I could never dare to say a word. DORINE Came, talk it out. Valere has asked your hand: Now do you love him, pray, or do you not? MARIANE Dorine! How can you wrong my love so much, And ask me such a question? Have I not A hundred times laid bare my heart to you? Do you know how ardently I love him? DORINE How do I know if heart and words agree, And if in honest truth you really love him? MARIANE Dorine, you wrong me greatly if you doubt it; I've shown my inmost feelings, all too plainly. DORINE So then, you love him? MARIANE Yes, devotedly. DORINE And he returns your love, apparently? MARIANE I think so. DORINE And you both alike are eager To be well married to each other? MARIANE Surely. DORINE Then what's your plan about this other match? MARIANE To kill myself, if it is forced upon me. DORINE Good! That's a remedy I hadn't thought of. Just die, and everything will be all right. This medicine is marvellous, indeed! It drives me mad to hear folk talk such nonsense. MARIANE Oh dear, Dorine you get in such a temper! You have no sympathy for people's troubles. DORINE I have no sympathy when folk talk nonsense, And flatten out as you do, at a pinch. MARIANE But what can you expect?--if one is timid?-- DORINE But what is love worth, if it has no courage? MARIANE Am I not constant in my love for him? Is't not his place to win me from my father? DORINE But if your father is a crazy fool, And quite bewitched with his Tartuffe? And breaks His bounden word? Is that your lover's fault? MARIANE But shall I publicly refuse and scorn This match, and make it plain that I'm in love? Shall I cast off for him, whate'er he be, Womanly modesty and filial duty? You ask me to display my love in public ... ? DORINE No, no, I ask you nothing. You shall be Mister Tartuffe's; why, now I think of it, I should be wrong to turn you from this marriage. What cause can I have to oppose your wishes? So fine a match! An excellent good match! Mister Tartuffe! Oh ho! No mean proposal! Mister Tartuffe, sure, take it all in all, Is not a man to sneeze at--oh, by no means! 'Tis no small luck to be his happy spouse. The whole world joins to sing his praise already; He's noble--in his parish; handsome too; Red ears and high complexion--oh, my lud! You'll be too happy, sure, with him for husband. MARIANE Oh dear! ... DORINE What joy and pride will fill your heart To be the bride of such a handsome fellow! MARIANE Oh, stop, I beg you; try to find some way To help break off the match. I quite give in, I'm ready to do anything you say. DORINE No, no, a daughter must obey her father, Though he should want to make her wed a monkey. Besides, your fate is fine. What could be better! You'll take the stage-coach to his little village, And find it full of uncles and of cousins, Whose conversation will delight you. Then You'll be presented in their best society. You'll even go to call, by way of welcome, On Mrs. Bailiff, Mrs. Tax-Collector, Who'll patronise you with a folding-stool. There, once a year, at carnival, you'll have Perhaps--a ball; with orchestra--two bag-pipes; And sometimes a trained ape, and Punch and Judy; Though if your husband ... MARIANE Oh, you'll kill me. Please Contrive to help me out with your advice. DORINE I thank you kindly. MARIANE Oh! Dorine, I beg you ... DORINE To serve you right, this marriage must go through. MARIANE Dear girl! DORINE No. MARIANE If I say I love Valere ... DORINE No, no. Tartuffe's your man, and you shall taste him. MARIANE You know I've always trusted you; now help me ... DORINE No, you shall be, my faith! Tartuffified. MARIANE Well, then, since you've no pity for my fate Let me take counsel only of despair; It will advise and help and give me courage; There's one sure cure, I know, for all my troubles. (She starts to go.) DORINE There, there! Come back. I can't be angry long. I must take pity on you, after all. MARIANE Oh, don't you see, Dorine, if I must bear This martyrdom, I certainly shall die. DORINE Now don't you fret. We'll surely find some way. To hinder this ... But here's Valere, your lover. SCENE IV VALERE, MARIANE, DORINE VALERE Madam, a piece of news--quite new to me-- Has just come out, and very fine it is. MARIANE What piece of news? VALERE Your marriage with Tartuffe. MARIANE 'Tis true my father has this plan in mind. VALERE Your father, madam ... MARIANE Yes, he's changed his plans, And did but now propose it to me. VALERE What! Seriously? MARIANE Yes, he was serious, And openly insisted on the match. VALERE And what's your resolution in the matter, Madam? MARIANE I don't know. VALERE That's a pretty answer. You don't know? MARIANE No. VALERE No? MARIANE What do you advise? VALERE I? My advice is, marry him, by all means. MARIANE That's your advice? VALERE Yes. MARIANE Do you mean it? VALERE Surely. A splendid choice, and worthy of your acceptance. MARIANE Oh, very well, sir! I shall take your counsel. VALERE You'll find no trouble taking it, I warrant. MARIANE No more than you did giving it, be sure. VALERE I gave it, truly, to oblige you, madam. MARIANE And I shall take it to oblige you, sir. Dorine (withdrawing to the back of the stage) Let's see what this affair will come to. VALERE So, That is your love? And it was all deceit When you ... MARIANE I beg you, say no more of that. You told me, squarely, sir, I should accept The husband that is offered me; and I Will tell you squarely that I mean to do so, Since you have given me this good advice. VALERE Don't shield yourself with talk of my advice. You had your mind made up, that's evident; And now you're snatching at a trifling pretext To justify the breaking of your word. MARIANE Exactly so. VALERE Of course it is; your heart Has never known true love for me. MARIANE Alas! You're free to think so, if you please. VALERE Yes, yes, I'm free to think so; and my outraged love May yet forestall you in your perfidy, And offer elsewhere both my heart and hand. MARIANE No doubt of it; the love your high deserts May win ... VALERE Good Lord, have done with my deserts! I know I have but few, and you have proved it. But I may find more kindness in another; I know of someone, who'll not be ashamed To take your leavings, and make up my loss. MARIANE The loss is not so great; you'll easily Console yourself completely for this change. VALERE I'll try my best, that you may well believe. When we're forgotten by a woman's heart, Our pride is challenged; we, too, must forget; Or if we cannot, must at least pretend to. No other way can man such baseness prove, As be a lover scorned, and still in love. MARIANE In faith, a high and noble sentiment. VALERE Yes; and it's one that all men must approve. What! Would you have me keep my love alive, And see you fly into another's arms Before my very eyes; and never offer To someone else the heart that you had scorned? MARIANE Oh, no, indeed! For my part, I could wish That it were done already. VALERE What! You wish it? MARIANE Yes. VALERE This is insult heaped on injury; I'll go at once and do as you desire. (He takes a step or two as if to go away.) MARIANE Oh, very well then. VALERE (turning back) But remember this. 'Twas you that drove me to this desperate pass. MARIANE Of course. VALERE (turning back again) And in the plan that I have formed I only follow your example. MARIANE Yes. VALERE (at the door) Enough; you shall be punctually obeyed. MARIANE So much the better. VALERE (coming back again) This is once for all. MARIANE So be it, then. VALERE (He goes toward the door, but just as he reaches it, turns around) Eh? MARIANE What? VALERE You didn't call me? MARIANE I? You are dreaming. VALERE Very well, I'm gone. Madam, farewell. (He walks slowly away.) MARIANE Farewell, sir. DORINE I must say You've lost your senses and both gone clean daft! I've let you fight it out to the end o' the chapter To see how far the thing could go. Oho, there, Mister Valere! (She goes and seizes him by the arm, to stop him. He makes a great show of resistance.) VALERE What do you want, Dorine? DORINE Come here. VALERE No, no, I'm quite beside myself. Don't hinder me from doing as she wishes. DORINE Stop! VALERE No. You see, I'm fixed, resolved, determined. DORINE So! MARIANE (aside) Since my presence pains him, makes him go, I'd better go myself, and leave him free. DORINE (leaving Valere, and running after Mariane) Now t'other! Where are you going? MARIANE Let me be. DORINE. Come back. MARIANE No, no, it isn't any use. VALERE (aside) 'Tis clear the sight of me is torture to her; No doubt, t'were better I should free her from it. DORINE (leaving Mariane and running after Valere) Same thing again! Deuce take you both, I say. Now stop your fooling; come here, you; and you. (She pulls first one, then the other, toward the middle of the stage.) VALERE (to Dorine) What's your idea? MARIANE (to Dorine) What can you mean to do? DORINE Set you to rights, and pull you out o' the scrape. (To Valere) Are you quite mad, to quarrel with her now? VALERE Didn't you hear the things she said to me? DORINE (to Mariane) Are you quite mad, to get in such a passion? MARIANE Didn't you see the way he treated me? DORINE Fools, both of you. (To Valere) She thinks of nothing else But to keep faith with you, I vouch for it. (To Mariane) And he loves none but you, and longs for nothing But just to marry you, I stake my life on't. MARIANE (to Valere) Why did you give me such advice then, pray? VALERE (to Mariane) Why ask for my advice on such a matter? DORINE You both are daft, I tell you. Here, your hands. (To Valere) Come, yours. VALERE (giving Dorine his hand) What for? DORINE (to Mariane) Now, yours. MARIANE (giving Dorine her hand) But what's the use? DORINE Oh, quick now, come along. There, both of you-- You love each other better than you think. (Valere and Mariane hold each other's hands some time without looking at each other.) VALERE (at last turning toward Mariane) Come, don't be so ungracious now about it; Look at a man as if you didn't hate him. (Mariane looks sideways toward Valere, with just a bit of a smile.) DORINE My faith and troth, what fools these lovers be! VALERE (to Mariane) But come now, have I not a just complaint? And truly, are you not a wicked creature To take delight in saying what would pain me? MARIANE And are you not yourself the most ungrateful ... ? DORINE Leave this discussion till another time; Now, think how you'll stave off this plaguy marriage. MARIANE Then tell us how to go about it. DORINE Well, We'll try all sorts of ways. (To Mariane) Your father's daft; (To Valere) This plan is nonsense. (To Mariane) You had better humour His notions by a semblance of consent, So that in case of danger, you can still Find means to block the marriage by delay. If you gain time, the rest is easy, trust me. One day you'll fool them with a sudden illness, Causing delay; another day, ill omens: You've met a funeral, or broke a mirror, Or dreamed of muddy water. Best of all, They cannot marry you to anyone Without your saying yes. But now, methinks, They mustn't find you chattering together. (To Valere) You, go at once and set your friends at work To make him keep his word to you; while we Will bring the brother's influence to bear, And get the step-mother on our side, too. Good-bye. VALERE (to Mariane) Whatever efforts we may make, My greatest hope, be sure, must rest on you. MARIANE (to Valere) I cannot answer for my father's whims; But no one save Valere shall ever have me. VALERE You thrill me through with joy! Whatever comes ... DORINE Oho! These lovers! Never done with prattling! Now go. VALERE (starting to go, and coming back again) One last word ... DORINE What a gabble and pother! Be off! By this door, you. And you, by t'other. (She pushes them off, by the shoulders, in opposite directions.) ACT III SCENE I DAMIS, DORINE DAMIS May lightning strike me dead this very instant, May I be everywhere proclaimed a scoundrel, If any reverence or power shall stop me, And if I don't do straightway something desperate! DORINE I beg you, moderate this towering passion; Your father did but merely mention it. Not all things that are talked of turn to facts; The road is long, sometimes, from plans to acts. DAMIS No, I must end this paltry fellow's plots, And he shall hear from me a truth or two. DORINE So ho! Go slow now. Just you leave the fellow-- Your father too--in your step-mother's hands. She has some influence with this Tartuffe, He makes a point of heeding all she says, And I suspect that he is fond of her. Would God 'twere true!--'Twould be the height of humour Now, she has sent for him, in your behalf, To sound him on this marriage, to find out What his ideas are, and to show him plainly What troubles he may cause, if he persists In giving countenance to this design. His man says, he's at prayers, I mustn't see him, But likewise says, he'll presently be down. So off with you, and let me wait for him. DAMIS I may be present at this interview. DORINE No, no! They must be left alone. DAMIS I won't So much as speak to him. DORINE Go on! We know you And your high tantrums. Just the way to spoil things! Be off. DAMIS No, I must see--I'll keep my temper. DORINE Out on you, what a plague! He's coming. Hide! (Damis goes and hides in the closet at the back of the stage.) SCENE II TARTUFFE, DORINE TARTUFFE (speaking to his valet, off the stage, as soon as he sees Dorine is there) Lawrence, put up my hair-cloth shirt and scourge, And pray that Heaven may shed its light upon you. If any come to see me, say I'm gone To share my alms among the prisoners. DORINE (aside) What affectation and what showing off! TARTUFFE What do you want with me? DORINE To tell you ... TARTUFFE (taking a handkerchief from his pocket) Ah! Before you speak, pray take this handkerchief. DORINE What? TARTUFFE Cover up that bosom, which I can't Endure to look on. Things like that offend Our souls, and fill our minds with sinful thoughts. DORINE Are you so tender to temptation, then, And has the flesh such power upon your senses? I don't know how you get in such a heat; For my part, I am not so prone to lust, And I could see you stripped from head to foot, And all your hide not tempt me in the least. TARTUFFE Show in your speech some little modesty, Or I must instantly take leave of you. DORINE No, no, I'll leave you to yourself; I've only One thing to say: Madam will soon be down, And begs the favour of a word with you. TARTUFFE Ah! Willingly. DORINE (aside) How gentle all at once! My faith, I still believe I've hit upon it. TARTUFFE Will she come soon? DORINE I think I hear her now. Yes, here she is herself; I'll leave you with her. SCENE III ELMIRE, TARTUFFE TARTUFFE May Heaven's overflowing kindness ever Give you good health of body and of soul, And bless your days according to the wishes And prayers of its most humble votary! ELMIRE I'm very grateful for your pious wishes. But let's sit down, so we may talk at ease. TARTUFFE (after sitting down) And how are you recovered from your illness? ELMIRE (sitting down also) Quite well; the fever soon let go its hold. TARTUFFE My prayers, I fear, have not sufficient merit To have drawn down this favour from on high; But each entreaty that I made to Heaven Had for its object your recovery. ELMIRE You're too solicitous on my behalf. TARTUFFE We could not cherish your dear health too much; I would have given mine, to help restore it. ELMIRE That's pushing Christian charity too far; I owe you many thanks for so much kindness. TARTUFFE I do far less for you than you deserve. ELMIRE There is a matter that I wished to speak of In private; I am glad there's no one here To listen. TARTUFFE Madam, I am overjoyed. 'Tis sweet to find myself alone with you. This is an opportunity I've asked Of Heaven, many a time; till now, in vain. ELMIRE All that I wish, is just a word from you, Quite frank and open, hiding nothing from me. (DAMIS, without their seeing him, opens the closet door halfway.) TARTUFFE I too could wish, as Heaven's especial favour, To lay my soul quite open to your eyes, And swear to you, the trouble that I made About those visits which your charms attract, Does not result from any hatred toward you, But rather from a passionate devotion, And purest motives ... ELMIRE That is how I take it, I think 'tis my salvation that concerns you. TARTUFFE (pressing her finger tips) Madam, 'tis so; and such is my devotion ... ELMIRE Ouch! but you squeeze too hard. TARTUFFE Excess of zeal. In no way could I ever mean to hurt you, And I'd as soon ... (He puts his hand on her knee.) ELMIRE What's your hand doing there? TARTUFFE Feeling your gown; the stuff is very soft. ELMIRE Let be, I beg you; I am very ticklish. (She moves her chair away, and Tartuffe brings his nearer.) TARTUFFE (handling the lace yoke of Elmire's dress) Dear me how wonderful in workmanship This lace is! They do marvels, nowadays; Things of all kinds were never better made. ELMIRE Yes, very true. But let us come to business. They say my husband means to break his word. And marry Mariane to you. Is't so? TARTUFFE He did hint some such thing; but truly, madam, That's not the happiness I'm yearning after; I see elsewhere the sweet compelling charms Of such a joy as fills my every wish. ELMIRE You mean you cannot love terrestrial things. TARTUFFE The heart within my bosom is not stone. ELMIRE I well believe your sighs all tend to Heaven, And nothing here below can stay your thoughts. TARTUFFE Love for the beauty of eternal things Cannot destroy our love for earthly beauty; Our mortal senses well may be entranced By perfect works that Heaven has fashioned here. Its charms reflected shine in such as you, And in yourself, its rarest miracles; It has displayed such marvels in your face, That eyes are dazed, and hearts are rapt away; I could not look on you, the perfect creature, Without admiring Nature's great Creator, And feeling all my heart inflamed with love For you, His fairest image of Himself. At first I trembled lest this secret love Might be the Evil Spirit's artful snare; I even schooled my heart to flee your beauty, Thinking it was a bar to my salvation. But soon, enlightened, O all lovely one, I saw how this my passion may be blameless, How I may make it fit with modesty, And thus completely yield my heart to it. 'Tis I must own, a great presumption in me To dare make you the offer of my heart; My love hopes all things from your perfect goodness, And nothing from my own poor weak endeavour. You are my hope, my stay, my peace of heart; On you depends my torment or my bliss; And by your doom of judgment, I shall be Blest, if you will; or damned, by your decree. ELMIRE Your declaration's turned most gallantly; But truly, it is just a bit surprising. You should have better armed your heart, methinks, And taken thought somewhat on such a matter. A pious man like you, known everywhere ... TARTUFFE Though pious, I am none the less a man; And when a man beholds your heavenly charms, The heart surrenders, and can think no more. I know such words seem strange, coming from me; But, madam, I'm no angel, after all; If you condemn my frankly made avowal You only have your charming self to blame. Soon as I saw your more than human beauty, You were thenceforth the sovereign of my soul; Sweetness ineffable was in your eyes, That took by storm my still resisting heart, And conquered everything, fasts, prayers, and tears, And turned my worship wholly to yourself. My looks, my sighs, have spoke a thousand times; Now, to express it all, my voice must speak. If but you will look down with gracious favour Upon the sorrows of your worthless slave, If in your goodness you will give me comfort And condescend unto my nothingness, I'll ever pay you, O sweet miracle, An unexampled worship and devotion. Then too, with me your honour runs no risk; With me you need not fear a public scandal. These court gallants, that women are so fond of, Are boastful of their acts, and vain in speech; They always brag in public of their progress; Soon as a favour's granted, they'll divulge it; Their tattling tongues, if you but trust to them, Will foul the altar where their hearts have worshipped. But men like me are so discreet in love, That you may trust their lasting secrecy. The care we take to guard our own good name May fully guarantee the one we love; So you may find, with hearts like ours sincere, Love without scandal, pleasure without fear. ELMIRE I've heard you through--your speech is clear, at least. But don't you fear that I may take a fancy To tell my husband of your gallant passion, And that a prompt report of this affair May somewhat change the friendship which he bears you? TARTUFFE I know that you're too good and generous, That you will pardon my temerity, Excuse, upon the score of human frailty, The violence of passion that offends you, And not forget, when you consult your mirror, That I'm not blind, and man is made of flesh. ELMIRE Some women might do otherwise, perhaps, But I am willing to employ discretion, And not repeat the matter to my husband; But in return, I'll ask one thing of you: That you urge forward, frankly and sincerely, The marriage of Valere to Mariane; That you give up the unjust influence By which you

childlike

How many times the word 'childlike' appears in the text?

And he who weds his child against her will Owes heaven account for it, if she do ill. Think then what perils wait on your design. ORGON (to Mariane) So! I must learn what's what from her, you see! DORINE You might do worse than follow my advice. ORGON Daughter, we can't waste time upon this nonsense; I know what's good for you, and I'm your father. True, I had promised you to young Valere; But, first, they tell me he's inclined to gamble, And then, I fear his faith is not quite sound. I haven't noticed that he's regular At church. DORINE You'd have him run there just when you do. Like those who go on purpose to be seen? ORGON I don't ask your opinion on the matter. In short, the other is in Heaven's best graces, And that is riches quite beyond compare. This match will bring you every joy you long for; 'Twill be all steeped in sweetness and delight. You'll live together, in your faithful loves, Like two sweet children, like two turtle-doves; You'll never fail to quarrel, scold, or tease, And you may do with him whate'er you please. DORINE With him? Do naught but give him horns, I'll warrant. ORGON Out on thee, wench! DORINE I tell you he's cut out for't; However great your daughter's virtue, sir, His destiny is sure to prove the stronger. ORGON Have done with interrupting. Hold your tongue. Don't poke your nose in other people's business. DORINE (She keeps interrupting him, just as he turns and starts to speak to his daughter). If I make bold, sir, 'tis for your own good. ORGON You're too officious; pray you, hold your tongue. DORINE 'Tis love of you ... ORGON I want none of your love. DORINE Then I will love you in your own despite. ORGON You will, eh? DORINE Yes, your honour's dear to me; I can't endure to see you made the butt Of all men's ridicule. ORGON Won't you be still? DORINE 'Twould be a sin to let you make this match. ORGON Won't you be still, I say, you impudent viper! DORINE What! you are pious, and you lose your temper? ORGON I'm all wrought up, with your confounded nonsense; Now, once for all, I tell you hold your tongue. DORINE Then mum's the word; I'll take it out in thinking. ORGON Think all you please; but not a syllable To me about it, or ... you understand! (Turning to his daughter.) As a wise father, I've considered all With due deliberation. DORINE I'll go mad If I can't speak. (She stops the instant he turns his head.) ORGON Though he's no lady's man, Tartuffe is well enough ... DORINE A pretty phiz! ORGON So that, although you may not care at all For his best qualities ... DORINE A handsome dowry! (Orgon turns and stands in front of her, with arms folded, eyeing her.) Were I in her place, any man should rue it Who married me by force, that's mighty certain; I'd let him know, and that within a week, A woman's vengeance isn't far to seek. ORGON (to Dorine) So--nothing that I say has any weight? DORINE Eh? What's wrong now? I didn't speak to you. ORGON What were you doing? DORINE Talking to myself. ORGON Oh! Very well. (Aside.) Her monstrous impudence Must be chastised with one good slap in the face. (He stands ready to strike her, and, each time he speaks to his daughter, he glances toward her; but she stands still and says not a word.) [3] [Footnote 3: As given at the Comedie francaise, the action is as follows: While Orgon says, "You must approve of my design," Dorine is making signs to Mariane to resist his orders; Orgon turns around suddenly; but Dorine quickly changes her gesture and with the hand which she had lifted calmly arranges her hair and her cap. Orgon goes on, "Think of the husband ..." and stops before the middle of his sentence to turn and catch the beginning of Dorine's gesture; but he is too quick this time, and Dorine stands looking at his furious countenance with a sweet and gentle expression. He turns and goes on, and the obstinate Dorine again lifts her hand behind his shoulder to urge Mariane to resistance: this time he catches her; but just as he swings his shoulder to give her the promised blow, she stops him by changing the intent of her gesture, and carefully picking from the top of his sleeve a bit of fluff which she holds carefully between her fingers, then blows into the air, and watches intently as it floats away. Orgon is paralysed by her innocence of expression, and compelled to hide his rage.--Regnier, _Le Tartuffe des Comediens_.] ORGON Daughter, you must approve of my design.... Think of this husband ... I have chosen for you... (To Dorine) Why don't you talk to yourself? DORINE Nothing to say. ORGON One little word more. DORINE Oh, no, thanks. Not now. ORGON Sure, I'd have caught you. DORINE Faith, I'm no such fool. ORGON So, daughter, now obedience is the word; You must accept my choice with reverence. DORINE (running away) You'd never catch me marrying such a creature. ORGON (swinging his hand at her and missing her) Daughter, you've such a pestilent hussy there I can't live with her longer, without sin. I can't discuss things in the state I'm in. My mind's so flustered by her insolent talk, To calm myself, I must go take a walk. SCENE III MARIANE, DORINE DORINE Say, have you lost the tongue from out your head? And must I speak your role from A to Zed? You let them broach a project that's absurd, And don't oppose it with a single word! MARIANE What can I do? My father is the master. DORINE Do? Everything, to ward off such disaster. MARIANE But what? DORINE Tell him one doesn't love by proxy; Tell him you'll marry for yourself, not him; Since you're the one for whom the thing is done, You are the one, not he, the man must please; If his Tartuffe has charmed him so, why let him Just marry him himself--no one will hinder. MARIANE A father's rights are such, it seems to me, That I could never dare to say a word. DORINE Came, talk it out. Valere has asked your hand: Now do you love him, pray, or do you not? MARIANE Dorine! How can you wrong my love so much, And ask me such a question? Have I not A hundred times laid bare my heart to you? Do you know how ardently I love him? DORINE How do I know if heart and words agree, And if in honest truth you really love him? MARIANE Dorine, you wrong me greatly if you doubt it; I've shown my inmost feelings, all too plainly. DORINE So then, you love him? MARIANE Yes, devotedly. DORINE And he returns your love, apparently? MARIANE I think so. DORINE And you both alike are eager To be well married to each other? MARIANE Surely. DORINE Then what's your plan about this other match? MARIANE To kill myself, if it is forced upon me. DORINE Good! That's a remedy I hadn't thought of. Just die, and everything will be all right. This medicine is marvellous, indeed! It drives me mad to hear folk talk such nonsense. MARIANE Oh dear, Dorine you get in such a temper! You have no sympathy for people's troubles. DORINE I have no sympathy when folk talk nonsense, And flatten out as you do, at a pinch. MARIANE But what can you expect?--if one is timid?-- DORINE But what is love worth, if it has no courage? MARIANE Am I not constant in my love for him? Is't not his place to win me from my father? DORINE But if your father is a crazy fool, And quite bewitched with his Tartuffe? And breaks His bounden word? Is that your lover's fault? MARIANE But shall I publicly refuse and scorn This match, and make it plain that I'm in love? Shall I cast off for him, whate'er he be, Womanly modesty and filial duty? You ask me to display my love in public ... ? DORINE No, no, I ask you nothing. You shall be Mister Tartuffe's; why, now I think of it, I should be wrong to turn you from this marriage. What cause can I have to oppose your wishes? So fine a match! An excellent good match! Mister Tartuffe! Oh ho! No mean proposal! Mister Tartuffe, sure, take it all in all, Is not a man to sneeze at--oh, by no means! 'Tis no small luck to be his happy spouse. The whole world joins to sing his praise already; He's noble--in his parish; handsome too; Red ears and high complexion--oh, my lud! You'll be too happy, sure, with him for husband. MARIANE Oh dear! ... DORINE What joy and pride will fill your heart To be the bride of such a handsome fellow! MARIANE Oh, stop, I beg you; try to find some way To help break off the match. I quite give in, I'm ready to do anything you say. DORINE No, no, a daughter must obey her father, Though he should want to make her wed a monkey. Besides, your fate is fine. What could be better! You'll take the stage-coach to his little village, And find it full of uncles and of cousins, Whose conversation will delight you. Then You'll be presented in their best society. You'll even go to call, by way of welcome, On Mrs. Bailiff, Mrs. Tax-Collector, Who'll patronise you with a folding-stool. There, once a year, at carnival, you'll have Perhaps--a ball; with orchestra--two bag-pipes; And sometimes a trained ape, and Punch and Judy; Though if your husband ... MARIANE Oh, you'll kill me. Please Contrive to help me out with your advice. DORINE I thank you kindly. MARIANE Oh! Dorine, I beg you ... DORINE To serve you right, this marriage must go through. MARIANE Dear girl! DORINE No. MARIANE If I say I love Valere ... DORINE No, no. Tartuffe's your man, and you shall taste him. MARIANE You know I've always trusted you; now help me ... DORINE No, you shall be, my faith! Tartuffified. MARIANE Well, then, since you've no pity for my fate Let me take counsel only of despair; It will advise and help and give me courage; There's one sure cure, I know, for all my troubles. (She starts to go.) DORINE There, there! Come back. I can't be angry long. I must take pity on you, after all. MARIANE Oh, don't you see, Dorine, if I must bear This martyrdom, I certainly shall die. DORINE Now don't you fret. We'll surely find some way. To hinder this ... But here's Valere, your lover. SCENE IV VALERE, MARIANE, DORINE VALERE Madam, a piece of news--quite new to me-- Has just come out, and very fine it is. MARIANE What piece of news? VALERE Your marriage with Tartuffe. MARIANE 'Tis true my father has this plan in mind. VALERE Your father, madam ... MARIANE Yes, he's changed his plans, And did but now propose it to me. VALERE What! Seriously? MARIANE Yes, he was serious, And openly insisted on the match. VALERE And what's your resolution in the matter, Madam? MARIANE I don't know. VALERE That's a pretty answer. You don't know? MARIANE No. VALERE No? MARIANE What do you advise? VALERE I? My advice is, marry him, by all means. MARIANE That's your advice? VALERE Yes. MARIANE Do you mean it? VALERE Surely. A splendid choice, and worthy of your acceptance. MARIANE Oh, very well, sir! I shall take your counsel. VALERE You'll find no trouble taking it, I warrant. MARIANE No more than you did giving it, be sure. VALERE I gave it, truly, to oblige you, madam. MARIANE And I shall take it to oblige you, sir. Dorine (withdrawing to the back of the stage) Let's see what this affair will come to. VALERE So, That is your love? And it was all deceit When you ... MARIANE I beg you, say no more of that. You told me, squarely, sir, I should accept The husband that is offered me; and I Will tell you squarely that I mean to do so, Since you have given me this good advice. VALERE Don't shield yourself with talk of my advice. You had your mind made up, that's evident; And now you're snatching at a trifling pretext To justify the breaking of your word. MARIANE Exactly so. VALERE Of course it is; your heart Has never known true love for me. MARIANE Alas! You're free to think so, if you please. VALERE Yes, yes, I'm free to think so; and my outraged love May yet forestall you in your perfidy, And offer elsewhere both my heart and hand. MARIANE No doubt of it; the love your high deserts May win ... VALERE Good Lord, have done with my deserts! I know I have but few, and you have proved it. But I may find more kindness in another; I know of someone, who'll not be ashamed To take your leavings, and make up my loss. MARIANE The loss is not so great; you'll easily Console yourself completely for this change. VALERE I'll try my best, that you may well believe. When we're forgotten by a woman's heart, Our pride is challenged; we, too, must forget; Or if we cannot, must at least pretend to. No other way can man such baseness prove, As be a lover scorned, and still in love. MARIANE In faith, a high and noble sentiment. VALERE Yes; and it's one that all men must approve. What! Would you have me keep my love alive, And see you fly into another's arms Before my very eyes; and never offer To someone else the heart that you had scorned? MARIANE Oh, no, indeed! For my part, I could wish That it were done already. VALERE What! You wish it? MARIANE Yes. VALERE This is insult heaped on injury; I'll go at once and do as you desire. (He takes a step or two as if to go away.) MARIANE Oh, very well then. VALERE (turning back) But remember this. 'Twas you that drove me to this desperate pass. MARIANE Of course. VALERE (turning back again) And in the plan that I have formed I only follow your example. MARIANE Yes. VALERE (at the door) Enough; you shall be punctually obeyed. MARIANE So much the better. VALERE (coming back again) This is once for all. MARIANE So be it, then. VALERE (He goes toward the door, but just as he reaches it, turns around) Eh? MARIANE What? VALERE You didn't call me? MARIANE I? You are dreaming. VALERE Very well, I'm gone. Madam, farewell. (He walks slowly away.) MARIANE Farewell, sir. DORINE I must say You've lost your senses and both gone clean daft! I've let you fight it out to the end o' the chapter To see how far the thing could go. Oho, there, Mister Valere! (She goes and seizes him by the arm, to stop him. He makes a great show of resistance.) VALERE What do you want, Dorine? DORINE Come here. VALERE No, no, I'm quite beside myself. Don't hinder me from doing as she wishes. DORINE Stop! VALERE No. You see, I'm fixed, resolved, determined. DORINE So! MARIANE (aside) Since my presence pains him, makes him go, I'd better go myself, and leave him free. DORINE (leaving Valere, and running after Mariane) Now t'other! Where are you going? MARIANE Let me be. DORINE. Come back. MARIANE No, no, it isn't any use. VALERE (aside) 'Tis clear the sight of me is torture to her; No doubt, t'were better I should free her from it. DORINE (leaving Mariane and running after Valere) Same thing again! Deuce take you both, I say. Now stop your fooling; come here, you; and you. (She pulls first one, then the other, toward the middle of the stage.) VALERE (to Dorine) What's your idea? MARIANE (to Dorine) What can you mean to do? DORINE Set you to rights, and pull you out o' the scrape. (To Valere) Are you quite mad, to quarrel with her now? VALERE Didn't you hear the things she said to me? DORINE (to Mariane) Are you quite mad, to get in such a passion? MARIANE Didn't you see the way he treated me? DORINE Fools, both of you. (To Valere) She thinks of nothing else But to keep faith with you, I vouch for it. (To Mariane) And he loves none but you, and longs for nothing But just to marry you, I stake my life on't. MARIANE (to Valere) Why did you give me such advice then, pray? VALERE (to Mariane) Why ask for my advice on such a matter? DORINE You both are daft, I tell you. Here, your hands. (To Valere) Come, yours. VALERE (giving Dorine his hand) What for? DORINE (to Mariane) Now, yours. MARIANE (giving Dorine her hand) But what's the use? DORINE Oh, quick now, come along. There, both of you-- You love each other better than you think. (Valere and Mariane hold each other's hands some time without looking at each other.) VALERE (at last turning toward Mariane) Come, don't be so ungracious now about it; Look at a man as if you didn't hate him. (Mariane looks sideways toward Valere, with just a bit of a smile.) DORINE My faith and troth, what fools these lovers be! VALERE (to Mariane) But come now, have I not a just complaint? And truly, are you not a wicked creature To take delight in saying what would pain me? MARIANE And are you not yourself the most ungrateful ... ? DORINE Leave this discussion till another time; Now, think how you'll stave off this plaguy marriage. MARIANE Then tell us how to go about it. DORINE Well, We'll try all sorts of ways. (To Mariane) Your father's daft; (To Valere) This plan is nonsense. (To Mariane) You had better humour His notions by a semblance of consent, So that in case of danger, you can still Find means to block the marriage by delay. If you gain time, the rest is easy, trust me. One day you'll fool them with a sudden illness, Causing delay; another day, ill omens: You've met a funeral, or broke a mirror, Or dreamed of muddy water. Best of all, They cannot marry you to anyone Without your saying yes. But now, methinks, They mustn't find you chattering together. (To Valere) You, go at once and set your friends at work To make him keep his word to you; while we Will bring the brother's influence to bear, And get the step-mother on our side, too. Good-bye. VALERE (to Mariane) Whatever efforts we may make, My greatest hope, be sure, must rest on you. MARIANE (to Valere) I cannot answer for my father's whims; But no one save Valere shall ever have me. VALERE You thrill me through with joy! Whatever comes ... DORINE Oho! These lovers! Never done with prattling! Now go. VALERE (starting to go, and coming back again) One last word ... DORINE What a gabble and pother! Be off! By this door, you. And you, by t'other. (She pushes them off, by the shoulders, in opposite directions.) ACT III SCENE I DAMIS, DORINE DAMIS May lightning strike me dead this very instant, May I be everywhere proclaimed a scoundrel, If any reverence or power shall stop me, And if I don't do straightway something desperate! DORINE I beg you, moderate this towering passion; Your father did but merely mention it. Not all things that are talked of turn to facts; The road is long, sometimes, from plans to acts. DAMIS No, I must end this paltry fellow's plots, And he shall hear from me a truth or two. DORINE So ho! Go slow now. Just you leave the fellow-- Your father too--in your step-mother's hands. She has some influence with this Tartuffe, He makes a point of heeding all she says, And I suspect that he is fond of her. Would God 'twere true!--'Twould be the height of humour Now, she has sent for him, in your behalf, To sound him on this marriage, to find out What his ideas are, and to show him plainly What troubles he may cause, if he persists In giving countenance to this design. His man says, he's at prayers, I mustn't see him, But likewise says, he'll presently be down. So off with you, and let me wait for him. DAMIS I may be present at this interview. DORINE No, no! They must be left alone. DAMIS I won't So much as speak to him. DORINE Go on! We know you And your high tantrums. Just the way to spoil things! Be off. DAMIS No, I must see--I'll keep my temper. DORINE Out on you, what a plague! He's coming. Hide! (Damis goes and hides in the closet at the back of the stage.) SCENE II TARTUFFE, DORINE TARTUFFE (speaking to his valet, off the stage, as soon as he sees Dorine is there) Lawrence, put up my hair-cloth shirt and scourge, And pray that Heaven may shed its light upon you. If any come to see me, say I'm gone To share my alms among the prisoners. DORINE (aside) What affectation and what showing off! TARTUFFE What do you want with me? DORINE To tell you ... TARTUFFE (taking a handkerchief from his pocket) Ah! Before you speak, pray take this handkerchief. DORINE What? TARTUFFE Cover up that bosom, which I can't Endure to look on. Things like that offend Our souls, and fill our minds with sinful thoughts. DORINE Are you so tender to temptation, then, And has the flesh such power upon your senses? I don't know how you get in such a heat; For my part, I am not so prone to lust, And I could see you stripped from head to foot, And all your hide not tempt me in the least. TARTUFFE Show in your speech some little modesty, Or I must instantly take leave of you. DORINE No, no, I'll leave you to yourself; I've only One thing to say: Madam will soon be down, And begs the favour of a word with you. TARTUFFE Ah! Willingly. DORINE (aside) How gentle all at once! My faith, I still believe I've hit upon it. TARTUFFE Will she come soon? DORINE I think I hear her now. Yes, here she is herself; I'll leave you with her. SCENE III ELMIRE, TARTUFFE TARTUFFE May Heaven's overflowing kindness ever Give you good health of body and of soul, And bless your days according to the wishes And prayers of its most humble votary! ELMIRE I'm very grateful for your pious wishes. But let's sit down, so we may talk at ease. TARTUFFE (after sitting down) And how are you recovered from your illness? ELMIRE (sitting down also) Quite well; the fever soon let go its hold. TARTUFFE My prayers, I fear, have not sufficient merit To have drawn down this favour from on high; But each entreaty that I made to Heaven Had for its object your recovery. ELMIRE You're too solicitous on my behalf. TARTUFFE We could not cherish your dear health too much; I would have given mine, to help restore it. ELMIRE That's pushing Christian charity too far; I owe you many thanks for so much kindness. TARTUFFE I do far less for you than you deserve. ELMIRE There is a matter that I wished to speak of In private; I am glad there's no one here To listen. TARTUFFE Madam, I am overjoyed. 'Tis sweet to find myself alone with you. This is an opportunity I've asked Of Heaven, many a time; till now, in vain. ELMIRE All that I wish, is just a word from you, Quite frank and open, hiding nothing from me. (DAMIS, without their seeing him, opens the closet door halfway.) TARTUFFE I too could wish, as Heaven's especial favour, To lay my soul quite open to your eyes, And swear to you, the trouble that I made About those visits which your charms attract, Does not result from any hatred toward you, But rather from a passionate devotion, And purest motives ... ELMIRE That is how I take it, I think 'tis my salvation that concerns you. TARTUFFE (pressing her finger tips) Madam, 'tis so; and such is my devotion ... ELMIRE Ouch! but you squeeze too hard. TARTUFFE Excess of zeal. In no way could I ever mean to hurt you, And I'd as soon ... (He puts his hand on her knee.) ELMIRE What's your hand doing there? TARTUFFE Feeling your gown; the stuff is very soft. ELMIRE Let be, I beg you; I am very ticklish. (She moves her chair away, and Tartuffe brings his nearer.) TARTUFFE (handling the lace yoke of Elmire's dress) Dear me how wonderful in workmanship This lace is! They do marvels, nowadays; Things of all kinds were never better made. ELMIRE Yes, very true. But let us come to business. They say my husband means to break his word. And marry Mariane to you. Is't so? TARTUFFE He did hint some such thing; but truly, madam, That's not the happiness I'm yearning after; I see elsewhere the sweet compelling charms Of such a joy as fills my every wish. ELMIRE You mean you cannot love terrestrial things. TARTUFFE The heart within my bosom is not stone. ELMIRE I well believe your sighs all tend to Heaven, And nothing here below can stay your thoughts. TARTUFFE Love for the beauty of eternal things Cannot destroy our love for earthly beauty; Our mortal senses well may be entranced By perfect works that Heaven has fashioned here. Its charms reflected shine in such as you, And in yourself, its rarest miracles; It has displayed such marvels in your face, That eyes are dazed, and hearts are rapt away; I could not look on you, the perfect creature, Without admiring Nature's great Creator, And feeling all my heart inflamed with love For you, His fairest image of Himself. At first I trembled lest this secret love Might be the Evil Spirit's artful snare; I even schooled my heart to flee your beauty, Thinking it was a bar to my salvation. But soon, enlightened, O all lovely one, I saw how this my passion may be blameless, How I may make it fit with modesty, And thus completely yield my heart to it. 'Tis I must own, a great presumption in me To dare make you the offer of my heart; My love hopes all things from your perfect goodness, And nothing from my own poor weak endeavour. You are my hope, my stay, my peace of heart; On you depends my torment or my bliss; And by your doom of judgment, I shall be Blest, if you will; or damned, by your decree. ELMIRE Your declaration's turned most gallantly; But truly, it is just a bit surprising. You should have better armed your heart, methinks, And taken thought somewhat on such a matter. A pious man like you, known everywhere ... TARTUFFE Though pious, I am none the less a man; And when a man beholds your heavenly charms, The heart surrenders, and can think no more. I know such words seem strange, coming from me; But, madam, I'm no angel, after all; If you condemn my frankly made avowal You only have your charming self to blame. Soon as I saw your more than human beauty, You were thenceforth the sovereign of my soul; Sweetness ineffable was in your eyes, That took by storm my still resisting heart, And conquered everything, fasts, prayers, and tears, And turned my worship wholly to yourself. My looks, my sighs, have spoke a thousand times; Now, to express it all, my voice must speak. If but you will look down with gracious favour Upon the sorrows of your worthless slave, If in your goodness you will give me comfort And condescend unto my nothingness, I'll ever pay you, O sweet miracle, An unexampled worship and devotion. Then too, with me your honour runs no risk; With me you need not fear a public scandal. These court gallants, that women are so fond of, Are boastful of their acts, and vain in speech; They always brag in public of their progress; Soon as a favour's granted, they'll divulge it; Their tattling tongues, if you but trust to them, Will foul the altar where their hearts have worshipped. But men like me are so discreet in love, That you may trust their lasting secrecy. The care we take to guard our own good name May fully guarantee the one we love; So you may find, with hearts like ours sincere, Love without scandal, pleasure without fear. ELMIRE I've heard you through--your speech is clear, at least. But don't you fear that I may take a fancy To tell my husband of your gallant passion, And that a prompt report of this affair May somewhat change the friendship which he bears you? TARTUFFE I know that you're too good and generous, That you will pardon my temerity, Excuse, upon the score of human frailty, The violence of passion that offends you, And not forget, when you consult your mirror, That I'm not blind, and man is made of flesh. ELMIRE Some women might do otherwise, perhaps, But I am willing to employ discretion, And not repeat the matter to my husband; But in return, I'll ask one thing of you: That you urge forward, frankly and sincerely, The marriage of Valere to Mariane; That you give up the unjust influence By which you

toutes

How many times the word 'toutes' appears in the text?

Anna would have the entire property, except such portion as would be claimed of right by her mother, the widow. Thus the Italian woman and the young lord were combined in interest against the mother and daughter as regarded the marriage; and the young lord and the mother and daughter were combined against the Italian woman as regarded the will;--but the young lord had to act alone against the Italian woman, and against the mother and daughter whom he and his friends regarded as swindlers and impostors. It was for him to set aside the will in reference to the Italian woman, and then to stand the brunt of the assault made upon him by the soi-disant wife. In a very short time after the old Earl's death a double compromise was offered on behalf of the young Earl. The money at stake was immense. Would the Italian woman take 10,000, and go her way back to Italy, renouncing all further claim; and would the soi-disant Countess abandon her title, acknowledge her child to be illegitimate, and go her way with another 10,000;--or with 20,000, as was soon hinted by the gentlemen acting on the Earl's behalf? The proposition was one somewhat difficult in the making, as the compromise, if made with both, would be excellent, but could not be made to any good effect with one only. The young Earl certainly could not afford to buy off the Italian woman for 10,000, if the effect of such buying off would only be to place the whole of the late lord's wealth in the hands of his daughter and of his daughter's mother. The Italian woman consented. She declared with Italian energy that her late loving friend had never been a day insane; but she knew nothing of English laws, and but little of English money. She would take the 10,000,--having had a calculation made for her of the number of lire into which it would run. The number was enormous, and she would take the offer. But when the proposal was mentioned to the Countess, and explained to her by her old friend, Thomas Thwaite, who had now become a poor man in her cause, she repudiated it with bitter scorn,--with a scorn in which she almost included the old man who had made it to her. "Is it for that, that I have been fighting?" she said. "For that in part," said the old man. "No, Mr. Thwaite, not for that at all; but that my girl may have her birth allowed and her name acknowledged." "Her name shall be allowed and her birth shall be acknowledged," said the tailor, in whose heart there was nothing base. "She shall be the Lady Anna, and her mother shall be the Countess Lovel." The estate of the Countess, if she had an estate, then owed the tailor some five or six thousand pounds, and the compromise offered would have paid the tailor every shilling and have left a comfortable income for the two women. "For myself I care but little," said the mother, taking the tailor's hand in hers and kissing it. "My child is the Lady Anna, and I do not dare to barter away her rights." This took place down at the cottage in Cumberland, and the tailor at once went up to London to make known the decision of the Countess,--as he invariably called her. Then the lawyers went to work. As the double compromise could not be effected, the single compromise could not stand. The Italian woman raved and stamped, and swore that she must have her half million of lire. But of course no right to such a claim had been made good to her, and the lawyers on behalf of the young Earl went on with their work. Public sympathy as a matter of course went with the young Earl. As against the Italian woman he had with him every English man and woman. It was horrible to the minds of English men and English women that an old English Earldom should be starved in order that an Italian harlot might revel in untold riches. It was felt by most men and protested by all women that any sign of madness, be it what it might,--however insignificant,--should be held to be sufficient against such a claimant. Was not the fact that the man had made such a will in itself sufficient proof of his madness? There were not a few who protested that no further proof could be necessary. But with us the law is the same for an Italian harlot and an English widow; and it may well be that in its niceties it shall be found kinder to the former than to the latter. But the Earl had been mad, and the law said that he was mad when he had made his will,--and the Italian woman went away, raging, into obscurity. The Italian woman was conquered, and now the battle was open and free between the young Earl and the claimant Countess. Applications were made on behalf of the Countess for funds from the estate wherewith to prove the claim, and to a certain limited amount they were granted. Such had been the life of the late Earl that it was held that the cost of all litigation resulting from his misdeeds should be paid from his estate;--but ready money was wanted, immediate ready money, to be at the disposal of the Countess to any amount needed by her agent, and this was hardly to be obtained. By this time public sympathy ran almost entirely with the Earl. Though it was acknowledged that the late lord was mad, and though it had become a cause of rejoicing that the Italian woman had been sent away penniless, howling into obscurity, because of the old man's madness, still it was believed that he had written the truth when he declared that the marriage had been a mock marriage. It would be better for the English world that the young Earl should be a rich man, fit to do honour to his position, fit to marry the daughter of a duke, fit to carry on the glory of the English peerage, than that a woman, ill reputed in the world, should be established as a Countess, with a daughter dowered with tens of thousands, as to whom it was already said that she was in love with a tailor's son. Nothing could be more touching, more likely to awaken sympathy, than the manner in which Josephine Murray had been carried away in marriage, and then roughly told by the man who should have protected her from every harshly blowing wind of heaven, that he had deceived her and that she was not his wife. No usage to which woman had ever been subjected, as has been said before, was more adapted to elicit compassion and energetic aid. But nineteen years had now passed by since the deed was done, and the facts were forgotten. One energetic friend there still was,--or we may say two, the tailor and his son Daniel. But public belief ran against the Countess, and nobody who was anybody in the world would give her her title. Bets were laid, two and three to one against her; and it was believed that she was an impostor. The Earl had all the glory of success over his first opponent, and the loud boasting of self-confident barristers buoyed up his cause. But loud-boasting barristers may nevertheless be wise lawyers, and the question of a compromise was again mooted. If the lady would take thirty thousand pounds and vanish, she should have the money clear of deduction, and all expenses should be paid. The amount offered was thought to be very liberal, but it did not amount to the annual income that was at stake. It was rejected with scorn. Had it been quadrupled, it would have been rejected with equal scorn. The loud-boasting barristers were still confident; but--. Though it was never admitted in words still it was felt that there might be a doubt. What if the contending parties were to join forces, if the Countess-ship of the Countess were to be admitted, and the heiress-ship of the Lady Anna, and if the Earl and the Lady Anna were to be united in holy wedlock? Might there not be a safe solution from further difficulty in that way? CHAPTER III. LADY ANNA. The idea of this further compromise, of this something more than compromise, of this half acknowledgment of their own weakness, came from Mr. Flick, of the firm of Norton and Flick, the solicitors who were employed in substantiating the Earl's position. When Mr. Flick mentioned it to Sir William Patterson, the great barrister, who was at that time Solicitor-General and leading counsel on behalf of Lord Lovel, Sir William Patterson stood aghast and was dismayed. Sir William intended to make mince-meat of the Countess. It was said of him that he intended to cross-examine the Countess off her legs, right out of her claim, and almost into her grave. He certainly did believe her to be an impostor, who had not thought herself to be entitled to her name when she first assumed it. "I should be sorry, Mr. Flick, to be driven to think that anything of that kind could be expedient." "It would make sure of the fortune to the family," said Mr. Flick. "And what about our friend, the Countess?" "Let her call herself Countess Lovel, Sir William. That will break no bones. As to the formality of her own marriage, there can be no doubt about that." "We can prove by Grogram that she was told that another wife was living," said Sir William. Grogram was an old butler who had been in the old Earl's service for thirty years. "I believe we can, Sir William; but--. It is quite clear that we shall never get the other wife to come over and face an English jury. It is of no use blinking it. The gentleman whom we have sent over doubts her altogether. That there was a marriage is certain, but he fears that this woman is not the old Countess. There were two sisters, and it may be that this was the other sister." Sir William was a good deal dismayed, but he recovered himself. The stakes were so high that it was quite possible that the gentleman who had been sent over might have been induced to open his eyes to the possibility of such personation by overtures from the other side. Sir William was of opinion that Mr. Flick himself should go to Sicily. He was not sure that he, Sir William, her Majesty's Solicitor-General, would not make the journey in person. He was by no means disposed to give way. "They tell me that the girl is no better than she should be," he said to Mr. Flick. "I don't think so bad as that of her," said Mr. Flick. "Is she a lady,--or anything like a lady?" "I am told she is very beautiful." "I dare say;--and so was her mother before her. I never saw a handsomer woman of her age than our friend the Countess. But I could not recommend the young lord to marry an underbred, bad girl, and a bastard who claims to be his cousin,--and support my proposition merely on the ground of her looks." "Thirty-five thousand a year, Sir William!" pleaded the attorney. "I hope we can get the thirty-five thousand a year for our client without paying so dear for them." It had been presumed that the real Countess, the original Countess, the Italian lady whom the Earl had married in early life, would be brought over, with properly attested documentary evidence in her pocket, to prove that she was the existing Countess, and that any other Countess must be either an impostor or a deluded dupe. No doubt the old Earl had declared, when first informing Josephine Murray that she was not his wife, that his real wife had died during the few months which had intervened since his mock marriage; but it was acknowledged on all sides, that the old Earl had been a villain and a liar. It was no part of the duty of the young Earl, or of those who acted for him, to defend the character of the old Earl. To wash that blackamoor white, or even to make him whity-brown, was not necessary to anybody. No one was now concerned to account for his crooked courses. But if it could be shown that he had married the lady in Italy,--as to which there was no doubt,--and that the lady was still alive, or that she had been alive when the second marriage took place, then the Lady Anna could not inherit the property which had been freed from the grasp of the Italian mistress. But it seemed that the lady, if she lived, could not be made to come. Mr. Flick did go to Sicily, and came back renewing his advice to Sir William that Lord Lovel should be advised to marry the Lady Anna. At this time the Countess, with her daughter, had moved their residence from Keswick up to London, and was living in very humble lodgings in a small street turning out of the New Road, near the Yorkshire Stingo. Old Thomas Thwaite had accompanied them from Cumberland, but the rooms had been taken for them by his son, Daniel Thwaite, who was at this time foreman to a somewhat celebrated tailor who carried on his business in Wigmore Street; and he, Daniel Thwaite, had a bedroom in the house in which the Countess lodged. The arrangement was not a wise one, as reports had already been spread abroad as to the partiality of the Lady Anna for the young tailor. But how should she not have been partial both to the father and to the son, feeling as she did that they were the only two men who befriended her cause and her mother's? As to the Countess herself, she, perhaps, alone of all those who interested themselves in her daughter's cause, had heard no word of these insinuations against her child. To her both Thomas and Daniel Thwaite were dear friends, to repay whom for their exertions with lavish generosity,--should the means to do so ever come within her reach,--was one of the dreams of her existence. But she was an ambitious woman, thinking much of her rank, thinking much even of the blood of her own ancestors, constantly urgent with her daughter in teaching her the duties and privileges of wealth and rank. For the Countess never doubted that she would at last attain success. That the Lady Anna should throw herself away upon Daniel Thwaite did not occur to her as a possibility. She had not even dreamed that Daniel Thwaite would aspire to her daughter's hand. And yet every shop-boy and every shop-girl in Keswick had been so saying for the last twelvemonth, and rumours which had hitherto been confined to Keswick and its neighbourhood, were now common in London. For the case was becoming one of the celebrated causes of the age, and all the world was talking of the Countess and her daughter. No momentary suspicion had crossed the mind of the Countess till after their arrival in London; and then when the suspicion did touch her it was not love that she suspected,--but rather an unbecoming familiarity which she attributed to her child's ignorance of the great life which awaited her. "My dear," she said one day when Daniel Thwaite had left them, "you should be less free in your manner with that young man." "What do you mean, mamma?" said the daughter, blushing. "You had better call him Mr. Thwaite." "But I have called him Daniel ever since I was born." "He always calls you Lady Anna." "Sometimes he does, mamma." "I never heard him call you anything else," said the Countess, almost with indignation. "It is all very well for the old man, because he is an old man and has done so much for us." "So has Daniel;--quite as much, mamma. They have both done everything." "True; they have both been warm friends; and if ever I forget them may God forget me. I trust that we may both live to show them that they are not forgotten. But it is not fitting that there should exist between you and him the intimacy of equal positions. You are not and cannot be his equal. He has been born to be a tailor, and you are the daughter and heiress of an Earl." These last words were spoken in a tone that was almost awful to the Lady Anna. She had heard so much of her father's rank and her father's wealth,--rank and wealth which were always to be hers, but which had never as yet reached her, which had been a perpetual trouble to her, and a crushing weight upon her young life, that she had almost learned to hate the title and the claim. Of course it was a part of the religion of her life that her mother had been duly married to her father. It was beyond a doubt to her that such was the case. But the constant battling for denied rights, the assumption of a position which could not be attained, the use of titles which were simply ridiculous in themselves as connected with the kind of life which she was obliged to lead,--these things had all become odious to her. She lacked the ambition which gave her mother strength, and would gladly have become Anna Murray or Anna Lovel, with a girl's ordinary privilege of loving her lover, had such an easy life been possible to her. In person she was very lovely, less tall and robust than her mother had been, but with a sweeter, softer face. Her hair was less dark, and her eyes were neither blue nor bold. But they were bright and soft and very eloquent, and when laden with tears would have softened the heart,--almost of her father. She was as yet less powerful than her mother, both in body and mind, but probably better calculated to make a happy home for a husband and children. She was affectionate, self-denying, and feminine. Had that offer of compromise for thirty, twenty, or for ten thousand pounds been made to her, she would have accepted it willingly,--caring little for her name, little even for fame, so that she might have been happy and quiet, and at liberty to think of a lover as are other girls. In her present condition, how could she have any happy love? She was the Lady Anna Lovel, heir to a ducal fortune,--but she lived in small close lodgings in Wyndham Street, New Road. She did not believe in the good time coming as did her mother. Their enemy was an undoubted Earl, undoubtedly owner of Lovel Grange of which she had heard all her life. Would it not be better to take what the young lord chose to give them and to be at rest? But she did not dare to express such thoughts to her mother. Her mother would have crushed her with a look. "I have told Mr. Thwaite," the mother said to her daughter, "what we were saying this morning." "About his son?" "Yes,--about his son." "Oh, mamma!" "I was bound to do so." "And what did he say, mamma?" "He did not like it, and told me that he did not like it;--but he admitted that it was true. He admitted that his son was no fitting intimate for Lady Anna Lovel." "What should we have done without him?" "Badly indeed; but that cannot change his duty, or ours. He is helping us to struggle for that which is our own; but he would mar his generosity if he put a taint on that which he is endeavouring to restore to us." "Put a taint, mamma!" "Yes;--a taint would rest upon your rank if you as Lady Anna Lovel were familiar with Daniel Thwaite as with an equal. His father understands it, and will speak to him." "Mamma, Daniel will be very angry." "Then will he be very unreasonable;--but, Anna, I will not have you call him Daniel any more." CHAPTER IV. THE TAILOR OF KESWICK. Old Thomas Thwaite was at this time up in London about the business of the Countess, but had no intention of residing there. He still kept his shop in Keswick, and still made coats and trousers for Cumberland statesmen. He was by no means in a condition to retire from business, having spent the savings of his life in the cause of the Countess and her daughter. Men had told him that, had he not struck the Earl in the yard of the Crown at Keswick, as horses were being brought out for the lord's travelling carriage, ample provision would have been made by the rich old sinner for his daughter. That might have been so, or might not, but the saying instigated the tailor to further zeal and increased generosity. To oppose an Earl, even though it might be on behalf of a Countess, was a joy to him; to set wrong right, and to put down cruelty and to relieve distressed women was the pride of his heart,--especially when his efforts were made in antagonism to one of high rank. And he was a man who would certainly be thorough in his work, though his thoroughness should be ruinous to himself. He had despised the Murrays, who ought to have stuck to their distant cousin, and had exulted in his heart at thinking that the world would say how much better and truer had been the Keswick tailor than the well-born and comparatively wealthy Scotch relations. And the poets of the lakes, who had not as yet become altogether Tories, had taken him by the hand and praised him. The rights of the Countess and the wrongs of the Countess had become his life. But he still kept on a diminished business in the north, and it was now needful that he should return to Cumberland. He had heard that renewed offers of compromise were to be made,--though no idea of the proposed marriage between the distant cousins had been suggested to him. He had been discussing the question of some compromise with the Countess when she spoke to him respecting his son; and had recommended that certain terms should, if possible, be effected. Let the money be divided, on condition that the marriage were allowed. There could be no difficulty in this if the young lord would accede to such an arrangement, as the marriage must be acknowledged unless an adverse party should bring home proof from Italy to the contrary. The sufficiency of the ceremony in Applethwaite Church was incontestable. Let the money be divided, and the Countess be Countess Lovel, and Lady Anna be the Lady Anna to all the world. Old Thomas Thwaite himself had seemed to think that there would be enough of triumph in such a settlement. "But the woman might afterwards be bribed to come over and renew her claim," said the Countess. "Unless it be absolutely settled now, they will say when I am dead and gone that my daughter has no right to her name." Then the tailor said that he would make further inquiry how that might be. He was inclined to think that there might be a decision which should be absolute, even though that decision should be reached by compromise between the now contending parties. Then the Countess had said her word about Daniel Thwaite the son, and Thomas Thwaite the father had heard it with ill-concealed anger. To fight against an Earl on behalf of the Earl's injured wife had been very sweet to him, but to be checked in his fight because he and his were unfit to associate with the child of that injured wife, was very bitter. And yet he had sense to know that what the Countess said to him was true. As far as words went, he admitted the truth; but his face was more eloquent than his words, and his face showed plainly his displeasure. "It is not of you that I am speaking," said the Countess, laying her hand upon the old man's sleeve. "Daniel is, at any rate, fitter than I," said the tailor. "He has been educated, and I never was." "He is as good as gold. It is not of that I speak. You know what I mean." "I know very well what you mean, Lady Lovel." "I have no friend like you, Mr. Thwaite;--none whom I love as I do you. And next to you is your son. For myself, there is nothing that I would not do for him or you;--no service, however menial, that I would not render you with my own hands. There is no limit to the gratitude which I owe you. But my girl is young, and if this burden of rank and wealth is to be hers,--it is proper that she do honour to it." "And it is not honourable that she should be seen speaking--to a tailor?" "Ah,--if you choose to take it so!" "How should I take it? What I say is true. And what you say is true also. I will speak to Daniel." But she knew well, as he left her, that his heart was bitter against her. The old man did speak to his son, sitting with him up in the bed-room over that which the Countess occupied. Old Thomas Thwaite was a strong man, but his son was in some respects stronger. As his father had said of him, he had been educated,--or rather instructed; and instruction leads to the power of thinking. He looked deeper into things than did his father, and was governed by wider and greater motives. His father had been a Radical all his life, guided thereto probably by some early training, and made steadfast in his creed by feelings which induced him to hate the pretensions of an assumed superiority. Old Thwaite could not endure to think that one man should be considered to be worthier than another because he was richer. He would admit the riches, and even the justice of the riches,--having been himself, during much of his life, a rich man in his own sphere; but would deny the worthiness; and would adduce, in proof of his creed, the unworthiness of certain exalted sinners. The career of the Earl Lovel had been to him a sure proof of the baseness of English aristocracy generally. He had dreams of a republic in which a tailor might be president or senator, or something almost noble. But no rational scheme of governance among mankind had ever entered his mind, and of pure politics he knew no more than the journeyman who sat stitching upon his board. But Daniel Thwaite was a thoughtful man who had read many books. More's Utopia and Harrington's Oceana, with many a tale written in the same spirit, had taught him to believe that a perfect form of government, or rather of policy, under which all men might be happy and satisfied, was practicable upon earth, and was to be achieved,--not merely by the slow amelioration of mankind under God's fostering ordinances,--but by the continued efforts of good and wise men who, by their goodness and wisdom, should be able to make the multitude believe in them. To diminish the distances, not only between the rich and the poor, but between the high and the low, was the grand political theory upon which his mind was always running. His father was ever thinking of himself and of Earl Lovel; while Daniel Thwaite was considering the injustice of the difference between ten thousand aristocrats and thirty million of people, who were for the most part ignorant and hungry. But it was not that he also had not thoughts of himself. Gradually he had come to learn that he need not have been a tailor's foreman in Wigmore Street had not his father spent on behalf of the Countess Lovel the means by which he, the son, might already have become a master tradesman. And yet he had never begrudged it. He had been as keen as his father in the cause. It had been the romance of his life, since his life had been capable of romance;--but with him it had been no respect for the rank to which his father was so anxious to restore the Countess, no value which he attached to the names claimed by the mother and the daughter. He hated the countess-ship of the Countess, and the ladyship of the Lady Anna. He would fain that they should have abandoned them. They were to him odious signs of iniquitous pretensions. But he was keen enough to punish and to remedy the wickedness of the wicked Earl. He reverenced his father because he assaulted the wicked Earl and struck him to the ground. He was heart and soul in the cause of the injured wife. And then the one thing on earth that was really dear to him was the Lady Anna. It had been the romance of his life. They had grown up together as playmates in Cumberland. He had fought scores of battles on her behalf with those who had denied that she was the Lady Anna,--even though he had then hated the title. Boys had jeered him because of his noble little sweetheart, and he had exulted at hearing her so called. His only sister and his mother had died when he was young, and there had been none in the house but his father and himself. As a boy he had ever been

allowed

How many times the word 'allowed' appears in the text?

Anna would have the entire property, except such portion as would be claimed of right by her mother, the widow. Thus the Italian woman and the young lord were combined in interest against the mother and daughter as regarded the marriage; and the young lord and the mother and daughter were combined against the Italian woman as regarded the will;--but the young lord had to act alone against the Italian woman, and against the mother and daughter whom he and his friends regarded as swindlers and impostors. It was for him to set aside the will in reference to the Italian woman, and then to stand the brunt of the assault made upon him by the soi-disant wife. In a very short time after the old Earl's death a double compromise was offered on behalf of the young Earl. The money at stake was immense. Would the Italian woman take 10,000, and go her way back to Italy, renouncing all further claim; and would the soi-disant Countess abandon her title, acknowledge her child to be illegitimate, and go her way with another 10,000;--or with 20,000, as was soon hinted by the gentlemen acting on the Earl's behalf? The proposition was one somewhat difficult in the making, as the compromise, if made with both, would be excellent, but could not be made to any good effect with one only. The young Earl certainly could not afford to buy off the Italian woman for 10,000, if the effect of such buying off would only be to place the whole of the late lord's wealth in the hands of his daughter and of his daughter's mother. The Italian woman consented. She declared with Italian energy that her late loving friend had never been a day insane; but she knew nothing of English laws, and but little of English money. She would take the 10,000,--having had a calculation made for her of the number of lire into which it would run. The number was enormous, and she would take the offer. But when the proposal was mentioned to the Countess, and explained to her by her old friend, Thomas Thwaite, who had now become a poor man in her cause, she repudiated it with bitter scorn,--with a scorn in which she almost included the old man who had made it to her. "Is it for that, that I have been fighting?" she said. "For that in part," said the old man. "No, Mr. Thwaite, not for that at all; but that my girl may have her birth allowed and her name acknowledged." "Her name shall be allowed and her birth shall be acknowledged," said the tailor, in whose heart there was nothing base. "She shall be the Lady Anna, and her mother shall be the Countess Lovel." The estate of the Countess, if she had an estate, then owed the tailor some five or six thousand pounds, and the compromise offered would have paid the tailor every shilling and have left a comfortable income for the two women. "For myself I care but little," said the mother, taking the tailor's hand in hers and kissing it. "My child is the Lady Anna, and I do not dare to barter away her rights." This took place down at the cottage in Cumberland, and the tailor at once went up to London to make known the decision of the Countess,--as he invariably called her. Then the lawyers went to work. As the double compromise could not be effected, the single compromise could not stand. The Italian woman raved and stamped, and swore that she must have her half million of lire. But of course no right to such a claim had been made good to her, and the lawyers on behalf of the young Earl went on with their work. Public sympathy as a matter of course went with the young Earl. As against the Italian woman he had with him every English man and woman. It was horrible to the minds of English men and English women that an old English Earldom should be starved in order that an Italian harlot might revel in untold riches. It was felt by most men and protested by all women that any sign of madness, be it what it might,--however insignificant,--should be held to be sufficient against such a claimant. Was not the fact that the man had made such a will in itself sufficient proof of his madness? There were not a few who protested that no further proof could be necessary. But with us the law is the same for an Italian harlot and an English widow; and it may well be that in its niceties it shall be found kinder to the former than to the latter. But the Earl had been mad, and the law said that he was mad when he had made his will,--and the Italian woman went away, raging, into obscurity. The Italian woman was conquered, and now the battle was open and free between the young Earl and the claimant Countess. Applications were made on behalf of the Countess for funds from the estate wherewith to prove the claim, and to a certain limited amount they were granted. Such had been the life of the late Earl that it was held that the cost of all litigation resulting from his misdeeds should be paid from his estate;--but ready money was wanted, immediate ready money, to be at the disposal of the Countess to any amount needed by her agent, and this was hardly to be obtained. By this time public sympathy ran almost entirely with the Earl. Though it was acknowledged that the late lord was mad, and though it had become a cause of rejoicing that the Italian woman had been sent away penniless, howling into obscurity, because of the old man's madness, still it was believed that he had written the truth when he declared that the marriage had been a mock marriage. It would be better for the English world that the young Earl should be a rich man, fit to do honour to his position, fit to marry the daughter of a duke, fit to carry on the glory of the English peerage, than that a woman, ill reputed in the world, should be established as a Countess, with a daughter dowered with tens of thousands, as to whom it was already said that she was in love with a tailor's son. Nothing could be more touching, more likely to awaken sympathy, than the manner in which Josephine Murray had been carried away in marriage, and then roughly told by the man who should have protected her from every harshly blowing wind of heaven, that he had deceived her and that she was not his wife. No usage to which woman had ever been subjected, as has been said before, was more adapted to elicit compassion and energetic aid. But nineteen years had now passed by since the deed was done, and the facts were forgotten. One energetic friend there still was,--or we may say two, the tailor and his son Daniel. But public belief ran against the Countess, and nobody who was anybody in the world would give her her title. Bets were laid, two and three to one against her; and it was believed that she was an impostor. The Earl had all the glory of success over his first opponent, and the loud boasting of self-confident barristers buoyed up his cause. But loud-boasting barristers may nevertheless be wise lawyers, and the question of a compromise was again mooted. If the lady would take thirty thousand pounds and vanish, she should have the money clear of deduction, and all expenses should be paid. The amount offered was thought to be very liberal, but it did not amount to the annual income that was at stake. It was rejected with scorn. Had it been quadrupled, it would have been rejected with equal scorn. The loud-boasting barristers were still confident; but--. Though it was never admitted in words still it was felt that there might be a doubt. What if the contending parties were to join forces, if the Countess-ship of the Countess were to be admitted, and the heiress-ship of the Lady Anna, and if the Earl and the Lady Anna were to be united in holy wedlock? Might there not be a safe solution from further difficulty in that way? CHAPTER III. LADY ANNA. The idea of this further compromise, of this something more than compromise, of this half acknowledgment of their own weakness, came from Mr. Flick, of the firm of Norton and Flick, the solicitors who were employed in substantiating the Earl's position. When Mr. Flick mentioned it to Sir William Patterson, the great barrister, who was at that time Solicitor-General and leading counsel on behalf of Lord Lovel, Sir William Patterson stood aghast and was dismayed. Sir William intended to make mince-meat of the Countess. It was said of him that he intended to cross-examine the Countess off her legs, right out of her claim, and almost into her grave. He certainly did believe her to be an impostor, who had not thought herself to be entitled to her name when she first assumed it. "I should be sorry, Mr. Flick, to be driven to think that anything of that kind could be expedient." "It would make sure of the fortune to the family," said Mr. Flick. "And what about our friend, the Countess?" "Let her call herself Countess Lovel, Sir William. That will break no bones. As to the formality of her own marriage, there can be no doubt about that." "We can prove by Grogram that she was told that another wife was living," said Sir William. Grogram was an old butler who had been in the old Earl's service for thirty years. "I believe we can, Sir William; but--. It is quite clear that we shall never get the other wife to come over and face an English jury. It is of no use blinking it. The gentleman whom we have sent over doubts her altogether. That there was a marriage is certain, but he fears that this woman is not the old Countess. There were two sisters, and it may be that this was the other sister." Sir William was a good deal dismayed, but he recovered himself. The stakes were so high that it was quite possible that the gentleman who had been sent over might have been induced to open his eyes to the possibility of such personation by overtures from the other side. Sir William was of opinion that Mr. Flick himself should go to Sicily. He was not sure that he, Sir William, her Majesty's Solicitor-General, would not make the journey in person. He was by no means disposed to give way. "They tell me that the girl is no better than she should be," he said to Mr. Flick. "I don't think so bad as that of her," said Mr. Flick. "Is she a lady,--or anything like a lady?" "I am told she is very beautiful." "I dare say;--and so was her mother before her. I never saw a handsomer woman of her age than our friend the Countess. But I could not recommend the young lord to marry an underbred, bad girl, and a bastard who claims to be his cousin,--and support my proposition merely on the ground of her looks." "Thirty-five thousand a year, Sir William!" pleaded the attorney. "I hope we can get the thirty-five thousand a year for our client without paying so dear for them." It had been presumed that the real Countess, the original Countess, the Italian lady whom the Earl had married in early life, would be brought over, with properly attested documentary evidence in her pocket, to prove that she was the existing Countess, and that any other Countess must be either an impostor or a deluded dupe. No doubt the old Earl had declared, when first informing Josephine Murray that she was not his wife, that his real wife had died during the few months which had intervened since his mock marriage; but it was acknowledged on all sides, that the old Earl had been a villain and a liar. It was no part of the duty of the young Earl, or of those who acted for him, to defend the character of the old Earl. To wash that blackamoor white, or even to make him whity-brown, was not necessary to anybody. No one was now concerned to account for his crooked courses. But if it could be shown that he had married the lady in Italy,--as to which there was no doubt,--and that the lady was still alive, or that she had been alive when the second marriage took place, then the Lady Anna could not inherit the property which had been freed from the grasp of the Italian mistress. But it seemed that the lady, if she lived, could not be made to come. Mr. Flick did go to Sicily, and came back renewing his advice to Sir William that Lord Lovel should be advised to marry the Lady Anna. At this time the Countess, with her daughter, had moved their residence from Keswick up to London, and was living in very humble lodgings in a small street turning out of the New Road, near the Yorkshire Stingo. Old Thomas Thwaite had accompanied them from Cumberland, but the rooms had been taken for them by his son, Daniel Thwaite, who was at this time foreman to a somewhat celebrated tailor who carried on his business in Wigmore Street; and he, Daniel Thwaite, had a bedroom in the house in which the Countess lodged. The arrangement was not a wise one, as reports had already been spread abroad as to the partiality of the Lady Anna for the young tailor. But how should she not have been partial both to the father and to the son, feeling as she did that they were the only two men who befriended her cause and her mother's? As to the Countess herself, she, perhaps, alone of all those who interested themselves in her daughter's cause, had heard no word of these insinuations against her child. To her both Thomas and Daniel Thwaite were dear friends, to repay whom for their exertions with lavish generosity,--should the means to do so ever come within her reach,--was one of the dreams of her existence. But she was an ambitious woman, thinking much of her rank, thinking much even of the blood of her own ancestors, constantly urgent with her daughter in teaching her the duties and privileges of wealth and rank. For the Countess never doubted that she would at last attain success. That the Lady Anna should throw herself away upon Daniel Thwaite did not occur to her as a possibility. She had not even dreamed that Daniel Thwaite would aspire to her daughter's hand. And yet every shop-boy and every shop-girl in Keswick had been so saying for the last twelvemonth, and rumours which had hitherto been confined to Keswick and its neighbourhood, were now common in London. For the case was becoming one of the celebrated causes of the age, and all the world was talking of the Countess and her daughter. No momentary suspicion had crossed the mind of the Countess till after their arrival in London; and then when the suspicion did touch her it was not love that she suspected,--but rather an unbecoming familiarity which she attributed to her child's ignorance of the great life which awaited her. "My dear," she said one day when Daniel Thwaite had left them, "you should be less free in your manner with that young man." "What do you mean, mamma?" said the daughter, blushing. "You had better call him Mr. Thwaite." "But I have called him Daniel ever since I was born." "He always calls you Lady Anna." "Sometimes he does, mamma." "I never heard him call you anything else," said the Countess, almost with indignation. "It is all very well for the old man, because he is an old man and has done so much for us." "So has Daniel;--quite as much, mamma. They have both done everything." "True; they have both been warm friends; and if ever I forget them may God forget me. I trust that we may both live to show them that they are not forgotten. But it is not fitting that there should exist between you and him the intimacy of equal positions. You are not and cannot be his equal. He has been born to be a tailor, and you are the daughter and heiress of an Earl." These last words were spoken in a tone that was almost awful to the Lady Anna. She had heard so much of her father's rank and her father's wealth,--rank and wealth which were always to be hers, but which had never as yet reached her, which had been a perpetual trouble to her, and a crushing weight upon her young life, that she had almost learned to hate the title and the claim. Of course it was a part of the religion of her life that her mother had been duly married to her father. It was beyond a doubt to her that such was the case. But the constant battling for denied rights, the assumption of a position which could not be attained, the use of titles which were simply ridiculous in themselves as connected with the kind of life which she was obliged to lead,--these things had all become odious to her. She lacked the ambition which gave her mother strength, and would gladly have become Anna Murray or Anna Lovel, with a girl's ordinary privilege of loving her lover, had such an easy life been possible to her. In person she was very lovely, less tall and robust than her mother had been, but with a sweeter, softer face. Her hair was less dark, and her eyes were neither blue nor bold. But they were bright and soft and very eloquent, and when laden with tears would have softened the heart,--almost of her father. She was as yet less powerful than her mother, both in body and mind, but probably better calculated to make a happy home for a husband and children. She was affectionate, self-denying, and feminine. Had that offer of compromise for thirty, twenty, or for ten thousand pounds been made to her, she would have accepted it willingly,--caring little for her name, little even for fame, so that she might have been happy and quiet, and at liberty to think of a lover as are other girls. In her present condition, how could she have any happy love? She was the Lady Anna Lovel, heir to a ducal fortune,--but she lived in small close lodgings in Wyndham Street, New Road. She did not believe in the good time coming as did her mother. Their enemy was an undoubted Earl, undoubtedly owner of Lovel Grange of which she had heard all her life. Would it not be better to take what the young lord chose to give them and to be at rest? But she did not dare to express such thoughts to her mother. Her mother would have crushed her with a look. "I have told Mr. Thwaite," the mother said to her daughter, "what we were saying this morning." "About his son?" "Yes,--about his son." "Oh, mamma!" "I was bound to do so." "And what did he say, mamma?" "He did not like it, and told me that he did not like it;--but he admitted that it was true. He admitted that his son was no fitting intimate for Lady Anna Lovel." "What should we have done without him?" "Badly indeed; but that cannot change his duty, or ours. He is helping us to struggle for that which is our own; but he would mar his generosity if he put a taint on that which he is endeavouring to restore to us." "Put a taint, mamma!" "Yes;--a taint would rest upon your rank if you as Lady Anna Lovel were familiar with Daniel Thwaite as with an equal. His father understands it, and will speak to him." "Mamma, Daniel will be very angry." "Then will he be very unreasonable;--but, Anna, I will not have you call him Daniel any more." CHAPTER IV. THE TAILOR OF KESWICK. Old Thomas Thwaite was at this time up in London about the business of the Countess, but had no intention of residing there. He still kept his shop in Keswick, and still made coats and trousers for Cumberland statesmen. He was by no means in a condition to retire from business, having spent the savings of his life in the cause of the Countess and her daughter. Men had told him that, had he not struck the Earl in the yard of the Crown at Keswick, as horses were being brought out for the lord's travelling carriage, ample provision would have been made by the rich old sinner for his daughter. That might have been so, or might not, but the saying instigated the tailor to further zeal and increased generosity. To oppose an Earl, even though it might be on behalf of a Countess, was a joy to him; to set wrong right, and to put down cruelty and to relieve distressed women was the pride of his heart,--especially when his efforts were made in antagonism to one of high rank. And he was a man who would certainly be thorough in his work, though his thoroughness should be ruinous to himself. He had despised the Murrays, who ought to have stuck to their distant cousin, and had exulted in his heart at thinking that the world would say how much better and truer had been the Keswick tailor than the well-born and comparatively wealthy Scotch relations. And the poets of the lakes, who had not as yet become altogether Tories, had taken him by the hand and praised him. The rights of the Countess and the wrongs of the Countess had become his life. But he still kept on a diminished business in the north, and it was now needful that he should return to Cumberland. He had heard that renewed offers of compromise were to be made,--though no idea of the proposed marriage between the distant cousins had been suggested to him. He had been discussing the question of some compromise with the Countess when she spoke to him respecting his son; and had recommended that certain terms should, if possible, be effected. Let the money be divided, on condition that the marriage were allowed. There could be no difficulty in this if the young lord would accede to such an arrangement, as the marriage must be acknowledged unless an adverse party should bring home proof from Italy to the contrary. The sufficiency of the ceremony in Applethwaite Church was incontestable. Let the money be divided, and the Countess be Countess Lovel, and Lady Anna be the Lady Anna to all the world. Old Thomas Thwaite himself had seemed to think that there would be enough of triumph in such a settlement. "But the woman might afterwards be bribed to come over and renew her claim," said the Countess. "Unless it be absolutely settled now, they will say when I am dead and gone that my daughter has no right to her name." Then the tailor said that he would make further inquiry how that might be. He was inclined to think that there might be a decision which should be absolute, even though that decision should be reached by compromise between the now contending parties. Then the Countess had said her word about Daniel Thwaite the son, and Thomas Thwaite the father had heard it with ill-concealed anger. To fight against an Earl on behalf of the Earl's injured wife had been very sweet to him, but to be checked in his fight because he and his were unfit to associate with the child of that injured wife, was very bitter. And yet he had sense to know that what the Countess said to him was true. As far as words went, he admitted the truth; but his face was more eloquent than his words, and his face showed plainly his displeasure. "It is not of you that I am speaking," said the Countess, laying her hand upon the old man's sleeve. "Daniel is, at any rate, fitter than I," said the tailor. "He has been educated, and I never was." "He is as good as gold. It is not of that I speak. You know what I mean." "I know very well what you mean, Lady Lovel." "I have no friend like you, Mr. Thwaite;--none whom I love as I do you. And next to you is your son. For myself, there is nothing that I would not do for him or you;--no service, however menial, that I would not render you with my own hands. There is no limit to the gratitude which I owe you. But my girl is young, and if this burden of rank and wealth is to be hers,--it is proper that she do honour to it." "And it is not honourable that she should be seen speaking--to a tailor?" "Ah,--if you choose to take it so!" "How should I take it? What I say is true. And what you say is true also. I will speak to Daniel." But she knew well, as he left her, that his heart was bitter against her. The old man did speak to his son, sitting with him up in the bed-room over that which the Countess occupied. Old Thomas Thwaite was a strong man, but his son was in some respects stronger. As his father had said of him, he had been educated,--or rather instructed; and instruction leads to the power of thinking. He looked deeper into things than did his father, and was governed by wider and greater motives. His father had been a Radical all his life, guided thereto probably by some early training, and made steadfast in his creed by feelings which induced him to hate the pretensions of an assumed superiority. Old Thwaite could not endure to think that one man should be considered to be worthier than another because he was richer. He would admit the riches, and even the justice of the riches,--having been himself, during much of his life, a rich man in his own sphere; but would deny the worthiness; and would adduce, in proof of his creed, the unworthiness of certain exalted sinners. The career of the Earl Lovel had been to him a sure proof of the baseness of English aristocracy generally. He had dreams of a republic in which a tailor might be president or senator, or something almost noble. But no rational scheme of governance among mankind had ever entered his mind, and of pure politics he knew no more than the journeyman who sat stitching upon his board. But Daniel Thwaite was a thoughtful man who had read many books. More's Utopia and Harrington's Oceana, with many a tale written in the same spirit, had taught him to believe that a perfect form of government, or rather of policy, under which all men might be happy and satisfied, was practicable upon earth, and was to be achieved,--not merely by the slow amelioration of mankind under God's fostering ordinances,--but by the continued efforts of good and wise men who, by their goodness and wisdom, should be able to make the multitude believe in them. To diminish the distances, not only between the rich and the poor, but between the high and the low, was the grand political theory upon which his mind was always running. His father was ever thinking of himself and of Earl Lovel; while Daniel Thwaite was considering the injustice of the difference between ten thousand aristocrats and thirty million of people, who were for the most part ignorant and hungry. But it was not that he also had not thoughts of himself. Gradually he had come to learn that he need not have been a tailor's foreman in Wigmore Street had not his father spent on behalf of the Countess Lovel the means by which he, the son, might already have become a master tradesman. And yet he had never begrudged it. He had been as keen as his father in the cause. It had been the romance of his life, since his life had been capable of romance;--but with him it had been no respect for the rank to which his father was so anxious to restore the Countess, no value which he attached to the names claimed by the mother and the daughter. He hated the countess-ship of the Countess, and the ladyship of the Lady Anna. He would fain that they should have abandoned them. They were to him odious signs of iniquitous pretensions. But he was keen enough to punish and to remedy the wickedness of the wicked Earl. He reverenced his father because he assaulted the wicked Earl and struck him to the ground. He was heart and soul in the cause of the injured wife. And then the one thing on earth that was really dear to him was the Lady Anna. It had been the romance of his life. They had grown up together as playmates in Cumberland. He had fought scores of battles on her behalf with those who had denied that she was the Lady Anna,--even though he had then hated the title. Boys had jeered him because of his noble little sweetheart, and he had exulted at hearing her so called. His only sister and his mother had died when he was young, and there had been none in the house but his father and himself. As a boy he had ever been

itself

How many times the word 'itself' appears in the text?

Anna would have the entire property, except such portion as would be claimed of right by her mother, the widow. Thus the Italian woman and the young lord were combined in interest against the mother and daughter as regarded the marriage; and the young lord and the mother and daughter were combined against the Italian woman as regarded the will;--but the young lord had to act alone against the Italian woman, and against the mother and daughter whom he and his friends regarded as swindlers and impostors. It was for him to set aside the will in reference to the Italian woman, and then to stand the brunt of the assault made upon him by the soi-disant wife. In a very short time after the old Earl's death a double compromise was offered on behalf of the young Earl. The money at stake was immense. Would the Italian woman take 10,000, and go her way back to Italy, renouncing all further claim; and would the soi-disant Countess abandon her title, acknowledge her child to be illegitimate, and go her way with another 10,000;--or with 20,000, as was soon hinted by the gentlemen acting on the Earl's behalf? The proposition was one somewhat difficult in the making, as the compromise, if made with both, would be excellent, but could not be made to any good effect with one only. The young Earl certainly could not afford to buy off the Italian woman for 10,000, if the effect of such buying off would only be to place the whole of the late lord's wealth in the hands of his daughter and of his daughter's mother. The Italian woman consented. She declared with Italian energy that her late loving friend had never been a day insane; but she knew nothing of English laws, and but little of English money. She would take the 10,000,--having had a calculation made for her of the number of lire into which it would run. The number was enormous, and she would take the offer. But when the proposal was mentioned to the Countess, and explained to her by her old friend, Thomas Thwaite, who had now become a poor man in her cause, she repudiated it with bitter scorn,--with a scorn in which she almost included the old man who had made it to her. "Is it for that, that I have been fighting?" she said. "For that in part," said the old man. "No, Mr. Thwaite, not for that at all; but that my girl may have her birth allowed and her name acknowledged." "Her name shall be allowed and her birth shall be acknowledged," said the tailor, in whose heart there was nothing base. "She shall be the Lady Anna, and her mother shall be the Countess Lovel." The estate of the Countess, if she had an estate, then owed the tailor some five or six thousand pounds, and the compromise offered would have paid the tailor every shilling and have left a comfortable income for the two women. "For myself I care but little," said the mother, taking the tailor's hand in hers and kissing it. "My child is the Lady Anna, and I do not dare to barter away her rights." This took place down at the cottage in Cumberland, and the tailor at once went up to London to make known the decision of the Countess,--as he invariably called her. Then the lawyers went to work. As the double compromise could not be effected, the single compromise could not stand. The Italian woman raved and stamped, and swore that she must have her half million of lire. But of course no right to such a claim had been made good to her, and the lawyers on behalf of the young Earl went on with their work. Public sympathy as a matter of course went with the young Earl. As against the Italian woman he had with him every English man and woman. It was horrible to the minds of English men and English women that an old English Earldom should be starved in order that an Italian harlot might revel in untold riches. It was felt by most men and protested by all women that any sign of madness, be it what it might,--however insignificant,--should be held to be sufficient against such a claimant. Was not the fact that the man had made such a will in itself sufficient proof of his madness? There were not a few who protested that no further proof could be necessary. But with us the law is the same for an Italian harlot and an English widow; and it may well be that in its niceties it shall be found kinder to the former than to the latter. But the Earl had been mad, and the law said that he was mad when he had made his will,--and the Italian woman went away, raging, into obscurity. The Italian woman was conquered, and now the battle was open and free between the young Earl and the claimant Countess. Applications were made on behalf of the Countess for funds from the estate wherewith to prove the claim, and to a certain limited amount they were granted. Such had been the life of the late Earl that it was held that the cost of all litigation resulting from his misdeeds should be paid from his estate;--but ready money was wanted, immediate ready money, to be at the disposal of the Countess to any amount needed by her agent, and this was hardly to be obtained. By this time public sympathy ran almost entirely with the Earl. Though it was acknowledged that the late lord was mad, and though it had become a cause of rejoicing that the Italian woman had been sent away penniless, howling into obscurity, because of the old man's madness, still it was believed that he had written the truth when he declared that the marriage had been a mock marriage. It would be better for the English world that the young Earl should be a rich man, fit to do honour to his position, fit to marry the daughter of a duke, fit to carry on the glory of the English peerage, than that a woman, ill reputed in the world, should be established as a Countess, with a daughter dowered with tens of thousands, as to whom it was already said that she was in love with a tailor's son. Nothing could be more touching, more likely to awaken sympathy, than the manner in which Josephine Murray had been carried away in marriage, and then roughly told by the man who should have protected her from every harshly blowing wind of heaven, that he had deceived her and that she was not his wife. No usage to which woman had ever been subjected, as has been said before, was more adapted to elicit compassion and energetic aid. But nineteen years had now passed by since the deed was done, and the facts were forgotten. One energetic friend there still was,--or we may say two, the tailor and his son Daniel. But public belief ran against the Countess, and nobody who was anybody in the world would give her her title. Bets were laid, two and three to one against her; and it was believed that she was an impostor. The Earl had all the glory of success over his first opponent, and the loud boasting of self-confident barristers buoyed up his cause. But loud-boasting barristers may nevertheless be wise lawyers, and the question of a compromise was again mooted. If the lady would take thirty thousand pounds and vanish, she should have the money clear of deduction, and all expenses should be paid. The amount offered was thought to be very liberal, but it did not amount to the annual income that was at stake. It was rejected with scorn. Had it been quadrupled, it would have been rejected with equal scorn. The loud-boasting barristers were still confident; but--. Though it was never admitted in words still it was felt that there might be a doubt. What if the contending parties were to join forces, if the Countess-ship of the Countess were to be admitted, and the heiress-ship of the Lady Anna, and if the Earl and the Lady Anna were to be united in holy wedlock? Might there not be a safe solution from further difficulty in that way? CHAPTER III. LADY ANNA. The idea of this further compromise, of this something more than compromise, of this half acknowledgment of their own weakness, came from Mr. Flick, of the firm of Norton and Flick, the solicitors who were employed in substantiating the Earl's position. When Mr. Flick mentioned it to Sir William Patterson, the great barrister, who was at that time Solicitor-General and leading counsel on behalf of Lord Lovel, Sir William Patterson stood aghast and was dismayed. Sir William intended to make mince-meat of the Countess. It was said of him that he intended to cross-examine the Countess off her legs, right out of her claim, and almost into her grave. He certainly did believe her to be an impostor, who had not thought herself to be entitled to her name when she first assumed it. "I should be sorry, Mr. Flick, to be driven to think that anything of that kind could be expedient." "It would make sure of the fortune to the family," said Mr. Flick. "And what about our friend, the Countess?" "Let her call herself Countess Lovel, Sir William. That will break no bones. As to the formality of her own marriage, there can be no doubt about that." "We can prove by Grogram that she was told that another wife was living," said Sir William. Grogram was an old butler who had been in the old Earl's service for thirty years. "I believe we can, Sir William; but--. It is quite clear that we shall never get the other wife to come over and face an English jury. It is of no use blinking it. The gentleman whom we have sent over doubts her altogether. That there was a marriage is certain, but he fears that this woman is not the old Countess. There were two sisters, and it may be that this was the other sister." Sir William was a good deal dismayed, but he recovered himself. The stakes were so high that it was quite possible that the gentleman who had been sent over might have been induced to open his eyes to the possibility of such personation by overtures from the other side. Sir William was of opinion that Mr. Flick himself should go to Sicily. He was not sure that he, Sir William, her Majesty's Solicitor-General, would not make the journey in person. He was by no means disposed to give way. "They tell me that the girl is no better than she should be," he said to Mr. Flick. "I don't think so bad as that of her," said Mr. Flick. "Is she a lady,--or anything like a lady?" "I am told she is very beautiful." "I dare say;--and so was her mother before her. I never saw a handsomer woman of her age than our friend the Countess. But I could not recommend the young lord to marry an underbred, bad girl, and a bastard who claims to be his cousin,--and support my proposition merely on the ground of her looks." "Thirty-five thousand a year, Sir William!" pleaded the attorney. "I hope we can get the thirty-five thousand a year for our client without paying so dear for them." It had been presumed that the real Countess, the original Countess, the Italian lady whom the Earl had married in early life, would be brought over, with properly attested documentary evidence in her pocket, to prove that she was the existing Countess, and that any other Countess must be either an impostor or a deluded dupe. No doubt the old Earl had declared, when first informing Josephine Murray that she was not his wife, that his real wife had died during the few months which had intervened since his mock marriage; but it was acknowledged on all sides, that the old Earl had been a villain and a liar. It was no part of the duty of the young Earl, or of those who acted for him, to defend the character of the old Earl. To wash that blackamoor white, or even to make him whity-brown, was not necessary to anybody. No one was now concerned to account for his crooked courses. But if it could be shown that he had married the lady in Italy,--as to which there was no doubt,--and that the lady was still alive, or that she had been alive when the second marriage took place, then the Lady Anna could not inherit the property which had been freed from the grasp of the Italian mistress. But it seemed that the lady, if she lived, could not be made to come. Mr. Flick did go to Sicily, and came back renewing his advice to Sir William that Lord Lovel should be advised to marry the Lady Anna. At this time the Countess, with her daughter, had moved their residence from Keswick up to London, and was living in very humble lodgings in a small street turning out of the New Road, near the Yorkshire Stingo. Old Thomas Thwaite had accompanied them from Cumberland, but the rooms had been taken for them by his son, Daniel Thwaite, who was at this time foreman to a somewhat celebrated tailor who carried on his business in Wigmore Street; and he, Daniel Thwaite, had a bedroom in the house in which the Countess lodged. The arrangement was not a wise one, as reports had already been spread abroad as to the partiality of the Lady Anna for the young tailor. But how should she not have been partial both to the father and to the son, feeling as she did that they were the only two men who befriended her cause and her mother's? As to the Countess herself, she, perhaps, alone of all those who interested themselves in her daughter's cause, had heard no word of these insinuations against her child. To her both Thomas and Daniel Thwaite were dear friends, to repay whom for their exertions with lavish generosity,--should the means to do so ever come within her reach,--was one of the dreams of her existence. But she was an ambitious woman, thinking much of her rank, thinking much even of the blood of her own ancestors, constantly urgent with her daughter in teaching her the duties and privileges of wealth and rank. For the Countess never doubted that she would at last attain success. That the Lady Anna should throw herself away upon Daniel Thwaite did not occur to her as a possibility. She had not even dreamed that Daniel Thwaite would aspire to her daughter's hand. And yet every shop-boy and every shop-girl in Keswick had been so saying for the last twelvemonth, and rumours which had hitherto been confined to Keswick and its neighbourhood, were now common in London. For the case was becoming one of the celebrated causes of the age, and all the world was talking of the Countess and her daughter. No momentary suspicion had crossed the mind of the Countess till after their arrival in London; and then when the suspicion did touch her it was not love that she suspected,--but rather an unbecoming familiarity which she attributed to her child's ignorance of the great life which awaited her. "My dear," she said one day when Daniel Thwaite had left them, "you should be less free in your manner with that young man." "What do you mean, mamma?" said the daughter, blushing. "You had better call him Mr. Thwaite." "But I have called him Daniel ever since I was born." "He always calls you Lady Anna." "Sometimes he does, mamma." "I never heard him call you anything else," said the Countess, almost with indignation. "It is all very well for the old man, because he is an old man and has done so much for us." "So has Daniel;--quite as much, mamma. They have both done everything." "True; they have both been warm friends; and if ever I forget them may God forget me. I trust that we may both live to show them that they are not forgotten. But it is not fitting that there should exist between you and him the intimacy of equal positions. You are not and cannot be his equal. He has been born to be a tailor, and you are the daughter and heiress of an Earl." These last words were spoken in a tone that was almost awful to the Lady Anna. She had heard so much of her father's rank and her father's wealth,--rank and wealth which were always to be hers, but which had never as yet reached her, which had been a perpetual trouble to her, and a crushing weight upon her young life, that she had almost learned to hate the title and the claim. Of course it was a part of the religion of her life that her mother had been duly married to her father. It was beyond a doubt to her that such was the case. But the constant battling for denied rights, the assumption of a position which could not be attained, the use of titles which were simply ridiculous in themselves as connected with the kind of life which she was obliged to lead,--these things had all become odious to her. She lacked the ambition which gave her mother strength, and would gladly have become Anna Murray or Anna Lovel, with a girl's ordinary privilege of loving her lover, had such an easy life been possible to her. In person she was very lovely, less tall and robust than her mother had been, but with a sweeter, softer face. Her hair was less dark, and her eyes were neither blue nor bold. But they were bright and soft and very eloquent, and when laden with tears would have softened the heart,--almost of her father. She was as yet less powerful than her mother, both in body and mind, but probably better calculated to make a happy home for a husband and children. She was affectionate, self-denying, and feminine. Had that offer of compromise for thirty, twenty, or for ten thousand pounds been made to her, she would have accepted it willingly,--caring little for her name, little even for fame, so that she might have been happy and quiet, and at liberty to think of a lover as are other girls. In her present condition, how could she have any happy love? She was the Lady Anna Lovel, heir to a ducal fortune,--but she lived in small close lodgings in Wyndham Street, New Road. She did not believe in the good time coming as did her mother. Their enemy was an undoubted Earl, undoubtedly owner of Lovel Grange of which she had heard all her life. Would it not be better to take what the young lord chose to give them and to be at rest? But she did not dare to express such thoughts to her mother. Her mother would have crushed her with a look. "I have told Mr. Thwaite," the mother said to her daughter, "what we were saying this morning." "About his son?" "Yes,--about his son." "Oh, mamma!" "I was bound to do so." "And what did he say, mamma?" "He did not like it, and told me that he did not like it;--but he admitted that it was true. He admitted that his son was no fitting intimate for Lady Anna Lovel." "What should we have done without him?" "Badly indeed; but that cannot change his duty, or ours. He is helping us to struggle for that which is our own; but he would mar his generosity if he put a taint on that which he is endeavouring to restore to us." "Put a taint, mamma!" "Yes;--a taint would rest upon your rank if you as Lady Anna Lovel were familiar with Daniel Thwaite as with an equal. His father understands it, and will speak to him." "Mamma, Daniel will be very angry." "Then will he be very unreasonable;--but, Anna, I will not have you call him Daniel any more." CHAPTER IV. THE TAILOR OF KESWICK. Old Thomas Thwaite was at this time up in London about the business of the Countess, but had no intention of residing there. He still kept his shop in Keswick, and still made coats and trousers for Cumberland statesmen. He was by no means in a condition to retire from business, having spent the savings of his life in the cause of the Countess and her daughter. Men had told him that, had he not struck the Earl in the yard of the Crown at Keswick, as horses were being brought out for the lord's travelling carriage, ample provision would have been made by the rich old sinner for his daughter. That might have been so, or might not, but the saying instigated the tailor to further zeal and increased generosity. To oppose an Earl, even though it might be on behalf of a Countess, was a joy to him; to set wrong right, and to put down cruelty and to relieve distressed women was the pride of his heart,--especially when his efforts were made in antagonism to one of high rank. And he was a man who would certainly be thorough in his work, though his thoroughness should be ruinous to himself. He had despised the Murrays, who ought to have stuck to their distant cousin, and had exulted in his heart at thinking that the world would say how much better and truer had been the Keswick tailor than the well-born and comparatively wealthy Scotch relations. And the poets of the lakes, who had not as yet become altogether Tories, had taken him by the hand and praised him. The rights of the Countess and the wrongs of the Countess had become his life. But he still kept on a diminished business in the north, and it was now needful that he should return to Cumberland. He had heard that renewed offers of compromise were to be made,--though no idea of the proposed marriage between the distant cousins had been suggested to him. He had been discussing the question of some compromise with the Countess when she spoke to him respecting his son; and had recommended that certain terms should, if possible, be effected. Let the money be divided, on condition that the marriage were allowed. There could be no difficulty in this if the young lord would accede to such an arrangement, as the marriage must be acknowledged unless an adverse party should bring home proof from Italy to the contrary. The sufficiency of the ceremony in Applethwaite Church was incontestable. Let the money be divided, and the Countess be Countess Lovel, and Lady Anna be the Lady Anna to all the world. Old Thomas Thwaite himself had seemed to think that there would be enough of triumph in such a settlement. "But the woman might afterwards be bribed to come over and renew her claim," said the Countess. "Unless it be absolutely settled now, they will say when I am dead and gone that my daughter has no right to her name." Then the tailor said that he would make further inquiry how that might be. He was inclined to think that there might be a decision which should be absolute, even though that decision should be reached by compromise between the now contending parties. Then the Countess had said her word about Daniel Thwaite the son, and Thomas Thwaite the father had heard it with ill-concealed anger. To fight against an Earl on behalf of the Earl's injured wife had been very sweet to him, but to be checked in his fight because he and his were unfit to associate with the child of that injured wife, was very bitter. And yet he had sense to know that what the Countess said to him was true. As far as words went, he admitted the truth; but his face was more eloquent than his words, and his face showed plainly his displeasure. "It is not of you that I am speaking," said the Countess, laying her hand upon the old man's sleeve. "Daniel is, at any rate, fitter than I," said the tailor. "He has been educated, and I never was." "He is as good as gold. It is not of that I speak. You know what I mean." "I know very well what you mean, Lady Lovel." "I have no friend like you, Mr. Thwaite;--none whom I love as I do you. And next to you is your son. For myself, there is nothing that I would not do for him or you;--no service, however menial, that I would not render you with my own hands. There is no limit to the gratitude which I owe you. But my girl is young, and if this burden of rank and wealth is to be hers,--it is proper that she do honour to it." "And it is not honourable that she should be seen speaking--to a tailor?" "Ah,--if you choose to take it so!" "How should I take it? What I say is true. And what you say is true also. I will speak to Daniel." But she knew well, as he left her, that his heart was bitter against her. The old man did speak to his son, sitting with him up in the bed-room over that which the Countess occupied. Old Thomas Thwaite was a strong man, but his son was in some respects stronger. As his father had said of him, he had been educated,--or rather instructed; and instruction leads to the power of thinking. He looked deeper into things than did his father, and was governed by wider and greater motives. His father had been a Radical all his life, guided thereto probably by some early training, and made steadfast in his creed by feelings which induced him to hate the pretensions of an assumed superiority. Old Thwaite could not endure to think that one man should be considered to be worthier than another because he was richer. He would admit the riches, and even the justice of the riches,--having been himself, during much of his life, a rich man in his own sphere; but would deny the worthiness; and would adduce, in proof of his creed, the unworthiness of certain exalted sinners. The career of the Earl Lovel had been to him a sure proof of the baseness of English aristocracy generally. He had dreams of a republic in which a tailor might be president or senator, or something almost noble. But no rational scheme of governance among mankind had ever entered his mind, and of pure politics he knew no more than the journeyman who sat stitching upon his board. But Daniel Thwaite was a thoughtful man who had read many books. More's Utopia and Harrington's Oceana, with many a tale written in the same spirit, had taught him to believe that a perfect form of government, or rather of policy, under which all men might be happy and satisfied, was practicable upon earth, and was to be achieved,--not merely by the slow amelioration of mankind under God's fostering ordinances,--but by the continued efforts of good and wise men who, by their goodness and wisdom, should be able to make the multitude believe in them. To diminish the distances, not only between the rich and the poor, but between the high and the low, was the grand political theory upon which his mind was always running. His father was ever thinking of himself and of Earl Lovel; while Daniel Thwaite was considering the injustice of the difference between ten thousand aristocrats and thirty million of people, who were for the most part ignorant and hungry. But it was not that he also had not thoughts of himself. Gradually he had come to learn that he need not have been a tailor's foreman in Wigmore Street had not his father spent on behalf of the Countess Lovel the means by which he, the son, might already have become a master tradesman. And yet he had never begrudged it. He had been as keen as his father in the cause. It had been the romance of his life, since his life had been capable of romance;--but with him it had been no respect for the rank to which his father was so anxious to restore the Countess, no value which he attached to the names claimed by the mother and the daughter. He hated the countess-ship of the Countess, and the ladyship of the Lady Anna. He would fain that they should have abandoned them. They were to him odious signs of iniquitous pretensions. But he was keen enough to punish and to remedy the wickedness of the wicked Earl. He reverenced his father because he assaulted the wicked Earl and struck him to the ground. He was heart and soul in the cause of the injured wife. And then the one thing on earth that was really dear to him was the Lady Anna. It had been the romance of his life. They had grown up together as playmates in Cumberland. He had fought scores of battles on her behalf with those who had denied that she was the Lady Anna,--even though he had then hated the title. Boys had jeered him because of his noble little sweetheart, and he had exulted at hearing her so called. His only sister and his mother had died when he was young, and there had been none in the house but his father and himself. As a boy he had ever been

number

How many times the word 'number' appears in the text?

Anna would have the entire property, except such portion as would be claimed of right by her mother, the widow. Thus the Italian woman and the young lord were combined in interest against the mother and daughter as regarded the marriage; and the young lord and the mother and daughter were combined against the Italian woman as regarded the will;--but the young lord had to act alone against the Italian woman, and against the mother and daughter whom he and his friends regarded as swindlers and impostors. It was for him to set aside the will in reference to the Italian woman, and then to stand the brunt of the assault made upon him by the soi-disant wife. In a very short time after the old Earl's death a double compromise was offered on behalf of the young Earl. The money at stake was immense. Would the Italian woman take 10,000, and go her way back to Italy, renouncing all further claim; and would the soi-disant Countess abandon her title, acknowledge her child to be illegitimate, and go her way with another 10,000;--or with 20,000, as was soon hinted by the gentlemen acting on the Earl's behalf? The proposition was one somewhat difficult in the making, as the compromise, if made with both, would be excellent, but could not be made to any good effect with one only. The young Earl certainly could not afford to buy off the Italian woman for 10,000, if the effect of such buying off would only be to place the whole of the late lord's wealth in the hands of his daughter and of his daughter's mother. The Italian woman consented. She declared with Italian energy that her late loving friend had never been a day insane; but she knew nothing of English laws, and but little of English money. She would take the 10,000,--having had a calculation made for her of the number of lire into which it would run. The number was enormous, and she would take the offer. But when the proposal was mentioned to the Countess, and explained to her by her old friend, Thomas Thwaite, who had now become a poor man in her cause, she repudiated it with bitter scorn,--with a scorn in which she almost included the old man who had made it to her. "Is it for that, that I have been fighting?" she said. "For that in part," said the old man. "No, Mr. Thwaite, not for that at all; but that my girl may have her birth allowed and her name acknowledged." "Her name shall be allowed and her birth shall be acknowledged," said the tailor, in whose heart there was nothing base. "She shall be the Lady Anna, and her mother shall be the Countess Lovel." The estate of the Countess, if she had an estate, then owed the tailor some five or six thousand pounds, and the compromise offered would have paid the tailor every shilling and have left a comfortable income for the two women. "For myself I care but little," said the mother, taking the tailor's hand in hers and kissing it. "My child is the Lady Anna, and I do not dare to barter away her rights." This took place down at the cottage in Cumberland, and the tailor at once went up to London to make known the decision of the Countess,--as he invariably called her. Then the lawyers went to work. As the double compromise could not be effected, the single compromise could not stand. The Italian woman raved and stamped, and swore that she must have her half million of lire. But of course no right to such a claim had been made good to her, and the lawyers on behalf of the young Earl went on with their work. Public sympathy as a matter of course went with the young Earl. As against the Italian woman he had with him every English man and woman. It was horrible to the minds of English men and English women that an old English Earldom should be starved in order that an Italian harlot might revel in untold riches. It was felt by most men and protested by all women that any sign of madness, be it what it might,--however insignificant,--should be held to be sufficient against such a claimant. Was not the fact that the man had made such a will in itself sufficient proof of his madness? There were not a few who protested that no further proof could be necessary. But with us the law is the same for an Italian harlot and an English widow; and it may well be that in its niceties it shall be found kinder to the former than to the latter. But the Earl had been mad, and the law said that he was mad when he had made his will,--and the Italian woman went away, raging, into obscurity. The Italian woman was conquered, and now the battle was open and free between the young Earl and the claimant Countess. Applications were made on behalf of the Countess for funds from the estate wherewith to prove the claim, and to a certain limited amount they were granted. Such had been the life of the late Earl that it was held that the cost of all litigation resulting from his misdeeds should be paid from his estate;--but ready money was wanted, immediate ready money, to be at the disposal of the Countess to any amount needed by her agent, and this was hardly to be obtained. By this time public sympathy ran almost entirely with the Earl. Though it was acknowledged that the late lord was mad, and though it had become a cause of rejoicing that the Italian woman had been sent away penniless, howling into obscurity, because of the old man's madness, still it was believed that he had written the truth when he declared that the marriage had been a mock marriage. It would be better for the English world that the young Earl should be a rich man, fit to do honour to his position, fit to marry the daughter of a duke, fit to carry on the glory of the English peerage, than that a woman, ill reputed in the world, should be established as a Countess, with a daughter dowered with tens of thousands, as to whom it was already said that she was in love with a tailor's son. Nothing could be more touching, more likely to awaken sympathy, than the manner in which Josephine Murray had been carried away in marriage, and then roughly told by the man who should have protected her from every harshly blowing wind of heaven, that he had deceived her and that she was not his wife. No usage to which woman had ever been subjected, as has been said before, was more adapted to elicit compassion and energetic aid. But nineteen years had now passed by since the deed was done, and the facts were forgotten. One energetic friend there still was,--or we may say two, the tailor and his son Daniel. But public belief ran against the Countess, and nobody who was anybody in the world would give her her title. Bets were laid, two and three to one against her; and it was believed that she was an impostor. The Earl had all the glory of success over his first opponent, and the loud boasting of self-confident barristers buoyed up his cause. But loud-boasting barristers may nevertheless be wise lawyers, and the question of a compromise was again mooted. If the lady would take thirty thousand pounds and vanish, she should have the money clear of deduction, and all expenses should be paid. The amount offered was thought to be very liberal, but it did not amount to the annual income that was at stake. It was rejected with scorn. Had it been quadrupled, it would have been rejected with equal scorn. The loud-boasting barristers were still confident; but--. Though it was never admitted in words still it was felt that there might be a doubt. What if the contending parties were to join forces, if the Countess-ship of the Countess were to be admitted, and the heiress-ship of the Lady Anna, and if the Earl and the Lady Anna were to be united in holy wedlock? Might there not be a safe solution from further difficulty in that way? CHAPTER III. LADY ANNA. The idea of this further compromise, of this something more than compromise, of this half acknowledgment of their own weakness, came from Mr. Flick, of the firm of Norton and Flick, the solicitors who were employed in substantiating the Earl's position. When Mr. Flick mentioned it to Sir William Patterson, the great barrister, who was at that time Solicitor-General and leading counsel on behalf of Lord Lovel, Sir William Patterson stood aghast and was dismayed. Sir William intended to make mince-meat of the Countess. It was said of him that he intended to cross-examine the Countess off her legs, right out of her claim, and almost into her grave. He certainly did believe her to be an impostor, who had not thought herself to be entitled to her name when she first assumed it. "I should be sorry, Mr. Flick, to be driven to think that anything of that kind could be expedient." "It would make sure of the fortune to the family," said Mr. Flick. "And what about our friend, the Countess?" "Let her call herself Countess Lovel, Sir William. That will break no bones. As to the formality of her own marriage, there can be no doubt about that." "We can prove by Grogram that she was told that another wife was living," said Sir William. Grogram was an old butler who had been in the old Earl's service for thirty years. "I believe we can, Sir William; but--. It is quite clear that we shall never get the other wife to come over and face an English jury. It is of no use blinking it. The gentleman whom we have sent over doubts her altogether. That there was a marriage is certain, but he fears that this woman is not the old Countess. There were two sisters, and it may be that this was the other sister." Sir William was a good deal dismayed, but he recovered himself. The stakes were so high that it was quite possible that the gentleman who had been sent over might have been induced to open his eyes to the possibility of such personation by overtures from the other side. Sir William was of opinion that Mr. Flick himself should go to Sicily. He was not sure that he, Sir William, her Majesty's Solicitor-General, would not make the journey in person. He was by no means disposed to give way. "They tell me that the girl is no better than she should be," he said to Mr. Flick. "I don't think so bad as that of her," said Mr. Flick. "Is she a lady,--or anything like a lady?" "I am told she is very beautiful." "I dare say;--and so was her mother before her. I never saw a handsomer woman of her age than our friend the Countess. But I could not recommend the young lord to marry an underbred, bad girl, and a bastard who claims to be his cousin,--and support my proposition merely on the ground of her looks." "Thirty-five thousand a year, Sir William!" pleaded the attorney. "I hope we can get the thirty-five thousand a year for our client without paying so dear for them." It had been presumed that the real Countess, the original Countess, the Italian lady whom the Earl had married in early life, would be brought over, with properly attested documentary evidence in her pocket, to prove that she was the existing Countess, and that any other Countess must be either an impostor or a deluded dupe. No doubt the old Earl had declared, when first informing Josephine Murray that she was not his wife, that his real wife had died during the few months which had intervened since his mock marriage; but it was acknowledged on all sides, that the old Earl had been a villain and a liar. It was no part of the duty of the young Earl, or of those who acted for him, to defend the character of the old Earl. To wash that blackamoor white, or even to make him whity-brown, was not necessary to anybody. No one was now concerned to account for his crooked courses. But if it could be shown that he had married the lady in Italy,--as to which there was no doubt,--and that the lady was still alive, or that she had been alive when the second marriage took place, then the Lady Anna could not inherit the property which had been freed from the grasp of the Italian mistress. But it seemed that the lady, if she lived, could not be made to come. Mr. Flick did go to Sicily, and came back renewing his advice to Sir William that Lord Lovel should be advised to marry the Lady Anna. At this time the Countess, with her daughter, had moved their residence from Keswick up to London, and was living in very humble lodgings in a small street turning out of the New Road, near the Yorkshire Stingo. Old Thomas Thwaite had accompanied them from Cumberland, but the rooms had been taken for them by his son, Daniel Thwaite, who was at this time foreman to a somewhat celebrated tailor who carried on his business in Wigmore Street; and he, Daniel Thwaite, had a bedroom in the house in which the Countess lodged. The arrangement was not a wise one, as reports had already been spread abroad as to the partiality of the Lady Anna for the young tailor. But how should she not have been partial both to the father and to the son, feeling as she did that they were the only two men who befriended her cause and her mother's? As to the Countess herself, she, perhaps, alone of all those who interested themselves in her daughter's cause, had heard no word of these insinuations against her child. To her both Thomas and Daniel Thwaite were dear friends, to repay whom for their exertions with lavish generosity,--should the means to do so ever come within her reach,--was one of the dreams of her existence. But she was an ambitious woman, thinking much of her rank, thinking much even of the blood of her own ancestors, constantly urgent with her daughter in teaching her the duties and privileges of wealth and rank. For the Countess never doubted that she would at last attain success. That the Lady Anna should throw herself away upon Daniel Thwaite did not occur to her as a possibility. She had not even dreamed that Daniel Thwaite would aspire to her daughter's hand. And yet every shop-boy and every shop-girl in Keswick had been so saying for the last twelvemonth, and rumours which had hitherto been confined to Keswick and its neighbourhood, were now common in London. For the case was becoming one of the celebrated causes of the age, and all the world was talking of the Countess and her daughter. No momentary suspicion had crossed the mind of the Countess till after their arrival in London; and then when the suspicion did touch her it was not love that she suspected,--but rather an unbecoming familiarity which she attributed to her child's ignorance of the great life which awaited her. "My dear," she said one day when Daniel Thwaite had left them, "you should be less free in your manner with that young man." "What do you mean, mamma?" said the daughter, blushing. "You had better call him Mr. Thwaite." "But I have called him Daniel ever since I was born." "He always calls you Lady Anna." "Sometimes he does, mamma." "I never heard him call you anything else," said the Countess, almost with indignation. "It is all very well for the old man, because he is an old man and has done so much for us." "So has Daniel;--quite as much, mamma. They have both done everything." "True; they have both been warm friends; and if ever I forget them may God forget me. I trust that we may both live to show them that they are not forgotten. But it is not fitting that there should exist between you and him the intimacy of equal positions. You are not and cannot be his equal. He has been born to be a tailor, and you are the daughter and heiress of an Earl." These last words were spoken in a tone that was almost awful to the Lady Anna. She had heard so much of her father's rank and her father's wealth,--rank and wealth which were always to be hers, but which had never as yet reached her, which had been a perpetual trouble to her, and a crushing weight upon her young life, that she had almost learned to hate the title and the claim. Of course it was a part of the religion of her life that her mother had been duly married to her father. It was beyond a doubt to her that such was the case. But the constant battling for denied rights, the assumption of a position which could not be attained, the use of titles which were simply ridiculous in themselves as connected with the kind of life which she was obliged to lead,--these things had all become odious to her. She lacked the ambition which gave her mother strength, and would gladly have become Anna Murray or Anna Lovel, with a girl's ordinary privilege of loving her lover, had such an easy life been possible to her. In person she was very lovely, less tall and robust than her mother had been, but with a sweeter, softer face. Her hair was less dark, and her eyes were neither blue nor bold. But they were bright and soft and very eloquent, and when laden with tears would have softened the heart,--almost of her father. She was as yet less powerful than her mother, both in body and mind, but probably better calculated to make a happy home for a husband and children. She was affectionate, self-denying, and feminine. Had that offer of compromise for thirty, twenty, or for ten thousand pounds been made to her, she would have accepted it willingly,--caring little for her name, little even for fame, so that she might have been happy and quiet, and at liberty to think of a lover as are other girls. In her present condition, how could she have any happy love? She was the Lady Anna Lovel, heir to a ducal fortune,--but she lived in small close lodgings in Wyndham Street, New Road. She did not believe in the good time coming as did her mother. Their enemy was an undoubted Earl, undoubtedly owner of Lovel Grange of which she had heard all her life. Would it not be better to take what the young lord chose to give them and to be at rest? But she did not dare to express such thoughts to her mother. Her mother would have crushed her with a look. "I have told Mr. Thwaite," the mother said to her daughter, "what we were saying this morning." "About his son?" "Yes,--about his son." "Oh, mamma!" "I was bound to do so." "And what did he say, mamma?" "He did not like it, and told me that he did not like it;--but he admitted that it was true. He admitted that his son was no fitting intimate for Lady Anna Lovel." "What should we have done without him?" "Badly indeed; but that cannot change his duty, or ours. He is helping us to struggle for that which is our own; but he would mar his generosity if he put a taint on that which he is endeavouring to restore to us." "Put a taint, mamma!" "Yes;--a taint would rest upon your rank if you as Lady Anna Lovel were familiar with Daniel Thwaite as with an equal. His father understands it, and will speak to him." "Mamma, Daniel will be very angry." "Then will he be very unreasonable;--but, Anna, I will not have you call him Daniel any more." CHAPTER IV. THE TAILOR OF KESWICK. Old Thomas Thwaite was at this time up in London about the business of the Countess, but had no intention of residing there. He still kept his shop in Keswick, and still made coats and trousers for Cumberland statesmen. He was by no means in a condition to retire from business, having spent the savings of his life in the cause of the Countess and her daughter. Men had told him that, had he not struck the Earl in the yard of the Crown at Keswick, as horses were being brought out for the lord's travelling carriage, ample provision would have been made by the rich old sinner for his daughter. That might have been so, or might not, but the saying instigated the tailor to further zeal and increased generosity. To oppose an Earl, even though it might be on behalf of a Countess, was a joy to him; to set wrong right, and to put down cruelty and to relieve distressed women was the pride of his heart,--especially when his efforts were made in antagonism to one of high rank. And he was a man who would certainly be thorough in his work, though his thoroughness should be ruinous to himself. He had despised the Murrays, who ought to have stuck to their distant cousin, and had exulted in his heart at thinking that the world would say how much better and truer had been the Keswick tailor than the well-born and comparatively wealthy Scotch relations. And the poets of the lakes, who had not as yet become altogether Tories, had taken him by the hand and praised him. The rights of the Countess and the wrongs of the Countess had become his life. But he still kept on a diminished business in the north, and it was now needful that he should return to Cumberland. He had heard that renewed offers of compromise were to be made,--though no idea of the proposed marriage between the distant cousins had been suggested to him. He had been discussing the question of some compromise with the Countess when she spoke to him respecting his son; and had recommended that certain terms should, if possible, be effected. Let the money be divided, on condition that the marriage were allowed. There could be no difficulty in this if the young lord would accede to such an arrangement, as the marriage must be acknowledged unless an adverse party should bring home proof from Italy to the contrary. The sufficiency of the ceremony in Applethwaite Church was incontestable. Let the money be divided, and the Countess be Countess Lovel, and Lady Anna be the Lady Anna to all the world. Old Thomas Thwaite himself had seemed to think that there would be enough of triumph in such a settlement. "But the woman might afterwards be bribed to come over and renew her claim," said the Countess. "Unless it be absolutely settled now, they will say when I am dead and gone that my daughter has no right to her name." Then the tailor said that he would make further inquiry how that might be. He was inclined to think that there might be a decision which should be absolute, even though that decision should be reached by compromise between the now contending parties. Then the Countess had said her word about Daniel Thwaite the son, and Thomas Thwaite the father had heard it with ill-concealed anger. To fight against an Earl on behalf of the Earl's injured wife had been very sweet to him, but to be checked in his fight because he and his were unfit to associate with the child of that injured wife, was very bitter. And yet he had sense to know that what the Countess said to him was true. As far as words went, he admitted the truth; but his face was more eloquent than his words, and his face showed plainly his displeasure. "It is not of you that I am speaking," said the Countess, laying her hand upon the old man's sleeve. "Daniel is, at any rate, fitter than I," said the tailor. "He has been educated, and I never was." "He is as good as gold. It is not of that I speak. You know what I mean." "I know very well what you mean, Lady Lovel." "I have no friend like you, Mr. Thwaite;--none whom I love as I do you. And next to you is your son. For myself, there is nothing that I would not do for him or you;--no service, however menial, that I would not render you with my own hands. There is no limit to the gratitude which I owe you. But my girl is young, and if this burden of rank and wealth is to be hers,--it is proper that she do honour to it." "And it is not honourable that she should be seen speaking--to a tailor?" "Ah,--if you choose to take it so!" "How should I take it? What I say is true. And what you say is true also. I will speak to Daniel." But she knew well, as he left her, that his heart was bitter against her. The old man did speak to his son, sitting with him up in the bed-room over that which the Countess occupied. Old Thomas Thwaite was a strong man, but his son was in some respects stronger. As his father had said of him, he had been educated,--or rather instructed; and instruction leads to the power of thinking. He looked deeper into things than did his father, and was governed by wider and greater motives. His father had been a Radical all his life, guided thereto probably by some early training, and made steadfast in his creed by feelings which induced him to hate the pretensions of an assumed superiority. Old Thwaite could not endure to think that one man should be considered to be worthier than another because he was richer. He would admit the riches, and even the justice of the riches,--having been himself, during much of his life, a rich man in his own sphere; but would deny the worthiness; and would adduce, in proof of his creed, the unworthiness of certain exalted sinners. The career of the Earl Lovel had been to him a sure proof of the baseness of English aristocracy generally. He had dreams of a republic in which a tailor might be president or senator, or something almost noble. But no rational scheme of governance among mankind had ever entered his mind, and of pure politics he knew no more than the journeyman who sat stitching upon his board. But Daniel Thwaite was a thoughtful man who had read many books. More's Utopia and Harrington's Oceana, with many a tale written in the same spirit, had taught him to believe that a perfect form of government, or rather of policy, under which all men might be happy and satisfied, was practicable upon earth, and was to be achieved,--not merely by the slow amelioration of mankind under God's fostering ordinances,--but by the continued efforts of good and wise men who, by their goodness and wisdom, should be able to make the multitude believe in them. To diminish the distances, not only between the rich and the poor, but between the high and the low, was the grand political theory upon which his mind was always running. His father was ever thinking of himself and of Earl Lovel; while Daniel Thwaite was considering the injustice of the difference between ten thousand aristocrats and thirty million of people, who were for the most part ignorant and hungry. But it was not that he also had not thoughts of himself. Gradually he had come to learn that he need not have been a tailor's foreman in Wigmore Street had not his father spent on behalf of the Countess Lovel the means by which he, the son, might already have become a master tradesman. And yet he had never begrudged it. He had been as keen as his father in the cause. It had been the romance of his life, since his life had been capable of romance;--but with him it had been no respect for the rank to which his father was so anxious to restore the Countess, no value which he attached to the names claimed by the mother and the daughter. He hated the countess-ship of the Countess, and the ladyship of the Lady Anna. He would fain that they should have abandoned them. They were to him odious signs of iniquitous pretensions. But he was keen enough to punish and to remedy the wickedness of the wicked Earl. He reverenced his father because he assaulted the wicked Earl and struck him to the ground. He was heart and soul in the cause of the injured wife. And then the one thing on earth that was really dear to him was the Lady Anna. It had been the romance of his life. They had grown up together as playmates in Cumberland. He had fought scores of battles on her behalf with those who had denied that she was the Lady Anna,--even though he had then hated the title. Boys had jeered him because of his noble little sweetheart, and he had exulted at hearing her so called. His only sister and his mother had died when he was young, and there had been none in the house but his father and himself. As a boy he had ever been

dowered

How many times the word 'dowered' appears in the text?

Anna would have the entire property, except such portion as would be claimed of right by her mother, the widow. Thus the Italian woman and the young lord were combined in interest against the mother and daughter as regarded the marriage; and the young lord and the mother and daughter were combined against the Italian woman as regarded the will;--but the young lord had to act alone against the Italian woman, and against the mother and daughter whom he and his friends regarded as swindlers and impostors. It was for him to set aside the will in reference to the Italian woman, and then to stand the brunt of the assault made upon him by the soi-disant wife. In a very short time after the old Earl's death a double compromise was offered on behalf of the young Earl. The money at stake was immense. Would the Italian woman take 10,000, and go her way back to Italy, renouncing all further claim; and would the soi-disant Countess abandon her title, acknowledge her child to be illegitimate, and go her way with another 10,000;--or with 20,000, as was soon hinted by the gentlemen acting on the Earl's behalf? The proposition was one somewhat difficult in the making, as the compromise, if made with both, would be excellent, but could not be made to any good effect with one only. The young Earl certainly could not afford to buy off the Italian woman for 10,000, if the effect of such buying off would only be to place the whole of the late lord's wealth in the hands of his daughter and of his daughter's mother. The Italian woman consented. She declared with Italian energy that her late loving friend had never been a day insane; but she knew nothing of English laws, and but little of English money. She would take the 10,000,--having had a calculation made for her of the number of lire into which it would run. The number was enormous, and she would take the offer. But when the proposal was mentioned to the Countess, and explained to her by her old friend, Thomas Thwaite, who had now become a poor man in her cause, she repudiated it with bitter scorn,--with a scorn in which she almost included the old man who had made it to her. "Is it for that, that I have been fighting?" she said. "For that in part," said the old man. "No, Mr. Thwaite, not for that at all; but that my girl may have her birth allowed and her name acknowledged." "Her name shall be allowed and her birth shall be acknowledged," said the tailor, in whose heart there was nothing base. "She shall be the Lady Anna, and her mother shall be the Countess Lovel." The estate of the Countess, if she had an estate, then owed the tailor some five or six thousand pounds, and the compromise offered would have paid the tailor every shilling and have left a comfortable income for the two women. "For myself I care but little," said the mother, taking the tailor's hand in hers and kissing it. "My child is the Lady Anna, and I do not dare to barter away her rights." This took place down at the cottage in Cumberland, and the tailor at once went up to London to make known the decision of the Countess,--as he invariably called her. Then the lawyers went to work. As the double compromise could not be effected, the single compromise could not stand. The Italian woman raved and stamped, and swore that she must have her half million of lire. But of course no right to such a claim had been made good to her, and the lawyers on behalf of the young Earl went on with their work. Public sympathy as a matter of course went with the young Earl. As against the Italian woman he had with him every English man and woman. It was horrible to the minds of English men and English women that an old English Earldom should be starved in order that an Italian harlot might revel in untold riches. It was felt by most men and protested by all women that any sign of madness, be it what it might,--however insignificant,--should be held to be sufficient against such a claimant. Was not the fact that the man had made such a will in itself sufficient proof of his madness? There were not a few who protested that no further proof could be necessary. But with us the law is the same for an Italian harlot and an English widow; and it may well be that in its niceties it shall be found kinder to the former than to the latter. But the Earl had been mad, and the law said that he was mad when he had made his will,--and the Italian woman went away, raging, into obscurity. The Italian woman was conquered, and now the battle was open and free between the young Earl and the claimant Countess. Applications were made on behalf of the Countess for funds from the estate wherewith to prove the claim, and to a certain limited amount they were granted. Such had been the life of the late Earl that it was held that the cost of all litigation resulting from his misdeeds should be paid from his estate;--but ready money was wanted, immediate ready money, to be at the disposal of the Countess to any amount needed by her agent, and this was hardly to be obtained. By this time public sympathy ran almost entirely with the Earl. Though it was acknowledged that the late lord was mad, and though it had become a cause of rejoicing that the Italian woman had been sent away penniless, howling into obscurity, because of the old man's madness, still it was believed that he had written the truth when he declared that the marriage had been a mock marriage. It would be better for the English world that the young Earl should be a rich man, fit to do honour to his position, fit to marry the daughter of a duke, fit to carry on the glory of the English peerage, than that a woman, ill reputed in the world, should be established as a Countess, with a daughter dowered with tens of thousands, as to whom it was already said that she was in love with a tailor's son. Nothing could be more touching, more likely to awaken sympathy, than the manner in which Josephine Murray had been carried away in marriage, and then roughly told by the man who should have protected her from every harshly blowing wind of heaven, that he had deceived her and that she was not his wife. No usage to which woman had ever been subjected, as has been said before, was more adapted to elicit compassion and energetic aid. But nineteen years had now passed by since the deed was done, and the facts were forgotten. One energetic friend there still was,--or we may say two, the tailor and his son Daniel. But public belief ran against the Countess, and nobody who was anybody in the world would give her her title. Bets were laid, two and three to one against her; and it was believed that she was an impostor. The Earl had all the glory of success over his first opponent, and the loud boasting of self-confident barristers buoyed up his cause. But loud-boasting barristers may nevertheless be wise lawyers, and the question of a compromise was again mooted. If the lady would take thirty thousand pounds and vanish, she should have the money clear of deduction, and all expenses should be paid. The amount offered was thought to be very liberal, but it did not amount to the annual income that was at stake. It was rejected with scorn. Had it been quadrupled, it would have been rejected with equal scorn. The loud-boasting barristers were still confident; but--. Though it was never admitted in words still it was felt that there might be a doubt. What if the contending parties were to join forces, if the Countess-ship of the Countess were to be admitted, and the heiress-ship of the Lady Anna, and if the Earl and the Lady Anna were to be united in holy wedlock? Might there not be a safe solution from further difficulty in that way? CHAPTER III. LADY ANNA. The idea of this further compromise, of this something more than compromise, of this half acknowledgment of their own weakness, came from Mr. Flick, of the firm of Norton and Flick, the solicitors who were employed in substantiating the Earl's position. When Mr. Flick mentioned it to Sir William Patterson, the great barrister, who was at that time Solicitor-General and leading counsel on behalf of Lord Lovel, Sir William Patterson stood aghast and was dismayed. Sir William intended to make mince-meat of the Countess. It was said of him that he intended to cross-examine the Countess off her legs, right out of her claim, and almost into her grave. He certainly did believe her to be an impostor, who had not thought herself to be entitled to her name when she first assumed it. "I should be sorry, Mr. Flick, to be driven to think that anything of that kind could be expedient." "It would make sure of the fortune to the family," said Mr. Flick. "And what about our friend, the Countess?" "Let her call herself Countess Lovel, Sir William. That will break no bones. As to the formality of her own marriage, there can be no doubt about that." "We can prove by Grogram that she was told that another wife was living," said Sir William. Grogram was an old butler who had been in the old Earl's service for thirty years. "I believe we can, Sir William; but--. It is quite clear that we shall never get the other wife to come over and face an English jury. It is of no use blinking it. The gentleman whom we have sent over doubts her altogether. That there was a marriage is certain, but he fears that this woman is not the old Countess. There were two sisters, and it may be that this was the other sister." Sir William was a good deal dismayed, but he recovered himself. The stakes were so high that it was quite possible that the gentleman who had been sent over might have been induced to open his eyes to the possibility of such personation by overtures from the other side. Sir William was of opinion that Mr. Flick himself should go to Sicily. He was not sure that he, Sir William, her Majesty's Solicitor-General, would not make the journey in person. He was by no means disposed to give way. "They tell me that the girl is no better than she should be," he said to Mr. Flick. "I don't think so bad as that of her," said Mr. Flick. "Is she a lady,--or anything like a lady?" "I am told she is very beautiful." "I dare say;--and so was her mother before her. I never saw a handsomer woman of her age than our friend the Countess. But I could not recommend the young lord to marry an underbred, bad girl, and a bastard who claims to be his cousin,--and support my proposition merely on the ground of her looks." "Thirty-five thousand a year, Sir William!" pleaded the attorney. "I hope we can get the thirty-five thousand a year for our client without paying so dear for them." It had been presumed that the real Countess, the original Countess, the Italian lady whom the Earl had married in early life, would be brought over, with properly attested documentary evidence in her pocket, to prove that she was the existing Countess, and that any other Countess must be either an impostor or a deluded dupe. No doubt the old Earl had declared, when first informing Josephine Murray that she was not his wife, that his real wife had died during the few months which had intervened since his mock marriage; but it was acknowledged on all sides, that the old Earl had been a villain and a liar. It was no part of the duty of the young Earl, or of those who acted for him, to defend the character of the old Earl. To wash that blackamoor white, or even to make him whity-brown, was not necessary to anybody. No one was now concerned to account for his crooked courses. But if it could be shown that he had married the lady in Italy,--as to which there was no doubt,--and that the lady was still alive, or that she had been alive when the second marriage took place, then the Lady Anna could not inherit the property which had been freed from the grasp of the Italian mistress. But it seemed that the lady, if she lived, could not be made to come. Mr. Flick did go to Sicily, and came back renewing his advice to Sir William that Lord Lovel should be advised to marry the Lady Anna. At this time the Countess, with her daughter, had moved their residence from Keswick up to London, and was living in very humble lodgings in a small street turning out of the New Road, near the Yorkshire Stingo. Old Thomas Thwaite had accompanied them from Cumberland, but the rooms had been taken for them by his son, Daniel Thwaite, who was at this time foreman to a somewhat celebrated tailor who carried on his business in Wigmore Street; and he, Daniel Thwaite, had a bedroom in the house in which the Countess lodged. The arrangement was not a wise one, as reports had already been spread abroad as to the partiality of the Lady Anna for the young tailor. But how should she not have been partial both to the father and to the son, feeling as she did that they were the only two men who befriended her cause and her mother's? As to the Countess herself, she, perhaps, alone of all those who interested themselves in her daughter's cause, had heard no word of these insinuations against her child. To her both Thomas and Daniel Thwaite were dear friends, to repay whom for their exertions with lavish generosity,--should the means to do so ever come within her reach,--was one of the dreams of her existence. But she was an ambitious woman, thinking much of her rank, thinking much even of the blood of her own ancestors, constantly urgent with her daughter in teaching her the duties and privileges of wealth and rank. For the Countess never doubted that she would at last attain success. That the Lady Anna should throw herself away upon Daniel Thwaite did not occur to her as a possibility. She had not even dreamed that Daniel Thwaite would aspire to her daughter's hand. And yet every shop-boy and every shop-girl in Keswick had been so saying for the last twelvemonth, and rumours which had hitherto been confined to Keswick and its neighbourhood, were now common in London. For the case was becoming one of the celebrated causes of the age, and all the world was talking of the Countess and her daughter. No momentary suspicion had crossed the mind of the Countess till after their arrival in London; and then when the suspicion did touch her it was not love that she suspected,--but rather an unbecoming familiarity which she attributed to her child's ignorance of the great life which awaited her. "My dear," she said one day when Daniel Thwaite had left them, "you should be less free in your manner with that young man." "What do you mean, mamma?" said the daughter, blushing. "You had better call him Mr. Thwaite." "But I have called him Daniel ever since I was born." "He always calls you Lady Anna." "Sometimes he does, mamma." "I never heard him call you anything else," said the Countess, almost with indignation. "It is all very well for the old man, because he is an old man and has done so much for us." "So has Daniel;--quite as much, mamma. They have both done everything." "True; they have both been warm friends; and if ever I forget them may God forget me. I trust that we may both live to show them that they are not forgotten. But it is not fitting that there should exist between you and him the intimacy of equal positions. You are not and cannot be his equal. He has been born to be a tailor, and you are the daughter and heiress of an Earl." These last words were spoken in a tone that was almost awful to the Lady Anna. She had heard so much of her father's rank and her father's wealth,--rank and wealth which were always to be hers, but which had never as yet reached her, which had been a perpetual trouble to her, and a crushing weight upon her young life, that she had almost learned to hate the title and the claim. Of course it was a part of the religion of her life that her mother had been duly married to her father. It was beyond a doubt to her that such was the case. But the constant battling for denied rights, the assumption of a position which could not be attained, the use of titles which were simply ridiculous in themselves as connected with the kind of life which she was obliged to lead,--these things had all become odious to her. She lacked the ambition which gave her mother strength, and would gladly have become Anna Murray or Anna Lovel, with a girl's ordinary privilege of loving her lover, had such an easy life been possible to her. In person she was very lovely, less tall and robust than her mother had been, but with a sweeter, softer face. Her hair was less dark, and her eyes were neither blue nor bold. But they were bright and soft and very eloquent, and when laden with tears would have softened the heart,--almost of her father. She was as yet less powerful than her mother, both in body and mind, but probably better calculated to make a happy home for a husband and children. She was affectionate, self-denying, and feminine. Had that offer of compromise for thirty, twenty, or for ten thousand pounds been made to her, she would have accepted it willingly,--caring little for her name, little even for fame, so that she might have been happy and quiet, and at liberty to think of a lover as are other girls. In her present condition, how could she have any happy love? She was the Lady Anna Lovel, heir to a ducal fortune,--but she lived in small close lodgings in Wyndham Street, New Road. She did not believe in the good time coming as did her mother. Their enemy was an undoubted Earl, undoubtedly owner of Lovel Grange of which she had heard all her life. Would it not be better to take what the young lord chose to give them and to be at rest? But she did not dare to express such thoughts to her mother. Her mother would have crushed her with a look. "I have told Mr. Thwaite," the mother said to her daughter, "what we were saying this morning." "About his son?" "Yes,--about his son." "Oh, mamma!" "I was bound to do so." "And what did he say, mamma?" "He did not like it, and told me that he did not like it;--but he admitted that it was true. He admitted that his son was no fitting intimate for Lady Anna Lovel." "What should we have done without him?" "Badly indeed; but that cannot change his duty, or ours. He is helping us to struggle for that which is our own; but he would mar his generosity if he put a taint on that which he is endeavouring to restore to us." "Put a taint, mamma!" "Yes;--a taint would rest upon your rank if you as Lady Anna Lovel were familiar with Daniel Thwaite as with an equal. His father understands it, and will speak to him." "Mamma, Daniel will be very angry." "Then will he be very unreasonable;--but, Anna, I will not have you call him Daniel any more." CHAPTER IV. THE TAILOR OF KESWICK. Old Thomas Thwaite was at this time up in London about the business of the Countess, but had no intention of residing there. He still kept his shop in Keswick, and still made coats and trousers for Cumberland statesmen. He was by no means in a condition to retire from business, having spent the savings of his life in the cause of the Countess and her daughter. Men had told him that, had he not struck the Earl in the yard of the Crown at Keswick, as horses were being brought out for the lord's travelling carriage, ample provision would have been made by the rich old sinner for his daughter. That might have been so, or might not, but the saying instigated the tailor to further zeal and increased generosity. To oppose an Earl, even though it might be on behalf of a Countess, was a joy to him; to set wrong right, and to put down cruelty and to relieve distressed women was the pride of his heart,--especially when his efforts were made in antagonism to one of high rank. And he was a man who would certainly be thorough in his work, though his thoroughness should be ruinous to himself. He had despised the Murrays, who ought to have stuck to their distant cousin, and had exulted in his heart at thinking that the world would say how much better and truer had been the Keswick tailor than the well-born and comparatively wealthy Scotch relations. And the poets of the lakes, who had not as yet become altogether Tories, had taken him by the hand and praised him. The rights of the Countess and the wrongs of the Countess had become his life. But he still kept on a diminished business in the north, and it was now needful that he should return to Cumberland. He had heard that renewed offers of compromise were to be made,--though no idea of the proposed marriage between the distant cousins had been suggested to him. He had been discussing the question of some compromise with the Countess when she spoke to him respecting his son; and had recommended that certain terms should, if possible, be effected. Let the money be divided, on condition that the marriage were allowed. There could be no difficulty in this if the young lord would accede to such an arrangement, as the marriage must be acknowledged unless an adverse party should bring home proof from Italy to the contrary. The sufficiency of the ceremony in Applethwaite Church was incontestable. Let the money be divided, and the Countess be Countess Lovel, and Lady Anna be the Lady Anna to all the world. Old Thomas Thwaite himself had seemed to think that there would be enough of triumph in such a settlement. "But the woman might afterwards be bribed to come over and renew her claim," said the Countess. "Unless it be absolutely settled now, they will say when I am dead and gone that my daughter has no right to her name." Then the tailor said that he would make further inquiry how that might be. He was inclined to think that there might be a decision which should be absolute, even though that decision should be reached by compromise between the now contending parties. Then the Countess had said her word about Daniel Thwaite the son, and Thomas Thwaite the father had heard it with ill-concealed anger. To fight against an Earl on behalf of the Earl's injured wife had been very sweet to him, but to be checked in his fight because he and his were unfit to associate with the child of that injured wife, was very bitter. And yet he had sense to know that what the Countess said to him was true. As far as words went, he admitted the truth; but his face was more eloquent than his words, and his face showed plainly his displeasure. "It is not of you that I am speaking," said the Countess, laying her hand upon the old man's sleeve. "Daniel is, at any rate, fitter than I," said the tailor. "He has been educated, and I never was." "He is as good as gold. It is not of that I speak. You know what I mean." "I know very well what you mean, Lady Lovel." "I have no friend like you, Mr. Thwaite;--none whom I love as I do you. And next to you is your son. For myself, there is nothing that I would not do for him or you;--no service, however menial, that I would not render you with my own hands. There is no limit to the gratitude which I owe you. But my girl is young, and if this burden of rank and wealth is to be hers,--it is proper that she do honour to it." "And it is not honourable that she should be seen speaking--to a tailor?" "Ah,--if you choose to take it so!" "How should I take it? What I say is true. And what you say is true also. I will speak to Daniel." But she knew well, as he left her, that his heart was bitter against her. The old man did speak to his son, sitting with him up in the bed-room over that which the Countess occupied. Old Thomas Thwaite was a strong man, but his son was in some respects stronger. As his father had said of him, he had been educated,--or rather instructed; and instruction leads to the power of thinking. He looked deeper into things than did his father, and was governed by wider and greater motives. His father had been a Radical all his life, guided thereto probably by some early training, and made steadfast in his creed by feelings which induced him to hate the pretensions of an assumed superiority. Old Thwaite could not endure to think that one man should be considered to be worthier than another because he was richer. He would admit the riches, and even the justice of the riches,--having been himself, during much of his life, a rich man in his own sphere; but would deny the worthiness; and would adduce, in proof of his creed, the unworthiness of certain exalted sinners. The career of the Earl Lovel had been to him a sure proof of the baseness of English aristocracy generally. He had dreams of a republic in which a tailor might be president or senator, or something almost noble. But no rational scheme of governance among mankind had ever entered his mind, and of pure politics he knew no more than the journeyman who sat stitching upon his board. But Daniel Thwaite was a thoughtful man who had read many books. More's Utopia and Harrington's Oceana, with many a tale written in the same spirit, had taught him to believe that a perfect form of government, or rather of policy, under which all men might be happy and satisfied, was practicable upon earth, and was to be achieved,--not merely by the slow amelioration of mankind under God's fostering ordinances,--but by the continued efforts of good and wise men who, by their goodness and wisdom, should be able to make the multitude believe in them. To diminish the distances, not only between the rich and the poor, but between the high and the low, was the grand political theory upon which his mind was always running. His father was ever thinking of himself and of Earl Lovel; while Daniel Thwaite was considering the injustice of the difference between ten thousand aristocrats and thirty million of people, who were for the most part ignorant and hungry. But it was not that he also had not thoughts of himself. Gradually he had come to learn that he need not have been a tailor's foreman in Wigmore Street had not his father spent on behalf of the Countess Lovel the means by which he, the son, might already have become a master tradesman. And yet he had never begrudged it. He had been as keen as his father in the cause. It had been the romance of his life, since his life had been capable of romance;--but with him it had been no respect for the rank to which his father was so anxious to restore the Countess, no value which he attached to the names claimed by the mother and the daughter. He hated the countess-ship of the Countess, and the ladyship of the Lady Anna. He would fain that they should have abandoned them. They were to him odious signs of iniquitous pretensions. But he was keen enough to punish and to remedy the wickedness of the wicked Earl. He reverenced his father because he assaulted the wicked Earl and struck him to the ground. He was heart and soul in the cause of the injured wife. And then the one thing on earth that was really dear to him was the Lady Anna. It had been the romance of his life. They had grown up together as playmates in Cumberland. He had fought scores of battles on her behalf with those who had denied that she was the Lady Anna,--even though he had then hated the title. Boys had jeered him because of his noble little sweetheart, and he had exulted at hearing her so called. His only sister and his mother had died when he was young, and there had been none in the house but his father and himself. As a boy he had ever been

madness

How many times the word 'madness' appears in the text?

Anna would have the entire property, except such portion as would be claimed of right by her mother, the widow. Thus the Italian woman and the young lord were combined in interest against the mother and daughter as regarded the marriage; and the young lord and the mother and daughter were combined against the Italian woman as regarded the will;--but the young lord had to act alone against the Italian woman, and against the mother and daughter whom he and his friends regarded as swindlers and impostors. It was for him to set aside the will in reference to the Italian woman, and then to stand the brunt of the assault made upon him by the soi-disant wife. In a very short time after the old Earl's death a double compromise was offered on behalf of the young Earl. The money at stake was immense. Would the Italian woman take 10,000, and go her way back to Italy, renouncing all further claim; and would the soi-disant Countess abandon her title, acknowledge her child to be illegitimate, and go her way with another 10,000;--or with 20,000, as was soon hinted by the gentlemen acting on the Earl's behalf? The proposition was one somewhat difficult in the making, as the compromise, if made with both, would be excellent, but could not be made to any good effect with one only. The young Earl certainly could not afford to buy off the Italian woman for 10,000, if the effect of such buying off would only be to place the whole of the late lord's wealth in the hands of his daughter and of his daughter's mother. The Italian woman consented. She declared with Italian energy that her late loving friend had never been a day insane; but she knew nothing of English laws, and but little of English money. She would take the 10,000,--having had a calculation made for her of the number of lire into which it would run. The number was enormous, and she would take the offer. But when the proposal was mentioned to the Countess, and explained to her by her old friend, Thomas Thwaite, who had now become a poor man in her cause, she repudiated it with bitter scorn,--with a scorn in which she almost included the old man who had made it to her. "Is it for that, that I have been fighting?" she said. "For that in part," said the old man. "No, Mr. Thwaite, not for that at all; but that my girl may have her birth allowed and her name acknowledged." "Her name shall be allowed and her birth shall be acknowledged," said the tailor, in whose heart there was nothing base. "She shall be the Lady Anna, and her mother shall be the Countess Lovel." The estate of the Countess, if she had an estate, then owed the tailor some five or six thousand pounds, and the compromise offered would have paid the tailor every shilling and have left a comfortable income for the two women. "For myself I care but little," said the mother, taking the tailor's hand in hers and kissing it. "My child is the Lady Anna, and I do not dare to barter away her rights." This took place down at the cottage in Cumberland, and the tailor at once went up to London to make known the decision of the Countess,--as he invariably called her. Then the lawyers went to work. As the double compromise could not be effected, the single compromise could not stand. The Italian woman raved and stamped, and swore that she must have her half million of lire. But of course no right to such a claim had been made good to her, and the lawyers on behalf of the young Earl went on with their work. Public sympathy as a matter of course went with the young Earl. As against the Italian woman he had with him every English man and woman. It was horrible to the minds of English men and English women that an old English Earldom should be starved in order that an Italian harlot might revel in untold riches. It was felt by most men and protested by all women that any sign of madness, be it what it might,--however insignificant,--should be held to be sufficient against such a claimant. Was not the fact that the man had made such a will in itself sufficient proof of his madness? There were not a few who protested that no further proof could be necessary. But with us the law is the same for an Italian harlot and an English widow; and it may well be that in its niceties it shall be found kinder to the former than to the latter. But the Earl had been mad, and the law said that he was mad when he had made his will,--and the Italian woman went away, raging, into obscurity. The Italian woman was conquered, and now the battle was open and free between the young Earl and the claimant Countess. Applications were made on behalf of the Countess for funds from the estate wherewith to prove the claim, and to a certain limited amount they were granted. Such had been the life of the late Earl that it was held that the cost of all litigation resulting from his misdeeds should be paid from his estate;--but ready money was wanted, immediate ready money, to be at the disposal of the Countess to any amount needed by her agent, and this was hardly to be obtained. By this time public sympathy ran almost entirely with the Earl. Though it was acknowledged that the late lord was mad, and though it had become a cause of rejoicing that the Italian woman had been sent away penniless, howling into obscurity, because of the old man's madness, still it was believed that he had written the truth when he declared that the marriage had been a mock marriage. It would be better for the English world that the young Earl should be a rich man, fit to do honour to his position, fit to marry the daughter of a duke, fit to carry on the glory of the English peerage, than that a woman, ill reputed in the world, should be established as a Countess, with a daughter dowered with tens of thousands, as to whom it was already said that she was in love with a tailor's son. Nothing could be more touching, more likely to awaken sympathy, than the manner in which Josephine Murray had been carried away in marriage, and then roughly told by the man who should have protected her from every harshly blowing wind of heaven, that he had deceived her and that she was not his wife. No usage to which woman had ever been subjected, as has been said before, was more adapted to elicit compassion and energetic aid. But nineteen years had now passed by since the deed was done, and the facts were forgotten. One energetic friend there still was,--or we may say two, the tailor and his son Daniel. But public belief ran against the Countess, and nobody who was anybody in the world would give her her title. Bets were laid, two and three to one against her; and it was believed that she was an impostor. The Earl had all the glory of success over his first opponent, and the loud boasting of self-confident barristers buoyed up his cause. But loud-boasting barristers may nevertheless be wise lawyers, and the question of a compromise was again mooted. If the lady would take thirty thousand pounds and vanish, she should have the money clear of deduction, and all expenses should be paid. The amount offered was thought to be very liberal, but it did not amount to the annual income that was at stake. It was rejected with scorn. Had it been quadrupled, it would have been rejected with equal scorn. The loud-boasting barristers were still confident; but--. Though it was never admitted in words still it was felt that there might be a doubt. What if the contending parties were to join forces, if the Countess-ship of the Countess were to be admitted, and the heiress-ship of the Lady Anna, and if the Earl and the Lady Anna were to be united in holy wedlock? Might there not be a safe solution from further difficulty in that way? CHAPTER III. LADY ANNA. The idea of this further compromise, of this something more than compromise, of this half acknowledgment of their own weakness, came from Mr. Flick, of the firm of Norton and Flick, the solicitors who were employed in substantiating the Earl's position. When Mr. Flick mentioned it to Sir William Patterson, the great barrister, who was at that time Solicitor-General and leading counsel on behalf of Lord Lovel, Sir William Patterson stood aghast and was dismayed. Sir William intended to make mince-meat of the Countess. It was said of him that he intended to cross-examine the Countess off her legs, right out of her claim, and almost into her grave. He certainly did believe her to be an impostor, who had not thought herself to be entitled to her name when she first assumed it. "I should be sorry, Mr. Flick, to be driven to think that anything of that kind could be expedient." "It would make sure of the fortune to the family," said Mr. Flick. "And what about our friend, the Countess?" "Let her call herself Countess Lovel, Sir William. That will break no bones. As to the formality of her own marriage, there can be no doubt about that." "We can prove by Grogram that she was told that another wife was living," said Sir William. Grogram was an old butler who had been in the old Earl's service for thirty years. "I believe we can, Sir William; but--. It is quite clear that we shall never get the other wife to come over and face an English jury. It is of no use blinking it. The gentleman whom we have sent over doubts her altogether. That there was a marriage is certain, but he fears that this woman is not the old Countess. There were two sisters, and it may be that this was the other sister." Sir William was a good deal dismayed, but he recovered himself. The stakes were so high that it was quite possible that the gentleman who had been sent over might have been induced to open his eyes to the possibility of such personation by overtures from the other side. Sir William was of opinion that Mr. Flick himself should go to Sicily. He was not sure that he, Sir William, her Majesty's Solicitor-General, would not make the journey in person. He was by no means disposed to give way. "They tell me that the girl is no better than she should be," he said to Mr. Flick. "I don't think so bad as that of her," said Mr. Flick. "Is she a lady,--or anything like a lady?" "I am told she is very beautiful." "I dare say;--and so was her mother before her. I never saw a handsomer woman of her age than our friend the Countess. But I could not recommend the young lord to marry an underbred, bad girl, and a bastard who claims to be his cousin,--and support my proposition merely on the ground of her looks." "Thirty-five thousand a year, Sir William!" pleaded the attorney. "I hope we can get the thirty-five thousand a year for our client without paying so dear for them." It had been presumed that the real Countess, the original Countess, the Italian lady whom the Earl had married in early life, would be brought over, with properly attested documentary evidence in her pocket, to prove that she was the existing Countess, and that any other Countess must be either an impostor or a deluded dupe. No doubt the old Earl had declared, when first informing Josephine Murray that she was not his wife, that his real wife had died during the few months which had intervened since his mock marriage; but it was acknowledged on all sides, that the old Earl had been a villain and a liar. It was no part of the duty of the young Earl, or of those who acted for him, to defend the character of the old Earl. To wash that blackamoor white, or even to make him whity-brown, was not necessary to anybody. No one was now concerned to account for his crooked courses. But if it could be shown that he had married the lady in Italy,--as to which there was no doubt,--and that the lady was still alive, or that she had been alive when the second marriage took place, then the Lady Anna could not inherit the property which had been freed from the grasp of the Italian mistress. But it seemed that the lady, if she lived, could not be made to come. Mr. Flick did go to Sicily, and came back renewing his advice to Sir William that Lord Lovel should be advised to marry the Lady Anna. At this time the Countess, with her daughter, had moved their residence from Keswick up to London, and was living in very humble lodgings in a small street turning out of the New Road, near the Yorkshire Stingo. Old Thomas Thwaite had accompanied them from Cumberland, but the rooms had been taken for them by his son, Daniel Thwaite, who was at this time foreman to a somewhat celebrated tailor who carried on his business in Wigmore Street; and he, Daniel Thwaite, had a bedroom in the house in which the Countess lodged. The arrangement was not a wise one, as reports had already been spread abroad as to the partiality of the Lady Anna for the young tailor. But how should she not have been partial both to the father and to the son, feeling as she did that they were the only two men who befriended her cause and her mother's? As to the Countess herself, she, perhaps, alone of all those who interested themselves in her daughter's cause, had heard no word of these insinuations against her child. To her both Thomas and Daniel Thwaite were dear friends, to repay whom for their exertions with lavish generosity,--should the means to do so ever come within her reach,--was one of the dreams of her existence. But she was an ambitious woman, thinking much of her rank, thinking much even of the blood of her own ancestors, constantly urgent with her daughter in teaching her the duties and privileges of wealth and rank. For the Countess never doubted that she would at last attain success. That the Lady Anna should throw herself away upon Daniel Thwaite did not occur to her as a possibility. She had not even dreamed that Daniel Thwaite would aspire to her daughter's hand. And yet every shop-boy and every shop-girl in Keswick had been so saying for the last twelvemonth, and rumours which had hitherto been confined to Keswick and its neighbourhood, were now common in London. For the case was becoming one of the celebrated causes of the age, and all the world was talking of the Countess and her daughter. No momentary suspicion had crossed the mind of the Countess till after their arrival in London; and then when the suspicion did touch her it was not love that she suspected,--but rather an unbecoming familiarity which she attributed to her child's ignorance of the great life which awaited her. "My dear," she said one day when Daniel Thwaite had left them, "you should be less free in your manner with that young man." "What do you mean, mamma?" said the daughter, blushing. "You had better call him Mr. Thwaite." "But I have called him Daniel ever since I was born." "He always calls you Lady Anna." "Sometimes he does, mamma." "I never heard him call you anything else," said the Countess, almost with indignation. "It is all very well for the old man, because he is an old man and has done so much for us." "So has Daniel;--quite as much, mamma. They have both done everything." "True; they have both been warm friends; and if ever I forget them may God forget me. I trust that we may both live to show them that they are not forgotten. But it is not fitting that there should exist between you and him the intimacy of equal positions. You are not and cannot be his equal. He has been born to be a tailor, and you are the daughter and heiress of an Earl." These last words were spoken in a tone that was almost awful to the Lady Anna. She had heard so much of her father's rank and her father's wealth,--rank and wealth which were always to be hers, but which had never as yet reached her, which had been a perpetual trouble to her, and a crushing weight upon her young life, that she had almost learned to hate the title and the claim. Of course it was a part of the religion of her life that her mother had been duly married to her father. It was beyond a doubt to her that such was the case. But the constant battling for denied rights, the assumption of a position which could not be attained, the use of titles which were simply ridiculous in themselves as connected with the kind of life which she was obliged to lead,--these things had all become odious to her. She lacked the ambition which gave her mother strength, and would gladly have become Anna Murray or Anna Lovel, with a girl's ordinary privilege of loving her lover, had such an easy life been possible to her. In person she was very lovely, less tall and robust than her mother had been, but with a sweeter, softer face. Her hair was less dark, and her eyes were neither blue nor bold. But they were bright and soft and very eloquent, and when laden with tears would have softened the heart,--almost of her father. She was as yet less powerful than her mother, both in body and mind, but probably better calculated to make a happy home for a husband and children. She was affectionate, self-denying, and feminine. Had that offer of compromise for thirty, twenty, or for ten thousand pounds been made to her, she would have accepted it willingly,--caring little for her name, little even for fame, so that she might have been happy and quiet, and at liberty to think of a lover as are other girls. In her present condition, how could she have any happy love? She was the Lady Anna Lovel, heir to a ducal fortune,--but she lived in small close lodgings in Wyndham Street, New Road. She did not believe in the good time coming as did her mother. Their enemy was an undoubted Earl, undoubtedly owner of Lovel Grange of which she had heard all her life. Would it not be better to take what the young lord chose to give them and to be at rest? But she did not dare to express such thoughts to her mother. Her mother would have crushed her with a look. "I have told Mr. Thwaite," the mother said to her daughter, "what we were saying this morning." "About his son?" "Yes,--about his son." "Oh, mamma!" "I was bound to do so." "And what did he say, mamma?" "He did not like it, and told me that he did not like it;--but he admitted that it was true. He admitted that his son was no fitting intimate for Lady Anna Lovel." "What should we have done without him?" "Badly indeed; but that cannot change his duty, or ours. He is helping us to struggle for that which is our own; but he would mar his generosity if he put a taint on that which he is endeavouring to restore to us." "Put a taint, mamma!" "Yes;--a taint would rest upon your rank if you as Lady Anna Lovel were familiar with Daniel Thwaite as with an equal. His father understands it, and will speak to him." "Mamma, Daniel will be very angry." "Then will he be very unreasonable;--but, Anna, I will not have you call him Daniel any more." CHAPTER IV. THE TAILOR OF KESWICK. Old Thomas Thwaite was at this time up in London about the business of the Countess, but had no intention of residing there. He still kept his shop in Keswick, and still made coats and trousers for Cumberland statesmen. He was by no means in a condition to retire from business, having spent the savings of his life in the cause of the Countess and her daughter. Men had told him that, had he not struck the Earl in the yard of the Crown at Keswick, as horses were being brought out for the lord's travelling carriage, ample provision would have been made by the rich old sinner for his daughter. That might have been so, or might not, but the saying instigated the tailor to further zeal and increased generosity. To oppose an Earl, even though it might be on behalf of a Countess, was a joy to him; to set wrong right, and to put down cruelty and to relieve distressed women was the pride of his heart,--especially when his efforts were made in antagonism to one of high rank. And he was a man who would certainly be thorough in his work, though his thoroughness should be ruinous to himself. He had despised the Murrays, who ought to have stuck to their distant cousin, and had exulted in his heart at thinking that the world would say how much better and truer had been the Keswick tailor than the well-born and comparatively wealthy Scotch relations. And the poets of the lakes, who had not as yet become altogether Tories, had taken him by the hand and praised him. The rights of the Countess and the wrongs of the Countess had become his life. But he still kept on a diminished business in the north, and it was now needful that he should return to Cumberland. He had heard that renewed offers of compromise were to be made,--though no idea of the proposed marriage between the distant cousins had been suggested to him. He had been discussing the question of some compromise with the Countess when she spoke to him respecting his son; and had recommended that certain terms should, if possible, be effected. Let the money be divided, on condition that the marriage were allowed. There could be no difficulty in this if the young lord would accede to such an arrangement, as the marriage must be acknowledged unless an adverse party should bring home proof from Italy to the contrary. The sufficiency of the ceremony in Applethwaite Church was incontestable. Let the money be divided, and the Countess be Countess Lovel, and Lady Anna be the Lady Anna to all the world. Old Thomas Thwaite himself had seemed to think that there would be enough of triumph in such a settlement. "But the woman might afterwards be bribed to come over and renew her claim," said the Countess. "Unless it be absolutely settled now, they will say when I am dead and gone that my daughter has no right to her name." Then the tailor said that he would make further inquiry how that might be. He was inclined to think that there might be a decision which should be absolute, even though that decision should be reached by compromise between the now contending parties. Then the Countess had said her word about Daniel Thwaite the son, and Thomas Thwaite the father had heard it with ill-concealed anger. To fight against an Earl on behalf of the Earl's injured wife had been very sweet to him, but to be checked in his fight because he and his were unfit to associate with the child of that injured wife, was very bitter. And yet he had sense to know that what the Countess said to him was true. As far as words went, he admitted the truth; but his face was more eloquent than his words, and his face showed plainly his displeasure. "It is not of you that I am speaking," said the Countess, laying her hand upon the old man's sleeve. "Daniel is, at any rate, fitter than I," said the tailor. "He has been educated, and I never was." "He is as good as gold. It is not of that I speak. You know what I mean." "I know very well what you mean, Lady Lovel." "I have no friend like you, Mr. Thwaite;--none whom I love as I do you. And next to you is your son. For myself, there is nothing that I would not do for him or you;--no service, however menial, that I would not render you with my own hands. There is no limit to the gratitude which I owe you. But my girl is young, and if this burden of rank and wealth is to be hers,--it is proper that she do honour to it." "And it is not honourable that she should be seen speaking--to a tailor?" "Ah,--if you choose to take it so!" "How should I take it? What I say is true. And what you say is true also. I will speak to Daniel." But she knew well, as he left her, that his heart was bitter against her. The old man did speak to his son, sitting with him up in the bed-room over that which the Countess occupied. Old Thomas Thwaite was a strong man, but his son was in some respects stronger. As his father had said of him, he had been educated,--or rather instructed; and instruction leads to the power of thinking. He looked deeper into things than did his father, and was governed by wider and greater motives. His father had been a Radical all his life, guided thereto probably by some early training, and made steadfast in his creed by feelings which induced him to hate the pretensions of an assumed superiority. Old Thwaite could not endure to think that one man should be considered to be worthier than another because he was richer. He would admit the riches, and even the justice of the riches,--having been himself, during much of his life, a rich man in his own sphere; but would deny the worthiness; and would adduce, in proof of his creed, the unworthiness of certain exalted sinners. The career of the Earl Lovel had been to him a sure proof of the baseness of English aristocracy generally. He had dreams of a republic in which a tailor might be president or senator, or something almost noble. But no rational scheme of governance among mankind had ever entered his mind, and of pure politics he knew no more than the journeyman who sat stitching upon his board. But Daniel Thwaite was a thoughtful man who had read many books. More's Utopia and Harrington's Oceana, with many a tale written in the same spirit, had taught him to believe that a perfect form of government, or rather of policy, under which all men might be happy and satisfied, was practicable upon earth, and was to be achieved,--not merely by the slow amelioration of mankind under God's fostering ordinances,--but by the continued efforts of good and wise men who, by their goodness and wisdom, should be able to make the multitude believe in them. To diminish the distances, not only between the rich and the poor, but between the high and the low, was the grand political theory upon which his mind was always running. His father was ever thinking of himself and of Earl Lovel; while Daniel Thwaite was considering the injustice of the difference between ten thousand aristocrats and thirty million of people, who were for the most part ignorant and hungry. But it was not that he also had not thoughts of himself. Gradually he had come to learn that he need not have been a tailor's foreman in Wigmore Street had not his father spent on behalf of the Countess Lovel the means by which he, the son, might already have become a master tradesman. And yet he had never begrudged it. He had been as keen as his father in the cause. It had been the romance of his life, since his life had been capable of romance;--but with him it had been no respect for the rank to which his father was so anxious to restore the Countess, no value which he attached to the names claimed by the mother and the daughter. He hated the countess-ship of the Countess, and the ladyship of the Lady Anna. He would fain that they should have abandoned them. They were to him odious signs of iniquitous pretensions. But he was keen enough to punish and to remedy the wickedness of the wicked Earl. He reverenced his father because he assaulted the wicked Earl and struck him to the ground. He was heart and soul in the cause of the injured wife. And then the one thing on earth that was really dear to him was the Lady Anna. It had been the romance of his life. They had grown up together as playmates in Cumberland. He had fought scores of battles on her behalf with those who had denied that she was the Lady Anna,--even though he had then hated the title. Boys had jeered him because of his noble little sweetheart, and he had exulted at hearing her so called. His only sister and his mother had died when he was young, and there had been none in the house but his father and himself. As a boy he had ever been

facts

How many times the word 'facts' appears in the text?

Anna would have the entire property, except such portion as would be claimed of right by her mother, the widow. Thus the Italian woman and the young lord were combined in interest against the mother and daughter as regarded the marriage; and the young lord and the mother and daughter were combined against the Italian woman as regarded the will;--but the young lord had to act alone against the Italian woman, and against the mother and daughter whom he and his friends regarded as swindlers and impostors. It was for him to set aside the will in reference to the Italian woman, and then to stand the brunt of the assault made upon him by the soi-disant wife. In a very short time after the old Earl's death a double compromise was offered on behalf of the young Earl. The money at stake was immense. Would the Italian woman take 10,000, and go her way back to Italy, renouncing all further claim; and would the soi-disant Countess abandon her title, acknowledge her child to be illegitimate, and go her way with another 10,000;--or with 20,000, as was soon hinted by the gentlemen acting on the Earl's behalf? The proposition was one somewhat difficult in the making, as the compromise, if made with both, would be excellent, but could not be made to any good effect with one only. The young Earl certainly could not afford to buy off the Italian woman for 10,000, if the effect of such buying off would only be to place the whole of the late lord's wealth in the hands of his daughter and of his daughter's mother. The Italian woman consented. She declared with Italian energy that her late loving friend had never been a day insane; but she knew nothing of English laws, and but little of English money. She would take the 10,000,--having had a calculation made for her of the number of lire into which it would run. The number was enormous, and she would take the offer. But when the proposal was mentioned to the Countess, and explained to her by her old friend, Thomas Thwaite, who had now become a poor man in her cause, she repudiated it with bitter scorn,--with a scorn in which she almost included the old man who had made it to her. "Is it for that, that I have been fighting?" she said. "For that in part," said the old man. "No, Mr. Thwaite, not for that at all; but that my girl may have her birth allowed and her name acknowledged." "Her name shall be allowed and her birth shall be acknowledged," said the tailor, in whose heart there was nothing base. "She shall be the Lady Anna, and her mother shall be the Countess Lovel." The estate of the Countess, if she had an estate, then owed the tailor some five or six thousand pounds, and the compromise offered would have paid the tailor every shilling and have left a comfortable income for the two women. "For myself I care but little," said the mother, taking the tailor's hand in hers and kissing it. "My child is the Lady Anna, and I do not dare to barter away her rights." This took place down at the cottage in Cumberland, and the tailor at once went up to London to make known the decision of the Countess,--as he invariably called her. Then the lawyers went to work. As the double compromise could not be effected, the single compromise could not stand. The Italian woman raved and stamped, and swore that she must have her half million of lire. But of course no right to such a claim had been made good to her, and the lawyers on behalf of the young Earl went on with their work. Public sympathy as a matter of course went with the young Earl. As against the Italian woman he had with him every English man and woman. It was horrible to the minds of English men and English women that an old English Earldom should be starved in order that an Italian harlot might revel in untold riches. It was felt by most men and protested by all women that any sign of madness, be it what it might,--however insignificant,--should be held to be sufficient against such a claimant. Was not the fact that the man had made such a will in itself sufficient proof of his madness? There were not a few who protested that no further proof could be necessary. But with us the law is the same for an Italian harlot and an English widow; and it may well be that in its niceties it shall be found kinder to the former than to the latter. But the Earl had been mad, and the law said that he was mad when he had made his will,--and the Italian woman went away, raging, into obscurity. The Italian woman was conquered, and now the battle was open and free between the young Earl and the claimant Countess. Applications were made on behalf of the Countess for funds from the estate wherewith to prove the claim, and to a certain limited amount they were granted. Such had been the life of the late Earl that it was held that the cost of all litigation resulting from his misdeeds should be paid from his estate;--but ready money was wanted, immediate ready money, to be at the disposal of the Countess to any amount needed by her agent, and this was hardly to be obtained. By this time public sympathy ran almost entirely with the Earl. Though it was acknowledged that the late lord was mad, and though it had become a cause of rejoicing that the Italian woman had been sent away penniless, howling into obscurity, because of the old man's madness, still it was believed that he had written the truth when he declared that the marriage had been a mock marriage. It would be better for the English world that the young Earl should be a rich man, fit to do honour to his position, fit to marry the daughter of a duke, fit to carry on the glory of the English peerage, than that a woman, ill reputed in the world, should be established as a Countess, with a daughter dowered with tens of thousands, as to whom it was already said that she was in love with a tailor's son. Nothing could be more touching, more likely to awaken sympathy, than the manner in which Josephine Murray had been carried away in marriage, and then roughly told by the man who should have protected her from every harshly blowing wind of heaven, that he had deceived her and that she was not his wife. No usage to which woman had ever been subjected, as has been said before, was more adapted to elicit compassion and energetic aid. But nineteen years had now passed by since the deed was done, and the facts were forgotten. One energetic friend there still was,--or we may say two, the tailor and his son Daniel. But public belief ran against the Countess, and nobody who was anybody in the world would give her her title. Bets were laid, two and three to one against her; and it was believed that she was an impostor. The Earl had all the glory of success over his first opponent, and the loud boasting of self-confident barristers buoyed up his cause. But loud-boasting barristers may nevertheless be wise lawyers, and the question of a compromise was again mooted. If the lady would take thirty thousand pounds and vanish, she should have the money clear of deduction, and all expenses should be paid. The amount offered was thought to be very liberal, but it did not amount to the annual income that was at stake. It was rejected with scorn. Had it been quadrupled, it would have been rejected with equal scorn. The loud-boasting barristers were still confident; but--. Though it was never admitted in words still it was felt that there might be a doubt. What if the contending parties were to join forces, if the Countess-ship of the Countess were to be admitted, and the heiress-ship of the Lady Anna, and if the Earl and the Lady Anna were to be united in holy wedlock? Might there not be a safe solution from further difficulty in that way? CHAPTER III. LADY ANNA. The idea of this further compromise, of this something more than compromise, of this half acknowledgment of their own weakness, came from Mr. Flick, of the firm of Norton and Flick, the solicitors who were employed in substantiating the Earl's position. When Mr. Flick mentioned it to Sir William Patterson, the great barrister, who was at that time Solicitor-General and leading counsel on behalf of Lord Lovel, Sir William Patterson stood aghast and was dismayed. Sir William intended to make mince-meat of the Countess. It was said of him that he intended to cross-examine the Countess off her legs, right out of her claim, and almost into her grave. He certainly did believe her to be an impostor, who had not thought herself to be entitled to her name when she first assumed it. "I should be sorry, Mr. Flick, to be driven to think that anything of that kind could be expedient." "It would make sure of the fortune to the family," said Mr. Flick. "And what about our friend, the Countess?" "Let her call herself Countess Lovel, Sir William. That will break no bones. As to the formality of her own marriage, there can be no doubt about that." "We can prove by Grogram that she was told that another wife was living," said Sir William. Grogram was an old butler who had been in the old Earl's service for thirty years. "I believe we can, Sir William; but--. It is quite clear that we shall never get the other wife to come over and face an English jury. It is of no use blinking it. The gentleman whom we have sent over doubts her altogether. That there was a marriage is certain, but he fears that this woman is not the old Countess. There were two sisters, and it may be that this was the other sister." Sir William was a good deal dismayed, but he recovered himself. The stakes were so high that it was quite possible that the gentleman who had been sent over might have been induced to open his eyes to the possibility of such personation by overtures from the other side. Sir William was of opinion that Mr. Flick himself should go to Sicily. He was not sure that he, Sir William, her Majesty's Solicitor-General, would not make the journey in person. He was by no means disposed to give way. "They tell me that the girl is no better than she should be," he said to Mr. Flick. "I don't think so bad as that of her," said Mr. Flick. "Is she a lady,--or anything like a lady?" "I am told she is very beautiful." "I dare say;--and so was her mother before her. I never saw a handsomer woman of her age than our friend the Countess. But I could not recommend the young lord to marry an underbred, bad girl, and a bastard who claims to be his cousin,--and support my proposition merely on the ground of her looks." "Thirty-five thousand a year, Sir William!" pleaded the attorney. "I hope we can get the thirty-five thousand a year for our client without paying so dear for them." It had been presumed that the real Countess, the original Countess, the Italian lady whom the Earl had married in early life, would be brought over, with properly attested documentary evidence in her pocket, to prove that she was the existing Countess, and that any other Countess must be either an impostor or a deluded dupe. No doubt the old Earl had declared, when first informing Josephine Murray that she was not his wife, that his real wife had died during the few months which had intervened since his mock marriage; but it was acknowledged on all sides, that the old Earl had been a villain and a liar. It was no part of the duty of the young Earl, or of those who acted for him, to defend the character of the old Earl. To wash that blackamoor white, or even to make him whity-brown, was not necessary to anybody. No one was now concerned to account for his crooked courses. But if it could be shown that he had married the lady in Italy,--as to which there was no doubt,--and that the lady was still alive, or that she had been alive when the second marriage took place, then the Lady Anna could not inherit the property which had been freed from the grasp of the Italian mistress. But it seemed that the lady, if she lived, could not be made to come. Mr. Flick did go to Sicily, and came back renewing his advice to Sir William that Lord Lovel should be advised to marry the Lady Anna. At this time the Countess, with her daughter, had moved their residence from Keswick up to London, and was living in very humble lodgings in a small street turning out of the New Road, near the Yorkshire Stingo. Old Thomas Thwaite had accompanied them from Cumberland, but the rooms had been taken for them by his son, Daniel Thwaite, who was at this time foreman to a somewhat celebrated tailor who carried on his business in Wigmore Street; and he, Daniel Thwaite, had a bedroom in the house in which the Countess lodged. The arrangement was not a wise one, as reports had already been spread abroad as to the partiality of the Lady Anna for the young tailor. But how should she not have been partial both to the father and to the son, feeling as she did that they were the only two men who befriended her cause and her mother's? As to the Countess herself, she, perhaps, alone of all those who interested themselves in her daughter's cause, had heard no word of these insinuations against her child. To her both Thomas and Daniel Thwaite were dear friends, to repay whom for their exertions with lavish generosity,--should the means to do so ever come within her reach,--was one of the dreams of her existence. But she was an ambitious woman, thinking much of her rank, thinking much even of the blood of her own ancestors, constantly urgent with her daughter in teaching her the duties and privileges of wealth and rank. For the Countess never doubted that she would at last attain success. That the Lady Anna should throw herself away upon Daniel Thwaite did not occur to her as a possibility. She had not even dreamed that Daniel Thwaite would aspire to her daughter's hand. And yet every shop-boy and every shop-girl in Keswick had been so saying for the last twelvemonth, and rumours which had hitherto been confined to Keswick and its neighbourhood, were now common in London. For the case was becoming one of the celebrated causes of the age, and all the world was talking of the Countess and her daughter. No momentary suspicion had crossed the mind of the Countess till after their arrival in London; and then when the suspicion did touch her it was not love that she suspected,--but rather an unbecoming familiarity which she attributed to her child's ignorance of the great life which awaited her. "My dear," she said one day when Daniel Thwaite had left them, "you should be less free in your manner with that young man." "What do you mean, mamma?" said the daughter, blushing. "You had better call him Mr. Thwaite." "But I have called him Daniel ever since I was born." "He always calls you Lady Anna." "Sometimes he does, mamma." "I never heard him call you anything else," said the Countess, almost with indignation. "It is all very well for the old man, because he is an old man and has done so much for us." "So has Daniel;--quite as much, mamma. They have both done everything." "True; they have both been warm friends; and if ever I forget them may God forget me. I trust that we may both live to show them that they are not forgotten. But it is not fitting that there should exist between you and him the intimacy of equal positions. You are not and cannot be his equal. He has been born to be a tailor, and you are the daughter and heiress of an Earl." These last words were spoken in a tone that was almost awful to the Lady Anna. She had heard so much of her father's rank and her father's wealth,--rank and wealth which were always to be hers, but which had never as yet reached her, which had been a perpetual trouble to her, and a crushing weight upon her young life, that she had almost learned to hate the title and the claim. Of course it was a part of the religion of her life that her mother had been duly married to her father. It was beyond a doubt to her that such was the case. But the constant battling for denied rights, the assumption of a position which could not be attained, the use of titles which were simply ridiculous in themselves as connected with the kind of life which she was obliged to lead,--these things had all become odious to her. She lacked the ambition which gave her mother strength, and would gladly have become Anna Murray or Anna Lovel, with a girl's ordinary privilege of loving her lover, had such an easy life been possible to her. In person she was very lovely, less tall and robust than her mother had been, but with a sweeter, softer face. Her hair was less dark, and her eyes were neither blue nor bold. But they were bright and soft and very eloquent, and when laden with tears would have softened the heart,--almost of her father. She was as yet less powerful than her mother, both in body and mind, but probably better calculated to make a happy home for a husband and children. She was affectionate, self-denying, and feminine. Had that offer of compromise for thirty, twenty, or for ten thousand pounds been made to her, she would have accepted it willingly,--caring little for her name, little even for fame, so that she might have been happy and quiet, and at liberty to think of a lover as are other girls. In her present condition, how could she have any happy love? She was the Lady Anna Lovel, heir to a ducal fortune,--but she lived in small close lodgings in Wyndham Street, New Road. She did not believe in the good time coming as did her mother. Their enemy was an undoubted Earl, undoubtedly owner of Lovel Grange of which she had heard all her life. Would it not be better to take what the young lord chose to give them and to be at rest? But she did not dare to express such thoughts to her mother. Her mother would have crushed her with a look. "I have told Mr. Thwaite," the mother said to her daughter, "what we were saying this morning." "About his son?" "Yes,--about his son." "Oh, mamma!" "I was bound to do so." "And what did he say, mamma?" "He did not like it, and told me that he did not like it;--but he admitted that it was true. He admitted that his son was no fitting intimate for Lady Anna Lovel." "What should we have done without him?" "Badly indeed; but that cannot change his duty, or ours. He is helping us to struggle for that which is our own; but he would mar his generosity if he put a taint on that which he is endeavouring to restore to us." "Put a taint, mamma!" "Yes;--a taint would rest upon your rank if you as Lady Anna Lovel were familiar with Daniel Thwaite as with an equal. His father understands it, and will speak to him." "Mamma, Daniel will be very angry." "Then will he be very unreasonable;--but, Anna, I will not have you call him Daniel any more." CHAPTER IV. THE TAILOR OF KESWICK. Old Thomas Thwaite was at this time up in London about the business of the Countess, but had no intention of residing there. He still kept his shop in Keswick, and still made coats and trousers for Cumberland statesmen. He was by no means in a condition to retire from business, having spent the savings of his life in the cause of the Countess and her daughter. Men had told him that, had he not struck the Earl in the yard of the Crown at Keswick, as horses were being brought out for the lord's travelling carriage, ample provision would have been made by the rich old sinner for his daughter. That might have been so, or might not, but the saying instigated the tailor to further zeal and increased generosity. To oppose an Earl, even though it might be on behalf of a Countess, was a joy to him; to set wrong right, and to put down cruelty and to relieve distressed women was the pride of his heart,--especially when his efforts were made in antagonism to one of high rank. And he was a man who would certainly be thorough in his work, though his thoroughness should be ruinous to himself. He had despised the Murrays, who ought to have stuck to their distant cousin, and had exulted in his heart at thinking that the world would say how much better and truer had been the Keswick tailor than the well-born and comparatively wealthy Scotch relations. And the poets of the lakes, who had not as yet become altogether Tories, had taken him by the hand and praised him. The rights of the Countess and the wrongs of the Countess had become his life. But he still kept on a diminished business in the north, and it was now needful that he should return to Cumberland. He had heard that renewed offers of compromise were to be made,--though no idea of the proposed marriage between the distant cousins had been suggested to him. He had been discussing the question of some compromise with the Countess when she spoke to him respecting his son; and had recommended that certain terms should, if possible, be effected. Let the money be divided, on condition that the marriage were allowed. There could be no difficulty in this if the young lord would accede to such an arrangement, as the marriage must be acknowledged unless an adverse party should bring home proof from Italy to the contrary. The sufficiency of the ceremony in Applethwaite Church was incontestable. Let the money be divided, and the Countess be Countess Lovel, and Lady Anna be the Lady Anna to all the world. Old Thomas Thwaite himself had seemed to think that there would be enough of triumph in such a settlement. "But the woman might afterwards be bribed to come over and renew her claim," said the Countess. "Unless it be absolutely settled now, they will say when I am dead and gone that my daughter has no right to her name." Then the tailor said that he would make further inquiry how that might be. He was inclined to think that there might be a decision which should be absolute, even though that decision should be reached by compromise between the now contending parties. Then the Countess had said her word about Daniel Thwaite the son, and Thomas Thwaite the father had heard it with ill-concealed anger. To fight against an Earl on behalf of the Earl's injured wife had been very sweet to him, but to be checked in his fight because he and his were unfit to associate with the child of that injured wife, was very bitter. And yet he had sense to know that what the Countess said to him was true. As far as words went, he admitted the truth; but his face was more eloquent than his words, and his face showed plainly his displeasure. "It is not of you that I am speaking," said the Countess, laying her hand upon the old man's sleeve. "Daniel is, at any rate, fitter than I," said the tailor. "He has been educated, and I never was." "He is as good as gold. It is not of that I speak. You know what I mean." "I know very well what you mean, Lady Lovel." "I have no friend like you, Mr. Thwaite;--none whom I love as I do you. And next to you is your son. For myself, there is nothing that I would not do for him or you;--no service, however menial, that I would not render you with my own hands. There is no limit to the gratitude which I owe you. But my girl is young, and if this burden of rank and wealth is to be hers,--it is proper that she do honour to it." "And it is not honourable that she should be seen speaking--to a tailor?" "Ah,--if you choose to take it so!" "How should I take it? What I say is true. And what you say is true also. I will speak to Daniel." But she knew well, as he left her, that his heart was bitter against her. The old man did speak to his son, sitting with him up in the bed-room over that which the Countess occupied. Old Thomas Thwaite was a strong man, but his son was in some respects stronger. As his father had said of him, he had been educated,--or rather instructed; and instruction leads to the power of thinking. He looked deeper into things than did his father, and was governed by wider and greater motives. His father had been a Radical all his life, guided thereto probably by some early training, and made steadfast in his creed by feelings which induced him to hate the pretensions of an assumed superiority. Old Thwaite could not endure to think that one man should be considered to be worthier than another because he was richer. He would admit the riches, and even the justice of the riches,--having been himself, during much of his life, a rich man in his own sphere; but would deny the worthiness; and would adduce, in proof of his creed, the unworthiness of certain exalted sinners. The career of the Earl Lovel had been to him a sure proof of the baseness of English aristocracy generally. He had dreams of a republic in which a tailor might be president or senator, or something almost noble. But no rational scheme of governance among mankind had ever entered his mind, and of pure politics he knew no more than the journeyman who sat stitching upon his board. But Daniel Thwaite was a thoughtful man who had read many books. More's Utopia and Harrington's Oceana, with many a tale written in the same spirit, had taught him to believe that a perfect form of government, or rather of policy, under which all men might be happy and satisfied, was practicable upon earth, and was to be achieved,--not merely by the slow amelioration of mankind under God's fostering ordinances,--but by the continued efforts of good and wise men who, by their goodness and wisdom, should be able to make the multitude believe in them. To diminish the distances, not only between the rich and the poor, but between the high and the low, was the grand political theory upon which his mind was always running. His father was ever thinking of himself and of Earl Lovel; while Daniel Thwaite was considering the injustice of the difference between ten thousand aristocrats and thirty million of people, who were for the most part ignorant and hungry. But it was not that he also had not thoughts of himself. Gradually he had come to learn that he need not have been a tailor's foreman in Wigmore Street had not his father spent on behalf of the Countess Lovel the means by which he, the son, might already have become a master tradesman. And yet he had never begrudged it. He had been as keen as his father in the cause. It had been the romance of his life, since his life had been capable of romance;--but with him it had been no respect for the rank to which his father was so anxious to restore the Countess, no value which he attached to the names claimed by the mother and the daughter. He hated the countess-ship of the Countess, and the ladyship of the Lady Anna. He would fain that they should have abandoned them. They were to him odious signs of iniquitous pretensions. But he was keen enough to punish and to remedy the wickedness of the wicked Earl. He reverenced his father because he assaulted the wicked Earl and struck him to the ground. He was heart and soul in the cause of the injured wife. And then the one thing on earth that was really dear to him was the Lady Anna. It had been the romance of his life. They had grown up together as playmates in Cumberland. He had fought scores of battles on her behalf with those who had denied that she was the Lady Anna,--even though he had then hated the title. Boys had jeered him because of his noble little sweetheart, and he had exulted at hearing her so called. His only sister and his mother had died when he was young, and there had been none in the house but his father and himself. As a boy he had ever been

lire

How many times the word 'lire' appears in the text?

Anna would have the entire property, except such portion as would be claimed of right by her mother, the widow. Thus the Italian woman and the young lord were combined in interest against the mother and daughter as regarded the marriage; and the young lord and the mother and daughter were combined against the Italian woman as regarded the will;--but the young lord had to act alone against the Italian woman, and against the mother and daughter whom he and his friends regarded as swindlers and impostors. It was for him to set aside the will in reference to the Italian woman, and then to stand the brunt of the assault made upon him by the soi-disant wife. In a very short time after the old Earl's death a double compromise was offered on behalf of the young Earl. The money at stake was immense. Would the Italian woman take 10,000, and go her way back to Italy, renouncing all further claim; and would the soi-disant Countess abandon her title, acknowledge her child to be illegitimate, and go her way with another 10,000;--or with 20,000, as was soon hinted by the gentlemen acting on the Earl's behalf? The proposition was one somewhat difficult in the making, as the compromise, if made with both, would be excellent, but could not be made to any good effect with one only. The young Earl certainly could not afford to buy off the Italian woman for 10,000, if the effect of such buying off would only be to place the whole of the late lord's wealth in the hands of his daughter and of his daughter's mother. The Italian woman consented. She declared with Italian energy that her late loving friend had never been a day insane; but she knew nothing of English laws, and but little of English money. She would take the 10,000,--having had a calculation made for her of the number of lire into which it would run. The number was enormous, and she would take the offer. But when the proposal was mentioned to the Countess, and explained to her by her old friend, Thomas Thwaite, who had now become a poor man in her cause, she repudiated it with bitter scorn,--with a scorn in which she almost included the old man who had made it to her. "Is it for that, that I have been fighting?" she said. "For that in part," said the old man. "No, Mr. Thwaite, not for that at all; but that my girl may have her birth allowed and her name acknowledged." "Her name shall be allowed and her birth shall be acknowledged," said the tailor, in whose heart there was nothing base. "She shall be the Lady Anna, and her mother shall be the Countess Lovel." The estate of the Countess, if she had an estate, then owed the tailor some five or six thousand pounds, and the compromise offered would have paid the tailor every shilling and have left a comfortable income for the two women. "For myself I care but little," said the mother, taking the tailor's hand in hers and kissing it. "My child is the Lady Anna, and I do not dare to barter away her rights." This took place down at the cottage in Cumberland, and the tailor at once went up to London to make known the decision of the Countess,--as he invariably called her. Then the lawyers went to work. As the double compromise could not be effected, the single compromise could not stand. The Italian woman raved and stamped, and swore that she must have her half million of lire. But of course no right to such a claim had been made good to her, and the lawyers on behalf of the young Earl went on with their work. Public sympathy as a matter of course went with the young Earl. As against the Italian woman he had with him every English man and woman. It was horrible to the minds of English men and English women that an old English Earldom should be starved in order that an Italian harlot might revel in untold riches. It was felt by most men and protested by all women that any sign of madness, be it what it might,--however insignificant,--should be held to be sufficient against such a claimant. Was not the fact that the man had made such a will in itself sufficient proof of his madness? There were not a few who protested that no further proof could be necessary. But with us the law is the same for an Italian harlot and an English widow; and it may well be that in its niceties it shall be found kinder to the former than to the latter. But the Earl had been mad, and the law said that he was mad when he had made his will,--and the Italian woman went away, raging, into obscurity. The Italian woman was conquered, and now the battle was open and free between the young Earl and the claimant Countess. Applications were made on behalf of the Countess for funds from the estate wherewith to prove the claim, and to a certain limited amount they were granted. Such had been the life of the late Earl that it was held that the cost of all litigation resulting from his misdeeds should be paid from his estate;--but ready money was wanted, immediate ready money, to be at the disposal of the Countess to any amount needed by her agent, and this was hardly to be obtained. By this time public sympathy ran almost entirely with the Earl. Though it was acknowledged that the late lord was mad, and though it had become a cause of rejoicing that the Italian woman had been sent away penniless, howling into obscurity, because of the old man's madness, still it was believed that he had written the truth when he declared that the marriage had been a mock marriage. It would be better for the English world that the young Earl should be a rich man, fit to do honour to his position, fit to marry the daughter of a duke, fit to carry on the glory of the English peerage, than that a woman, ill reputed in the world, should be established as a Countess, with a daughter dowered with tens of thousands, as to whom it was already said that she was in love with a tailor's son. Nothing could be more touching, more likely to awaken sympathy, than the manner in which Josephine Murray had been carried away in marriage, and then roughly told by the man who should have protected her from every harshly blowing wind of heaven, that he had deceived her and that she was not his wife. No usage to which woman had ever been subjected, as has been said before, was more adapted to elicit compassion and energetic aid. But nineteen years had now passed by since the deed was done, and the facts were forgotten. One energetic friend there still was,--or we may say two, the tailor and his son Daniel. But public belief ran against the Countess, and nobody who was anybody in the world would give her her title. Bets were laid, two and three to one against her; and it was believed that she was an impostor. The Earl had all the glory of success over his first opponent, and the loud boasting of self-confident barristers buoyed up his cause. But loud-boasting barristers may nevertheless be wise lawyers, and the question of a compromise was again mooted. If the lady would take thirty thousand pounds and vanish, she should have the money clear of deduction, and all expenses should be paid. The amount offered was thought to be very liberal, but it did not amount to the annual income that was at stake. It was rejected with scorn. Had it been quadrupled, it would have been rejected with equal scorn. The loud-boasting barristers were still confident; but--. Though it was never admitted in words still it was felt that there might be a doubt. What if the contending parties were to join forces, if the Countess-ship of the Countess were to be admitted, and the heiress-ship of the Lady Anna, and if the Earl and the Lady Anna were to be united in holy wedlock? Might there not be a safe solution from further difficulty in that way? CHAPTER III. LADY ANNA. The idea of this further compromise, of this something more than compromise, of this half acknowledgment of their own weakness, came from Mr. Flick, of the firm of Norton and Flick, the solicitors who were employed in substantiating the Earl's position. When Mr. Flick mentioned it to Sir William Patterson, the great barrister, who was at that time Solicitor-General and leading counsel on behalf of Lord Lovel, Sir William Patterson stood aghast and was dismayed. Sir William intended to make mince-meat of the Countess. It was said of him that he intended to cross-examine the Countess off her legs, right out of her claim, and almost into her grave. He certainly did believe her to be an impostor, who had not thought herself to be entitled to her name when she first assumed it. "I should be sorry, Mr. Flick, to be driven to think that anything of that kind could be expedient." "It would make sure of the fortune to the family," said Mr. Flick. "And what about our friend, the Countess?" "Let her call herself Countess Lovel, Sir William. That will break no bones. As to the formality of her own marriage, there can be no doubt about that." "We can prove by Grogram that she was told that another wife was living," said Sir William. Grogram was an old butler who had been in the old Earl's service for thirty years. "I believe we can, Sir William; but--. It is quite clear that we shall never get the other wife to come over and face an English jury. It is of no use blinking it. The gentleman whom we have sent over doubts her altogether. That there was a marriage is certain, but he fears that this woman is not the old Countess. There were two sisters, and it may be that this was the other sister." Sir William was a good deal dismayed, but he recovered himself. The stakes were so high that it was quite possible that the gentleman who had been sent over might have been induced to open his eyes to the possibility of such personation by overtures from the other side. Sir William was of opinion that Mr. Flick himself should go to Sicily. He was not sure that he, Sir William, her Majesty's Solicitor-General, would not make the journey in person. He was by no means disposed to give way. "They tell me that the girl is no better than she should be," he said to Mr. Flick. "I don't think so bad as that of her," said Mr. Flick. "Is she a lady,--or anything like a lady?" "I am told she is very beautiful." "I dare say;--and so was her mother before her. I never saw a handsomer woman of her age than our friend the Countess. But I could not recommend the young lord to marry an underbred, bad girl, and a bastard who claims to be his cousin,--and support my proposition merely on the ground of her looks." "Thirty-five thousand a year, Sir William!" pleaded the attorney. "I hope we can get the thirty-five thousand a year for our client without paying so dear for them." It had been presumed that the real Countess, the original Countess, the Italian lady whom the Earl had married in early life, would be brought over, with properly attested documentary evidence in her pocket, to prove that she was the existing Countess, and that any other Countess must be either an impostor or a deluded dupe. No doubt the old Earl had declared, when first informing Josephine Murray that she was not his wife, that his real wife had died during the few months which had intervened since his mock marriage; but it was acknowledged on all sides, that the old Earl had been a villain and a liar. It was no part of the duty of the young Earl, or of those who acted for him, to defend the character of the old Earl. To wash that blackamoor white, or even to make him whity-brown, was not necessary to anybody. No one was now concerned to account for his crooked courses. But if it could be shown that he had married the lady in Italy,--as to which there was no doubt,--and that the lady was still alive, or that she had been alive when the second marriage took place, then the Lady Anna could not inherit the property which had been freed from the grasp of the Italian mistress. But it seemed that the lady, if she lived, could not be made to come. Mr. Flick did go to Sicily, and came back renewing his advice to Sir William that Lord Lovel should be advised to marry the Lady Anna. At this time the Countess, with her daughter, had moved their residence from Keswick up to London, and was living in very humble lodgings in a small street turning out of the New Road, near the Yorkshire Stingo. Old Thomas Thwaite had accompanied them from Cumberland, but the rooms had been taken for them by his son, Daniel Thwaite, who was at this time foreman to a somewhat celebrated tailor who carried on his business in Wigmore Street; and he, Daniel Thwaite, had a bedroom in the house in which the Countess lodged. The arrangement was not a wise one, as reports had already been spread abroad as to the partiality of the Lady Anna for the young tailor. But how should she not have been partial both to the father and to the son, feeling as she did that they were the only two men who befriended her cause and her mother's? As to the Countess herself, she, perhaps, alone of all those who interested themselves in her daughter's cause, had heard no word of these insinuations against her child. To her both Thomas and Daniel Thwaite were dear friends, to repay whom for their exertions with lavish generosity,--should the means to do so ever come within her reach,--was one of the dreams of her existence. But she was an ambitious woman, thinking much of her rank, thinking much even of the blood of her own ancestors, constantly urgent with her daughter in teaching her the duties and privileges of wealth and rank. For the Countess never doubted that she would at last attain success. That the Lady Anna should throw herself away upon Daniel Thwaite did not occur to her as a possibility. She had not even dreamed that Daniel Thwaite would aspire to her daughter's hand. And yet every shop-boy and every shop-girl in Keswick had been so saying for the last twelvemonth, and rumours which had hitherto been confined to Keswick and its neighbourhood, were now common in London. For the case was becoming one of the celebrated causes of the age, and all the world was talking of the Countess and her daughter. No momentary suspicion had crossed the mind of the Countess till after their arrival in London; and then when the suspicion did touch her it was not love that she suspected,--but rather an unbecoming familiarity which she attributed to her child's ignorance of the great life which awaited her. "My dear," she said one day when Daniel Thwaite had left them, "you should be less free in your manner with that young man." "What do you mean, mamma?" said the daughter, blushing. "You had better call him Mr. Thwaite." "But I have called him Daniel ever since I was born." "He always calls you Lady Anna." "Sometimes he does, mamma." "I never heard him call you anything else," said the Countess, almost with indignation. "It is all very well for the old man, because he is an old man and has done so much for us." "So has Daniel;--quite as much, mamma. They have both done everything." "True; they have both been warm friends; and if ever I forget them may God forget me. I trust that we may both live to show them that they are not forgotten. But it is not fitting that there should exist between you and him the intimacy of equal positions. You are not and cannot be his equal. He has been born to be a tailor, and you are the daughter and heiress of an Earl." These last words were spoken in a tone that was almost awful to the Lady Anna. She had heard so much of her father's rank and her father's wealth,--rank and wealth which were always to be hers, but which had never as yet reached her, which had been a perpetual trouble to her, and a crushing weight upon her young life, that she had almost learned to hate the title and the claim. Of course it was a part of the religion of her life that her mother had been duly married to her father. It was beyond a doubt to her that such was the case. But the constant battling for denied rights, the assumption of a position which could not be attained, the use of titles which were simply ridiculous in themselves as connected with the kind of life which she was obliged to lead,--these things had all become odious to her. She lacked the ambition which gave her mother strength, and would gladly have become Anna Murray or Anna Lovel, with a girl's ordinary privilege of loving her lover, had such an easy life been possible to her. In person she was very lovely, less tall and robust than her mother had been, but with a sweeter, softer face. Her hair was less dark, and her eyes were neither blue nor bold. But they were bright and soft and very eloquent, and when laden with tears would have softened the heart,--almost of her father. She was as yet less powerful than her mother, both in body and mind, but probably better calculated to make a happy home for a husband and children. She was affectionate, self-denying, and feminine. Had that offer of compromise for thirty, twenty, or for ten thousand pounds been made to her, she would have accepted it willingly,--caring little for her name, little even for fame, so that she might have been happy and quiet, and at liberty to think of a lover as are other girls. In her present condition, how could she have any happy love? She was the Lady Anna Lovel, heir to a ducal fortune,--but she lived in small close lodgings in Wyndham Street, New Road. She did not believe in the good time coming as did her mother. Their enemy was an undoubted Earl, undoubtedly owner of Lovel Grange of which she had heard all her life. Would it not be better to take what the young lord chose to give them and to be at rest? But she did not dare to express such thoughts to her mother. Her mother would have crushed her with a look. "I have told Mr. Thwaite," the mother said to her daughter, "what we were saying this morning." "About his son?" "Yes,--about his son." "Oh, mamma!" "I was bound to do so." "And what did he say, mamma?" "He did not like it, and told me that he did not like it;--but he admitted that it was true. He admitted that his son was no fitting intimate for Lady Anna Lovel." "What should we have done without him?" "Badly indeed; but that cannot change his duty, or ours. He is helping us to struggle for that which is our own; but he would mar his generosity if he put a taint on that which he is endeavouring to restore to us." "Put a taint, mamma!" "Yes;--a taint would rest upon your rank if you as Lady Anna Lovel were familiar with Daniel Thwaite as with an equal. His father understands it, and will speak to him." "Mamma, Daniel will be very angry." "Then will he be very unreasonable;--but, Anna, I will not have you call him Daniel any more." CHAPTER IV. THE TAILOR OF KESWICK. Old Thomas Thwaite was at this time up in London about the business of the Countess, but had no intention of residing there. He still kept his shop in Keswick, and still made coats and trousers for Cumberland statesmen. He was by no means in a condition to retire from business, having spent the savings of his life in the cause of the Countess and her daughter. Men had told him that, had he not struck the Earl in the yard of the Crown at Keswick, as horses were being brought out for the lord's travelling carriage, ample provision would have been made by the rich old sinner for his daughter. That might have been so, or might not, but the saying instigated the tailor to further zeal and increased generosity. To oppose an Earl, even though it might be on behalf of a Countess, was a joy to him; to set wrong right, and to put down cruelty and to relieve distressed women was the pride of his heart,--especially when his efforts were made in antagonism to one of high rank. And he was a man who would certainly be thorough in his work, though his thoroughness should be ruinous to himself. He had despised the Murrays, who ought to have stuck to their distant cousin, and had exulted in his heart at thinking that the world would say how much better and truer had been the Keswick tailor than the well-born and comparatively wealthy Scotch relations. And the poets of the lakes, who had not as yet become altogether Tories, had taken him by the hand and praised him. The rights of the Countess and the wrongs of the Countess had become his life. But he still kept on a diminished business in the north, and it was now needful that he should return to Cumberland. He had heard that renewed offers of compromise were to be made,--though no idea of the proposed marriage between the distant cousins had been suggested to him. He had been discussing the question of some compromise with the Countess when she spoke to him respecting his son; and had recommended that certain terms should, if possible, be effected. Let the money be divided, on condition that the marriage were allowed. There could be no difficulty in this if the young lord would accede to such an arrangement, as the marriage must be acknowledged unless an adverse party should bring home proof from Italy to the contrary. The sufficiency of the ceremony in Applethwaite Church was incontestable. Let the money be divided, and the Countess be Countess Lovel, and Lady Anna be the Lady Anna to all the world. Old Thomas Thwaite himself had seemed to think that there would be enough of triumph in such a settlement. "But the woman might afterwards be bribed to come over and renew her claim," said the Countess. "Unless it be absolutely settled now, they will say when I am dead and gone that my daughter has no right to her name." Then the tailor said that he would make further inquiry how that might be. He was inclined to think that there might be a decision which should be absolute, even though that decision should be reached by compromise between the now contending parties. Then the Countess had said her word about Daniel Thwaite the son, and Thomas Thwaite the father had heard it with ill-concealed anger. To fight against an Earl on behalf of the Earl's injured wife had been very sweet to him, but to be checked in his fight because he and his were unfit to associate with the child of that injured wife, was very bitter. And yet he had sense to know that what the Countess said to him was true. As far as words went, he admitted the truth; but his face was more eloquent than his words, and his face showed plainly his displeasure. "It is not of you that I am speaking," said the Countess, laying her hand upon the old man's sleeve. "Daniel is, at any rate, fitter than I," said the tailor. "He has been educated, and I never was." "He is as good as gold. It is not of that I speak. You know what I mean." "I know very well what you mean, Lady Lovel." "I have no friend like you, Mr. Thwaite;--none whom I love as I do you. And next to you is your son. For myself, there is nothing that I would not do for him or you;--no service, however menial, that I would not render you with my own hands. There is no limit to the gratitude which I owe you. But my girl is young, and if this burden of rank and wealth is to be hers,--it is proper that she do honour to it." "And it is not honourable that she should be seen speaking--to a tailor?" "Ah,--if you choose to take it so!" "How should I take it? What I say is true. And what you say is true also. I will speak to Daniel." But she knew well, as he left her, that his heart was bitter against her. The old man did speak to his son, sitting with him up in the bed-room over that which the Countess occupied. Old Thomas Thwaite was a strong man, but his son was in some respects stronger. As his father had said of him, he had been educated,--or rather instructed; and instruction leads to the power of thinking. He looked deeper into things than did his father, and was governed by wider and greater motives. His father had been a Radical all his life, guided thereto probably by some early training, and made steadfast in his creed by feelings which induced him to hate the pretensions of an assumed superiority. Old Thwaite could not endure to think that one man should be considered to be worthier than another because he was richer. He would admit the riches, and even the justice of the riches,--having been himself, during much of his life, a rich man in his own sphere; but would deny the worthiness; and would adduce, in proof of his creed, the unworthiness of certain exalted sinners. The career of the Earl Lovel had been to him a sure proof of the baseness of English aristocracy generally. He had dreams of a republic in which a tailor might be president or senator, or something almost noble. But no rational scheme of governance among mankind had ever entered his mind, and of pure politics he knew no more than the journeyman who sat stitching upon his board. But Daniel Thwaite was a thoughtful man who had read many books. More's Utopia and Harrington's Oceana, with many a tale written in the same spirit, had taught him to believe that a perfect form of government, or rather of policy, under which all men might be happy and satisfied, was practicable upon earth, and was to be achieved,--not merely by the slow amelioration of mankind under God's fostering ordinances,--but by the continued efforts of good and wise men who, by their goodness and wisdom, should be able to make the multitude believe in them. To diminish the distances, not only between the rich and the poor, but between the high and the low, was the grand political theory upon which his mind was always running. His father was ever thinking of himself and of Earl Lovel; while Daniel Thwaite was considering the injustice of the difference between ten thousand aristocrats and thirty million of people, who were for the most part ignorant and hungry. But it was not that he also had not thoughts of himself. Gradually he had come to learn that he need not have been a tailor's foreman in Wigmore Street had not his father spent on behalf of the Countess Lovel the means by which he, the son, might already have become a master tradesman. And yet he had never begrudged it. He had been as keen as his father in the cause. It had been the romance of his life, since his life had been capable of romance;--but with him it had been no respect for the rank to which his father was so anxious to restore the Countess, no value which he attached to the names claimed by the mother and the daughter. He hated the countess-ship of the Countess, and the ladyship of the Lady Anna. He would fain that they should have abandoned them. They were to him odious signs of iniquitous pretensions. But he was keen enough to punish and to remedy the wickedness of the wicked Earl. He reverenced his father because he assaulted the wicked Earl and struck him to the ground. He was heart and soul in the cause of the injured wife. And then the one thing on earth that was really dear to him was the Lady Anna. It had been the romance of his life. They had grown up together as playmates in Cumberland. He had fought scores of battles on her behalf with those who had denied that she was the Lady Anna,--even though he had then hated the title. Boys had jeered him because of his noble little sweetheart, and he had exulted at hearing her so called. His only sister and his mother had died when he was young, and there had been none in the house but his father and himself. As a boy he had ever been

greatest

How many times the word 'greatest' appears in the text?

Anna would have the entire property, except such portion as would be claimed of right by her mother, the widow. Thus the Italian woman and the young lord were combined in interest against the mother and daughter as regarded the marriage; and the young lord and the mother and daughter were combined against the Italian woman as regarded the will;--but the young lord had to act alone against the Italian woman, and against the mother and daughter whom he and his friends regarded as swindlers and impostors. It was for him to set aside the will in reference to the Italian woman, and then to stand the brunt of the assault made upon him by the soi-disant wife. In a very short time after the old Earl's death a double compromise was offered on behalf of the young Earl. The money at stake was immense. Would the Italian woman take 10,000, and go her way back to Italy, renouncing all further claim; and would the soi-disant Countess abandon her title, acknowledge her child to be illegitimate, and go her way with another 10,000;--or with 20,000, as was soon hinted by the gentlemen acting on the Earl's behalf? The proposition was one somewhat difficult in the making, as the compromise, if made with both, would be excellent, but could not be made to any good effect with one only. The young Earl certainly could not afford to buy off the Italian woman for 10,000, if the effect of such buying off would only be to place the whole of the late lord's wealth in the hands of his daughter and of his daughter's mother. The Italian woman consented. She declared with Italian energy that her late loving friend had never been a day insane; but she knew nothing of English laws, and but little of English money. She would take the 10,000,--having had a calculation made for her of the number of lire into which it would run. The number was enormous, and she would take the offer. But when the proposal was mentioned to the Countess, and explained to her by her old friend, Thomas Thwaite, who had now become a poor man in her cause, she repudiated it with bitter scorn,--with a scorn in which she almost included the old man who had made it to her. "Is it for that, that I have been fighting?" she said. "For that in part," said the old man. "No, Mr. Thwaite, not for that at all; but that my girl may have her birth allowed and her name acknowledged." "Her name shall be allowed and her birth shall be acknowledged," said the tailor, in whose heart there was nothing base. "She shall be the Lady Anna, and her mother shall be the Countess Lovel." The estate of the Countess, if she had an estate, then owed the tailor some five or six thousand pounds, and the compromise offered would have paid the tailor every shilling and have left a comfortable income for the two women. "For myself I care but little," said the mother, taking the tailor's hand in hers and kissing it. "My child is the Lady Anna, and I do not dare to barter away her rights." This took place down at the cottage in Cumberland, and the tailor at once went up to London to make known the decision of the Countess,--as he invariably called her. Then the lawyers went to work. As the double compromise could not be effected, the single compromise could not stand. The Italian woman raved and stamped, and swore that she must have her half million of lire. But of course no right to such a claim had been made good to her, and the lawyers on behalf of the young Earl went on with their work. Public sympathy as a matter of course went with the young Earl. As against the Italian woman he had with him every English man and woman. It was horrible to the minds of English men and English women that an old English Earldom should be starved in order that an Italian harlot might revel in untold riches. It was felt by most men and protested by all women that any sign of madness, be it what it might,--however insignificant,--should be held to be sufficient against such a claimant. Was not the fact that the man had made such a will in itself sufficient proof of his madness? There were not a few who protested that no further proof could be necessary. But with us the law is the same for an Italian harlot and an English widow; and it may well be that in its niceties it shall be found kinder to the former than to the latter. But the Earl had been mad, and the law said that he was mad when he had made his will,--and the Italian woman went away, raging, into obscurity. The Italian woman was conquered, and now the battle was open and free between the young Earl and the claimant Countess. Applications were made on behalf of the Countess for funds from the estate wherewith to prove the claim, and to a certain limited amount they were granted. Such had been the life of the late Earl that it was held that the cost of all litigation resulting from his misdeeds should be paid from his estate;--but ready money was wanted, immediate ready money, to be at the disposal of the Countess to any amount needed by her agent, and this was hardly to be obtained. By this time public sympathy ran almost entirely with the Earl. Though it was acknowledged that the late lord was mad, and though it had become a cause of rejoicing that the Italian woman had been sent away penniless, howling into obscurity, because of the old man's madness, still it was believed that he had written the truth when he declared that the marriage had been a mock marriage. It would be better for the English world that the young Earl should be a rich man, fit to do honour to his position, fit to marry the daughter of a duke, fit to carry on the glory of the English peerage, than that a woman, ill reputed in the world, should be established as a Countess, with a daughter dowered with tens of thousands, as to whom it was already said that she was in love with a tailor's son. Nothing could be more touching, more likely to awaken sympathy, than the manner in which Josephine Murray had been carried away in marriage, and then roughly told by the man who should have protected her from every harshly blowing wind of heaven, that he had deceived her and that she was not his wife. No usage to which woman had ever been subjected, as has been said before, was more adapted to elicit compassion and energetic aid. But nineteen years had now passed by since the deed was done, and the facts were forgotten. One energetic friend there still was,--or we may say two, the tailor and his son Daniel. But public belief ran against the Countess, and nobody who was anybody in the world would give her her title. Bets were laid, two and three to one against her; and it was believed that she was an impostor. The Earl had all the glory of success over his first opponent, and the loud boasting of self-confident barristers buoyed up his cause. But loud-boasting barristers may nevertheless be wise lawyers, and the question of a compromise was again mooted. If the lady would take thirty thousand pounds and vanish, she should have the money clear of deduction, and all expenses should be paid. The amount offered was thought to be very liberal, but it did not amount to the annual income that was at stake. It was rejected with scorn. Had it been quadrupled, it would have been rejected with equal scorn. The loud-boasting barristers were still confident; but--. Though it was never admitted in words still it was felt that there might be a doubt. What if the contending parties were to join forces, if the Countess-ship of the Countess were to be admitted, and the heiress-ship of the Lady Anna, and if the Earl and the Lady Anna were to be united in holy wedlock? Might there not be a safe solution from further difficulty in that way? CHAPTER III. LADY ANNA. The idea of this further compromise, of this something more than compromise, of this half acknowledgment of their own weakness, came from Mr. Flick, of the firm of Norton and Flick, the solicitors who were employed in substantiating the Earl's position. When Mr. Flick mentioned it to Sir William Patterson, the great barrister, who was at that time Solicitor-General and leading counsel on behalf of Lord Lovel, Sir William Patterson stood aghast and was dismayed. Sir William intended to make mince-meat of the Countess. It was said of him that he intended to cross-examine the Countess off her legs, right out of her claim, and almost into her grave. He certainly did believe her to be an impostor, who had not thought herself to be entitled to her name when she first assumed it. "I should be sorry, Mr. Flick, to be driven to think that anything of that kind could be expedient." "It would make sure of the fortune to the family," said Mr. Flick. "And what about our friend, the Countess?" "Let her call herself Countess Lovel, Sir William. That will break no bones. As to the formality of her own marriage, there can be no doubt about that." "We can prove by Grogram that she was told that another wife was living," said Sir William. Grogram was an old butler who had been in the old Earl's service for thirty years. "I believe we can, Sir William; but--. It is quite clear that we shall never get the other wife to come over and face an English jury. It is of no use blinking it. The gentleman whom we have sent over doubts her altogether. That there was a marriage is certain, but he fears that this woman is not the old Countess. There were two sisters, and it may be that this was the other sister." Sir William was a good deal dismayed, but he recovered himself. The stakes were so high that it was quite possible that the gentleman who had been sent over might have been induced to open his eyes to the possibility of such personation by overtures from the other side. Sir William was of opinion that Mr. Flick himself should go to Sicily. He was not sure that he, Sir William, her Majesty's Solicitor-General, would not make the journey in person. He was by no means disposed to give way. "They tell me that the girl is no better than she should be," he said to Mr. Flick. "I don't think so bad as that of her," said Mr. Flick. "Is she a lady,--or anything like a lady?" "I am told she is very beautiful." "I dare say;--and so was her mother before her. I never saw a handsomer woman of her age than our friend the Countess. But I could not recommend the young lord to marry an underbred, bad girl, and a bastard who claims to be his cousin,--and support my proposition merely on the ground of her looks." "Thirty-five thousand a year, Sir William!" pleaded the attorney. "I hope we can get the thirty-five thousand a year for our client without paying so dear for them." It had been presumed that the real Countess, the original Countess, the Italian lady whom the Earl had married in early life, would be brought over, with properly attested documentary evidence in her pocket, to prove that she was the existing Countess, and that any other Countess must be either an impostor or a deluded dupe. No doubt the old Earl had declared, when first informing Josephine Murray that she was not his wife, that his real wife had died during the few months which had intervened since his mock marriage; but it was acknowledged on all sides, that the old Earl had been a villain and a liar. It was no part of the duty of the young Earl, or of those who acted for him, to defend the character of the old Earl. To wash that blackamoor white, or even to make him whity-brown, was not necessary to anybody. No one was now concerned to account for his crooked courses. But if it could be shown that he had married the lady in Italy,--as to which there was no doubt,--and that the lady was still alive, or that she had been alive when the second marriage took place, then the Lady Anna could not inherit the property which had been freed from the grasp of the Italian mistress. But it seemed that the lady, if she lived, could not be made to come. Mr. Flick did go to Sicily, and came back renewing his advice to Sir William that Lord Lovel should be advised to marry the Lady Anna. At this time the Countess, with her daughter, had moved their residence from Keswick up to London, and was living in very humble lodgings in a small street turning out of the New Road, near the Yorkshire Stingo. Old Thomas Thwaite had accompanied them from Cumberland, but the rooms had been taken for them by his son, Daniel Thwaite, who was at this time foreman to a somewhat celebrated tailor who carried on his business in Wigmore Street; and he, Daniel Thwaite, had a bedroom in the house in which the Countess lodged. The arrangement was not a wise one, as reports had already been spread abroad as to the partiality of the Lady Anna for the young tailor. But how should she not have been partial both to the father and to the son, feeling as she did that they were the only two men who befriended her cause and her mother's? As to the Countess herself, she, perhaps, alone of all those who interested themselves in her daughter's cause, had heard no word of these insinuations against her child. To her both Thomas and Daniel Thwaite were dear friends, to repay whom for their exertions with lavish generosity,--should the means to do so ever come within her reach,--was one of the dreams of her existence. But she was an ambitious woman, thinking much of her rank, thinking much even of the blood of her own ancestors, constantly urgent with her daughter in teaching her the duties and privileges of wealth and rank. For the Countess never doubted that she would at last attain success. That the Lady Anna should throw herself away upon Daniel Thwaite did not occur to her as a possibility. She had not even dreamed that Daniel Thwaite would aspire to her daughter's hand. And yet every shop-boy and every shop-girl in Keswick had been so saying for the last twelvemonth, and rumours which had hitherto been confined to Keswick and its neighbourhood, were now common in London. For the case was becoming one of the celebrated causes of the age, and all the world was talking of the Countess and her daughter. No momentary suspicion had crossed the mind of the Countess till after their arrival in London; and then when the suspicion did touch her it was not love that she suspected,--but rather an unbecoming familiarity which she attributed to her child's ignorance of the great life which awaited her. "My dear," she said one day when Daniel Thwaite had left them, "you should be less free in your manner with that young man." "What do you mean, mamma?" said the daughter, blushing. "You had better call him Mr. Thwaite." "But I have called him Daniel ever since I was born." "He always calls you Lady Anna." "Sometimes he does, mamma." "I never heard him call you anything else," said the Countess, almost with indignation. "It is all very well for the old man, because he is an old man and has done so much for us." "So has Daniel;--quite as much, mamma. They have both done everything." "True; they have both been warm friends; and if ever I forget them may God forget me. I trust that we may both live to show them that they are not forgotten. But it is not fitting that there should exist between you and him the intimacy of equal positions. You are not and cannot be his equal. He has been born to be a tailor, and you are the daughter and heiress of an Earl." These last words were spoken in a tone that was almost awful to the Lady Anna. She had heard so much of her father's rank and her father's wealth,--rank and wealth which were always to be hers, but which had never as yet reached her, which had been a perpetual trouble to her, and a crushing weight upon her young life, that she had almost learned to hate the title and the claim. Of course it was a part of the religion of her life that her mother had been duly married to her father. It was beyond a doubt to her that such was the case. But the constant battling for denied rights, the assumption of a position which could not be attained, the use of titles which were simply ridiculous in themselves as connected with the kind of life which she was obliged to lead,--these things had all become odious to her. She lacked the ambition which gave her mother strength, and would gladly have become Anna Murray or Anna Lovel, with a girl's ordinary privilege of loving her lover, had such an easy life been possible to her. In person she was very lovely, less tall and robust than her mother had been, but with a sweeter, softer face. Her hair was less dark, and her eyes were neither blue nor bold. But they were bright and soft and very eloquent, and when laden with tears would have softened the heart,--almost of her father. She was as yet less powerful than her mother, both in body and mind, but probably better calculated to make a happy home for a husband and children. She was affectionate, self-denying, and feminine. Had that offer of compromise for thirty, twenty, or for ten thousand pounds been made to her, she would have accepted it willingly,--caring little for her name, little even for fame, so that she might have been happy and quiet, and at liberty to think of a lover as are other girls. In her present condition, how could she have any happy love? She was the Lady Anna Lovel, heir to a ducal fortune,--but she lived in small close lodgings in Wyndham Street, New Road. She did not believe in the good time coming as did her mother. Their enemy was an undoubted Earl, undoubtedly owner of Lovel Grange of which she had heard all her life. Would it not be better to take what the young lord chose to give them and to be at rest? But she did not dare to express such thoughts to her mother. Her mother would have crushed her with a look. "I have told Mr. Thwaite," the mother said to her daughter, "what we were saying this morning." "About his son?" "Yes,--about his son." "Oh, mamma!" "I was bound to do so." "And what did he say, mamma?" "He did not like it, and told me that he did not like it;--but he admitted that it was true. He admitted that his son was no fitting intimate for Lady Anna Lovel." "What should we have done without him?" "Badly indeed; but that cannot change his duty, or ours. He is helping us to struggle for that which is our own; but he would mar his generosity if he put a taint on that which he is endeavouring to restore to us." "Put a taint, mamma!" "Yes;--a taint would rest upon your rank if you as Lady Anna Lovel were familiar with Daniel Thwaite as with an equal. His father understands it, and will speak to him." "Mamma, Daniel will be very angry." "Then will he be very unreasonable;--but, Anna, I will not have you call him Daniel any more." CHAPTER IV. THE TAILOR OF KESWICK. Old Thomas Thwaite was at this time up in London about the business of the Countess, but had no intention of residing there. He still kept his shop in Keswick, and still made coats and trousers for Cumberland statesmen. He was by no means in a condition to retire from business, having spent the savings of his life in the cause of the Countess and her daughter. Men had told him that, had he not struck the Earl in the yard of the Crown at Keswick, as horses were being brought out for the lord's travelling carriage, ample provision would have been made by the rich old sinner for his daughter. That might have been so, or might not, but the saying instigated the tailor to further zeal and increased generosity. To oppose an Earl, even though it might be on behalf of a Countess, was a joy to him; to set wrong right, and to put down cruelty and to relieve distressed women was the pride of his heart,--especially when his efforts were made in antagonism to one of high rank. And he was a man who would certainly be thorough in his work, though his thoroughness should be ruinous to himself. He had despised the Murrays, who ought to have stuck to their distant cousin, and had exulted in his heart at thinking that the world would say how much better and truer had been the Keswick tailor than the well-born and comparatively wealthy Scotch relations. And the poets of the lakes, who had not as yet become altogether Tories, had taken him by the hand and praised him. The rights of the Countess and the wrongs of the Countess had become his life. But he still kept on a diminished business in the north, and it was now needful that he should return to Cumberland. He had heard that renewed offers of compromise were to be made,--though no idea of the proposed marriage between the distant cousins had been suggested to him. He had been discussing the question of some compromise with the Countess when she spoke to him respecting his son; and had recommended that certain terms should, if possible, be effected. Let the money be divided, on condition that the marriage were allowed. There could be no difficulty in this if the young lord would accede to such an arrangement, as the marriage must be acknowledged unless an adverse party should bring home proof from Italy to the contrary. The sufficiency of the ceremony in Applethwaite Church was incontestable. Let the money be divided, and the Countess be Countess Lovel, and Lady Anna be the Lady Anna to all the world. Old Thomas Thwaite himself had seemed to think that there would be enough of triumph in such a settlement. "But the woman might afterwards be bribed to come over and renew her claim," said the Countess. "Unless it be absolutely settled now, they will say when I am dead and gone that my daughter has no right to her name." Then the tailor said that he would make further inquiry how that might be. He was inclined to think that there might be a decision which should be absolute, even though that decision should be reached by compromise between the now contending parties. Then the Countess had said her word about Daniel Thwaite the son, and Thomas Thwaite the father had heard it with ill-concealed anger. To fight against an Earl on behalf of the Earl's injured wife had been very sweet to him, but to be checked in his fight because he and his were unfit to associate with the child of that injured wife, was very bitter. And yet he had sense to know that what the Countess said to him was true. As far as words went, he admitted the truth; but his face was more eloquent than his words, and his face showed plainly his displeasure. "It is not of you that I am speaking," said the Countess, laying her hand upon the old man's sleeve. "Daniel is, at any rate, fitter than I," said the tailor. "He has been educated, and I never was." "He is as good as gold. It is not of that I speak. You know what I mean." "I know very well what you mean, Lady Lovel." "I have no friend like you, Mr. Thwaite;--none whom I love as I do you. And next to you is your son. For myself, there is nothing that I would not do for him or you;--no service, however menial, that I would not render you with my own hands. There is no limit to the gratitude which I owe you. But my girl is young, and if this burden of rank and wealth is to be hers,--it is proper that she do honour to it." "And it is not honourable that she should be seen speaking--to a tailor?" "Ah,--if you choose to take it so!" "How should I take it? What I say is true. And what you say is true also. I will speak to Daniel." But she knew well, as he left her, that his heart was bitter against her. The old man did speak to his son, sitting with him up in the bed-room over that which the Countess occupied. Old Thomas Thwaite was a strong man, but his son was in some respects stronger. As his father had said of him, he had been educated,--or rather instructed; and instruction leads to the power of thinking. He looked deeper into things than did his father, and was governed by wider and greater motives. His father had been a Radical all his life, guided thereto probably by some early training, and made steadfast in his creed by feelings which induced him to hate the pretensions of an assumed superiority. Old Thwaite could not endure to think that one man should be considered to be worthier than another because he was richer. He would admit the riches, and even the justice of the riches,--having been himself, during much of his life, a rich man in his own sphere; but would deny the worthiness; and would adduce, in proof of his creed, the unworthiness of certain exalted sinners. The career of the Earl Lovel had been to him a sure proof of the baseness of English aristocracy generally. He had dreams of a republic in which a tailor might be president or senator, or something almost noble. But no rational scheme of governance among mankind had ever entered his mind, and of pure politics he knew no more than the journeyman who sat stitching upon his board. But Daniel Thwaite was a thoughtful man who had read many books. More's Utopia and Harrington's Oceana, with many a tale written in the same spirit, had taught him to believe that a perfect form of government, or rather of policy, under which all men might be happy and satisfied, was practicable upon earth, and was to be achieved,--not merely by the slow amelioration of mankind under God's fostering ordinances,--but by the continued efforts of good and wise men who, by their goodness and wisdom, should be able to make the multitude believe in them. To diminish the distances, not only between the rich and the poor, but between the high and the low, was the grand political theory upon which his mind was always running. His father was ever thinking of himself and of Earl Lovel; while Daniel Thwaite was considering the injustice of the difference between ten thousand aristocrats and thirty million of people, who were for the most part ignorant and hungry. But it was not that he also had not thoughts of himself. Gradually he had come to learn that he need not have been a tailor's foreman in Wigmore Street had not his father spent on behalf of the Countess Lovel the means by which he, the son, might already have become a master tradesman. And yet he had never begrudged it. He had been as keen as his father in the cause. It had been the romance of his life, since his life had been capable of romance;--but with him it had been no respect for the rank to which his father was so anxious to restore the Countess, no value which he attached to the names claimed by the mother and the daughter. He hated the countess-ship of the Countess, and the ladyship of the Lady Anna. He would fain that they should have abandoned them. They were to him odious signs of iniquitous pretensions. But he was keen enough to punish and to remedy the wickedness of the wicked Earl. He reverenced his father because he assaulted the wicked Earl and struck him to the ground. He was heart and soul in the cause of the injured wife. And then the one thing on earth that was really dear to him was the Lady Anna. It had been the romance of his life. They had grown up together as playmates in Cumberland. He had fought scores of battles on her behalf with those who had denied that she was the Lady Anna,--even though he had then hated the title. Boys had jeered him because of his noble little sweetheart, and he had exulted at hearing her so called. His only sister and his mother had died when he was young, and there had been none in the house but his father and himself. As a boy he had ever been

sign

How many times the word 'sign' appears in the text?

Anna would have the entire property, except such portion as would be claimed of right by her mother, the widow. Thus the Italian woman and the young lord were combined in interest against the mother and daughter as regarded the marriage; and the young lord and the mother and daughter were combined against the Italian woman as regarded the will;--but the young lord had to act alone against the Italian woman, and against the mother and daughter whom he and his friends regarded as swindlers and impostors. It was for him to set aside the will in reference to the Italian woman, and then to stand the brunt of the assault made upon him by the soi-disant wife. In a very short time after the old Earl's death a double compromise was offered on behalf of the young Earl. The money at stake was immense. Would the Italian woman take 10,000, and go her way back to Italy, renouncing all further claim; and would the soi-disant Countess abandon her title, acknowledge her child to be illegitimate, and go her way with another 10,000;--or with 20,000, as was soon hinted by the gentlemen acting on the Earl's behalf? The proposition was one somewhat difficult in the making, as the compromise, if made with both, would be excellent, but could not be made to any good effect with one only. The young Earl certainly could not afford to buy off the Italian woman for 10,000, if the effect of such buying off would only be to place the whole of the late lord's wealth in the hands of his daughter and of his daughter's mother. The Italian woman consented. She declared with Italian energy that her late loving friend had never been a day insane; but she knew nothing of English laws, and but little of English money. She would take the 10,000,--having had a calculation made for her of the number of lire into which it would run. The number was enormous, and she would take the offer. But when the proposal was mentioned to the Countess, and explained to her by her old friend, Thomas Thwaite, who had now become a poor man in her cause, she repudiated it with bitter scorn,--with a scorn in which she almost included the old man who had made it to her. "Is it for that, that I have been fighting?" she said. "For that in part," said the old man. "No, Mr. Thwaite, not for that at all; but that my girl may have her birth allowed and her name acknowledged." "Her name shall be allowed and her birth shall be acknowledged," said the tailor, in whose heart there was nothing base. "She shall be the Lady Anna, and her mother shall be the Countess Lovel." The estate of the Countess, if she had an estate, then owed the tailor some five or six thousand pounds, and the compromise offered would have paid the tailor every shilling and have left a comfortable income for the two women. "For myself I care but little," said the mother, taking the tailor's hand in hers and kissing it. "My child is the Lady Anna, and I do not dare to barter away her rights." This took place down at the cottage in Cumberland, and the tailor at once went up to London to make known the decision of the Countess,--as he invariably called her. Then the lawyers went to work. As the double compromise could not be effected, the single compromise could not stand. The Italian woman raved and stamped, and swore that she must have her half million of lire. But of course no right to such a claim had been made good to her, and the lawyers on behalf of the young Earl went on with their work. Public sympathy as a matter of course went with the young Earl. As against the Italian woman he had with him every English man and woman. It was horrible to the minds of English men and English women that an old English Earldom should be starved in order that an Italian harlot might revel in untold riches. It was felt by most men and protested by all women that any sign of madness, be it what it might,--however insignificant,--should be held to be sufficient against such a claimant. Was not the fact that the man had made such a will in itself sufficient proof of his madness? There were not a few who protested that no further proof could be necessary. But with us the law is the same for an Italian harlot and an English widow; and it may well be that in its niceties it shall be found kinder to the former than to the latter. But the Earl had been mad, and the law said that he was mad when he had made his will,--and the Italian woman went away, raging, into obscurity. The Italian woman was conquered, and now the battle was open and free between the young Earl and the claimant Countess. Applications were made on behalf of the Countess for funds from the estate wherewith to prove the claim, and to a certain limited amount they were granted. Such had been the life of the late Earl that it was held that the cost of all litigation resulting from his misdeeds should be paid from his estate;--but ready money was wanted, immediate ready money, to be at the disposal of the Countess to any amount needed by her agent, and this was hardly to be obtained. By this time public sympathy ran almost entirely with the Earl. Though it was acknowledged that the late lord was mad, and though it had become a cause of rejoicing that the Italian woman had been sent away penniless, howling into obscurity, because of the old man's madness, still it was believed that he had written the truth when he declared that the marriage had been a mock marriage. It would be better for the English world that the young Earl should be a rich man, fit to do honour to his position, fit to marry the daughter of a duke, fit to carry on the glory of the English peerage, than that a woman, ill reputed in the world, should be established as a Countess, with a daughter dowered with tens of thousands, as to whom it was already said that she was in love with a tailor's son. Nothing could be more touching, more likely to awaken sympathy, than the manner in which Josephine Murray had been carried away in marriage, and then roughly told by the man who should have protected her from every harshly blowing wind of heaven, that he had deceived her and that she was not his wife. No usage to which woman had ever been subjected, as has been said before, was more adapted to elicit compassion and energetic aid. But nineteen years had now passed by since the deed was done, and the facts were forgotten. One energetic friend there still was,--or we may say two, the tailor and his son Daniel. But public belief ran against the Countess, and nobody who was anybody in the world would give her her title. Bets were laid, two and three to one against her; and it was believed that she was an impostor. The Earl had all the glory of success over his first opponent, and the loud boasting of self-confident barristers buoyed up his cause. But loud-boasting barristers may nevertheless be wise lawyers, and the question of a compromise was again mooted. If the lady would take thirty thousand pounds and vanish, she should have the money clear of deduction, and all expenses should be paid. The amount offered was thought to be very liberal, but it did not amount to the annual income that was at stake. It was rejected with scorn. Had it been quadrupled, it would have been rejected with equal scorn. The loud-boasting barristers were still confident; but--. Though it was never admitted in words still it was felt that there might be a doubt. What if the contending parties were to join forces, if the Countess-ship of the Countess were to be admitted, and the heiress-ship of the Lady Anna, and if the Earl and the Lady Anna were to be united in holy wedlock? Might there not be a safe solution from further difficulty in that way? CHAPTER III. LADY ANNA. The idea of this further compromise, of this something more than compromise, of this half acknowledgment of their own weakness, came from Mr. Flick, of the firm of Norton and Flick, the solicitors who were employed in substantiating the Earl's position. When Mr. Flick mentioned it to Sir William Patterson, the great barrister, who was at that time Solicitor-General and leading counsel on behalf of Lord Lovel, Sir William Patterson stood aghast and was dismayed. Sir William intended to make mince-meat of the Countess. It was said of him that he intended to cross-examine the Countess off her legs, right out of her claim, and almost into her grave. He certainly did believe her to be an impostor, who had not thought herself to be entitled to her name when she first assumed it. "I should be sorry, Mr. Flick, to be driven to think that anything of that kind could be expedient." "It would make sure of the fortune to the family," said Mr. Flick. "And what about our friend, the Countess?" "Let her call herself Countess Lovel, Sir William. That will break no bones. As to the formality of her own marriage, there can be no doubt about that." "We can prove by Grogram that she was told that another wife was living," said Sir William. Grogram was an old butler who had been in the old Earl's service for thirty years. "I believe we can, Sir William; but--. It is quite clear that we shall never get the other wife to come over and face an English jury. It is of no use blinking it. The gentleman whom we have sent over doubts her altogether. That there was a marriage is certain, but he fears that this woman is not the old Countess. There were two sisters, and it may be that this was the other sister." Sir William was a good deal dismayed, but he recovered himself. The stakes were so high that it was quite possible that the gentleman who had been sent over might have been induced to open his eyes to the possibility of such personation by overtures from the other side. Sir William was of opinion that Mr. Flick himself should go to Sicily. He was not sure that he, Sir William, her Majesty's Solicitor-General, would not make the journey in person. He was by no means disposed to give way. "They tell me that the girl is no better than she should be," he said to Mr. Flick. "I don't think so bad as that of her," said Mr. Flick. "Is she a lady,--or anything like a lady?" "I am told she is very beautiful." "I dare say;--and so was her mother before her. I never saw a handsomer woman of her age than our friend the Countess. But I could not recommend the young lord to marry an underbred, bad girl, and a bastard who claims to be his cousin,--and support my proposition merely on the ground of her looks." "Thirty-five thousand a year, Sir William!" pleaded the attorney. "I hope we can get the thirty-five thousand a year for our client without paying so dear for them." It had been presumed that the real Countess, the original Countess, the Italian lady whom the Earl had married in early life, would be brought over, with properly attested documentary evidence in her pocket, to prove that she was the existing Countess, and that any other Countess must be either an impostor or a deluded dupe. No doubt the old Earl had declared, when first informing Josephine Murray that she was not his wife, that his real wife had died during the few months which had intervened since his mock marriage; but it was acknowledged on all sides, that the old Earl had been a villain and a liar. It was no part of the duty of the young Earl, or of those who acted for him, to defend the character of the old Earl. To wash that blackamoor white, or even to make him whity-brown, was not necessary to anybody. No one was now concerned to account for his crooked courses. But if it could be shown that he had married the lady in Italy,--as to which there was no doubt,--and that the lady was still alive, or that she had been alive when the second marriage took place, then the Lady Anna could not inherit the property which had been freed from the grasp of the Italian mistress. But it seemed that the lady, if she lived, could not be made to come. Mr. Flick did go to Sicily, and came back renewing his advice to Sir William that Lord Lovel should be advised to marry the Lady Anna. At this time the Countess, with her daughter, had moved their residence from Keswick up to London, and was living in very humble lodgings in a small street turning out of the New Road, near the Yorkshire Stingo. Old Thomas Thwaite had accompanied them from Cumberland, but the rooms had been taken for them by his son, Daniel Thwaite, who was at this time foreman to a somewhat celebrated tailor who carried on his business in Wigmore Street; and he, Daniel Thwaite, had a bedroom in the house in which the Countess lodged. The arrangement was not a wise one, as reports had already been spread abroad as to the partiality of the Lady Anna for the young tailor. But how should she not have been partial both to the father and to the son, feeling as she did that they were the only two men who befriended her cause and her mother's? As to the Countess herself, she, perhaps, alone of all those who interested themselves in her daughter's cause, had heard no word of these insinuations against her child. To her both Thomas and Daniel Thwaite were dear friends, to repay whom for their exertions with lavish generosity,--should the means to do so ever come within her reach,--was one of the dreams of her existence. But she was an ambitious woman, thinking much of her rank, thinking much even of the blood of her own ancestors, constantly urgent with her daughter in teaching her the duties and privileges of wealth and rank. For the Countess never doubted that she would at last attain success. That the Lady Anna should throw herself away upon Daniel Thwaite did not occur to her as a possibility. She had not even dreamed that Daniel Thwaite would aspire to her daughter's hand. And yet every shop-boy and every shop-girl in Keswick had been so saying for the last twelvemonth, and rumours which had hitherto been confined to Keswick and its neighbourhood, were now common in London. For the case was becoming one of the celebrated causes of the age, and all the world was talking of the Countess and her daughter. No momentary suspicion had crossed the mind of the Countess till after their arrival in London; and then when the suspicion did touch her it was not love that she suspected,--but rather an unbecoming familiarity which she attributed to her child's ignorance of the great life which awaited her. "My dear," she said one day when Daniel Thwaite had left them, "you should be less free in your manner with that young man." "What do you mean, mamma?" said the daughter, blushing. "You had better call him Mr. Thwaite." "But I have called him Daniel ever since I was born." "He always calls you Lady Anna." "Sometimes he does, mamma." "I never heard him call you anything else," said the Countess, almost with indignation. "It is all very well for the old man, because he is an old man and has done so much for us." "So has Daniel;--quite as much, mamma. They have both done everything." "True; they have both been warm friends; and if ever I forget them may God forget me. I trust that we may both live to show them that they are not forgotten. But it is not fitting that there should exist between you and him the intimacy of equal positions. You are not and cannot be his equal. He has been born to be a tailor, and you are the daughter and heiress of an Earl." These last words were spoken in a tone that was almost awful to the Lady Anna. She had heard so much of her father's rank and her father's wealth,--rank and wealth which were always to be hers, but which had never as yet reached her, which had been a perpetual trouble to her, and a crushing weight upon her young life, that she had almost learned to hate the title and the claim. Of course it was a part of the religion of her life that her mother had been duly married to her father. It was beyond a doubt to her that such was the case. But the constant battling for denied rights, the assumption of a position which could not be attained, the use of titles which were simply ridiculous in themselves as connected with the kind of life which she was obliged to lead,--these things had all become odious to her. She lacked the ambition which gave her mother strength, and would gladly have become Anna Murray or Anna Lovel, with a girl's ordinary privilege of loving her lover, had such an easy life been possible to her. In person she was very lovely, less tall and robust than her mother had been, but with a sweeter, softer face. Her hair was less dark, and her eyes were neither blue nor bold. But they were bright and soft and very eloquent, and when laden with tears would have softened the heart,--almost of her father. She was as yet less powerful than her mother, both in body and mind, but probably better calculated to make a happy home for a husband and children. She was affectionate, self-denying, and feminine. Had that offer of compromise for thirty, twenty, or for ten thousand pounds been made to her, she would have accepted it willingly,--caring little for her name, little even for fame, so that she might have been happy and quiet, and at liberty to think of a lover as are other girls. In her present condition, how could she have any happy love? She was the Lady Anna Lovel, heir to a ducal fortune,--but she lived in small close lodgings in Wyndham Street, New Road. She did not believe in the good time coming as did her mother. Their enemy was an undoubted Earl, undoubtedly owner of Lovel Grange of which she had heard all her life. Would it not be better to take what the young lord chose to give them and to be at rest? But she did not dare to express such thoughts to her mother. Her mother would have crushed her with a look. "I have told Mr. Thwaite," the mother said to her daughter, "what we were saying this morning." "About his son?" "Yes,--about his son." "Oh, mamma!" "I was bound to do so." "And what did he say, mamma?" "He did not like it, and told me that he did not like it;--but he admitted that it was true. He admitted that his son was no fitting intimate for Lady Anna Lovel." "What should we have done without him?" "Badly indeed; but that cannot change his duty, or ours. He is helping us to struggle for that which is our own; but he would mar his generosity if he put a taint on that which he is endeavouring to restore to us." "Put a taint, mamma!" "Yes;--a taint would rest upon your rank if you as Lady Anna Lovel were familiar with Daniel Thwaite as with an equal. His father understands it, and will speak to him." "Mamma, Daniel will be very angry." "Then will he be very unreasonable;--but, Anna, I will not have you call him Daniel any more." CHAPTER IV. THE TAILOR OF KESWICK. Old Thomas Thwaite was at this time up in London about the business of the Countess, but had no intention of residing there. He still kept his shop in Keswick, and still made coats and trousers for Cumberland statesmen. He was by no means in a condition to retire from business, having spent the savings of his life in the cause of the Countess and her daughter. Men had told him that, had he not struck the Earl in the yard of the Crown at Keswick, as horses were being brought out for the lord's travelling carriage, ample provision would have been made by the rich old sinner for his daughter. That might have been so, or might not, but the saying instigated the tailor to further zeal and increased generosity. To oppose an Earl, even though it might be on behalf of a Countess, was a joy to him; to set wrong right, and to put down cruelty and to relieve distressed women was the pride of his heart,--especially when his efforts were made in antagonism to one of high rank. And he was a man who would certainly be thorough in his work, though his thoroughness should be ruinous to himself. He had despised the Murrays, who ought to have stuck to their distant cousin, and had exulted in his heart at thinking that the world would say how much better and truer had been the Keswick tailor than the well-born and comparatively wealthy Scotch relations. And the poets of the lakes, who had not as yet become altogether Tories, had taken him by the hand and praised him. The rights of the Countess and the wrongs of the Countess had become his life. But he still kept on a diminished business in the north, and it was now needful that he should return to Cumberland. He had heard that renewed offers of compromise were to be made,--though no idea of the proposed marriage between the distant cousins had been suggested to him. He had been discussing the question of some compromise with the Countess when she spoke to him respecting his son; and had recommended that certain terms should, if possible, be effected. Let the money be divided, on condition that the marriage were allowed. There could be no difficulty in this if the young lord would accede to such an arrangement, as the marriage must be acknowledged unless an adverse party should bring home proof from Italy to the contrary. The sufficiency of the ceremony in Applethwaite Church was incontestable. Let the money be divided, and the Countess be Countess Lovel, and Lady Anna be the Lady Anna to all the world. Old Thomas Thwaite himself had seemed to think that there would be enough of triumph in such a settlement. "But the woman might afterwards be bribed to come over and renew her claim," said the Countess. "Unless it be absolutely settled now, they will say when I am dead and gone that my daughter has no right to her name." Then the tailor said that he would make further inquiry how that might be. He was inclined to think that there might be a decision which should be absolute, even though that decision should be reached by compromise between the now contending parties. Then the Countess had said her word about Daniel Thwaite the son, and Thomas Thwaite the father had heard it with ill-concealed anger. To fight against an Earl on behalf of the Earl's injured wife had been very sweet to him, but to be checked in his fight because he and his were unfit to associate with the child of that injured wife, was very bitter. And yet he had sense to know that what the Countess said to him was true. As far as words went, he admitted the truth; but his face was more eloquent than his words, and his face showed plainly his displeasure. "It is not of you that I am speaking," said the Countess, laying her hand upon the old man's sleeve. "Daniel is, at any rate, fitter than I," said the tailor. "He has been educated, and I never was." "He is as good as gold. It is not of that I speak. You know what I mean." "I know very well what you mean, Lady Lovel." "I have no friend like you, Mr. Thwaite;--none whom I love as I do you. And next to you is your son. For myself, there is nothing that I would not do for him or you;--no service, however menial, that I would not render you with my own hands. There is no limit to the gratitude which I owe you. But my girl is young, and if this burden of rank and wealth is to be hers,--it is proper that she do honour to it." "And it is not honourable that she should be seen speaking--to a tailor?" "Ah,--if you choose to take it so!" "How should I take it? What I say is true. And what you say is true also. I will speak to Daniel." But she knew well, as he left her, that his heart was bitter against her. The old man did speak to his son, sitting with him up in the bed-room over that which the Countess occupied. Old Thomas Thwaite was a strong man, but his son was in some respects stronger. As his father had said of him, he had been educated,--or rather instructed; and instruction leads to the power of thinking. He looked deeper into things than did his father, and was governed by wider and greater motives. His father had been a Radical all his life, guided thereto probably by some early training, and made steadfast in his creed by feelings which induced him to hate the pretensions of an assumed superiority. Old Thwaite could not endure to think that one man should be considered to be worthier than another because he was richer. He would admit the riches, and even the justice of the riches,--having been himself, during much of his life, a rich man in his own sphere; but would deny the worthiness; and would adduce, in proof of his creed, the unworthiness of certain exalted sinners. The career of the Earl Lovel had been to him a sure proof of the baseness of English aristocracy generally. He had dreams of a republic in which a tailor might be president or senator, or something almost noble. But no rational scheme of governance among mankind had ever entered his mind, and of pure politics he knew no more than the journeyman who sat stitching upon his board. But Daniel Thwaite was a thoughtful man who had read many books. More's Utopia and Harrington's Oceana, with many a tale written in the same spirit, had taught him to believe that a perfect form of government, or rather of policy, under which all men might be happy and satisfied, was practicable upon earth, and was to be achieved,--not merely by the slow amelioration of mankind under God's fostering ordinances,--but by the continued efforts of good and wise men who, by their goodness and wisdom, should be able to make the multitude believe in them. To diminish the distances, not only between the rich and the poor, but between the high and the low, was the grand political theory upon which his mind was always running. His father was ever thinking of himself and of Earl Lovel; while Daniel Thwaite was considering the injustice of the difference between ten thousand aristocrats and thirty million of people, who were for the most part ignorant and hungry. But it was not that he also had not thoughts of himself. Gradually he had come to learn that he need not have been a tailor's foreman in Wigmore Street had not his father spent on behalf of the Countess Lovel the means by which he, the son, might already have become a master tradesman. And yet he had never begrudged it. He had been as keen as his father in the cause. It had been the romance of his life, since his life had been capable of romance;--but with him it had been no respect for the rank to which his father was so anxious to restore the Countess, no value which he attached to the names claimed by the mother and the daughter. He hated the countess-ship of the Countess, and the ladyship of the Lady Anna. He would fain that they should have abandoned them. They were to him odious signs of iniquitous pretensions. But he was keen enough to punish and to remedy the wickedness of the wicked Earl. He reverenced his father because he assaulted the wicked Earl and struck him to the ground. He was heart and soul in the cause of the injured wife. And then the one thing on earth that was really dear to him was the Lady Anna. It had been the romance of his life. They had grown up together as playmates in Cumberland. He had fought scores of battles on her behalf with those who had denied that she was the Lady Anna,--even though he had then hated the title. Boys had jeered him because of his noble little sweetheart, and he had exulted at hearing her so called. His only sister and his mother had died when he was young, and there had been none in the house but his father and himself. As a boy he had ever been

double

How many times the word 'double' appears in the text?

Anna would have the entire property, except such portion as would be claimed of right by her mother, the widow. Thus the Italian woman and the young lord were combined in interest against the mother and daughter as regarded the marriage; and the young lord and the mother and daughter were combined against the Italian woman as regarded the will;--but the young lord had to act alone against the Italian woman, and against the mother and daughter whom he and his friends regarded as swindlers and impostors. It was for him to set aside the will in reference to the Italian woman, and then to stand the brunt of the assault made upon him by the soi-disant wife. In a very short time after the old Earl's death a double compromise was offered on behalf of the young Earl. The money at stake was immense. Would the Italian woman take 10,000, and go her way back to Italy, renouncing all further claim; and would the soi-disant Countess abandon her title, acknowledge her child to be illegitimate, and go her way with another 10,000;--or with 20,000, as was soon hinted by the gentlemen acting on the Earl's behalf? The proposition was one somewhat difficult in the making, as the compromise, if made with both, would be excellent, but could not be made to any good effect with one only. The young Earl certainly could not afford to buy off the Italian woman for 10,000, if the effect of such buying off would only be to place the whole of the late lord's wealth in the hands of his daughter and of his daughter's mother. The Italian woman consented. She declared with Italian energy that her late loving friend had never been a day insane; but she knew nothing of English laws, and but little of English money. She would take the 10,000,--having had a calculation made for her of the number of lire into which it would run. The number was enormous, and she would take the offer. But when the proposal was mentioned to the Countess, and explained to her by her old friend, Thomas Thwaite, who had now become a poor man in her cause, she repudiated it with bitter scorn,--with a scorn in which she almost included the old man who had made it to her. "Is it for that, that I have been fighting?" she said. "For that in part," said the old man. "No, Mr. Thwaite, not for that at all; but that my girl may have her birth allowed and her name acknowledged." "Her name shall be allowed and her birth shall be acknowledged," said the tailor, in whose heart there was nothing base. "She shall be the Lady Anna, and her mother shall be the Countess Lovel." The estate of the Countess, if she had an estate, then owed the tailor some five or six thousand pounds, and the compromise offered would have paid the tailor every shilling and have left a comfortable income for the two women. "For myself I care but little," said the mother, taking the tailor's hand in hers and kissing it. "My child is the Lady Anna, and I do not dare to barter away her rights." This took place down at the cottage in Cumberland, and the tailor at once went up to London to make known the decision of the Countess,--as he invariably called her. Then the lawyers went to work. As the double compromise could not be effected, the single compromise could not stand. The Italian woman raved and stamped, and swore that she must have her half million of lire. But of course no right to such a claim had been made good to her, and the lawyers on behalf of the young Earl went on with their work. Public sympathy as a matter of course went with the young Earl. As against the Italian woman he had with him every English man and woman. It was horrible to the minds of English men and English women that an old English Earldom should be starved in order that an Italian harlot might revel in untold riches. It was felt by most men and protested by all women that any sign of madness, be it what it might,--however insignificant,--should be held to be sufficient against such a claimant. Was not the fact that the man had made such a will in itself sufficient proof of his madness? There were not a few who protested that no further proof could be necessary. But with us the law is the same for an Italian harlot and an English widow; and it may well be that in its niceties it shall be found kinder to the former than to the latter. But the Earl had been mad, and the law said that he was mad when he had made his will,--and the Italian woman went away, raging, into obscurity. The Italian woman was conquered, and now the battle was open and free between the young Earl and the claimant Countess. Applications were made on behalf of the Countess for funds from the estate wherewith to prove the claim, and to a certain limited amount they were granted. Such had been the life of the late Earl that it was held that the cost of all litigation resulting from his misdeeds should be paid from his estate;--but ready money was wanted, immediate ready money, to be at the disposal of the Countess to any amount needed by her agent, and this was hardly to be obtained. By this time public sympathy ran almost entirely with the Earl. Though it was acknowledged that the late lord was mad, and though it had become a cause of rejoicing that the Italian woman had been sent away penniless, howling into obscurity, because of the old man's madness, still it was believed that he had written the truth when he declared that the marriage had been a mock marriage. It would be better for the English world that the young Earl should be a rich man, fit to do honour to his position, fit to marry the daughter of a duke, fit to carry on the glory of the English peerage, than that a woman, ill reputed in the world, should be established as a Countess, with a daughter dowered with tens of thousands, as to whom it was already said that she was in love with a tailor's son. Nothing could be more touching, more likely to awaken sympathy, than the manner in which Josephine Murray had been carried away in marriage, and then roughly told by the man who should have protected her from every harshly blowing wind of heaven, that he had deceived her and that she was not his wife. No usage to which woman had ever been subjected, as has been said before, was more adapted to elicit compassion and energetic aid. But nineteen years had now passed by since the deed was done, and the facts were forgotten. One energetic friend there still was,--or we may say two, the tailor and his son Daniel. But public belief ran against the Countess, and nobody who was anybody in the world would give her her title. Bets were laid, two and three to one against her; and it was believed that she was an impostor. The Earl had all the glory of success over his first opponent, and the loud boasting of self-confident barristers buoyed up his cause. But loud-boasting barristers may nevertheless be wise lawyers, and the question of a compromise was again mooted. If the lady would take thirty thousand pounds and vanish, she should have the money clear of deduction, and all expenses should be paid. The amount offered was thought to be very liberal, but it did not amount to the annual income that was at stake. It was rejected with scorn. Had it been quadrupled, it would have been rejected with equal scorn. The loud-boasting barristers were still confident; but--. Though it was never admitted in words still it was felt that there might be a doubt. What if the contending parties were to join forces, if the Countess-ship of the Countess were to be admitted, and the heiress-ship of the Lady Anna, and if the Earl and the Lady Anna were to be united in holy wedlock? Might there not be a safe solution from further difficulty in that way? CHAPTER III. LADY ANNA. The idea of this further compromise, of this something more than compromise, of this half acknowledgment of their own weakness, came from Mr. Flick, of the firm of Norton and Flick, the solicitors who were employed in substantiating the Earl's position. When Mr. Flick mentioned it to Sir William Patterson, the great barrister, who was at that time Solicitor-General and leading counsel on behalf of Lord Lovel, Sir William Patterson stood aghast and was dismayed. Sir William intended to make mince-meat of the Countess. It was said of him that he intended to cross-examine the Countess off her legs, right out of her claim, and almost into her grave. He certainly did believe her to be an impostor, who had not thought herself to be entitled to her name when she first assumed it. "I should be sorry, Mr. Flick, to be driven to think that anything of that kind could be expedient." "It would make sure of the fortune to the family," said Mr. Flick. "And what about our friend, the Countess?" "Let her call herself Countess Lovel, Sir William. That will break no bones. As to the formality of her own marriage, there can be no doubt about that." "We can prove by Grogram that she was told that another wife was living," said Sir William. Grogram was an old butler who had been in the old Earl's service for thirty years. "I believe we can, Sir William; but--. It is quite clear that we shall never get the other wife to come over and face an English jury. It is of no use blinking it. The gentleman whom we have sent over doubts her altogether. That there was a marriage is certain, but he fears that this woman is not the old Countess. There were two sisters, and it may be that this was the other sister." Sir William was a good deal dismayed, but he recovered himself. The stakes were so high that it was quite possible that the gentleman who had been sent over might have been induced to open his eyes to the possibility of such personation by overtures from the other side. Sir William was of opinion that Mr. Flick himself should go to Sicily. He was not sure that he, Sir William, her Majesty's Solicitor-General, would not make the journey in person. He was by no means disposed to give way. "They tell me that the girl is no better than she should be," he said to Mr. Flick. "I don't think so bad as that of her," said Mr. Flick. "Is she a lady,--or anything like a lady?" "I am told she is very beautiful." "I dare say;--and so was her mother before her. I never saw a handsomer woman of her age than our friend the Countess. But I could not recommend the young lord to marry an underbred, bad girl, and a bastard who claims to be his cousin,--and support my proposition merely on the ground of her looks." "Thirty-five thousand a year, Sir William!" pleaded the attorney. "I hope we can get the thirty-five thousand a year for our client without paying so dear for them." It had been presumed that the real Countess, the original Countess, the Italian lady whom the Earl had married in early life, would be brought over, with properly attested documentary evidence in her pocket, to prove that she was the existing Countess, and that any other Countess must be either an impostor or a deluded dupe. No doubt the old Earl had declared, when first informing Josephine Murray that she was not his wife, that his real wife had died during the few months which had intervened since his mock marriage; but it was acknowledged on all sides, that the old Earl had been a villain and a liar. It was no part of the duty of the young Earl, or of those who acted for him, to defend the character of the old Earl. To wash that blackamoor white, or even to make him whity-brown, was not necessary to anybody. No one was now concerned to account for his crooked courses. But if it could be shown that he had married the lady in Italy,--as to which there was no doubt,--and that the lady was still alive, or that she had been alive when the second marriage took place, then the Lady Anna could not inherit the property which had been freed from the grasp of the Italian mistress. But it seemed that the lady, if she lived, could not be made to come. Mr. Flick did go to Sicily, and came back renewing his advice to Sir William that Lord Lovel should be advised to marry the Lady Anna. At this time the Countess, with her daughter, had moved their residence from Keswick up to London, and was living in very humble lodgings in a small street turning out of the New Road, near the Yorkshire Stingo. Old Thomas Thwaite had accompanied them from Cumberland, but the rooms had been taken for them by his son, Daniel Thwaite, who was at this time foreman to a somewhat celebrated tailor who carried on his business in Wigmore Street; and he, Daniel Thwaite, had a bedroom in the house in which the Countess lodged. The arrangement was not a wise one, as reports had already been spread abroad as to the partiality of the Lady Anna for the young tailor. But how should she not have been partial both to the father and to the son, feeling as she did that they were the only two men who befriended her cause and her mother's? As to the Countess herself, she, perhaps, alone of all those who interested themselves in her daughter's cause, had heard no word of these insinuations against her child. To her both Thomas and Daniel Thwaite were dear friends, to repay whom for their exertions with lavish generosity,--should the means to do so ever come within her reach,--was one of the dreams of her existence. But she was an ambitious woman, thinking much of her rank, thinking much even of the blood of her own ancestors, constantly urgent with her daughter in teaching her the duties and privileges of wealth and rank. For the Countess never doubted that she would at last attain success. That the Lady Anna should throw herself away upon Daniel Thwaite did not occur to her as a possibility. She had not even dreamed that Daniel Thwaite would aspire to her daughter's hand. And yet every shop-boy and every shop-girl in Keswick had been so saying for the last twelvemonth, and rumours which had hitherto been confined to Keswick and its neighbourhood, were now common in London. For the case was becoming one of the celebrated causes of the age, and all the world was talking of the Countess and her daughter. No momentary suspicion had crossed the mind of the Countess till after their arrival in London; and then when the suspicion did touch her it was not love that she suspected,--but rather an unbecoming familiarity which she attributed to her child's ignorance of the great life which awaited her. "My dear," she said one day when Daniel Thwaite had left them, "you should be less free in your manner with that young man." "What do you mean, mamma?" said the daughter, blushing. "You had better call him Mr. Thwaite." "But I have called him Daniel ever since I was born." "He always calls you Lady Anna." "Sometimes he does, mamma." "I never heard him call you anything else," said the Countess, almost with indignation. "It is all very well for the old man, because he is an old man and has done so much for us." "So has Daniel;--quite as much, mamma. They have both done everything." "True; they have both been warm friends; and if ever I forget them may God forget me. I trust that we may both live to show them that they are not forgotten. But it is not fitting that there should exist between you and him the intimacy of equal positions. You are not and cannot be his equal. He has been born to be a tailor, and you are the daughter and heiress of an Earl." These last words were spoken in a tone that was almost awful to the Lady Anna. She had heard so much of her father's rank and her father's wealth,--rank and wealth which were always to be hers, but which had never as yet reached her, which had been a perpetual trouble to her, and a crushing weight upon her young life, that she had almost learned to hate the title and the claim. Of course it was a part of the religion of her life that her mother had been duly married to her father. It was beyond a doubt to her that such was the case. But the constant battling for denied rights, the assumption of a position which could not be attained, the use of titles which were simply ridiculous in themselves as connected with the kind of life which she was obliged to lead,--these things had all become odious to her. She lacked the ambition which gave her mother strength, and would gladly have become Anna Murray or Anna Lovel, with a girl's ordinary privilege of loving her lover, had such an easy life been possible to her. In person she was very lovely, less tall and robust than her mother had been, but with a sweeter, softer face. Her hair was less dark, and her eyes were neither blue nor bold. But they were bright and soft and very eloquent, and when laden with tears would have softened the heart,--almost of her father. She was as yet less powerful than her mother, both in body and mind, but probably better calculated to make a happy home for a husband and children. She was affectionate, self-denying, and feminine. Had that offer of compromise for thirty, twenty, or for ten thousand pounds been made to her, she would have accepted it willingly,--caring little for her name, little even for fame, so that she might have been happy and quiet, and at liberty to think of a lover as are other girls. In her present condition, how could she have any happy love? She was the Lady Anna Lovel, heir to a ducal fortune,--but she lived in small close lodgings in Wyndham Street, New Road. She did not believe in the good time coming as did her mother. Their enemy was an undoubted Earl, undoubtedly owner of Lovel Grange of which she had heard all her life. Would it not be better to take what the young lord chose to give them and to be at rest? But she did not dare to express such thoughts to her mother. Her mother would have crushed her with a look. "I have told Mr. Thwaite," the mother said to her daughter, "what we were saying this morning." "About his son?" "Yes,--about his son." "Oh, mamma!" "I was bound to do so." "And what did he say, mamma?" "He did not like it, and told me that he did not like it;--but he admitted that it was true. He admitted that his son was no fitting intimate for Lady Anna Lovel." "What should we have done without him?" "Badly indeed; but that cannot change his duty, or ours. He is helping us to struggle for that which is our own; but he would mar his generosity if he put a taint on that which he is endeavouring to restore to us." "Put a taint, mamma!" "Yes;--a taint would rest upon your rank if you as Lady Anna Lovel were familiar with Daniel Thwaite as with an equal. His father understands it, and will speak to him." "Mamma, Daniel will be very angry." "Then will he be very unreasonable;--but, Anna, I will not have you call him Daniel any more." CHAPTER IV. THE TAILOR OF KESWICK. Old Thomas Thwaite was at this time up in London about the business of the Countess, but had no intention of residing there. He still kept his shop in Keswick, and still made coats and trousers for Cumberland statesmen. He was by no means in a condition to retire from business, having spent the savings of his life in the cause of the Countess and her daughter. Men had told him that, had he not struck the Earl in the yard of the Crown at Keswick, as horses were being brought out for the lord's travelling carriage, ample provision would have been made by the rich old sinner for his daughter. That might have been so, or might not, but the saying instigated the tailor to further zeal and increased generosity. To oppose an Earl, even though it might be on behalf of a Countess, was a joy to him; to set wrong right, and to put down cruelty and to relieve distressed women was the pride of his heart,--especially when his efforts were made in antagonism to one of high rank. And he was a man who would certainly be thorough in his work, though his thoroughness should be ruinous to himself. He had despised the Murrays, who ought to have stuck to their distant cousin, and had exulted in his heart at thinking that the world would say how much better and truer had been the Keswick tailor than the well-born and comparatively wealthy Scotch relations. And the poets of the lakes, who had not as yet become altogether Tories, had taken him by the hand and praised him. The rights of the Countess and the wrongs of the Countess had become his life. But he still kept on a diminished business in the north, and it was now needful that he should return to Cumberland. He had heard that renewed offers of compromise were to be made,--though no idea of the proposed marriage between the distant cousins had been suggested to him. He had been discussing the question of some compromise with the Countess when she spoke to him respecting his son; and had recommended that certain terms should, if possible, be effected. Let the money be divided, on condition that the marriage were allowed. There could be no difficulty in this if the young lord would accede to such an arrangement, as the marriage must be acknowledged unless an adverse party should bring home proof from Italy to the contrary. The sufficiency of the ceremony in Applethwaite Church was incontestable. Let the money be divided, and the Countess be Countess Lovel, and Lady Anna be the Lady Anna to all the world. Old Thomas Thwaite himself had seemed to think that there would be enough of triumph in such a settlement. "But the woman might afterwards be bribed to come over and renew her claim," said the Countess. "Unless it be absolutely settled now, they will say when I am dead and gone that my daughter has no right to her name." Then the tailor said that he would make further inquiry how that might be. He was inclined to think that there might be a decision which should be absolute, even though that decision should be reached by compromise between the now contending parties. Then the Countess had said her word about Daniel Thwaite the son, and Thomas Thwaite the father had heard it with ill-concealed anger. To fight against an Earl on behalf of the Earl's injured wife had been very sweet to him, but to be checked in his fight because he and his were unfit to associate with the child of that injured wife, was very bitter. And yet he had sense to know that what the Countess said to him was true. As far as words went, he admitted the truth; but his face was more eloquent than his words, and his face showed plainly his displeasure. "It is not of you that I am speaking," said the Countess, laying her hand upon the old man's sleeve. "Daniel is, at any rate, fitter than I," said the tailor. "He has been educated, and I never was." "He is as good as gold. It is not of that I speak. You know what I mean." "I know very well what you mean, Lady Lovel." "I have no friend like you, Mr. Thwaite;--none whom I love as I do you. And next to you is your son. For myself, there is nothing that I would not do for him or you;--no service, however menial, that I would not render you with my own hands. There is no limit to the gratitude which I owe you. But my girl is young, and if this burden of rank and wealth is to be hers,--it is proper that she do honour to it." "And it is not honourable that she should be seen speaking--to a tailor?" "Ah,--if you choose to take it so!" "How should I take it? What I say is true. And what you say is true also. I will speak to Daniel." But she knew well, as he left her, that his heart was bitter against her. The old man did speak to his son, sitting with him up in the bed-room over that which the Countess occupied. Old Thomas Thwaite was a strong man, but his son was in some respects stronger. As his father had said of him, he had been educated,--or rather instructed; and instruction leads to the power of thinking. He looked deeper into things than did his father, and was governed by wider and greater motives. His father had been a Radical all his life, guided thereto probably by some early training, and made steadfast in his creed by feelings which induced him to hate the pretensions of an assumed superiority. Old Thwaite could not endure to think that one man should be considered to be worthier than another because he was richer. He would admit the riches, and even the justice of the riches,--having been himself, during much of his life, a rich man in his own sphere; but would deny the worthiness; and would adduce, in proof of his creed, the unworthiness of certain exalted sinners. The career of the Earl Lovel had been to him a sure proof of the baseness of English aristocracy generally. He had dreams of a republic in which a tailor might be president or senator, or something almost noble. But no rational scheme of governance among mankind had ever entered his mind, and of pure politics he knew no more than the journeyman who sat stitching upon his board. But Daniel Thwaite was a thoughtful man who had read many books. More's Utopia and Harrington's Oceana, with many a tale written in the same spirit, had taught him to believe that a perfect form of government, or rather of policy, under which all men might be happy and satisfied, was practicable upon earth, and was to be achieved,--not merely by the slow amelioration of mankind under God's fostering ordinances,--but by the continued efforts of good and wise men who, by their goodness and wisdom, should be able to make the multitude believe in them. To diminish the distances, not only between the rich and the poor, but between the high and the low, was the grand political theory upon which his mind was always running. His father was ever thinking of himself and of Earl Lovel; while Daniel Thwaite was considering the injustice of the difference between ten thousand aristocrats and thirty million of people, who were for the most part ignorant and hungry. But it was not that he also had not thoughts of himself. Gradually he had come to learn that he need not have been a tailor's foreman in Wigmore Street had not his father spent on behalf of the Countess Lovel the means by which he, the son, might already have become a master tradesman. And yet he had never begrudged it. He had been as keen as his father in the cause. It had been the romance of his life, since his life had been capable of romance;--but with him it had been no respect for the rank to which his father was so anxious to restore the Countess, no value which he attached to the names claimed by the mother and the daughter. He hated the countess-ship of the Countess, and the ladyship of the Lady Anna. He would fain that they should have abandoned them. They were to him odious signs of iniquitous pretensions. But he was keen enough to punish and to remedy the wickedness of the wicked Earl. He reverenced his father because he assaulted the wicked Earl and struck him to the ground. He was heart and soul in the cause of the injured wife. And then the one thing on earth that was really dear to him was the Lady Anna. It had been the romance of his life. They had grown up together as playmates in Cumberland. He had fought scores of battles on her behalf with those who had denied that she was the Lady Anna,--even though he had then hated the title. Boys had jeered him because of his noble little sweetheart, and he had exulted at hearing her so called. His only sister and his mother had died when he was young, and there had been none in the house but his father and himself. As a boy he had ever been

veille

How many times the word 'veille' appears in the text?

Anna would have the entire property, except such portion as would be claimed of right by her mother, the widow. Thus the Italian woman and the young lord were combined in interest against the mother and daughter as regarded the marriage; and the young lord and the mother and daughter were combined against the Italian woman as regarded the will;--but the young lord had to act alone against the Italian woman, and against the mother and daughter whom he and his friends regarded as swindlers and impostors. It was for him to set aside the will in reference to the Italian woman, and then to stand the brunt of the assault made upon him by the soi-disant wife. In a very short time after the old Earl's death a double compromise was offered on behalf of the young Earl. The money at stake was immense. Would the Italian woman take 10,000, and go her way back to Italy, renouncing all further claim; and would the soi-disant Countess abandon her title, acknowledge her child to be illegitimate, and go her way with another 10,000;--or with 20,000, as was soon hinted by the gentlemen acting on the Earl's behalf? The proposition was one somewhat difficult in the making, as the compromise, if made with both, would be excellent, but could not be made to any good effect with one only. The young Earl certainly could not afford to buy off the Italian woman for 10,000, if the effect of such buying off would only be to place the whole of the late lord's wealth in the hands of his daughter and of his daughter's mother. The Italian woman consented. She declared with Italian energy that her late loving friend had never been a day insane; but she knew nothing of English laws, and but little of English money. She would take the 10,000,--having had a calculation made for her of the number of lire into which it would run. The number was enormous, and she would take the offer. But when the proposal was mentioned to the Countess, and explained to her by her old friend, Thomas Thwaite, who had now become a poor man in her cause, she repudiated it with bitter scorn,--with a scorn in which she almost included the old man who had made it to her. "Is it for that, that I have been fighting?" she said. "For that in part," said the old man. "No, Mr. Thwaite, not for that at all; but that my girl may have her birth allowed and her name acknowledged." "Her name shall be allowed and her birth shall be acknowledged," said the tailor, in whose heart there was nothing base. "She shall be the Lady Anna, and her mother shall be the Countess Lovel." The estate of the Countess, if she had an estate, then owed the tailor some five or six thousand pounds, and the compromise offered would have paid the tailor every shilling and have left a comfortable income for the two women. "For myself I care but little," said the mother, taking the tailor's hand in hers and kissing it. "My child is the Lady Anna, and I do not dare to barter away her rights." This took place down at the cottage in Cumberland, and the tailor at once went up to London to make known the decision of the Countess,--as he invariably called her. Then the lawyers went to work. As the double compromise could not be effected, the single compromise could not stand. The Italian woman raved and stamped, and swore that she must have her half million of lire. But of course no right to such a claim had been made good to her, and the lawyers on behalf of the young Earl went on with their work. Public sympathy as a matter of course went with the young Earl. As against the Italian woman he had with him every English man and woman. It was horrible to the minds of English men and English women that an old English Earldom should be starved in order that an Italian harlot might revel in untold riches. It was felt by most men and protested by all women that any sign of madness, be it what it might,--however insignificant,--should be held to be sufficient against such a claimant. Was not the fact that the man had made such a will in itself sufficient proof of his madness? There were not a few who protested that no further proof could be necessary. But with us the law is the same for an Italian harlot and an English widow; and it may well be that in its niceties it shall be found kinder to the former than to the latter. But the Earl had been mad, and the law said that he was mad when he had made his will,--and the Italian woman went away, raging, into obscurity. The Italian woman was conquered, and now the battle was open and free between the young Earl and the claimant Countess. Applications were made on behalf of the Countess for funds from the estate wherewith to prove the claim, and to a certain limited amount they were granted. Such had been the life of the late Earl that it was held that the cost of all litigation resulting from his misdeeds should be paid from his estate;--but ready money was wanted, immediate ready money, to be at the disposal of the Countess to any amount needed by her agent, and this was hardly to be obtained. By this time public sympathy ran almost entirely with the Earl. Though it was acknowledged that the late lord was mad, and though it had become a cause of rejoicing that the Italian woman had been sent away penniless, howling into obscurity, because of the old man's madness, still it was believed that he had written the truth when he declared that the marriage had been a mock marriage. It would be better for the English world that the young Earl should be a rich man, fit to do honour to his position, fit to marry the daughter of a duke, fit to carry on the glory of the English peerage, than that a woman, ill reputed in the world, should be established as a Countess, with a daughter dowered with tens of thousands, as to whom it was already said that she was in love with a tailor's son. Nothing could be more touching, more likely to awaken sympathy, than the manner in which Josephine Murray had been carried away in marriage, and then roughly told by the man who should have protected her from every harshly blowing wind of heaven, that he had deceived her and that she was not his wife. No usage to which woman had ever been subjected, as has been said before, was more adapted to elicit compassion and energetic aid. But nineteen years had now passed by since the deed was done, and the facts were forgotten. One energetic friend there still was,--or we may say two, the tailor and his son Daniel. But public belief ran against the Countess, and nobody who was anybody in the world would give her her title. Bets were laid, two and three to one against her; and it was believed that she was an impostor. The Earl had all the glory of success over his first opponent, and the loud boasting of self-confident barristers buoyed up his cause. But loud-boasting barristers may nevertheless be wise lawyers, and the question of a compromise was again mooted. If the lady would take thirty thousand pounds and vanish, she should have the money clear of deduction, and all expenses should be paid. The amount offered was thought to be very liberal, but it did not amount to the annual income that was at stake. It was rejected with scorn. Had it been quadrupled, it would have been rejected with equal scorn. The loud-boasting barristers were still confident; but--. Though it was never admitted in words still it was felt that there might be a doubt. What if the contending parties were to join forces, if the Countess-ship of the Countess were to be admitted, and the heiress-ship of the Lady Anna, and if the Earl and the Lady Anna were to be united in holy wedlock? Might there not be a safe solution from further difficulty in that way? CHAPTER III. LADY ANNA. The idea of this further compromise, of this something more than compromise, of this half acknowledgment of their own weakness, came from Mr. Flick, of the firm of Norton and Flick, the solicitors who were employed in substantiating the Earl's position. When Mr. Flick mentioned it to Sir William Patterson, the great barrister, who was at that time Solicitor-General and leading counsel on behalf of Lord Lovel, Sir William Patterson stood aghast and was dismayed. Sir William intended to make mince-meat of the Countess. It was said of him that he intended to cross-examine the Countess off her legs, right out of her claim, and almost into her grave. He certainly did believe her to be an impostor, who had not thought herself to be entitled to her name when she first assumed it. "I should be sorry, Mr. Flick, to be driven to think that anything of that kind could be expedient." "It would make sure of the fortune to the family," said Mr. Flick. "And what about our friend, the Countess?" "Let her call herself Countess Lovel, Sir William. That will break no bones. As to the formality of her own marriage, there can be no doubt about that." "We can prove by Grogram that she was told that another wife was living," said Sir William. Grogram was an old butler who had been in the old Earl's service for thirty years. "I believe we can, Sir William; but--. It is quite clear that we shall never get the other wife to come over and face an English jury. It is of no use blinking it. The gentleman whom we have sent over doubts her altogether. That there was a marriage is certain, but he fears that this woman is not the old Countess. There were two sisters, and it may be that this was the other sister." Sir William was a good deal dismayed, but he recovered himself. The stakes were so high that it was quite possible that the gentleman who had been sent over might have been induced to open his eyes to the possibility of such personation by overtures from the other side. Sir William was of opinion that Mr. Flick himself should go to Sicily. He was not sure that he, Sir William, her Majesty's Solicitor-General, would not make the journey in person. He was by no means disposed to give way. "They tell me that the girl is no better than she should be," he said to Mr. Flick. "I don't think so bad as that of her," said Mr. Flick. "Is she a lady,--or anything like a lady?" "I am told she is very beautiful." "I dare say;--and so was her mother before her. I never saw a handsomer woman of her age than our friend the Countess. But I could not recommend the young lord to marry an underbred, bad girl, and a bastard who claims to be his cousin,--and support my proposition merely on the ground of her looks." "Thirty-five thousand a year, Sir William!" pleaded the attorney. "I hope we can get the thirty-five thousand a year for our client without paying so dear for them." It had been presumed that the real Countess, the original Countess, the Italian lady whom the Earl had married in early life, would be brought over, with properly attested documentary evidence in her pocket, to prove that she was the existing Countess, and that any other Countess must be either an impostor or a deluded dupe. No doubt the old Earl had declared, when first informing Josephine Murray that she was not his wife, that his real wife had died during the few months which had intervened since his mock marriage; but it was acknowledged on all sides, that the old Earl had been a villain and a liar. It was no part of the duty of the young Earl, or of those who acted for him, to defend the character of the old Earl. To wash that blackamoor white, or even to make him whity-brown, was not necessary to anybody. No one was now concerned to account for his crooked courses. But if it could be shown that he had married the lady in Italy,--as to which there was no doubt,--and that the lady was still alive, or that she had been alive when the second marriage took place, then the Lady Anna could not inherit the property which had been freed from the grasp of the Italian mistress. But it seemed that the lady, if she lived, could not be made to come. Mr. Flick did go to Sicily, and came back renewing his advice to Sir William that Lord Lovel should be advised to marry the Lady Anna. At this time the Countess, with her daughter, had moved their residence from Keswick up to London, and was living in very humble lodgings in a small street turning out of the New Road, near the Yorkshire Stingo. Old Thomas Thwaite had accompanied them from Cumberland, but the rooms had been taken for them by his son, Daniel Thwaite, who was at this time foreman to a somewhat celebrated tailor who carried on his business in Wigmore Street; and he, Daniel Thwaite, had a bedroom in the house in which the Countess lodged. The arrangement was not a wise one, as reports had already been spread abroad as to the partiality of the Lady Anna for the young tailor. But how should she not have been partial both to the father and to the son, feeling as she did that they were the only two men who befriended her cause and her mother's? As to the Countess herself, she, perhaps, alone of all those who interested themselves in her daughter's cause, had heard no word of these insinuations against her child. To her both Thomas and Daniel Thwaite were dear friends, to repay whom for their exertions with lavish generosity,--should the means to do so ever come within her reach,--was one of the dreams of her existence. But she was an ambitious woman, thinking much of her rank, thinking much even of the blood of her own ancestors, constantly urgent with her daughter in teaching her the duties and privileges of wealth and rank. For the Countess never doubted that she would at last attain success. That the Lady Anna should throw herself away upon Daniel Thwaite did not occur to her as a possibility. She had not even dreamed that Daniel Thwaite would aspire to her daughter's hand. And yet every shop-boy and every shop-girl in Keswick had been so saying for the last twelvemonth, and rumours which had hitherto been confined to Keswick and its neighbourhood, were now common in London. For the case was becoming one of the celebrated causes of the age, and all the world was talking of the Countess and her daughter. No momentary suspicion had crossed the mind of the Countess till after their arrival in London; and then when the suspicion did touch her it was not love that she suspected,--but rather an unbecoming familiarity which she attributed to her child's ignorance of the great life which awaited her. "My dear," she said one day when Daniel Thwaite had left them, "you should be less free in your manner with that young man." "What do you mean, mamma?" said the daughter, blushing. "You had better call him Mr. Thwaite." "But I have called him Daniel ever since I was born." "He always calls you Lady Anna." "Sometimes he does, mamma." "I never heard him call you anything else," said the Countess, almost with indignation. "It is all very well for the old man, because he is an old man and has done so much for us." "So has Daniel;--quite as much, mamma. They have both done everything." "True; they have both been warm friends; and if ever I forget them may God forget me. I trust that we may both live to show them that they are not forgotten. But it is not fitting that there should exist between you and him the intimacy of equal positions. You are not and cannot be his equal. He has been born to be a tailor, and you are the daughter and heiress of an Earl." These last words were spoken in a tone that was almost awful to the Lady Anna. She had heard so much of her father's rank and her father's wealth,--rank and wealth which were always to be hers, but which had never as yet reached her, which had been a perpetual trouble to her, and a crushing weight upon her young life, that she had almost learned to hate the title and the claim. Of course it was a part of the religion of her life that her mother had been duly married to her father. It was beyond a doubt to her that such was the case. But the constant battling for denied rights, the assumption of a position which could not be attained, the use of titles which were simply ridiculous in themselves as connected with the kind of life which she was obliged to lead,--these things had all become odious to her. She lacked the ambition which gave her mother strength, and would gladly have become Anna Murray or Anna Lovel, with a girl's ordinary privilege of loving her lover, had such an easy life been possible to her. In person she was very lovely, less tall and robust than her mother had been, but with a sweeter, softer face. Her hair was less dark, and her eyes were neither blue nor bold. But they were bright and soft and very eloquent, and when laden with tears would have softened the heart,--almost of her father. She was as yet less powerful than her mother, both in body and mind, but probably better calculated to make a happy home for a husband and children. She was affectionate, self-denying, and feminine. Had that offer of compromise for thirty, twenty, or for ten thousand pounds been made to her, she would have accepted it willingly,--caring little for her name, little even for fame, so that she might have been happy and quiet, and at liberty to think of a lover as are other girls. In her present condition, how could she have any happy love? She was the Lady Anna Lovel, heir to a ducal fortune,--but she lived in small close lodgings in Wyndham Street, New Road. She did not believe in the good time coming as did her mother. Their enemy was an undoubted Earl, undoubtedly owner of Lovel Grange of which she had heard all her life. Would it not be better to take what the young lord chose to give them and to be at rest? But she did not dare to express such thoughts to her mother. Her mother would have crushed her with a look. "I have told Mr. Thwaite," the mother said to her daughter, "what we were saying this morning." "About his son?" "Yes,--about his son." "Oh, mamma!" "I was bound to do so." "And what did he say, mamma?" "He did not like it, and told me that he did not like it;--but he admitted that it was true. He admitted that his son was no fitting intimate for Lady Anna Lovel." "What should we have done without him?" "Badly indeed; but that cannot change his duty, or ours. He is helping us to struggle for that which is our own; but he would mar his generosity if he put a taint on that which he is endeavouring to restore to us." "Put a taint, mamma!" "Yes;--a taint would rest upon your rank if you as Lady Anna Lovel were familiar with Daniel Thwaite as with an equal. His father understands it, and will speak to him." "Mamma, Daniel will be very angry." "Then will he be very unreasonable;--but, Anna, I will not have you call him Daniel any more." CHAPTER IV. THE TAILOR OF KESWICK. Old Thomas Thwaite was at this time up in London about the business of the Countess, but had no intention of residing there. He still kept his shop in Keswick, and still made coats and trousers for Cumberland statesmen. He was by no means in a condition to retire from business, having spent the savings of his life in the cause of the Countess and her daughter. Men had told him that, had he not struck the Earl in the yard of the Crown at Keswick, as horses were being brought out for the lord's travelling carriage, ample provision would have been made by the rich old sinner for his daughter. That might have been so, or might not, but the saying instigated the tailor to further zeal and increased generosity. To oppose an Earl, even though it might be on behalf of a Countess, was a joy to him; to set wrong right, and to put down cruelty and to relieve distressed women was the pride of his heart,--especially when his efforts were made in antagonism to one of high rank. And he was a man who would certainly be thorough in his work, though his thoroughness should be ruinous to himself. He had despised the Murrays, who ought to have stuck to their distant cousin, and had exulted in his heart at thinking that the world would say how much better and truer had been the Keswick tailor than the well-born and comparatively wealthy Scotch relations. And the poets of the lakes, who had not as yet become altogether Tories, had taken him by the hand and praised him. The rights of the Countess and the wrongs of the Countess had become his life. But he still kept on a diminished business in the north, and it was now needful that he should return to Cumberland. He had heard that renewed offers of compromise were to be made,--though no idea of the proposed marriage between the distant cousins had been suggested to him. He had been discussing the question of some compromise with the Countess when she spoke to him respecting his son; and had recommended that certain terms should, if possible, be effected. Let the money be divided, on condition that the marriage were allowed. There could be no difficulty in this if the young lord would accede to such an arrangement, as the marriage must be acknowledged unless an adverse party should bring home proof from Italy to the contrary. The sufficiency of the ceremony in Applethwaite Church was incontestable. Let the money be divided, and the Countess be Countess Lovel, and Lady Anna be the Lady Anna to all the world. Old Thomas Thwaite himself had seemed to think that there would be enough of triumph in such a settlement. "But the woman might afterwards be bribed to come over and renew her claim," said the Countess. "Unless it be absolutely settled now, they will say when I am dead and gone that my daughter has no right to her name." Then the tailor said that he would make further inquiry how that might be. He was inclined to think that there might be a decision which should be absolute, even though that decision should be reached by compromise between the now contending parties. Then the Countess had said her word about Daniel Thwaite the son, and Thomas Thwaite the father had heard it with ill-concealed anger. To fight against an Earl on behalf of the Earl's injured wife had been very sweet to him, but to be checked in his fight because he and his were unfit to associate with the child of that injured wife, was very bitter. And yet he had sense to know that what the Countess said to him was true. As far as words went, he admitted the truth; but his face was more eloquent than his words, and his face showed plainly his displeasure. "It is not of you that I am speaking," said the Countess, laying her hand upon the old man's sleeve. "Daniel is, at any rate, fitter than I," said the tailor. "He has been educated, and I never was." "He is as good as gold. It is not of that I speak. You know what I mean." "I know very well what you mean, Lady Lovel." "I have no friend like you, Mr. Thwaite;--none whom I love as I do you. And next to you is your son. For myself, there is nothing that I would not do for him or you;--no service, however menial, that I would not render you with my own hands. There is no limit to the gratitude which I owe you. But my girl is young, and if this burden of rank and wealth is to be hers,--it is proper that she do honour to it." "And it is not honourable that she should be seen speaking--to a tailor?" "Ah,--if you choose to take it so!" "How should I take it? What I say is true. And what you say is true also. I will speak to Daniel." But she knew well, as he left her, that his heart was bitter against her. The old man did speak to his son, sitting with him up in the bed-room over that which the Countess occupied. Old Thomas Thwaite was a strong man, but his son was in some respects stronger. As his father had said of him, he had been educated,--or rather instructed; and instruction leads to the power of thinking. He looked deeper into things than did his father, and was governed by wider and greater motives. His father had been a Radical all his life, guided thereto probably by some early training, and made steadfast in his creed by feelings which induced him to hate the pretensions of an assumed superiority. Old Thwaite could not endure to think that one man should be considered to be worthier than another because he was richer. He would admit the riches, and even the justice of the riches,--having been himself, during much of his life, a rich man in his own sphere; but would deny the worthiness; and would adduce, in proof of his creed, the unworthiness of certain exalted sinners. The career of the Earl Lovel had been to him a sure proof of the baseness of English aristocracy generally. He had dreams of a republic in which a tailor might be president or senator, or something almost noble. But no rational scheme of governance among mankind had ever entered his mind, and of pure politics he knew no more than the journeyman who sat stitching upon his board. But Daniel Thwaite was a thoughtful man who had read many books. More's Utopia and Harrington's Oceana, with many a tale written in the same spirit, had taught him to believe that a perfect form of government, or rather of policy, under which all men might be happy and satisfied, was practicable upon earth, and was to be achieved,--not merely by the slow amelioration of mankind under God's fostering ordinances,--but by the continued efforts of good and wise men who, by their goodness and wisdom, should be able to make the multitude believe in them. To diminish the distances, not only between the rich and the poor, but between the high and the low, was the grand political theory upon which his mind was always running. His father was ever thinking of himself and of Earl Lovel; while Daniel Thwaite was considering the injustice of the difference between ten thousand aristocrats and thirty million of people, who were for the most part ignorant and hungry. But it was not that he also had not thoughts of himself. Gradually he had come to learn that he need not have been a tailor's foreman in Wigmore Street had not his father spent on behalf of the Countess Lovel the means by which he, the son, might already have become a master tradesman. And yet he had never begrudged it. He had been as keen as his father in the cause. It had been the romance of his life, since his life had been capable of romance;--but with him it had been no respect for the rank to which his father was so anxious to restore the Countess, no value which he attached to the names claimed by the mother and the daughter. He hated the countess-ship of the Countess, and the ladyship of the Lady Anna. He would fain that they should have abandoned them. They were to him odious signs of iniquitous pretensions. But he was keen enough to punish and to remedy the wickedness of the wicked Earl. He reverenced his father because he assaulted the wicked Earl and struck him to the ground. He was heart and soul in the cause of the injured wife. And then the one thing on earth that was really dear to him was the Lady Anna. It had been the romance of his life. They had grown up together as playmates in Cumberland. He had fought scores of battles on her behalf with those who had denied that she was the Lady Anna,--even though he had then hated the title. Boys had jeered him because of his noble little sweetheart, and he had exulted at hearing her so called. His only sister and his mother had died when he was young, and there had been none in the house but his father and himself. As a boy he had ever been

ran

How many times the word 'ran' appears in the text?

Anna would have the entire property, except such portion as would be claimed of right by her mother, the widow. Thus the Italian woman and the young lord were combined in interest against the mother and daughter as regarded the marriage; and the young lord and the mother and daughter were combined against the Italian woman as regarded the will;--but the young lord had to act alone against the Italian woman, and against the mother and daughter whom he and his friends regarded as swindlers and impostors. It was for him to set aside the will in reference to the Italian woman, and then to stand the brunt of the assault made upon him by the soi-disant wife. In a very short time after the old Earl's death a double compromise was offered on behalf of the young Earl. The money at stake was immense. Would the Italian woman take 10,000, and go her way back to Italy, renouncing all further claim; and would the soi-disant Countess abandon her title, acknowledge her child to be illegitimate, and go her way with another 10,000;--or with 20,000, as was soon hinted by the gentlemen acting on the Earl's behalf? The proposition was one somewhat difficult in the making, as the compromise, if made with both, would be excellent, but could not be made to any good effect with one only. The young Earl certainly could not afford to buy off the Italian woman for 10,000, if the effect of such buying off would only be to place the whole of the late lord's wealth in the hands of his daughter and of his daughter's mother. The Italian woman consented. She declared with Italian energy that her late loving friend had never been a day insane; but she knew nothing of English laws, and but little of English money. She would take the 10,000,--having had a calculation made for her of the number of lire into which it would run. The number was enormous, and she would take the offer. But when the proposal was mentioned to the Countess, and explained to her by her old friend, Thomas Thwaite, who had now become a poor man in her cause, she repudiated it with bitter scorn,--with a scorn in which she almost included the old man who had made it to her. "Is it for that, that I have been fighting?" she said. "For that in part," said the old man. "No, Mr. Thwaite, not for that at all; but that my girl may have her birth allowed and her name acknowledged." "Her name shall be allowed and her birth shall be acknowledged," said the tailor, in whose heart there was nothing base. "She shall be the Lady Anna, and her mother shall be the Countess Lovel." The estate of the Countess, if she had an estate, then owed the tailor some five or six thousand pounds, and the compromise offered would have paid the tailor every shilling and have left a comfortable income for the two women. "For myself I care but little," said the mother, taking the tailor's hand in hers and kissing it. "My child is the Lady Anna, and I do not dare to barter away her rights." This took place down at the cottage in Cumberland, and the tailor at once went up to London to make known the decision of the Countess,--as he invariably called her. Then the lawyers went to work. As the double compromise could not be effected, the single compromise could not stand. The Italian woman raved and stamped, and swore that she must have her half million of lire. But of course no right to such a claim had been made good to her, and the lawyers on behalf of the young Earl went on with their work. Public sympathy as a matter of course went with the young Earl. As against the Italian woman he had with him every English man and woman. It was horrible to the minds of English men and English women that an old English Earldom should be starved in order that an Italian harlot might revel in untold riches. It was felt by most men and protested by all women that any sign of madness, be it what it might,--however insignificant,--should be held to be sufficient against such a claimant. Was not the fact that the man had made such a will in itself sufficient proof of his madness? There were not a few who protested that no further proof could be necessary. But with us the law is the same for an Italian harlot and an English widow; and it may well be that in its niceties it shall be found kinder to the former than to the latter. But the Earl had been mad, and the law said that he was mad when he had made his will,--and the Italian woman went away, raging, into obscurity. The Italian woman was conquered, and now the battle was open and free between the young Earl and the claimant Countess. Applications were made on behalf of the Countess for funds from the estate wherewith to prove the claim, and to a certain limited amount they were granted. Such had been the life of the late Earl that it was held that the cost of all litigation resulting from his misdeeds should be paid from his estate;--but ready money was wanted, immediate ready money, to be at the disposal of the Countess to any amount needed by her agent, and this was hardly to be obtained. By this time public sympathy ran almost entirely with the Earl. Though it was acknowledged that the late lord was mad, and though it had become a cause of rejoicing that the Italian woman had been sent away penniless, howling into obscurity, because of the old man's madness, still it was believed that he had written the truth when he declared that the marriage had been a mock marriage. It would be better for the English world that the young Earl should be a rich man, fit to do honour to his position, fit to marry the daughter of a duke, fit to carry on the glory of the English peerage, than that a woman, ill reputed in the world, should be established as a Countess, with a daughter dowered with tens of thousands, as to whom it was already said that she was in love with a tailor's son. Nothing could be more touching, more likely to awaken sympathy, than the manner in which Josephine Murray had been carried away in marriage, and then roughly told by the man who should have protected her from every harshly blowing wind of heaven, that he had deceived her and that she was not his wife. No usage to which woman had ever been subjected, as has been said before, was more adapted to elicit compassion and energetic aid. But nineteen years had now passed by since the deed was done, and the facts were forgotten. One energetic friend there still was,--or we may say two, the tailor and his son Daniel. But public belief ran against the Countess, and nobody who was anybody in the world would give her her title. Bets were laid, two and three to one against her; and it was believed that she was an impostor. The Earl had all the glory of success over his first opponent, and the loud boasting of self-confident barristers buoyed up his cause. But loud-boasting barristers may nevertheless be wise lawyers, and the question of a compromise was again mooted. If the lady would take thirty thousand pounds and vanish, she should have the money clear of deduction, and all expenses should be paid. The amount offered was thought to be very liberal, but it did not amount to the annual income that was at stake. It was rejected with scorn. Had it been quadrupled, it would have been rejected with equal scorn. The loud-boasting barristers were still confident; but--. Though it was never admitted in words still it was felt that there might be a doubt. What if the contending parties were to join forces, if the Countess-ship of the Countess were to be admitted, and the heiress-ship of the Lady Anna, and if the Earl and the Lady Anna were to be united in holy wedlock? Might there not be a safe solution from further difficulty in that way? CHAPTER III. LADY ANNA. The idea of this further compromise, of this something more than compromise, of this half acknowledgment of their own weakness, came from Mr. Flick, of the firm of Norton and Flick, the solicitors who were employed in substantiating the Earl's position. When Mr. Flick mentioned it to Sir William Patterson, the great barrister, who was at that time Solicitor-General and leading counsel on behalf of Lord Lovel, Sir William Patterson stood aghast and was dismayed. Sir William intended to make mince-meat of the Countess. It was said of him that he intended to cross-examine the Countess off her legs, right out of her claim, and almost into her grave. He certainly did believe her to be an impostor, who had not thought herself to be entitled to her name when she first assumed it. "I should be sorry, Mr. Flick, to be driven to think that anything of that kind could be expedient." "It would make sure of the fortune to the family," said Mr. Flick. "And what about our friend, the Countess?" "Let her call herself Countess Lovel, Sir William. That will break no bones. As to the formality of her own marriage, there can be no doubt about that." "We can prove by Grogram that she was told that another wife was living," said Sir William. Grogram was an old butler who had been in the old Earl's service for thirty years. "I believe we can, Sir William; but--. It is quite clear that we shall never get the other wife to come over and face an English jury. It is of no use blinking it. The gentleman whom we have sent over doubts her altogether. That there was a marriage is certain, but he fears that this woman is not the old Countess. There were two sisters, and it may be that this was the other sister." Sir William was a good deal dismayed, but he recovered himself. The stakes were so high that it was quite possible that the gentleman who had been sent over might have been induced to open his eyes to the possibility of such personation by overtures from the other side. Sir William was of opinion that Mr. Flick himself should go to Sicily. He was not sure that he, Sir William, her Majesty's Solicitor-General, would not make the journey in person. He was by no means disposed to give way. "They tell me that the girl is no better than she should be," he said to Mr. Flick. "I don't think so bad as that of her," said Mr. Flick. "Is she a lady,--or anything like a lady?" "I am told she is very beautiful." "I dare say;--and so was her mother before her. I never saw a handsomer woman of her age than our friend the Countess. But I could not recommend the young lord to marry an underbred, bad girl, and a bastard who claims to be his cousin,--and support my proposition merely on the ground of her looks." "Thirty-five thousand a year, Sir William!" pleaded the attorney. "I hope we can get the thirty-five thousand a year for our client without paying so dear for them." It had been presumed that the real Countess, the original Countess, the Italian lady whom the Earl had married in early life, would be brought over, with properly attested documentary evidence in her pocket, to prove that she was the existing Countess, and that any other Countess must be either an impostor or a deluded dupe. No doubt the old Earl had declared, when first informing Josephine Murray that she was not his wife, that his real wife had died during the few months which had intervened since his mock marriage; but it was acknowledged on all sides, that the old Earl had been a villain and a liar. It was no part of the duty of the young Earl, or of those who acted for him, to defend the character of the old Earl. To wash that blackamoor white, or even to make him whity-brown, was not necessary to anybody. No one was now concerned to account for his crooked courses. But if it could be shown that he had married the lady in Italy,--as to which there was no doubt,--and that the lady was still alive, or that she had been alive when the second marriage took place, then the Lady Anna could not inherit the property which had been freed from the grasp of the Italian mistress. But it seemed that the lady, if she lived, could not be made to come. Mr. Flick did go to Sicily, and came back renewing his advice to Sir William that Lord Lovel should be advised to marry the Lady Anna. At this time the Countess, with her daughter, had moved their residence from Keswick up to London, and was living in very humble lodgings in a small street turning out of the New Road, near the Yorkshire Stingo. Old Thomas Thwaite had accompanied them from Cumberland, but the rooms had been taken for them by his son, Daniel Thwaite, who was at this time foreman to a somewhat celebrated tailor who carried on his business in Wigmore Street; and he, Daniel Thwaite, had a bedroom in the house in which the Countess lodged. The arrangement was not a wise one, as reports had already been spread abroad as to the partiality of the Lady Anna for the young tailor. But how should she not have been partial both to the father and to the son, feeling as she did that they were the only two men who befriended her cause and her mother's? As to the Countess herself, she, perhaps, alone of all those who interested themselves in her daughter's cause, had heard no word of these insinuations against her child. To her both Thomas and Daniel Thwaite were dear friends, to repay whom for their exertions with lavish generosity,--should the means to do so ever come within her reach,--was one of the dreams of her existence. But she was an ambitious woman, thinking much of her rank, thinking much even of the blood of her own ancestors, constantly urgent with her daughter in teaching her the duties and privileges of wealth and rank. For the Countess never doubted that she would at last attain success. That the Lady Anna should throw herself away upon Daniel Thwaite did not occur to her as a possibility. She had not even dreamed that Daniel Thwaite would aspire to her daughter's hand. And yet every shop-boy and every shop-girl in Keswick had been so saying for the last twelvemonth, and rumours which had hitherto been confined to Keswick and its neighbourhood, were now common in London. For the case was becoming one of the celebrated causes of the age, and all the world was talking of the Countess and her daughter. No momentary suspicion had crossed the mind of the Countess till after their arrival in London; and then when the suspicion did touch her it was not love that she suspected,--but rather an unbecoming familiarity which she attributed to her child's ignorance of the great life which awaited her. "My dear," she said one day when Daniel Thwaite had left them, "you should be less free in your manner with that young man." "What do you mean, mamma?" said the daughter, blushing. "You had better call him Mr. Thwaite." "But I have called him Daniel ever since I was born." "He always calls you Lady Anna." "Sometimes he does, mamma." "I never heard him call you anything else," said the Countess, almost with indignation. "It is all very well for the old man, because he is an old man and has done so much for us." "So has Daniel;--quite as much, mamma. They have both done everything." "True; they have both been warm friends; and if ever I forget them may God forget me. I trust that we may both live to show them that they are not forgotten. But it is not fitting that there should exist between you and him the intimacy of equal positions. You are not and cannot be his equal. He has been born to be a tailor, and you are the daughter and heiress of an Earl." These last words were spoken in a tone that was almost awful to the Lady Anna. She had heard so much of her father's rank and her father's wealth,--rank and wealth which were always to be hers, but which had never as yet reached her, which had been a perpetual trouble to her, and a crushing weight upon her young life, that she had almost learned to hate the title and the claim. Of course it was a part of the religion of her life that her mother had been duly married to her father. It was beyond a doubt to her that such was the case. But the constant battling for denied rights, the assumption of a position which could not be attained, the use of titles which were simply ridiculous in themselves as connected with the kind of life which she was obliged to lead,--these things had all become odious to her. She lacked the ambition which gave her mother strength, and would gladly have become Anna Murray or Anna Lovel, with a girl's ordinary privilege of loving her lover, had such an easy life been possible to her. In person she was very lovely, less tall and robust than her mother had been, but with a sweeter, softer face. Her hair was less dark, and her eyes were neither blue nor bold. But they were bright and soft and very eloquent, and when laden with tears would have softened the heart,--almost of her father. She was as yet less powerful than her mother, both in body and mind, but probably better calculated to make a happy home for a husband and children. She was affectionate, self-denying, and feminine. Had that offer of compromise for thirty, twenty, or for ten thousand pounds been made to her, she would have accepted it willingly,--caring little for her name, little even for fame, so that she might have been happy and quiet, and at liberty to think of a lover as are other girls. In her present condition, how could she have any happy love? She was the Lady Anna Lovel, heir to a ducal fortune,--but she lived in small close lodgings in Wyndham Street, New Road. She did not believe in the good time coming as did her mother. Their enemy was an undoubted Earl, undoubtedly owner of Lovel Grange of which she had heard all her life. Would it not be better to take what the young lord chose to give them and to be at rest? But she did not dare to express such thoughts to her mother. Her mother would have crushed her with a look. "I have told Mr. Thwaite," the mother said to her daughter, "what we were saying this morning." "About his son?" "Yes,--about his son." "Oh, mamma!" "I was bound to do so." "And what did he say, mamma?" "He did not like it, and told me that he did not like it;--but he admitted that it was true. He admitted that his son was no fitting intimate for Lady Anna Lovel." "What should we have done without him?" "Badly indeed; but that cannot change his duty, or ours. He is helping us to struggle for that which is our own; but he would mar his generosity if he put a taint on that which he is endeavouring to restore to us." "Put a taint, mamma!" "Yes;--a taint would rest upon your rank if you as Lady Anna Lovel were familiar with Daniel Thwaite as with an equal. His father understands it, and will speak to him." "Mamma, Daniel will be very angry." "Then will he be very unreasonable;--but, Anna, I will not have you call him Daniel any more." CHAPTER IV. THE TAILOR OF KESWICK. Old Thomas Thwaite was at this time up in London about the business of the Countess, but had no intention of residing there. He still kept his shop in Keswick, and still made coats and trousers for Cumberland statesmen. He was by no means in a condition to retire from business, having spent the savings of his life in the cause of the Countess and her daughter. Men had told him that, had he not struck the Earl in the yard of the Crown at Keswick, as horses were being brought out for the lord's travelling carriage, ample provision would have been made by the rich old sinner for his daughter. That might have been so, or might not, but the saying instigated the tailor to further zeal and increased generosity. To oppose an Earl, even though it might be on behalf of a Countess, was a joy to him; to set wrong right, and to put down cruelty and to relieve distressed women was the pride of his heart,--especially when his efforts were made in antagonism to one of high rank. And he was a man who would certainly be thorough in his work, though his thoroughness should be ruinous to himself. He had despised the Murrays, who ought to have stuck to their distant cousin, and had exulted in his heart at thinking that the world would say how much better and truer had been the Keswick tailor than the well-born and comparatively wealthy Scotch relations. And the poets of the lakes, who had not as yet become altogether Tories, had taken him by the hand and praised him. The rights of the Countess and the wrongs of the Countess had become his life. But he still kept on a diminished business in the north, and it was now needful that he should return to Cumberland. He had heard that renewed offers of compromise were to be made,--though no idea of the proposed marriage between the distant cousins had been suggested to him. He had been discussing the question of some compromise with the Countess when she spoke to him respecting his son; and had recommended that certain terms should, if possible, be effected. Let the money be divided, on condition that the marriage were allowed. There could be no difficulty in this if the young lord would accede to such an arrangement, as the marriage must be acknowledged unless an adverse party should bring home proof from Italy to the contrary. The sufficiency of the ceremony in Applethwaite Church was incontestable. Let the money be divided, and the Countess be Countess Lovel, and Lady Anna be the Lady Anna to all the world. Old Thomas Thwaite himself had seemed to think that there would be enough of triumph in such a settlement. "But the woman might afterwards be bribed to come over and renew her claim," said the Countess. "Unless it be absolutely settled now, they will say when I am dead and gone that my daughter has no right to her name." Then the tailor said that he would make further inquiry how that might be. He was inclined to think that there might be a decision which should be absolute, even though that decision should be reached by compromise between the now contending parties. Then the Countess had said her word about Daniel Thwaite the son, and Thomas Thwaite the father had heard it with ill-concealed anger. To fight against an Earl on behalf of the Earl's injured wife had been very sweet to him, but to be checked in his fight because he and his were unfit to associate with the child of that injured wife, was very bitter. And yet he had sense to know that what the Countess said to him was true. As far as words went, he admitted the truth; but his face was more eloquent than his words, and his face showed plainly his displeasure. "It is not of you that I am speaking," said the Countess, laying her hand upon the old man's sleeve. "Daniel is, at any rate, fitter than I," said the tailor. "He has been educated, and I never was." "He is as good as gold. It is not of that I speak. You know what I mean." "I know very well what you mean, Lady Lovel." "I have no friend like you, Mr. Thwaite;--none whom I love as I do you. And next to you is your son. For myself, there is nothing that I would not do for him or you;--no service, however menial, that I would not render you with my own hands. There is no limit to the gratitude which I owe you. But my girl is young, and if this burden of rank and wealth is to be hers,--it is proper that she do honour to it." "And it is not honourable that she should be seen speaking--to a tailor?" "Ah,--if you choose to take it so!" "How should I take it? What I say is true. And what you say is true also. I will speak to Daniel." But she knew well, as he left her, that his heart was bitter against her. The old man did speak to his son, sitting with him up in the bed-room over that which the Countess occupied. Old Thomas Thwaite was a strong man, but his son was in some respects stronger. As his father had said of him, he had been educated,--or rather instructed; and instruction leads to the power of thinking. He looked deeper into things than did his father, and was governed by wider and greater motives. His father had been a Radical all his life, guided thereto probably by some early training, and made steadfast in his creed by feelings which induced him to hate the pretensions of an assumed superiority. Old Thwaite could not endure to think that one man should be considered to be worthier than another because he was richer. He would admit the riches, and even the justice of the riches,--having been himself, during much of his life, a rich man in his own sphere; but would deny the worthiness; and would adduce, in proof of his creed, the unworthiness of certain exalted sinners. The career of the Earl Lovel had been to him a sure proof of the baseness of English aristocracy generally. He had dreams of a republic in which a tailor might be president or senator, or something almost noble. But no rational scheme of governance among mankind had ever entered his mind, and of pure politics he knew no more than the journeyman who sat stitching upon his board. But Daniel Thwaite was a thoughtful man who had read many books. More's Utopia and Harrington's Oceana, with many a tale written in the same spirit, had taught him to believe that a perfect form of government, or rather of policy, under which all men might be happy and satisfied, was practicable upon earth, and was to be achieved,--not merely by the slow amelioration of mankind under God's fostering ordinances,--but by the continued efforts of good and wise men who, by their goodness and wisdom, should be able to make the multitude believe in them. To diminish the distances, not only between the rich and the poor, but between the high and the low, was the grand political theory upon which his mind was always running. His father was ever thinking of himself and of Earl Lovel; while Daniel Thwaite was considering the injustice of the difference between ten thousand aristocrats and thirty million of people, who were for the most part ignorant and hungry. But it was not that he also had not thoughts of himself. Gradually he had come to learn that he need not have been a tailor's foreman in Wigmore Street had not his father spent on behalf of the Countess Lovel the means by which he, the son, might already have become a master tradesman. And yet he had never begrudged it. He had been as keen as his father in the cause. It had been the romance of his life, since his life had been capable of romance;--but with him it had been no respect for the rank to which his father was so anxious to restore the Countess, no value which he attached to the names claimed by the mother and the daughter. He hated the countess-ship of the Countess, and the ladyship of the Lady Anna. He would fain that they should have abandoned them. They were to him odious signs of iniquitous pretensions. But he was keen enough to punish and to remedy the wickedness of the wicked Earl. He reverenced his father because he assaulted the wicked Earl and struck him to the ground. He was heart and soul in the cause of the injured wife. And then the one thing on earth that was really dear to him was the Lady Anna. It had been the romance of his life. They had grown up together as playmates in Cumberland. He had fought scores of battles on her behalf with those who had denied that she was the Lady Anna,--even though he had then hated the title. Boys had jeered him because of his noble little sweetheart, and he had exulted at hearing her so called. His only sister and his mother had died when he was young, and there had been none in the house but his father and himself. As a boy he had ever been

believed

How many times the word 'believed' appears in the text?

Anna would have the entire property, except such portion as would be claimed of right by her mother, the widow. Thus the Italian woman and the young lord were combined in interest against the mother and daughter as regarded the marriage; and the young lord and the mother and daughter were combined against the Italian woman as regarded the will;--but the young lord had to act alone against the Italian woman, and against the mother and daughter whom he and his friends regarded as swindlers and impostors. It was for him to set aside the will in reference to the Italian woman, and then to stand the brunt of the assault made upon him by the soi-disant wife. In a very short time after the old Earl's death a double compromise was offered on behalf of the young Earl. The money at stake was immense. Would the Italian woman take 10,000, and go her way back to Italy, renouncing all further claim; and would the soi-disant Countess abandon her title, acknowledge her child to be illegitimate, and go her way with another 10,000;--or with 20,000, as was soon hinted by the gentlemen acting on the Earl's behalf? The proposition was one somewhat difficult in the making, as the compromise, if made with both, would be excellent, but could not be made to any good effect with one only. The young Earl certainly could not afford to buy off the Italian woman for 10,000, if the effect of such buying off would only be to place the whole of the late lord's wealth in the hands of his daughter and of his daughter's mother. The Italian woman consented. She declared with Italian energy that her late loving friend had never been a day insane; but she knew nothing of English laws, and but little of English money. She would take the 10,000,--having had a calculation made for her of the number of lire into which it would run. The number was enormous, and she would take the offer. But when the proposal was mentioned to the Countess, and explained to her by her old friend, Thomas Thwaite, who had now become a poor man in her cause, she repudiated it with bitter scorn,--with a scorn in which she almost included the old man who had made it to her. "Is it for that, that I have been fighting?" she said. "For that in part," said the old man. "No, Mr. Thwaite, not for that at all; but that my girl may have her birth allowed and her name acknowledged." "Her name shall be allowed and her birth shall be acknowledged," said the tailor, in whose heart there was nothing base. "She shall be the Lady Anna, and her mother shall be the Countess Lovel." The estate of the Countess, if she had an estate, then owed the tailor some five or six thousand pounds, and the compromise offered would have paid the tailor every shilling and have left a comfortable income for the two women. "For myself I care but little," said the mother, taking the tailor's hand in hers and kissing it. "My child is the Lady Anna, and I do not dare to barter away her rights." This took place down at the cottage in Cumberland, and the tailor at once went up to London to make known the decision of the Countess,--as he invariably called her. Then the lawyers went to work. As the double compromise could not be effected, the single compromise could not stand. The Italian woman raved and stamped, and swore that she must have her half million of lire. But of course no right to such a claim had been made good to her, and the lawyers on behalf of the young Earl went on with their work. Public sympathy as a matter of course went with the young Earl. As against the Italian woman he had with him every English man and woman. It was horrible to the minds of English men and English women that an old English Earldom should be starved in order that an Italian harlot might revel in untold riches. It was felt by most men and protested by all women that any sign of madness, be it what it might,--however insignificant,--should be held to be sufficient against such a claimant. Was not the fact that the man had made such a will in itself sufficient proof of his madness? There were not a few who protested that no further proof could be necessary. But with us the law is the same for an Italian harlot and an English widow; and it may well be that in its niceties it shall be found kinder to the former than to the latter. But the Earl had been mad, and the law said that he was mad when he had made his will,--and the Italian woman went away, raging, into obscurity. The Italian woman was conquered, and now the battle was open and free between the young Earl and the claimant Countess. Applications were made on behalf of the Countess for funds from the estate wherewith to prove the claim, and to a certain limited amount they were granted. Such had been the life of the late Earl that it was held that the cost of all litigation resulting from his misdeeds should be paid from his estate;--but ready money was wanted, immediate ready money, to be at the disposal of the Countess to any amount needed by her agent, and this was hardly to be obtained. By this time public sympathy ran almost entirely with the Earl. Though it was acknowledged that the late lord was mad, and though it had become a cause of rejoicing that the Italian woman had been sent away penniless, howling into obscurity, because of the old man's madness, still it was believed that he had written the truth when he declared that the marriage had been a mock marriage. It would be better for the English world that the young Earl should be a rich man, fit to do honour to his position, fit to marry the daughter of a duke, fit to carry on the glory of the English peerage, than that a woman, ill reputed in the world, should be established as a Countess, with a daughter dowered with tens of thousands, as to whom it was already said that she was in love with a tailor's son. Nothing could be more touching, more likely to awaken sympathy, than the manner in which Josephine Murray had been carried away in marriage, and then roughly told by the man who should have protected her from every harshly blowing wind of heaven, that he had deceived her and that she was not his wife. No usage to which woman had ever been subjected, as has been said before, was more adapted to elicit compassion and energetic aid. But nineteen years had now passed by since the deed was done, and the facts were forgotten. One energetic friend there still was,--or we may say two, the tailor and his son Daniel. But public belief ran against the Countess, and nobody who was anybody in the world would give her her title. Bets were laid, two and three to one against her; and it was believed that she was an impostor. The Earl had all the glory of success over his first opponent, and the loud boasting of self-confident barristers buoyed up his cause. But loud-boasting barristers may nevertheless be wise lawyers, and the question of a compromise was again mooted. If the lady would take thirty thousand pounds and vanish, she should have the money clear of deduction, and all expenses should be paid. The amount offered was thought to be very liberal, but it did not amount to the annual income that was at stake. It was rejected with scorn. Had it been quadrupled, it would have been rejected with equal scorn. The loud-boasting barristers were still confident; but--. Though it was never admitted in words still it was felt that there might be a doubt. What if the contending parties were to join forces, if the Countess-ship of the Countess were to be admitted, and the heiress-ship of the Lady Anna, and if the Earl and the Lady Anna were to be united in holy wedlock? Might there not be a safe solution from further difficulty in that way? CHAPTER III. LADY ANNA. The idea of this further compromise, of this something more than compromise, of this half acknowledgment of their own weakness, came from Mr. Flick, of the firm of Norton and Flick, the solicitors who were employed in substantiating the Earl's position. When Mr. Flick mentioned it to Sir William Patterson, the great barrister, who was at that time Solicitor-General and leading counsel on behalf of Lord Lovel, Sir William Patterson stood aghast and was dismayed. Sir William intended to make mince-meat of the Countess. It was said of him that he intended to cross-examine the Countess off her legs, right out of her claim, and almost into her grave. He certainly did believe her to be an impostor, who had not thought herself to be entitled to her name when she first assumed it. "I should be sorry, Mr. Flick, to be driven to think that anything of that kind could be expedient." "It would make sure of the fortune to the family," said Mr. Flick. "And what about our friend, the Countess?" "Let her call herself Countess Lovel, Sir William. That will break no bones. As to the formality of her own marriage, there can be no doubt about that." "We can prove by Grogram that she was told that another wife was living," said Sir William. Grogram was an old butler who had been in the old Earl's service for thirty years. "I believe we can, Sir William; but--. It is quite clear that we shall never get the other wife to come over and face an English jury. It is of no use blinking it. The gentleman whom we have sent over doubts her altogether. That there was a marriage is certain, but he fears that this woman is not the old Countess. There were two sisters, and it may be that this was the other sister." Sir William was a good deal dismayed, but he recovered himself. The stakes were so high that it was quite possible that the gentleman who had been sent over might have been induced to open his eyes to the possibility of such personation by overtures from the other side. Sir William was of opinion that Mr. Flick himself should go to Sicily. He was not sure that he, Sir William, her Majesty's Solicitor-General, would not make the journey in person. He was by no means disposed to give way. "They tell me that the girl is no better than she should be," he said to Mr. Flick. "I don't think so bad as that of her," said Mr. Flick. "Is she a lady,--or anything like a lady?" "I am told she is very beautiful." "I dare say;--and so was her mother before her. I never saw a handsomer woman of her age than our friend the Countess. But I could not recommend the young lord to marry an underbred, bad girl, and a bastard who claims to be his cousin,--and support my proposition merely on the ground of her looks." "Thirty-five thousand a year, Sir William!" pleaded the attorney. "I hope we can get the thirty-five thousand a year for our client without paying so dear for them." It had been presumed that the real Countess, the original Countess, the Italian lady whom the Earl had married in early life, would be brought over, with properly attested documentary evidence in her pocket, to prove that she was the existing Countess, and that any other Countess must be either an impostor or a deluded dupe. No doubt the old Earl had declared, when first informing Josephine Murray that she was not his wife, that his real wife had died during the few months which had intervened since his mock marriage; but it was acknowledged on all sides, that the old Earl had been a villain and a liar. It was no part of the duty of the young Earl, or of those who acted for him, to defend the character of the old Earl. To wash that blackamoor white, or even to make him whity-brown, was not necessary to anybody. No one was now concerned to account for his crooked courses. But if it could be shown that he had married the lady in Italy,--as to which there was no doubt,--and that the lady was still alive, or that she had been alive when the second marriage took place, then the Lady Anna could not inherit the property which had been freed from the grasp of the Italian mistress. But it seemed that the lady, if she lived, could not be made to come. Mr. Flick did go to Sicily, and came back renewing his advice to Sir William that Lord Lovel should be advised to marry the Lady Anna. At this time the Countess, with her daughter, had moved their residence from Keswick up to London, and was living in very humble lodgings in a small street turning out of the New Road, near the Yorkshire Stingo. Old Thomas Thwaite had accompanied them from Cumberland, but the rooms had been taken for them by his son, Daniel Thwaite, who was at this time foreman to a somewhat celebrated tailor who carried on his business in Wigmore Street; and he, Daniel Thwaite, had a bedroom in the house in which the Countess lodged. The arrangement was not a wise one, as reports had already been spread abroad as to the partiality of the Lady Anna for the young tailor. But how should she not have been partial both to the father and to the son, feeling as she did that they were the only two men who befriended her cause and her mother's? As to the Countess herself, she, perhaps, alone of all those who interested themselves in her daughter's cause, had heard no word of these insinuations against her child. To her both Thomas and Daniel Thwaite were dear friends, to repay whom for their exertions with lavish generosity,--should the means to do so ever come within her reach,--was one of the dreams of her existence. But she was an ambitious woman, thinking much of her rank, thinking much even of the blood of her own ancestors, constantly urgent with her daughter in teaching her the duties and privileges of wealth and rank. For the Countess never doubted that she would at last attain success. That the Lady Anna should throw herself away upon Daniel Thwaite did not occur to her as a possibility. She had not even dreamed that Daniel Thwaite would aspire to her daughter's hand. And yet every shop-boy and every shop-girl in Keswick had been so saying for the last twelvemonth, and rumours which had hitherto been confined to Keswick and its neighbourhood, were now common in London. For the case was becoming one of the celebrated causes of the age, and all the world was talking of the Countess and her daughter. No momentary suspicion had crossed the mind of the Countess till after their arrival in London; and then when the suspicion did touch her it was not love that she suspected,--but rather an unbecoming familiarity which she attributed to her child's ignorance of the great life which awaited her. "My dear," she said one day when Daniel Thwaite had left them, "you should be less free in your manner with that young man." "What do you mean, mamma?" said the daughter, blushing. "You had better call him Mr. Thwaite." "But I have called him Daniel ever since I was born." "He always calls you Lady Anna." "Sometimes he does, mamma." "I never heard him call you anything else," said the Countess, almost with indignation. "It is all very well for the old man, because he is an old man and has done so much for us." "So has Daniel;--quite as much, mamma. They have both done everything." "True; they have both been warm friends; and if ever I forget them may God forget me. I trust that we may both live to show them that they are not forgotten. But it is not fitting that there should exist between you and him the intimacy of equal positions. You are not and cannot be his equal. He has been born to be a tailor, and you are the daughter and heiress of an Earl." These last words were spoken in a tone that was almost awful to the Lady Anna. She had heard so much of her father's rank and her father's wealth,--rank and wealth which were always to be hers, but which had never as yet reached her, which had been a perpetual trouble to her, and a crushing weight upon her young life, that she had almost learned to hate the title and the claim. Of course it was a part of the religion of her life that her mother had been duly married to her father. It was beyond a doubt to her that such was the case. But the constant battling for denied rights, the assumption of a position which could not be attained, the use of titles which were simply ridiculous in themselves as connected with the kind of life which she was obliged to lead,--these things had all become odious to her. She lacked the ambition which gave her mother strength, and would gladly have become Anna Murray or Anna Lovel, with a girl's ordinary privilege of loving her lover, had such an easy life been possible to her. In person she was very lovely, less tall and robust than her mother had been, but with a sweeter, softer face. Her hair was less dark, and her eyes were neither blue nor bold. But they were bright and soft and very eloquent, and when laden with tears would have softened the heart,--almost of her father. She was as yet less powerful than her mother, both in body and mind, but probably better calculated to make a happy home for a husband and children. She was affectionate, self-denying, and feminine. Had that offer of compromise for thirty, twenty, or for ten thousand pounds been made to her, she would have accepted it willingly,--caring little for her name, little even for fame, so that she might have been happy and quiet, and at liberty to think of a lover as are other girls. In her present condition, how could she have any happy love? She was the Lady Anna Lovel, heir to a ducal fortune,--but she lived in small close lodgings in Wyndham Street, New Road. She did not believe in the good time coming as did her mother. Their enemy was an undoubted Earl, undoubtedly owner of Lovel Grange of which she had heard all her life. Would it not be better to take what the young lord chose to give them and to be at rest? But she did not dare to express such thoughts to her mother. Her mother would have crushed her with a look. "I have told Mr. Thwaite," the mother said to her daughter, "what we were saying this morning." "About his son?" "Yes,--about his son." "Oh, mamma!" "I was bound to do so." "And what did he say, mamma?" "He did not like it, and told me that he did not like it;--but he admitted that it was true. He admitted that his son was no fitting intimate for Lady Anna Lovel." "What should we have done without him?" "Badly indeed; but that cannot change his duty, or ours. He is helping us to struggle for that which is our own; but he would mar his generosity if he put a taint on that which he is endeavouring to restore to us." "Put a taint, mamma!" "Yes;--a taint would rest upon your rank if you as Lady Anna Lovel were familiar with Daniel Thwaite as with an equal. His father understands it, and will speak to him." "Mamma, Daniel will be very angry." "Then will he be very unreasonable;--but, Anna, I will not have you call him Daniel any more." CHAPTER IV. THE TAILOR OF KESWICK. Old Thomas Thwaite was at this time up in London about the business of the Countess, but had no intention of residing there. He still kept his shop in Keswick, and still made coats and trousers for Cumberland statesmen. He was by no means in a condition to retire from business, having spent the savings of his life in the cause of the Countess and her daughter. Men had told him that, had he not struck the Earl in the yard of the Crown at Keswick, as horses were being brought out for the lord's travelling carriage, ample provision would have been made by the rich old sinner for his daughter. That might have been so, or might not, but the saying instigated the tailor to further zeal and increased generosity. To oppose an Earl, even though it might be on behalf of a Countess, was a joy to him; to set wrong right, and to put down cruelty and to relieve distressed women was the pride of his heart,--especially when his efforts were made in antagonism to one of high rank. And he was a man who would certainly be thorough in his work, though his thoroughness should be ruinous to himself. He had despised the Murrays, who ought to have stuck to their distant cousin, and had exulted in his heart at thinking that the world would say how much better and truer had been the Keswick tailor than the well-born and comparatively wealthy Scotch relations. And the poets of the lakes, who had not as yet become altogether Tories, had taken him by the hand and praised him. The rights of the Countess and the wrongs of the Countess had become his life. But he still kept on a diminished business in the north, and it was now needful that he should return to Cumberland. He had heard that renewed offers of compromise were to be made,--though no idea of the proposed marriage between the distant cousins had been suggested to him. He had been discussing the question of some compromise with the Countess when she spoke to him respecting his son; and had recommended that certain terms should, if possible, be effected. Let the money be divided, on condition that the marriage were allowed. There could be no difficulty in this if the young lord would accede to such an arrangement, as the marriage must be acknowledged unless an adverse party should bring home proof from Italy to the contrary. The sufficiency of the ceremony in Applethwaite Church was incontestable. Let the money be divided, and the Countess be Countess Lovel, and Lady Anna be the Lady Anna to all the world. Old Thomas Thwaite himself had seemed to think that there would be enough of triumph in such a settlement. "But the woman might afterwards be bribed to come over and renew her claim," said the Countess. "Unless it be absolutely settled now, they will say when I am dead and gone that my daughter has no right to her name." Then the tailor said that he would make further inquiry how that might be. He was inclined to think that there might be a decision which should be absolute, even though that decision should be reached by compromise between the now contending parties. Then the Countess had said her word about Daniel Thwaite the son, and Thomas Thwaite the father had heard it with ill-concealed anger. To fight against an Earl on behalf of the Earl's injured wife had been very sweet to him, but to be checked in his fight because he and his were unfit to associate with the child of that injured wife, was very bitter. And yet he had sense to know that what the Countess said to him was true. As far as words went, he admitted the truth; but his face was more eloquent than his words, and his face showed plainly his displeasure. "It is not of you that I am speaking," said the Countess, laying her hand upon the old man's sleeve. "Daniel is, at any rate, fitter than I," said the tailor. "He has been educated, and I never was." "He is as good as gold. It is not of that I speak. You know what I mean." "I know very well what you mean, Lady Lovel." "I have no friend like you, Mr. Thwaite;--none whom I love as I do you. And next to you is your son. For myself, there is nothing that I would not do for him or you;--no service, however menial, that I would not render you with my own hands. There is no limit to the gratitude which I owe you. But my girl is young, and if this burden of rank and wealth is to be hers,--it is proper that she do honour to it." "And it is not honourable that she should be seen speaking--to a tailor?" "Ah,--if you choose to take it so!" "How should I take it? What I say is true. And what you say is true also. I will speak to Daniel." But she knew well, as he left her, that his heart was bitter against her. The old man did speak to his son, sitting with him up in the bed-room over that which the Countess occupied. Old Thomas Thwaite was a strong man, but his son was in some respects stronger. As his father had said of him, he had been educated,--or rather instructed; and instruction leads to the power of thinking. He looked deeper into things than did his father, and was governed by wider and greater motives. His father had been a Radical all his life, guided thereto probably by some early training, and made steadfast in his creed by feelings which induced him to hate the pretensions of an assumed superiority. Old Thwaite could not endure to think that one man should be considered to be worthier than another because he was richer. He would admit the riches, and even the justice of the riches,--having been himself, during much of his life, a rich man in his own sphere; but would deny the worthiness; and would adduce, in proof of his creed, the unworthiness of certain exalted sinners. The career of the Earl Lovel had been to him a sure proof of the baseness of English aristocracy generally. He had dreams of a republic in which a tailor might be president or senator, or something almost noble. But no rational scheme of governance among mankind had ever entered his mind, and of pure politics he knew no more than the journeyman who sat stitching upon his board. But Daniel Thwaite was a thoughtful man who had read many books. More's Utopia and Harrington's Oceana, with many a tale written in the same spirit, had taught him to believe that a perfect form of government, or rather of policy, under which all men might be happy and satisfied, was practicable upon earth, and was to be achieved,--not merely by the slow amelioration of mankind under God's fostering ordinances,--but by the continued efforts of good and wise men who, by their goodness and wisdom, should be able to make the multitude believe in them. To diminish the distances, not only between the rich and the poor, but between the high and the low, was the grand political theory upon which his mind was always running. His father was ever thinking of himself and of Earl Lovel; while Daniel Thwaite was considering the injustice of the difference between ten thousand aristocrats and thirty million of people, who were for the most part ignorant and hungry. But it was not that he also had not thoughts of himself. Gradually he had come to learn that he need not have been a tailor's foreman in Wigmore Street had not his father spent on behalf of the Countess Lovel the means by which he, the son, might already have become a master tradesman. And yet he had never begrudged it. He had been as keen as his father in the cause. It had been the romance of his life, since his life had been capable of romance;--but with him it had been no respect for the rank to which his father was so anxious to restore the Countess, no value which he attached to the names claimed by the mother and the daughter. He hated the countess-ship of the Countess, and the ladyship of the Lady Anna. He would fain that they should have abandoned them. They were to him odious signs of iniquitous pretensions. But he was keen enough to punish and to remedy the wickedness of the wicked Earl. He reverenced his father because he assaulted the wicked Earl and struck him to the ground. He was heart and soul in the cause of the injured wife. And then the one thing on earth that was really dear to him was the Lady Anna. It had been the romance of his life. They had grown up together as playmates in Cumberland. He had fought scores of battles on her behalf with those who had denied that she was the Lady Anna,--even though he had then hated the title. Boys had jeered him because of his noble little sweetheart, and he had exulted at hearing her so called. His only sister and his mother had died when he was young, and there had been none in the house but his father and himself. As a boy he had ever been

regarded

How many times the word 'regarded' appears in the text?

Anna would have the entire property, except such portion as would be claimed of right by her mother, the widow. Thus the Italian woman and the young lord were combined in interest against the mother and daughter as regarded the marriage; and the young lord and the mother and daughter were combined against the Italian woman as regarded the will;--but the young lord had to act alone against the Italian woman, and against the mother and daughter whom he and his friends regarded as swindlers and impostors. It was for him to set aside the will in reference to the Italian woman, and then to stand the brunt of the assault made upon him by the soi-disant wife. In a very short time after the old Earl's death a double compromise was offered on behalf of the young Earl. The money at stake was immense. Would the Italian woman take 10,000, and go her way back to Italy, renouncing all further claim; and would the soi-disant Countess abandon her title, acknowledge her child to be illegitimate, and go her way with another 10,000;--or with 20,000, as was soon hinted by the gentlemen acting on the Earl's behalf? The proposition was one somewhat difficult in the making, as the compromise, if made with both, would be excellent, but could not be made to any good effect with one only. The young Earl certainly could not afford to buy off the Italian woman for 10,000, if the effect of such buying off would only be to place the whole of the late lord's wealth in the hands of his daughter and of his daughter's mother. The Italian woman consented. She declared with Italian energy that her late loving friend had never been a day insane; but she knew nothing of English laws, and but little of English money. She would take the 10,000,--having had a calculation made for her of the number of lire into which it would run. The number was enormous, and she would take the offer. But when the proposal was mentioned to the Countess, and explained to her by her old friend, Thomas Thwaite, who had now become a poor man in her cause, she repudiated it with bitter scorn,--with a scorn in which she almost included the old man who had made it to her. "Is it for that, that I have been fighting?" she said. "For that in part," said the old man. "No, Mr. Thwaite, not for that at all; but that my girl may have her birth allowed and her name acknowledged." "Her name shall be allowed and her birth shall be acknowledged," said the tailor, in whose heart there was nothing base. "She shall be the Lady Anna, and her mother shall be the Countess Lovel." The estate of the Countess, if she had an estate, then owed the tailor some five or six thousand pounds, and the compromise offered would have paid the tailor every shilling and have left a comfortable income for the two women. "For myself I care but little," said the mother, taking the tailor's hand in hers and kissing it. "My child is the Lady Anna, and I do not dare to barter away her rights." This took place down at the cottage in Cumberland, and the tailor at once went up to London to make known the decision of the Countess,--as he invariably called her. Then the lawyers went to work. As the double compromise could not be effected, the single compromise could not stand. The Italian woman raved and stamped, and swore that she must have her half million of lire. But of course no right to such a claim had been made good to her, and the lawyers on behalf of the young Earl went on with their work. Public sympathy as a matter of course went with the young Earl. As against the Italian woman he had with him every English man and woman. It was horrible to the minds of English men and English women that an old English Earldom should be starved in order that an Italian harlot might revel in untold riches. It was felt by most men and protested by all women that any sign of madness, be it what it might,--however insignificant,--should be held to be sufficient against such a claimant. Was not the fact that the man had made such a will in itself sufficient proof of his madness? There were not a few who protested that no further proof could be necessary. But with us the law is the same for an Italian harlot and an English widow; and it may well be that in its niceties it shall be found kinder to the former than to the latter. But the Earl had been mad, and the law said that he was mad when he had made his will,--and the Italian woman went away, raging, into obscurity. The Italian woman was conquered, and now the battle was open and free between the young Earl and the claimant Countess. Applications were made on behalf of the Countess for funds from the estate wherewith to prove the claim, and to a certain limited amount they were granted. Such had been the life of the late Earl that it was held that the cost of all litigation resulting from his misdeeds should be paid from his estate;--but ready money was wanted, immediate ready money, to be at the disposal of the Countess to any amount needed by her agent, and this was hardly to be obtained. By this time public sympathy ran almost entirely with the Earl. Though it was acknowledged that the late lord was mad, and though it had become a cause of rejoicing that the Italian woman had been sent away penniless, howling into obscurity, because of the old man's madness, still it was believed that he had written the truth when he declared that the marriage had been a mock marriage. It would be better for the English world that the young Earl should be a rich man, fit to do honour to his position, fit to marry the daughter of a duke, fit to carry on the glory of the English peerage, than that a woman, ill reputed in the world, should be established as a Countess, with a daughter dowered with tens of thousands, as to whom it was already said that she was in love with a tailor's son. Nothing could be more touching, more likely to awaken sympathy, than the manner in which Josephine Murray had been carried away in marriage, and then roughly told by the man who should have protected her from every harshly blowing wind of heaven, that he had deceived her and that she was not his wife. No usage to which woman had ever been subjected, as has been said before, was more adapted to elicit compassion and energetic aid. But nineteen years had now passed by since the deed was done, and the facts were forgotten. One energetic friend there still was,--or we may say two, the tailor and his son Daniel. But public belief ran against the Countess, and nobody who was anybody in the world would give her her title. Bets were laid, two and three to one against her; and it was believed that she was an impostor. The Earl had all the glory of success over his first opponent, and the loud boasting of self-confident barristers buoyed up his cause. But loud-boasting barristers may nevertheless be wise lawyers, and the question of a compromise was again mooted. If the lady would take thirty thousand pounds and vanish, she should have the money clear of deduction, and all expenses should be paid. The amount offered was thought to be very liberal, but it did not amount to the annual income that was at stake. It was rejected with scorn. Had it been quadrupled, it would have been rejected with equal scorn. The loud-boasting barristers were still confident; but--. Though it was never admitted in words still it was felt that there might be a doubt. What if the contending parties were to join forces, if the Countess-ship of the Countess were to be admitted, and the heiress-ship of the Lady Anna, and if the Earl and the Lady Anna were to be united in holy wedlock? Might there not be a safe solution from further difficulty in that way? CHAPTER III. LADY ANNA. The idea of this further compromise, of this something more than compromise, of this half acknowledgment of their own weakness, came from Mr. Flick, of the firm of Norton and Flick, the solicitors who were employed in substantiating the Earl's position. When Mr. Flick mentioned it to Sir William Patterson, the great barrister, who was at that time Solicitor-General and leading counsel on behalf of Lord Lovel, Sir William Patterson stood aghast and was dismayed. Sir William intended to make mince-meat of the Countess. It was said of him that he intended to cross-examine the Countess off her legs, right out of her claim, and almost into her grave. He certainly did believe her to be an impostor, who had not thought herself to be entitled to her name when she first assumed it. "I should be sorry, Mr. Flick, to be driven to think that anything of that kind could be expedient." "It would make sure of the fortune to the family," said Mr. Flick. "And what about our friend, the Countess?" "Let her call herself Countess Lovel, Sir William. That will break no bones. As to the formality of her own marriage, there can be no doubt about that." "We can prove by Grogram that she was told that another wife was living," said Sir William. Grogram was an old butler who had been in the old Earl's service for thirty years. "I believe we can, Sir William; but--. It is quite clear that we shall never get the other wife to come over and face an English jury. It is of no use blinking it. The gentleman whom we have sent over doubts her altogether. That there was a marriage is certain, but he fears that this woman is not the old Countess. There were two sisters, and it may be that this was the other sister." Sir William was a good deal dismayed, but he recovered himself. The stakes were so high that it was quite possible that the gentleman who had been sent over might have been induced to open his eyes to the possibility of such personation by overtures from the other side. Sir William was of opinion that Mr. Flick himself should go to Sicily. He was not sure that he, Sir William, her Majesty's Solicitor-General, would not make the journey in person. He was by no means disposed to give way. "They tell me that the girl is no better than she should be," he said to Mr. Flick. "I don't think so bad as that of her," said Mr. Flick. "Is she a lady,--or anything like a lady?" "I am told she is very beautiful." "I dare say;--and so was her mother before her. I never saw a handsomer woman of her age than our friend the Countess. But I could not recommend the young lord to marry an underbred, bad girl, and a bastard who claims to be his cousin,--and support my proposition merely on the ground of her looks." "Thirty-five thousand a year, Sir William!" pleaded the attorney. "I hope we can get the thirty-five thousand a year for our client without paying so dear for them." It had been presumed that the real Countess, the original Countess, the Italian lady whom the Earl had married in early life, would be brought over, with properly attested documentary evidence in her pocket, to prove that she was the existing Countess, and that any other Countess must be either an impostor or a deluded dupe. No doubt the old Earl had declared, when first informing Josephine Murray that she was not his wife, that his real wife had died during the few months which had intervened since his mock marriage; but it was acknowledged on all sides, that the old Earl had been a villain and a liar. It was no part of the duty of the young Earl, or of those who acted for him, to defend the character of the old Earl. To wash that blackamoor white, or even to make him whity-brown, was not necessary to anybody. No one was now concerned to account for his crooked courses. But if it could be shown that he had married the lady in Italy,--as to which there was no doubt,--and that the lady was still alive, or that she had been alive when the second marriage took place, then the Lady Anna could not inherit the property which had been freed from the grasp of the Italian mistress. But it seemed that the lady, if she lived, could not be made to come. Mr. Flick did go to Sicily, and came back renewing his advice to Sir William that Lord Lovel should be advised to marry the Lady Anna. At this time the Countess, with her daughter, had moved their residence from Keswick up to London, and was living in very humble lodgings in a small street turning out of the New Road, near the Yorkshire Stingo. Old Thomas Thwaite had accompanied them from Cumberland, but the rooms had been taken for them by his son, Daniel Thwaite, who was at this time foreman to a somewhat celebrated tailor who carried on his business in Wigmore Street; and he, Daniel Thwaite, had a bedroom in the house in which the Countess lodged. The arrangement was not a wise one, as reports had already been spread abroad as to the partiality of the Lady Anna for the young tailor. But how should she not have been partial both to the father and to the son, feeling as she did that they were the only two men who befriended her cause and her mother's? As to the Countess herself, she, perhaps, alone of all those who interested themselves in her daughter's cause, had heard no word of these insinuations against her child. To her both Thomas and Daniel Thwaite were dear friends, to repay whom for their exertions with lavish generosity,--should the means to do so ever come within her reach,--was one of the dreams of her existence. But she was an ambitious woman, thinking much of her rank, thinking much even of the blood of her own ancestors, constantly urgent with her daughter in teaching her the duties and privileges of wealth and rank. For the Countess never doubted that she would at last attain success. That the Lady Anna should throw herself away upon Daniel Thwaite did not occur to her as a possibility. She had not even dreamed that Daniel Thwaite would aspire to her daughter's hand. And yet every shop-boy and every shop-girl in Keswick had been so saying for the last twelvemonth, and rumours which had hitherto been confined to Keswick and its neighbourhood, were now common in London. For the case was becoming one of the celebrated causes of the age, and all the world was talking of the Countess and her daughter. No momentary suspicion had crossed the mind of the Countess till after their arrival in London; and then when the suspicion did touch her it was not love that she suspected,--but rather an unbecoming familiarity which she attributed to her child's ignorance of the great life which awaited her. "My dear," she said one day when Daniel Thwaite had left them, "you should be less free in your manner with that young man." "What do you mean, mamma?" said the daughter, blushing. "You had better call him Mr. Thwaite." "But I have called him Daniel ever since I was born." "He always calls you Lady Anna." "Sometimes he does, mamma." "I never heard him call you anything else," said the Countess, almost with indignation. "It is all very well for the old man, because he is an old man and has done so much for us." "So has Daniel;--quite as much, mamma. They have both done everything." "True; they have both been warm friends; and if ever I forget them may God forget me. I trust that we may both live to show them that they are not forgotten. But it is not fitting that there should exist between you and him the intimacy of equal positions. You are not and cannot be his equal. He has been born to be a tailor, and you are the daughter and heiress of an Earl." These last words were spoken in a tone that was almost awful to the Lady Anna. She had heard so much of her father's rank and her father's wealth,--rank and wealth which were always to be hers, but which had never as yet reached her, which had been a perpetual trouble to her, and a crushing weight upon her young life, that she had almost learned to hate the title and the claim. Of course it was a part of the religion of her life that her mother had been duly married to her father. It was beyond a doubt to her that such was the case. But the constant battling for denied rights, the assumption of a position which could not be attained, the use of titles which were simply ridiculous in themselves as connected with the kind of life which she was obliged to lead,--these things had all become odious to her. She lacked the ambition which gave her mother strength, and would gladly have become Anna Murray or Anna Lovel, with a girl's ordinary privilege of loving her lover, had such an easy life been possible to her. In person she was very lovely, less tall and robust than her mother had been, but with a sweeter, softer face. Her hair was less dark, and her eyes were neither blue nor bold. But they were bright and soft and very eloquent, and when laden with tears would have softened the heart,--almost of her father. She was as yet less powerful than her mother, both in body and mind, but probably better calculated to make a happy home for a husband and children. She was affectionate, self-denying, and feminine. Had that offer of compromise for thirty, twenty, or for ten thousand pounds been made to her, she would have accepted it willingly,--caring little for her name, little even for fame, so that she might have been happy and quiet, and at liberty to think of a lover as are other girls. In her present condition, how could she have any happy love? She was the Lady Anna Lovel, heir to a ducal fortune,--but she lived in small close lodgings in Wyndham Street, New Road. She did not believe in the good time coming as did her mother. Their enemy was an undoubted Earl, undoubtedly owner of Lovel Grange of which she had heard all her life. Would it not be better to take what the young lord chose to give them and to be at rest? But she did not dare to express such thoughts to her mother. Her mother would have crushed her with a look. "I have told Mr. Thwaite," the mother said to her daughter, "what we were saying this morning." "About his son?" "Yes,--about his son." "Oh, mamma!" "I was bound to do so." "And what did he say, mamma?" "He did not like it, and told me that he did not like it;--but he admitted that it was true. He admitted that his son was no fitting intimate for Lady Anna Lovel." "What should we have done without him?" "Badly indeed; but that cannot change his duty, or ours. He is helping us to struggle for that which is our own; but he would mar his generosity if he put a taint on that which he is endeavouring to restore to us." "Put a taint, mamma!" "Yes;--a taint would rest upon your rank if you as Lady Anna Lovel were familiar with Daniel Thwaite as with an equal. His father understands it, and will speak to him." "Mamma, Daniel will be very angry." "Then will he be very unreasonable;--but, Anna, I will not have you call him Daniel any more." CHAPTER IV. THE TAILOR OF KESWICK. Old Thomas Thwaite was at this time up in London about the business of the Countess, but had no intention of residing there. He still kept his shop in Keswick, and still made coats and trousers for Cumberland statesmen. He was by no means in a condition to retire from business, having spent the savings of his life in the cause of the Countess and her daughter. Men had told him that, had he not struck the Earl in the yard of the Crown at Keswick, as horses were being brought out for the lord's travelling carriage, ample provision would have been made by the rich old sinner for his daughter. That might have been so, or might not, but the saying instigated the tailor to further zeal and increased generosity. To oppose an Earl, even though it might be on behalf of a Countess, was a joy to him; to set wrong right, and to put down cruelty and to relieve distressed women was the pride of his heart,--especially when his efforts were made in antagonism to one of high rank. And he was a man who would certainly be thorough in his work, though his thoroughness should be ruinous to himself. He had despised the Murrays, who ought to have stuck to their distant cousin, and had exulted in his heart at thinking that the world would say how much better and truer had been the Keswick tailor than the well-born and comparatively wealthy Scotch relations. And the poets of the lakes, who had not as yet become altogether Tories, had taken him by the hand and praised him. The rights of the Countess and the wrongs of the Countess had become his life. But he still kept on a diminished business in the north, and it was now needful that he should return to Cumberland. He had heard that renewed offers of compromise were to be made,--though no idea of the proposed marriage between the distant cousins had been suggested to him. He had been discussing the question of some compromise with the Countess when she spoke to him respecting his son; and had recommended that certain terms should, if possible, be effected. Let the money be divided, on condition that the marriage were allowed. There could be no difficulty in this if the young lord would accede to such an arrangement, as the marriage must be acknowledged unless an adverse party should bring home proof from Italy to the contrary. The sufficiency of the ceremony in Applethwaite Church was incontestable. Let the money be divided, and the Countess be Countess Lovel, and Lady Anna be the Lady Anna to all the world. Old Thomas Thwaite himself had seemed to think that there would be enough of triumph in such a settlement. "But the woman might afterwards be bribed to come over and renew her claim," said the Countess. "Unless it be absolutely settled now, they will say when I am dead and gone that my daughter has no right to her name." Then the tailor said that he would make further inquiry how that might be. He was inclined to think that there might be a decision which should be absolute, even though that decision should be reached by compromise between the now contending parties. Then the Countess had said her word about Daniel Thwaite the son, and Thomas Thwaite the father had heard it with ill-concealed anger. To fight against an Earl on behalf of the Earl's injured wife had been very sweet to him, but to be checked in his fight because he and his were unfit to associate with the child of that injured wife, was very bitter. And yet he had sense to know that what the Countess said to him was true. As far as words went, he admitted the truth; but his face was more eloquent than his words, and his face showed plainly his displeasure. "It is not of you that I am speaking," said the Countess, laying her hand upon the old man's sleeve. "Daniel is, at any rate, fitter than I," said the tailor. "He has been educated, and I never was." "He is as good as gold. It is not of that I speak. You know what I mean." "I know very well what you mean, Lady Lovel." "I have no friend like you, Mr. Thwaite;--none whom I love as I do you. And next to you is your son. For myself, there is nothing that I would not do for him or you;--no service, however menial, that I would not render you with my own hands. There is no limit to the gratitude which I owe you. But my girl is young, and if this burden of rank and wealth is to be hers,--it is proper that she do honour to it." "And it is not honourable that she should be seen speaking--to a tailor?" "Ah,--if you choose to take it so!" "How should I take it? What I say is true. And what you say is true also. I will speak to Daniel." But she knew well, as he left her, that his heart was bitter against her. The old man did speak to his son, sitting with him up in the bed-room over that which the Countess occupied. Old Thomas Thwaite was a strong man, but his son was in some respects stronger. As his father had said of him, he had been educated,--or rather instructed; and instruction leads to the power of thinking. He looked deeper into things than did his father, and was governed by wider and greater motives. His father had been a Radical all his life, guided thereto probably by some early training, and made steadfast in his creed by feelings which induced him to hate the pretensions of an assumed superiority. Old Thwaite could not endure to think that one man should be considered to be worthier than another because he was richer. He would admit the riches, and even the justice of the riches,--having been himself, during much of his life, a rich man in his own sphere; but would deny the worthiness; and would adduce, in proof of his creed, the unworthiness of certain exalted sinners. The career of the Earl Lovel had been to him a sure proof of the baseness of English aristocracy generally. He had dreams of a republic in which a tailor might be president or senator, or something almost noble. But no rational scheme of governance among mankind had ever entered his mind, and of pure politics he knew no more than the journeyman who sat stitching upon his board. But Daniel Thwaite was a thoughtful man who had read many books. More's Utopia and Harrington's Oceana, with many a tale written in the same spirit, had taught him to believe that a perfect form of government, or rather of policy, under which all men might be happy and satisfied, was practicable upon earth, and was to be achieved,--not merely by the slow amelioration of mankind under God's fostering ordinances,--but by the continued efforts of good and wise men who, by their goodness and wisdom, should be able to make the multitude believe in them. To diminish the distances, not only between the rich and the poor, but between the high and the low, was the grand political theory upon which his mind was always running. His father was ever thinking of himself and of Earl Lovel; while Daniel Thwaite was considering the injustice of the difference between ten thousand aristocrats and thirty million of people, who were for the most part ignorant and hungry. But it was not that he also had not thoughts of himself. Gradually he had come to learn that he need not have been a tailor's foreman in Wigmore Street had not his father spent on behalf of the Countess Lovel the means by which he, the son, might already have become a master tradesman. And yet he had never begrudged it. He had been as keen as his father in the cause. It had been the romance of his life, since his life had been capable of romance;--but with him it had been no respect for the rank to which his father was so anxious to restore the Countess, no value which he attached to the names claimed by the mother and the daughter. He hated the countess-ship of the Countess, and the ladyship of the Lady Anna. He would fain that they should have abandoned them. They were to him odious signs of iniquitous pretensions. But he was keen enough to punish and to remedy the wickedness of the wicked Earl. He reverenced his father because he assaulted the wicked Earl and struck him to the ground. He was heart and soul in the cause of the injured wife. And then the one thing on earth that was really dear to him was the Lady Anna. It had been the romance of his life. They had grown up together as playmates in Cumberland. He had fought scores of battles on her behalf with those who had denied that she was the Lady Anna,--even though he had then hated the title. Boys had jeered him because of his noble little sweetheart, and he had exulted at hearing her so called. His only sister and his mother had died when he was young, and there had been none in the house but his father and himself. As a boy he had ever been

estate

How many times the word 'estate' appears in the text?

Anna would have the entire property, except such portion as would be claimed of right by her mother, the widow. Thus the Italian woman and the young lord were combined in interest against the mother and daughter as regarded the marriage; and the young lord and the mother and daughter were combined against the Italian woman as regarded the will;--but the young lord had to act alone against the Italian woman, and against the mother and daughter whom he and his friends regarded as swindlers and impostors. It was for him to set aside the will in reference to the Italian woman, and then to stand the brunt of the assault made upon him by the soi-disant wife. In a very short time after the old Earl's death a double compromise was offered on behalf of the young Earl. The money at stake was immense. Would the Italian woman take 10,000, and go her way back to Italy, renouncing all further claim; and would the soi-disant Countess abandon her title, acknowledge her child to be illegitimate, and go her way with another 10,000;--or with 20,000, as was soon hinted by the gentlemen acting on the Earl's behalf? The proposition was one somewhat difficult in the making, as the compromise, if made with both, would be excellent, but could not be made to any good effect with one only. The young Earl certainly could not afford to buy off the Italian woman for 10,000, if the effect of such buying off would only be to place the whole of the late lord's wealth in the hands of his daughter and of his daughter's mother. The Italian woman consented. She declared with Italian energy that her late loving friend had never been a day insane; but she knew nothing of English laws, and but little of English money. She would take the 10,000,--having had a calculation made for her of the number of lire into which it would run. The number was enormous, and she would take the offer. But when the proposal was mentioned to the Countess, and explained to her by her old friend, Thomas Thwaite, who had now become a poor man in her cause, she repudiated it with bitter scorn,--with a scorn in which she almost included the old man who had made it to her. "Is it for that, that I have been fighting?" she said. "For that in part," said the old man. "No, Mr. Thwaite, not for that at all; but that my girl may have her birth allowed and her name acknowledged." "Her name shall be allowed and her birth shall be acknowledged," said the tailor, in whose heart there was nothing base. "She shall be the Lady Anna, and her mother shall be the Countess Lovel." The estate of the Countess, if she had an estate, then owed the tailor some five or six thousand pounds, and the compromise offered would have paid the tailor every shilling and have left a comfortable income for the two women. "For myself I care but little," said the mother, taking the tailor's hand in hers and kissing it. "My child is the Lady Anna, and I do not dare to barter away her rights." This took place down at the cottage in Cumberland, and the tailor at once went up to London to make known the decision of the Countess,--as he invariably called her. Then the lawyers went to work. As the double compromise could not be effected, the single compromise could not stand. The Italian woman raved and stamped, and swore that she must have her half million of lire. But of course no right to such a claim had been made good to her, and the lawyers on behalf of the young Earl went on with their work. Public sympathy as a matter of course went with the young Earl. As against the Italian woman he had with him every English man and woman. It was horrible to the minds of English men and English women that an old English Earldom should be starved in order that an Italian harlot might revel in untold riches. It was felt by most men and protested by all women that any sign of madness, be it what it might,--however insignificant,--should be held to be sufficient against such a claimant. Was not the fact that the man had made such a will in itself sufficient proof of his madness? There were not a few who protested that no further proof could be necessary. But with us the law is the same for an Italian harlot and an English widow; and it may well be that in its niceties it shall be found kinder to the former than to the latter. But the Earl had been mad, and the law said that he was mad when he had made his will,--and the Italian woman went away, raging, into obscurity. The Italian woman was conquered, and now the battle was open and free between the young Earl and the claimant Countess. Applications were made on behalf of the Countess for funds from the estate wherewith to prove the claim, and to a certain limited amount they were granted. Such had been the life of the late Earl that it was held that the cost of all litigation resulting from his misdeeds should be paid from his estate;--but ready money was wanted, immediate ready money, to be at the disposal of the Countess to any amount needed by her agent, and this was hardly to be obtained. By this time public sympathy ran almost entirely with the Earl. Though it was acknowledged that the late lord was mad, and though it had become a cause of rejoicing that the Italian woman had been sent away penniless, howling into obscurity, because of the old man's madness, still it was believed that he had written the truth when he declared that the marriage had been a mock marriage. It would be better for the English world that the young Earl should be a rich man, fit to do honour to his position, fit to marry the daughter of a duke, fit to carry on the glory of the English peerage, than that a woman, ill reputed in the world, should be established as a Countess, with a daughter dowered with tens of thousands, as to whom it was already said that she was in love with a tailor's son. Nothing could be more touching, more likely to awaken sympathy, than the manner in which Josephine Murray had been carried away in marriage, and then roughly told by the man who should have protected her from every harshly blowing wind of heaven, that he had deceived her and that she was not his wife. No usage to which woman had ever been subjected, as has been said before, was more adapted to elicit compassion and energetic aid. But nineteen years had now passed by since the deed was done, and the facts were forgotten. One energetic friend there still was,--or we may say two, the tailor and his son Daniel. But public belief ran against the Countess, and nobody who was anybody in the world would give her her title. Bets were laid, two and three to one against her; and it was believed that she was an impostor. The Earl had all the glory of success over his first opponent, and the loud boasting of self-confident barristers buoyed up his cause. But loud-boasting barristers may nevertheless be wise lawyers, and the question of a compromise was again mooted. If the lady would take thirty thousand pounds and vanish, she should have the money clear of deduction, and all expenses should be paid. The amount offered was thought to be very liberal, but it did not amount to the annual income that was at stake. It was rejected with scorn. Had it been quadrupled, it would have been rejected with equal scorn. The loud-boasting barristers were still confident; but--. Though it was never admitted in words still it was felt that there might be a doubt. What if the contending parties were to join forces, if the Countess-ship of the Countess were to be admitted, and the heiress-ship of the Lady Anna, and if the Earl and the Lady Anna were to be united in holy wedlock? Might there not be a safe solution from further difficulty in that way? CHAPTER III. LADY ANNA. The idea of this further compromise, of this something more than compromise, of this half acknowledgment of their own weakness, came from Mr. Flick, of the firm of Norton and Flick, the solicitors who were employed in substantiating the Earl's position. When Mr. Flick mentioned it to Sir William Patterson, the great barrister, who was at that time Solicitor-General and leading counsel on behalf of Lord Lovel, Sir William Patterson stood aghast and was dismayed. Sir William intended to make mince-meat of the Countess. It was said of him that he intended to cross-examine the Countess off her legs, right out of her claim, and almost into her grave. He certainly did believe her to be an impostor, who had not thought herself to be entitled to her name when she first assumed it. "I should be sorry, Mr. Flick, to be driven to think that anything of that kind could be expedient." "It would make sure of the fortune to the family," said Mr. Flick. "And what about our friend, the Countess?" "Let her call herself Countess Lovel, Sir William. That will break no bones. As to the formality of her own marriage, there can be no doubt about that." "We can prove by Grogram that she was told that another wife was living," said Sir William. Grogram was an old butler who had been in the old Earl's service for thirty years. "I believe we can, Sir William; but--. It is quite clear that we shall never get the other wife to come over and face an English jury. It is of no use blinking it. The gentleman whom we have sent over doubts her altogether. That there was a marriage is certain, but he fears that this woman is not the old Countess. There were two sisters, and it may be that this was the other sister." Sir William was a good deal dismayed, but he recovered himself. The stakes were so high that it was quite possible that the gentleman who had been sent over might have been induced to open his eyes to the possibility of such personation by overtures from the other side. Sir William was of opinion that Mr. Flick himself should go to Sicily. He was not sure that he, Sir William, her Majesty's Solicitor-General, would not make the journey in person. He was by no means disposed to give way. "They tell me that the girl is no better than she should be," he said to Mr. Flick. "I don't think so bad as that of her," said Mr. Flick. "Is she a lady,--or anything like a lady?" "I am told she is very beautiful." "I dare say;--and so was her mother before her. I never saw a handsomer woman of her age than our friend the Countess. But I could not recommend the young lord to marry an underbred, bad girl, and a bastard who claims to be his cousin,--and support my proposition merely on the ground of her looks." "Thirty-five thousand a year, Sir William!" pleaded the attorney. "I hope we can get the thirty-five thousand a year for our client without paying so dear for them." It had been presumed that the real Countess, the original Countess, the Italian lady whom the Earl had married in early life, would be brought over, with properly attested documentary evidence in her pocket, to prove that she was the existing Countess, and that any other Countess must be either an impostor or a deluded dupe. No doubt the old Earl had declared, when first informing Josephine Murray that she was not his wife, that his real wife had died during the few months which had intervened since his mock marriage; but it was acknowledged on all sides, that the old Earl had been a villain and a liar. It was no part of the duty of the young Earl, or of those who acted for him, to defend the character of the old Earl. To wash that blackamoor white, or even to make him whity-brown, was not necessary to anybody. No one was now concerned to account for his crooked courses. But if it could be shown that he had married the lady in Italy,--as to which there was no doubt,--and that the lady was still alive, or that she had been alive when the second marriage took place, then the Lady Anna could not inherit the property which had been freed from the grasp of the Italian mistress. But it seemed that the lady, if she lived, could not be made to come. Mr. Flick did go to Sicily, and came back renewing his advice to Sir William that Lord Lovel should be advised to marry the Lady Anna. At this time the Countess, with her daughter, had moved their residence from Keswick up to London, and was living in very humble lodgings in a small street turning out of the New Road, near the Yorkshire Stingo. Old Thomas Thwaite had accompanied them from Cumberland, but the rooms had been taken for them by his son, Daniel Thwaite, who was at this time foreman to a somewhat celebrated tailor who carried on his business in Wigmore Street; and he, Daniel Thwaite, had a bedroom in the house in which the Countess lodged. The arrangement was not a wise one, as reports had already been spread abroad as to the partiality of the Lady Anna for the young tailor. But how should she not have been partial both to the father and to the son, feeling as she did that they were the only two men who befriended her cause and her mother's? As to the Countess herself, she, perhaps, alone of all those who interested themselves in her daughter's cause, had heard no word of these insinuations against her child. To her both Thomas and Daniel Thwaite were dear friends, to repay whom for their exertions with lavish generosity,--should the means to do so ever come within her reach,--was one of the dreams of her existence. But she was an ambitious woman, thinking much of her rank, thinking much even of the blood of her own ancestors, constantly urgent with her daughter in teaching her the duties and privileges of wealth and rank. For the Countess never doubted that she would at last attain success. That the Lady Anna should throw herself away upon Daniel Thwaite did not occur to her as a possibility. She had not even dreamed that Daniel Thwaite would aspire to her daughter's hand. And yet every shop-boy and every shop-girl in Keswick had been so saying for the last twelvemonth, and rumours which had hitherto been confined to Keswick and its neighbourhood, were now common in London. For the case was becoming one of the celebrated causes of the age, and all the world was talking of the Countess and her daughter. No momentary suspicion had crossed the mind of the Countess till after their arrival in London; and then when the suspicion did touch her it was not love that she suspected,--but rather an unbecoming familiarity which she attributed to her child's ignorance of the great life which awaited her. "My dear," she said one day when Daniel Thwaite had left them, "you should be less free in your manner with that young man." "What do you mean, mamma?" said the daughter, blushing. "You had better call him Mr. Thwaite." "But I have called him Daniel ever since I was born." "He always calls you Lady Anna." "Sometimes he does, mamma." "I never heard him call you anything else," said the Countess, almost with indignation. "It is all very well for the old man, because he is an old man and has done so much for us." "So has Daniel;--quite as much, mamma. They have both done everything." "True; they have both been warm friends; and if ever I forget them may God forget me. I trust that we may both live to show them that they are not forgotten. But it is not fitting that there should exist between you and him the intimacy of equal positions. You are not and cannot be his equal. He has been born to be a tailor, and you are the daughter and heiress of an Earl." These last words were spoken in a tone that was almost awful to the Lady Anna. She had heard so much of her father's rank and her father's wealth,--rank and wealth which were always to be hers, but which had never as yet reached her, which had been a perpetual trouble to her, and a crushing weight upon her young life, that she had almost learned to hate the title and the claim. Of course it was a part of the religion of her life that her mother had been duly married to her father. It was beyond a doubt to her that such was the case. But the constant battling for denied rights, the assumption of a position which could not be attained, the use of titles which were simply ridiculous in themselves as connected with the kind of life which she was obliged to lead,--these things had all become odious to her. She lacked the ambition which gave her mother strength, and would gladly have become Anna Murray or Anna Lovel, with a girl's ordinary privilege of loving her lover, had such an easy life been possible to her. In person she was very lovely, less tall and robust than her mother had been, but with a sweeter, softer face. Her hair was less dark, and her eyes were neither blue nor bold. But they were bright and soft and very eloquent, and when laden with tears would have softened the heart,--almost of her father. She was as yet less powerful than her mother, both in body and mind, but probably better calculated to make a happy home for a husband and children. She was affectionate, self-denying, and feminine. Had that offer of compromise for thirty, twenty, or for ten thousand pounds been made to her, she would have accepted it willingly,--caring little for her name, little even for fame, so that she might have been happy and quiet, and at liberty to think of a lover as are other girls. In her present condition, how could she have any happy love? She was the Lady Anna Lovel, heir to a ducal fortune,--but she lived in small close lodgings in Wyndham Street, New Road. She did not believe in the good time coming as did her mother. Their enemy was an undoubted Earl, undoubtedly owner of Lovel Grange of which she had heard all her life. Would it not be better to take what the young lord chose to give them and to be at rest? But she did not dare to express such thoughts to her mother. Her mother would have crushed her with a look. "I have told Mr. Thwaite," the mother said to her daughter, "what we were saying this morning." "About his son?" "Yes,--about his son." "Oh, mamma!" "I was bound to do so." "And what did he say, mamma?" "He did not like it, and told me that he did not like it;--but he admitted that it was true. He admitted that his son was no fitting intimate for Lady Anna Lovel." "What should we have done without him?" "Badly indeed; but that cannot change his duty, or ours. He is helping us to struggle for that which is our own; but he would mar his generosity if he put a taint on that which he is endeavouring to restore to us." "Put a taint, mamma!" "Yes;--a taint would rest upon your rank if you as Lady Anna Lovel were familiar with Daniel Thwaite as with an equal. His father understands it, and will speak to him." "Mamma, Daniel will be very angry." "Then will he be very unreasonable;--but, Anna, I will not have you call him Daniel any more." CHAPTER IV. THE TAILOR OF KESWICK. Old Thomas Thwaite was at this time up in London about the business of the Countess, but had no intention of residing there. He still kept his shop in Keswick, and still made coats and trousers for Cumberland statesmen. He was by no means in a condition to retire from business, having spent the savings of his life in the cause of the Countess and her daughter. Men had told him that, had he not struck the Earl in the yard of the Crown at Keswick, as horses were being brought out for the lord's travelling carriage, ample provision would have been made by the rich old sinner for his daughter. That might have been so, or might not, but the saying instigated the tailor to further zeal and increased generosity. To oppose an Earl, even though it might be on behalf of a Countess, was a joy to him; to set wrong right, and to put down cruelty and to relieve distressed women was the pride of his heart,--especially when his efforts were made in antagonism to one of high rank. And he was a man who would certainly be thorough in his work, though his thoroughness should be ruinous to himself. He had despised the Murrays, who ought to have stuck to their distant cousin, and had exulted in his heart at thinking that the world would say how much better and truer had been the Keswick tailor than the well-born and comparatively wealthy Scotch relations. And the poets of the lakes, who had not as yet become altogether Tories, had taken him by the hand and praised him. The rights of the Countess and the wrongs of the Countess had become his life. But he still kept on a diminished business in the north, and it was now needful that he should return to Cumberland. He had heard that renewed offers of compromise were to be made,--though no idea of the proposed marriage between the distant cousins had been suggested to him. He had been discussing the question of some compromise with the Countess when she spoke to him respecting his son; and had recommended that certain terms should, if possible, be effected. Let the money be divided, on condition that the marriage were allowed. There could be no difficulty in this if the young lord would accede to such an arrangement, as the marriage must be acknowledged unless an adverse party should bring home proof from Italy to the contrary. The sufficiency of the ceremony in Applethwaite Church was incontestable. Let the money be divided, and the Countess be Countess Lovel, and Lady Anna be the Lady Anna to all the world. Old Thomas Thwaite himself had seemed to think that there would be enough of triumph in such a settlement. "But the woman might afterwards be bribed to come over and renew her claim," said the Countess. "Unless it be absolutely settled now, they will say when I am dead and gone that my daughter has no right to her name." Then the tailor said that he would make further inquiry how that might be. He was inclined to think that there might be a decision which should be absolute, even though that decision should be reached by compromise between the now contending parties. Then the Countess had said her word about Daniel Thwaite the son, and Thomas Thwaite the father had heard it with ill-concealed anger. To fight against an Earl on behalf of the Earl's injured wife had been very sweet to him, but to be checked in his fight because he and his were unfit to associate with the child of that injured wife, was very bitter. And yet he had sense to know that what the Countess said to him was true. As far as words went, he admitted the truth; but his face was more eloquent than his words, and his face showed plainly his displeasure. "It is not of you that I am speaking," said the Countess, laying her hand upon the old man's sleeve. "Daniel is, at any rate, fitter than I," said the tailor. "He has been educated, and I never was." "He is as good as gold. It is not of that I speak. You know what I mean." "I know very well what you mean, Lady Lovel." "I have no friend like you, Mr. Thwaite;--none whom I love as I do you. And next to you is your son. For myself, there is nothing that I would not do for him or you;--no service, however menial, that I would not render you with my own hands. There is no limit to the gratitude which I owe you. But my girl is young, and if this burden of rank and wealth is to be hers,--it is proper that she do honour to it." "And it is not honourable that she should be seen speaking--to a tailor?" "Ah,--if you choose to take it so!" "How should I take it? What I say is true. And what you say is true also. I will speak to Daniel." But she knew well, as he left her, that his heart was bitter against her. The old man did speak to his son, sitting with him up in the bed-room over that which the Countess occupied. Old Thomas Thwaite was a strong man, but his son was in some respects stronger. As his father had said of him, he had been educated,--or rather instructed; and instruction leads to the power of thinking. He looked deeper into things than did his father, and was governed by wider and greater motives. His father had been a Radical all his life, guided thereto probably by some early training, and made steadfast in his creed by feelings which induced him to hate the pretensions of an assumed superiority. Old Thwaite could not endure to think that one man should be considered to be worthier than another because he was richer. He would admit the riches, and even the justice of the riches,--having been himself, during much of his life, a rich man in his own sphere; but would deny the worthiness; and would adduce, in proof of his creed, the unworthiness of certain exalted sinners. The career of the Earl Lovel had been to him a sure proof of the baseness of English aristocracy generally. He had dreams of a republic in which a tailor might be president or senator, or something almost noble. But no rational scheme of governance among mankind had ever entered his mind, and of pure politics he knew no more than the journeyman who sat stitching upon his board. But Daniel Thwaite was a thoughtful man who had read many books. More's Utopia and Harrington's Oceana, with many a tale written in the same spirit, had taught him to believe that a perfect form of government, or rather of policy, under which all men might be happy and satisfied, was practicable upon earth, and was to be achieved,--not merely by the slow amelioration of mankind under God's fostering ordinances,--but by the continued efforts of good and wise men who, by their goodness and wisdom, should be able to make the multitude believe in them. To diminish the distances, not only between the rich and the poor, but between the high and the low, was the grand political theory upon which his mind was always running. His father was ever thinking of himself and of Earl Lovel; while Daniel Thwaite was considering the injustice of the difference between ten thousand aristocrats and thirty million of people, who were for the most part ignorant and hungry. But it was not that he also had not thoughts of himself. Gradually he had come to learn that he need not have been a tailor's foreman in Wigmore Street had not his father spent on behalf of the Countess Lovel the means by which he, the son, might already have become a master tradesman. And yet he had never begrudged it. He had been as keen as his father in the cause. It had been the romance of his life, since his life had been capable of romance;--but with him it had been no respect for the rank to which his father was so anxious to restore the Countess, no value which he attached to the names claimed by the mother and the daughter. He hated the countess-ship of the Countess, and the ladyship of the Lady Anna. He would fain that they should have abandoned them. They were to him odious signs of iniquitous pretensions. But he was keen enough to punish and to remedy the wickedness of the wicked Earl. He reverenced his father because he assaulted the wicked Earl and struck him to the ground. He was heart and soul in the cause of the injured wife. And then the one thing on earth that was really dear to him was the Lady Anna. It had been the romance of his life. They had grown up together as playmates in Cumberland. He had fought scores of battles on her behalf with those who had denied that she was the Lady Anna,--even though he had then hated the title. Boys had jeered him because of his noble little sweetheart, and he had exulted at hearing her so called. His only sister and his mother had died when he was young, and there had been none in the house but his father and himself. As a boy he had ever been

barristers

How many times the word 'barristers' appears in the text?

Anna would have the entire property, except such portion as would be claimed of right by her mother, the widow. Thus the Italian woman and the young lord were combined in interest against the mother and daughter as regarded the marriage; and the young lord and the mother and daughter were combined against the Italian woman as regarded the will;--but the young lord had to act alone against the Italian woman, and against the mother and daughter whom he and his friends regarded as swindlers and impostors. It was for him to set aside the will in reference to the Italian woman, and then to stand the brunt of the assault made upon him by the soi-disant wife. In a very short time after the old Earl's death a double compromise was offered on behalf of the young Earl. The money at stake was immense. Would the Italian woman take 10,000, and go her way back to Italy, renouncing all further claim; and would the soi-disant Countess abandon her title, acknowledge her child to be illegitimate, and go her way with another 10,000;--or with 20,000, as was soon hinted by the gentlemen acting on the Earl's behalf? The proposition was one somewhat difficult in the making, as the compromise, if made with both, would be excellent, but could not be made to any good effect with one only. The young Earl certainly could not afford to buy off the Italian woman for 10,000, if the effect of such buying off would only be to place the whole of the late lord's wealth in the hands of his daughter and of his daughter's mother. The Italian woman consented. She declared with Italian energy that her late loving friend had never been a day insane; but she knew nothing of English laws, and but little of English money. She would take the 10,000,--having had a calculation made for her of the number of lire into which it would run. The number was enormous, and she would take the offer. But when the proposal was mentioned to the Countess, and explained to her by her old friend, Thomas Thwaite, who had now become a poor man in her cause, she repudiated it with bitter scorn,--with a scorn in which she almost included the old man who had made it to her. "Is it for that, that I have been fighting?" she said. "For that in part," said the old man. "No, Mr. Thwaite, not for that at all; but that my girl may have her birth allowed and her name acknowledged." "Her name shall be allowed and her birth shall be acknowledged," said the tailor, in whose heart there was nothing base. "She shall be the Lady Anna, and her mother shall be the Countess Lovel." The estate of the Countess, if she had an estate, then owed the tailor some five or six thousand pounds, and the compromise offered would have paid the tailor every shilling and have left a comfortable income for the two women. "For myself I care but little," said the mother, taking the tailor's hand in hers and kissing it. "My child is the Lady Anna, and I do not dare to barter away her rights." This took place down at the cottage in Cumberland, and the tailor at once went up to London to make known the decision of the Countess,--as he invariably called her. Then the lawyers went to work. As the double compromise could not be effected, the single compromise could not stand. The Italian woman raved and stamped, and swore that she must have her half million of lire. But of course no right to such a claim had been made good to her, and the lawyers on behalf of the young Earl went on with their work. Public sympathy as a matter of course went with the young Earl. As against the Italian woman he had with him every English man and woman. It was horrible to the minds of English men and English women that an old English Earldom should be starved in order that an Italian harlot might revel in untold riches. It was felt by most men and protested by all women that any sign of madness, be it what it might,--however insignificant,--should be held to be sufficient against such a claimant. Was not the fact that the man had made such a will in itself sufficient proof of his madness? There were not a few who protested that no further proof could be necessary. But with us the law is the same for an Italian harlot and an English widow; and it may well be that in its niceties it shall be found kinder to the former than to the latter. But the Earl had been mad, and the law said that he was mad when he had made his will,--and the Italian woman went away, raging, into obscurity. The Italian woman was conquered, and now the battle was open and free between the young Earl and the claimant Countess. Applications were made on behalf of the Countess for funds from the estate wherewith to prove the claim, and to a certain limited amount they were granted. Such had been the life of the late Earl that it was held that the cost of all litigation resulting from his misdeeds should be paid from his estate;--but ready money was wanted, immediate ready money, to be at the disposal of the Countess to any amount needed by her agent, and this was hardly to be obtained. By this time public sympathy ran almost entirely with the Earl. Though it was acknowledged that the late lord was mad, and though it had become a cause of rejoicing that the Italian woman had been sent away penniless, howling into obscurity, because of the old man's madness, still it was believed that he had written the truth when he declared that the marriage had been a mock marriage. It would be better for the English world that the young Earl should be a rich man, fit to do honour to his position, fit to marry the daughter of a duke, fit to carry on the glory of the English peerage, than that a woman, ill reputed in the world, should be established as a Countess, with a daughter dowered with tens of thousands, as to whom it was already said that she was in love with a tailor's son. Nothing could be more touching, more likely to awaken sympathy, than the manner in which Josephine Murray had been carried away in marriage, and then roughly told by the man who should have protected her from every harshly blowing wind of heaven, that he had deceived her and that she was not his wife. No usage to which woman had ever been subjected, as has been said before, was more adapted to elicit compassion and energetic aid. But nineteen years had now passed by since the deed was done, and the facts were forgotten. One energetic friend there still was,--or we may say two, the tailor and his son Daniel. But public belief ran against the Countess, and nobody who was anybody in the world would give her her title. Bets were laid, two and three to one against her; and it was believed that she was an impostor. The Earl had all the glory of success over his first opponent, and the loud boasting of self-confident barristers buoyed up his cause. But loud-boasting barristers may nevertheless be wise lawyers, and the question of a compromise was again mooted. If the lady would take thirty thousand pounds and vanish, she should have the money clear of deduction, and all expenses should be paid. The amount offered was thought to be very liberal, but it did not amount to the annual income that was at stake. It was rejected with scorn. Had it been quadrupled, it would have been rejected with equal scorn. The loud-boasting barristers were still confident; but--. Though it was never admitted in words still it was felt that there might be a doubt. What if the contending parties were to join forces, if the Countess-ship of the Countess were to be admitted, and the heiress-ship of the Lady Anna, and if the Earl and the Lady Anna were to be united in holy wedlock? Might there not be a safe solution from further difficulty in that way? CHAPTER III. LADY ANNA. The idea of this further compromise, of this something more than compromise, of this half acknowledgment of their own weakness, came from Mr. Flick, of the firm of Norton and Flick, the solicitors who were employed in substantiating the Earl's position. When Mr. Flick mentioned it to Sir William Patterson, the great barrister, who was at that time Solicitor-General and leading counsel on behalf of Lord Lovel, Sir William Patterson stood aghast and was dismayed. Sir William intended to make mince-meat of the Countess. It was said of him that he intended to cross-examine the Countess off her legs, right out of her claim, and almost into her grave. He certainly did believe her to be an impostor, who had not thought herself to be entitled to her name when she first assumed it. "I should be sorry, Mr. Flick, to be driven to think that anything of that kind could be expedient." "It would make sure of the fortune to the family," said Mr. Flick. "And what about our friend, the Countess?" "Let her call herself Countess Lovel, Sir William. That will break no bones. As to the formality of her own marriage, there can be no doubt about that." "We can prove by Grogram that she was told that another wife was living," said Sir William. Grogram was an old butler who had been in the old Earl's service for thirty years. "I believe we can, Sir William; but--. It is quite clear that we shall never get the other wife to come over and face an English jury. It is of no use blinking it. The gentleman whom we have sent over doubts her altogether. That there was a marriage is certain, but he fears that this woman is not the old Countess. There were two sisters, and it may be that this was the other sister." Sir William was a good deal dismayed, but he recovered himself. The stakes were so high that it was quite possible that the gentleman who had been sent over might have been induced to open his eyes to the possibility of such personation by overtures from the other side. Sir William was of opinion that Mr. Flick himself should go to Sicily. He was not sure that he, Sir William, her Majesty's Solicitor-General, would not make the journey in person. He was by no means disposed to give way. "They tell me that the girl is no better than she should be," he said to Mr. Flick. "I don't think so bad as that of her," said Mr. Flick. "Is she a lady,--or anything like a lady?" "I am told she is very beautiful." "I dare say;--and so was her mother before her. I never saw a handsomer woman of her age than our friend the Countess. But I could not recommend the young lord to marry an underbred, bad girl, and a bastard who claims to be his cousin,--and support my proposition merely on the ground of her looks." "Thirty-five thousand a year, Sir William!" pleaded the attorney. "I hope we can get the thirty-five thousand a year for our client without paying so dear for them." It had been presumed that the real Countess, the original Countess, the Italian lady whom the Earl had married in early life, would be brought over, with properly attested documentary evidence in her pocket, to prove that she was the existing Countess, and that any other Countess must be either an impostor or a deluded dupe. No doubt the old Earl had declared, when first informing Josephine Murray that she was not his wife, that his real wife had died during the few months which had intervened since his mock marriage; but it was acknowledged on all sides, that the old Earl had been a villain and a liar. It was no part of the duty of the young Earl, or of those who acted for him, to defend the character of the old Earl. To wash that blackamoor white, or even to make him whity-brown, was not necessary to anybody. No one was now concerned to account for his crooked courses. But if it could be shown that he had married the lady in Italy,--as to which there was no doubt,--and that the lady was still alive, or that she had been alive when the second marriage took place, then the Lady Anna could not inherit the property which had been freed from the grasp of the Italian mistress. But it seemed that the lady, if she lived, could not be made to come. Mr. Flick did go to Sicily, and came back renewing his advice to Sir William that Lord Lovel should be advised to marry the Lady Anna. At this time the Countess, with her daughter, had moved their residence from Keswick up to London, and was living in very humble lodgings in a small street turning out of the New Road, near the Yorkshire Stingo. Old Thomas Thwaite had accompanied them from Cumberland, but the rooms had been taken for them by his son, Daniel Thwaite, who was at this time foreman to a somewhat celebrated tailor who carried on his business in Wigmore Street; and he, Daniel Thwaite, had a bedroom in the house in which the Countess lodged. The arrangement was not a wise one, as reports had already been spread abroad as to the partiality of the Lady Anna for the young tailor. But how should she not have been partial both to the father and to the son, feeling as she did that they were the only two men who befriended her cause and her mother's? As to the Countess herself, she, perhaps, alone of all those who interested themselves in her daughter's cause, had heard no word of these insinuations against her child. To her both Thomas and Daniel Thwaite were dear friends, to repay whom for their exertions with lavish generosity,--should the means to do so ever come within her reach,--was one of the dreams of her existence. But she was an ambitious woman, thinking much of her rank, thinking much even of the blood of her own ancestors, constantly urgent with her daughter in teaching her the duties and privileges of wealth and rank. For the Countess never doubted that she would at last attain success. That the Lady Anna should throw herself away upon Daniel Thwaite did not occur to her as a possibility. She had not even dreamed that Daniel Thwaite would aspire to her daughter's hand. And yet every shop-boy and every shop-girl in Keswick had been so saying for the last twelvemonth, and rumours which had hitherto been confined to Keswick and its neighbourhood, were now common in London. For the case was becoming one of the celebrated causes of the age, and all the world was talking of the Countess and her daughter. No momentary suspicion had crossed the mind of the Countess till after their arrival in London; and then when the suspicion did touch her it was not love that she suspected,--but rather an unbecoming familiarity which she attributed to her child's ignorance of the great life which awaited her. "My dear," she said one day when Daniel Thwaite had left them, "you should be less free in your manner with that young man." "What do you mean, mamma?" said the daughter, blushing. "You had better call him Mr. Thwaite." "But I have called him Daniel ever since I was born." "He always calls you Lady Anna." "Sometimes he does, mamma." "I never heard him call you anything else," said the Countess, almost with indignation. "It is all very well for the old man, because he is an old man and has done so much for us." "So has Daniel;--quite as much, mamma. They have both done everything." "True; they have both been warm friends; and if ever I forget them may God forget me. I trust that we may both live to show them that they are not forgotten. But it is not fitting that there should exist between you and him the intimacy of equal positions. You are not and cannot be his equal. He has been born to be a tailor, and you are the daughter and heiress of an Earl." These last words were spoken in a tone that was almost awful to the Lady Anna. She had heard so much of her father's rank and her father's wealth,--rank and wealth which were always to be hers, but which had never as yet reached her, which had been a perpetual trouble to her, and a crushing weight upon her young life, that she had almost learned to hate the title and the claim. Of course it was a part of the religion of her life that her mother had been duly married to her father. It was beyond a doubt to her that such was the case. But the constant battling for denied rights, the assumption of a position which could not be attained, the use of titles which were simply ridiculous in themselves as connected with the kind of life which she was obliged to lead,--these things had all become odious to her. She lacked the ambition which gave her mother strength, and would gladly have become Anna Murray or Anna Lovel, with a girl's ordinary privilege of loving her lover, had such an easy life been possible to her. In person she was very lovely, less tall and robust than her mother had been, but with a sweeter, softer face. Her hair was less dark, and her eyes were neither blue nor bold. But they were bright and soft and very eloquent, and when laden with tears would have softened the heart,--almost of her father. She was as yet less powerful than her mother, both in body and mind, but probably better calculated to make a happy home for a husband and children. She was affectionate, self-denying, and feminine. Had that offer of compromise for thirty, twenty, or for ten thousand pounds been made to her, she would have accepted it willingly,--caring little for her name, little even for fame, so that she might have been happy and quiet, and at liberty to think of a lover as are other girls. In her present condition, how could she have any happy love? She was the Lady Anna Lovel, heir to a ducal fortune,--but she lived in small close lodgings in Wyndham Street, New Road. She did not believe in the good time coming as did her mother. Their enemy was an undoubted Earl, undoubtedly owner of Lovel Grange of which she had heard all her life. Would it not be better to take what the young lord chose to give them and to be at rest? But she did not dare to express such thoughts to her mother. Her mother would have crushed her with a look. "I have told Mr. Thwaite," the mother said to her daughter, "what we were saying this morning." "About his son?" "Yes,--about his son." "Oh, mamma!" "I was bound to do so." "And what did he say, mamma?" "He did not like it, and told me that he did not like it;--but he admitted that it was true. He admitted that his son was no fitting intimate for Lady Anna Lovel." "What should we have done without him?" "Badly indeed; but that cannot change his duty, or ours. He is helping us to struggle for that which is our own; but he would mar his generosity if he put a taint on that which he is endeavouring to restore to us." "Put a taint, mamma!" "Yes;--a taint would rest upon your rank if you as Lady Anna Lovel were familiar with Daniel Thwaite as with an equal. His father understands it, and will speak to him." "Mamma, Daniel will be very angry." "Then will he be very unreasonable;--but, Anna, I will not have you call him Daniel any more." CHAPTER IV. THE TAILOR OF KESWICK. Old Thomas Thwaite was at this time up in London about the business of the Countess, but had no intention of residing there. He still kept his shop in Keswick, and still made coats and trousers for Cumberland statesmen. He was by no means in a condition to retire from business, having spent the savings of his life in the cause of the Countess and her daughter. Men had told him that, had he not struck the Earl in the yard of the Crown at Keswick, as horses were being brought out for the lord's travelling carriage, ample provision would have been made by the rich old sinner for his daughter. That might have been so, or might not, but the saying instigated the tailor to further zeal and increased generosity. To oppose an Earl, even though it might be on behalf of a Countess, was a joy to him; to set wrong right, and to put down cruelty and to relieve distressed women was the pride of his heart,--especially when his efforts were made in antagonism to one of high rank. And he was a man who would certainly be thorough in his work, though his thoroughness should be ruinous to himself. He had despised the Murrays, who ought to have stuck to their distant cousin, and had exulted in his heart at thinking that the world would say how much better and truer had been the Keswick tailor than the well-born and comparatively wealthy Scotch relations. And the poets of the lakes, who had not as yet become altogether Tories, had taken him by the hand and praised him. The rights of the Countess and the wrongs of the Countess had become his life. But he still kept on a diminished business in the north, and it was now needful that he should return to Cumberland. He had heard that renewed offers of compromise were to be made,--though no idea of the proposed marriage between the distant cousins had been suggested to him. He had been discussing the question of some compromise with the Countess when she spoke to him respecting his son; and had recommended that certain terms should, if possible, be effected. Let the money be divided, on condition that the marriage were allowed. There could be no difficulty in this if the young lord would accede to such an arrangement, as the marriage must be acknowledged unless an adverse party should bring home proof from Italy to the contrary. The sufficiency of the ceremony in Applethwaite Church was incontestable. Let the money be divided, and the Countess be Countess Lovel, and Lady Anna be the Lady Anna to all the world. Old Thomas Thwaite himself had seemed to think that there would be enough of triumph in such a settlement. "But the woman might afterwards be bribed to come over and renew her claim," said the Countess. "Unless it be absolutely settled now, they will say when I am dead and gone that my daughter has no right to her name." Then the tailor said that he would make further inquiry how that might be. He was inclined to think that there might be a decision which should be absolute, even though that decision should be reached by compromise between the now contending parties. Then the Countess had said her word about Daniel Thwaite the son, and Thomas Thwaite the father had heard it with ill-concealed anger. To fight against an Earl on behalf of the Earl's injured wife had been very sweet to him, but to be checked in his fight because he and his were unfit to associate with the child of that injured wife, was very bitter. And yet he had sense to know that what the Countess said to him was true. As far as words went, he admitted the truth; but his face was more eloquent than his words, and his face showed plainly his displeasure. "It is not of you that I am speaking," said the Countess, laying her hand upon the old man's sleeve. "Daniel is, at any rate, fitter than I," said the tailor. "He has been educated, and I never was." "He is as good as gold. It is not of that I speak. You know what I mean." "I know very well what you mean, Lady Lovel." "I have no friend like you, Mr. Thwaite;--none whom I love as I do you. And next to you is your son. For myself, there is nothing that I would not do for him or you;--no service, however menial, that I would not render you with my own hands. There is no limit to the gratitude which I owe you. But my girl is young, and if this burden of rank and wealth is to be hers,--it is proper that she do honour to it." "And it is not honourable that she should be seen speaking--to a tailor?" "Ah,--if you choose to take it so!" "How should I take it? What I say is true. And what you say is true also. I will speak to Daniel." But she knew well, as he left her, that his heart was bitter against her. The old man did speak to his son, sitting with him up in the bed-room over that which the Countess occupied. Old Thomas Thwaite was a strong man, but his son was in some respects stronger. As his father had said of him, he had been educated,--or rather instructed; and instruction leads to the power of thinking. He looked deeper into things than did his father, and was governed by wider and greater motives. His father had been a Radical all his life, guided thereto probably by some early training, and made steadfast in his creed by feelings which induced him to hate the pretensions of an assumed superiority. Old Thwaite could not endure to think that one man should be considered to be worthier than another because he was richer. He would admit the riches, and even the justice of the riches,--having been himself, during much of his life, a rich man in his own sphere; but would deny the worthiness; and would adduce, in proof of his creed, the unworthiness of certain exalted sinners. The career of the Earl Lovel had been to him a sure proof of the baseness of English aristocracy generally. He had dreams of a republic in which a tailor might be president or senator, or something almost noble. But no rational scheme of governance among mankind had ever entered his mind, and of pure politics he knew no more than the journeyman who sat stitching upon his board. But Daniel Thwaite was a thoughtful man who had read many books. More's Utopia and Harrington's Oceana, with many a tale written in the same spirit, had taught him to believe that a perfect form of government, or rather of policy, under which all men might be happy and satisfied, was practicable upon earth, and was to be achieved,--not merely by the slow amelioration of mankind under God's fostering ordinances,--but by the continued efforts of good and wise men who, by their goodness and wisdom, should be able to make the multitude believe in them. To diminish the distances, not only between the rich and the poor, but between the high and the low, was the grand political theory upon which his mind was always running. His father was ever thinking of himself and of Earl Lovel; while Daniel Thwaite was considering the injustice of the difference between ten thousand aristocrats and thirty million of people, who were for the most part ignorant and hungry. But it was not that he also had not thoughts of himself. Gradually he had come to learn that he need not have been a tailor's foreman in Wigmore Street had not his father spent on behalf of the Countess Lovel the means by which he, the son, might already have become a master tradesman. And yet he had never begrudged it. He had been as keen as his father in the cause. It had been the romance of his life, since his life had been capable of romance;--but with him it had been no respect for the rank to which his father was so anxious to restore the Countess, no value which he attached to the names claimed by the mother and the daughter. He hated the countess-ship of the Countess, and the ladyship of the Lady Anna. He would fain that they should have abandoned them. They were to him odious signs of iniquitous pretensions. But he was keen enough to punish and to remedy the wickedness of the wicked Earl. He reverenced his father because he assaulted the wicked Earl and struck him to the ground. He was heart and soul in the cause of the injured wife. And then the one thing on earth that was really dear to him was the Lady Anna. It had been the romance of his life. They had grown up together as playmates in Cumberland. He had fought scores of battles on her behalf with those who had denied that she was the Lady Anna,--even though he had then hated the title. Boys had jeered him because of his noble little sweetheart, and he had exulted at hearing her so called. His only sister and his mother had died when he was young, and there had been none in the house but his father and himself. As a boy he had ever been

lawyers

How many times the word 'lawyers' appears in the text?

Anna would have the entire property, except such portion as would be claimed of right by her mother, the widow. Thus the Italian woman and the young lord were combined in interest against the mother and daughter as regarded the marriage; and the young lord and the mother and daughter were combined against the Italian woman as regarded the will;--but the young lord had to act alone against the Italian woman, and against the mother and daughter whom he and his friends regarded as swindlers and impostors. It was for him to set aside the will in reference to the Italian woman, and then to stand the brunt of the assault made upon him by the soi-disant wife. In a very short time after the old Earl's death a double compromise was offered on behalf of the young Earl. The money at stake was immense. Would the Italian woman take 10,000, and go her way back to Italy, renouncing all further claim; and would the soi-disant Countess abandon her title, acknowledge her child to be illegitimate, and go her way with another 10,000;--or with 20,000, as was soon hinted by the gentlemen acting on the Earl's behalf? The proposition was one somewhat difficult in the making, as the compromise, if made with both, would be excellent, but could not be made to any good effect with one only. The young Earl certainly could not afford to buy off the Italian woman for 10,000, if the effect of such buying off would only be to place the whole of the late lord's wealth in the hands of his daughter and of his daughter's mother. The Italian woman consented. She declared with Italian energy that her late loving friend had never been a day insane; but she knew nothing of English laws, and but little of English money. She would take the 10,000,--having had a calculation made for her of the number of lire into which it would run. The number was enormous, and she would take the offer. But when the proposal was mentioned to the Countess, and explained to her by her old friend, Thomas Thwaite, who had now become a poor man in her cause, she repudiated it with bitter scorn,--with a scorn in which she almost included the old man who had made it to her. "Is it for that, that I have been fighting?" she said. "For that in part," said the old man. "No, Mr. Thwaite, not for that at all; but that my girl may have her birth allowed and her name acknowledged." "Her name shall be allowed and her birth shall be acknowledged," said the tailor, in whose heart there was nothing base. "She shall be the Lady Anna, and her mother shall be the Countess Lovel." The estate of the Countess, if she had an estate, then owed the tailor some five or six thousand pounds, and the compromise offered would have paid the tailor every shilling and have left a comfortable income for the two women. "For myself I care but little," said the mother, taking the tailor's hand in hers and kissing it. "My child is the Lady Anna, and I do not dare to barter away her rights." This took place down at the cottage in Cumberland, and the tailor at once went up to London to make known the decision of the Countess,--as he invariably called her. Then the lawyers went to work. As the double compromise could not be effected, the single compromise could not stand. The Italian woman raved and stamped, and swore that she must have her half million of lire. But of course no right to such a claim had been made good to her, and the lawyers on behalf of the young Earl went on with their work. Public sympathy as a matter of course went with the young Earl. As against the Italian woman he had with him every English man and woman. It was horrible to the minds of English men and English women that an old English Earldom should be starved in order that an Italian harlot might revel in untold riches. It was felt by most men and protested by all women that any sign of madness, be it what it might,--however insignificant,--should be held to be sufficient against such a claimant. Was not the fact that the man had made such a will in itself sufficient proof of his madness? There were not a few who protested that no further proof could be necessary. But with us the law is the same for an Italian harlot and an English widow; and it may well be that in its niceties it shall be found kinder to the former than to the latter. But the Earl had been mad, and the law said that he was mad when he had made his will,--and the Italian woman went away, raging, into obscurity. The Italian woman was conquered, and now the battle was open and free between the young Earl and the claimant Countess. Applications were made on behalf of the Countess for funds from the estate wherewith to prove the claim, and to a certain limited amount they were granted. Such had been the life of the late Earl that it was held that the cost of all litigation resulting from his misdeeds should be paid from his estate;--but ready money was wanted, immediate ready money, to be at the disposal of the Countess to any amount needed by her agent, and this was hardly to be obtained. By this time public sympathy ran almost entirely with the Earl. Though it was acknowledged that the late lord was mad, and though it had become a cause of rejoicing that the Italian woman had been sent away penniless, howling into obscurity, because of the old man's madness, still it was believed that he had written the truth when he declared that the marriage had been a mock marriage. It would be better for the English world that the young Earl should be a rich man, fit to do honour to his position, fit to marry the daughter of a duke, fit to carry on the glory of the English peerage, than that a woman, ill reputed in the world, should be established as a Countess, with a daughter dowered with tens of thousands, as to whom it was already said that she was in love with a tailor's son. Nothing could be more touching, more likely to awaken sympathy, than the manner in which Josephine Murray had been carried away in marriage, and then roughly told by the man who should have protected her from every harshly blowing wind of heaven, that he had deceived her and that she was not his wife. No usage to which woman had ever been subjected, as has been said before, was more adapted to elicit compassion and energetic aid. But nineteen years had now passed by since the deed was done, and the facts were forgotten. One energetic friend there still was,--or we may say two, the tailor and his son Daniel. But public belief ran against the Countess, and nobody who was anybody in the world would give her her title. Bets were laid, two and three to one against her; and it was believed that she was an impostor. The Earl had all the glory of success over his first opponent, and the loud boasting of self-confident barristers buoyed up his cause. But loud-boasting barristers may nevertheless be wise lawyers, and the question of a compromise was again mooted. If the lady would take thirty thousand pounds and vanish, she should have the money clear of deduction, and all expenses should be paid. The amount offered was thought to be very liberal, but it did not amount to the annual income that was at stake. It was rejected with scorn. Had it been quadrupled, it would have been rejected with equal scorn. The loud-boasting barristers were still confident; but--. Though it was never admitted in words still it was felt that there might be a doubt. What if the contending parties were to join forces, if the Countess-ship of the Countess were to be admitted, and the heiress-ship of the Lady Anna, and if the Earl and the Lady Anna were to be united in holy wedlock? Might there not be a safe solution from further difficulty in that way? CHAPTER III. LADY ANNA. The idea of this further compromise, of this something more than compromise, of this half acknowledgment of their own weakness, came from Mr. Flick, of the firm of Norton and Flick, the solicitors who were employed in substantiating the Earl's position. When Mr. Flick mentioned it to Sir William Patterson, the great barrister, who was at that time Solicitor-General and leading counsel on behalf of Lord Lovel, Sir William Patterson stood aghast and was dismayed. Sir William intended to make mince-meat of the Countess. It was said of him that he intended to cross-examine the Countess off her legs, right out of her claim, and almost into her grave. He certainly did believe her to be an impostor, who had not thought herself to be entitled to her name when she first assumed it. "I should be sorry, Mr. Flick, to be driven to think that anything of that kind could be expedient." "It would make sure of the fortune to the family," said Mr. Flick. "And what about our friend, the Countess?" "Let her call herself Countess Lovel, Sir William. That will break no bones. As to the formality of her own marriage, there can be no doubt about that." "We can prove by Grogram that she was told that another wife was living," said Sir William. Grogram was an old butler who had been in the old Earl's service for thirty years. "I believe we can, Sir William; but--. It is quite clear that we shall never get the other wife to come over and face an English jury. It is of no use blinking it. The gentleman whom we have sent over doubts her altogether. That there was a marriage is certain, but he fears that this woman is not the old Countess. There were two sisters, and it may be that this was the other sister." Sir William was a good deal dismayed, but he recovered himself. The stakes were so high that it was quite possible that the gentleman who had been sent over might have been induced to open his eyes to the possibility of such personation by overtures from the other side. Sir William was of opinion that Mr. Flick himself should go to Sicily. He was not sure that he, Sir William, her Majesty's Solicitor-General, would not make the journey in person. He was by no means disposed to give way. "They tell me that the girl is no better than she should be," he said to Mr. Flick. "I don't think so bad as that of her," said Mr. Flick. "Is she a lady,--or anything like a lady?" "I am told she is very beautiful." "I dare say;--and so was her mother before her. I never saw a handsomer woman of her age than our friend the Countess. But I could not recommend the young lord to marry an underbred, bad girl, and a bastard who claims to be his cousin,--and support my proposition merely on the ground of her looks." "Thirty-five thousand a year, Sir William!" pleaded the attorney. "I hope we can get the thirty-five thousand a year for our client without paying so dear for them." It had been presumed that the real Countess, the original Countess, the Italian lady whom the Earl had married in early life, would be brought over, with properly attested documentary evidence in her pocket, to prove that she was the existing Countess, and that any other Countess must be either an impostor or a deluded dupe. No doubt the old Earl had declared, when first informing Josephine Murray that she was not his wife, that his real wife had died during the few months which had intervened since his mock marriage; but it was acknowledged on all sides, that the old Earl had been a villain and a liar. It was no part of the duty of the young Earl, or of those who acted for him, to defend the character of the old Earl. To wash that blackamoor white, or even to make him whity-brown, was not necessary to anybody. No one was now concerned to account for his crooked courses. But if it could be shown that he had married the lady in Italy,--as to which there was no doubt,--and that the lady was still alive, or that she had been alive when the second marriage took place, then the Lady Anna could not inherit the property which had been freed from the grasp of the Italian mistress. But it seemed that the lady, if she lived, could not be made to come. Mr. Flick did go to Sicily, and came back renewing his advice to Sir William that Lord Lovel should be advised to marry the Lady Anna. At this time the Countess, with her daughter, had moved their residence from Keswick up to London, and was living in very humble lodgings in a small street turning out of the New Road, near the Yorkshire Stingo. Old Thomas Thwaite had accompanied them from Cumberland, but the rooms had been taken for them by his son, Daniel Thwaite, who was at this time foreman to a somewhat celebrated tailor who carried on his business in Wigmore Street; and he, Daniel Thwaite, had a bedroom in the house in which the Countess lodged. The arrangement was not a wise one, as reports had already been spread abroad as to the partiality of the Lady Anna for the young tailor. But how should she not have been partial both to the father and to the son, feeling as she did that they were the only two men who befriended her cause and her mother's? As to the Countess herself, she, perhaps, alone of all those who interested themselves in her daughter's cause, had heard no word of these insinuations against her child. To her both Thomas and Daniel Thwaite were dear friends, to repay whom for their exertions with lavish generosity,--should the means to do so ever come within her reach,--was one of the dreams of her existence. But she was an ambitious woman, thinking much of her rank, thinking much even of the blood of her own ancestors, constantly urgent with her daughter in teaching her the duties and privileges of wealth and rank. For the Countess never doubted that she would at last attain success. That the Lady Anna should throw herself away upon Daniel Thwaite did not occur to her as a possibility. She had not even dreamed that Daniel Thwaite would aspire to her daughter's hand. And yet every shop-boy and every shop-girl in Keswick had been so saying for the last twelvemonth, and rumours which had hitherto been confined to Keswick and its neighbourhood, were now common in London. For the case was becoming one of the celebrated causes of the age, and all the world was talking of the Countess and her daughter. No momentary suspicion had crossed the mind of the Countess till after their arrival in London; and then when the suspicion did touch her it was not love that she suspected,--but rather an unbecoming familiarity which she attributed to her child's ignorance of the great life which awaited her. "My dear," she said one day when Daniel Thwaite had left them, "you should be less free in your manner with that young man." "What do you mean, mamma?" said the daughter, blushing. "You had better call him Mr. Thwaite." "But I have called him Daniel ever since I was born." "He always calls you Lady Anna." "Sometimes he does, mamma." "I never heard him call you anything else," said the Countess, almost with indignation. "It is all very well for the old man, because he is an old man and has done so much for us." "So has Daniel;--quite as much, mamma. They have both done everything." "True; they have both been warm friends; and if ever I forget them may God forget me. I trust that we may both live to show them that they are not forgotten. But it is not fitting that there should exist between you and him the intimacy of equal positions. You are not and cannot be his equal. He has been born to be a tailor, and you are the daughter and heiress of an Earl." These last words were spoken in a tone that was almost awful to the Lady Anna. She had heard so much of her father's rank and her father's wealth,--rank and wealth which were always to be hers, but which had never as yet reached her, which had been a perpetual trouble to her, and a crushing weight upon her young life, that she had almost learned to hate the title and the claim. Of course it was a part of the religion of her life that her mother had been duly married to her father. It was beyond a doubt to her that such was the case. But the constant battling for denied rights, the assumption of a position which could not be attained, the use of titles which were simply ridiculous in themselves as connected with the kind of life which she was obliged to lead,--these things had all become odious to her. She lacked the ambition which gave her mother strength, and would gladly have become Anna Murray or Anna Lovel, with a girl's ordinary privilege of loving her lover, had such an easy life been possible to her. In person she was very lovely, less tall and robust than her mother had been, but with a sweeter, softer face. Her hair was less dark, and her eyes were neither blue nor bold. But they were bright and soft and very eloquent, and when laden with tears would have softened the heart,--almost of her father. She was as yet less powerful than her mother, both in body and mind, but probably better calculated to make a happy home for a husband and children. She was affectionate, self-denying, and feminine. Had that offer of compromise for thirty, twenty, or for ten thousand pounds been made to her, she would have accepted it willingly,--caring little for her name, little even for fame, so that she might have been happy and quiet, and at liberty to think of a lover as are other girls. In her present condition, how could she have any happy love? She was the Lady Anna Lovel, heir to a ducal fortune,--but she lived in small close lodgings in Wyndham Street, New Road. She did not believe in the good time coming as did her mother. Their enemy was an undoubted Earl, undoubtedly owner of Lovel Grange of which she had heard all her life. Would it not be better to take what the young lord chose to give them and to be at rest? But she did not dare to express such thoughts to her mother. Her mother would have crushed her with a look. "I have told Mr. Thwaite," the mother said to her daughter, "what we were saying this morning." "About his son?" "Yes,--about his son." "Oh, mamma!" "I was bound to do so." "And what did he say, mamma?" "He did not like it, and told me that he did not like it;--but he admitted that it was true. He admitted that his son was no fitting intimate for Lady Anna Lovel." "What should we have done without him?" "Badly indeed; but that cannot change his duty, or ours. He is helping us to struggle for that which is our own; but he would mar his generosity if he put a taint on that which he is endeavouring to restore to us." "Put a taint, mamma!" "Yes;--a taint would rest upon your rank if you as Lady Anna Lovel were familiar with Daniel Thwaite as with an equal. His father understands it, and will speak to him." "Mamma, Daniel will be very angry." "Then will he be very unreasonable;--but, Anna, I will not have you call him Daniel any more." CHAPTER IV. THE TAILOR OF KESWICK. Old Thomas Thwaite was at this time up in London about the business of the Countess, but had no intention of residing there. He still kept his shop in Keswick, and still made coats and trousers for Cumberland statesmen. He was by no means in a condition to retire from business, having spent the savings of his life in the cause of the Countess and her daughter. Men had told him that, had he not struck the Earl in the yard of the Crown at Keswick, as horses were being brought out for the lord's travelling carriage, ample provision would have been made by the rich old sinner for his daughter. That might have been so, or might not, but the saying instigated the tailor to further zeal and increased generosity. To oppose an Earl, even though it might be on behalf of a Countess, was a joy to him; to set wrong right, and to put down cruelty and to relieve distressed women was the pride of his heart,--especially when his efforts were made in antagonism to one of high rank. And he was a man who would certainly be thorough in his work, though his thoroughness should be ruinous to himself. He had despised the Murrays, who ought to have stuck to their distant cousin, and had exulted in his heart at thinking that the world would say how much better and truer had been the Keswick tailor than the well-born and comparatively wealthy Scotch relations. And the poets of the lakes, who had not as yet become altogether Tories, had taken him by the hand and praised him. The rights of the Countess and the wrongs of the Countess had become his life. But he still kept on a diminished business in the north, and it was now needful that he should return to Cumberland. He had heard that renewed offers of compromise were to be made,--though no idea of the proposed marriage between the distant cousins had been suggested to him. He had been discussing the question of some compromise with the Countess when she spoke to him respecting his son; and had recommended that certain terms should, if possible, be effected. Let the money be divided, on condition that the marriage were allowed. There could be no difficulty in this if the young lord would accede to such an arrangement, as the marriage must be acknowledged unless an adverse party should bring home proof from Italy to the contrary. The sufficiency of the ceremony in Applethwaite Church was incontestable. Let the money be divided, and the Countess be Countess Lovel, and Lady Anna be the Lady Anna to all the world. Old Thomas Thwaite himself had seemed to think that there would be enough of triumph in such a settlement. "But the woman might afterwards be bribed to come over and renew her claim," said the Countess. "Unless it be absolutely settled now, they will say when I am dead and gone that my daughter has no right to her name." Then the tailor said that he would make further inquiry how that might be. He was inclined to think that there might be a decision which should be absolute, even though that decision should be reached by compromise between the now contending parties. Then the Countess had said her word about Daniel Thwaite the son, and Thomas Thwaite the father had heard it with ill-concealed anger. To fight against an Earl on behalf of the Earl's injured wife had been very sweet to him, but to be checked in his fight because he and his were unfit to associate with the child of that injured wife, was very bitter. And yet he had sense to know that what the Countess said to him was true. As far as words went, he admitted the truth; but his face was more eloquent than his words, and his face showed plainly his displeasure. "It is not of you that I am speaking," said the Countess, laying her hand upon the old man's sleeve. "Daniel is, at any rate, fitter than I," said the tailor. "He has been educated, and I never was." "He is as good as gold. It is not of that I speak. You know what I mean." "I know very well what you mean, Lady Lovel." "I have no friend like you, Mr. Thwaite;--none whom I love as I do you. And next to you is your son. For myself, there is nothing that I would not do for him or you;--no service, however menial, that I would not render you with my own hands. There is no limit to the gratitude which I owe you. But my girl is young, and if this burden of rank and wealth is to be hers,--it is proper that she do honour to it." "And it is not honourable that she should be seen speaking--to a tailor?" "Ah,--if you choose to take it so!" "How should I take it? What I say is true. And what you say is true also. I will speak to Daniel." But she knew well, as he left her, that his heart was bitter against her. The old man did speak to his son, sitting with him up in the bed-room over that which the Countess occupied. Old Thomas Thwaite was a strong man, but his son was in some respects stronger. As his father had said of him, he had been educated,--or rather instructed; and instruction leads to the power of thinking. He looked deeper into things than did his father, and was governed by wider and greater motives. His father had been a Radical all his life, guided thereto probably by some early training, and made steadfast in his creed by feelings which induced him to hate the pretensions of an assumed superiority. Old Thwaite could not endure to think that one man should be considered to be worthier than another because he was richer. He would admit the riches, and even the justice of the riches,--having been himself, during much of his life, a rich man in his own sphere; but would deny the worthiness; and would adduce, in proof of his creed, the unworthiness of certain exalted sinners. The career of the Earl Lovel had been to him a sure proof of the baseness of English aristocracy generally. He had dreams of a republic in which a tailor might be president or senator, or something almost noble. But no rational scheme of governance among mankind had ever entered his mind, and of pure politics he knew no more than the journeyman who sat stitching upon his board. But Daniel Thwaite was a thoughtful man who had read many books. More's Utopia and Harrington's Oceana, with many a tale written in the same spirit, had taught him to believe that a perfect form of government, or rather of policy, under which all men might be happy and satisfied, was practicable upon earth, and was to be achieved,--not merely by the slow amelioration of mankind under God's fostering ordinances,--but by the continued efforts of good and wise men who, by their goodness and wisdom, should be able to make the multitude believe in them. To diminish the distances, not only between the rich and the poor, but between the high and the low, was the grand political theory upon which his mind was always running. His father was ever thinking of himself and of Earl Lovel; while Daniel Thwaite was considering the injustice of the difference between ten thousand aristocrats and thirty million of people, who were for the most part ignorant and hungry. But it was not that he also had not thoughts of himself. Gradually he had come to learn that he need not have been a tailor's foreman in Wigmore Street had not his father spent on behalf of the Countess Lovel the means by which he, the son, might already have become a master tradesman. And yet he had never begrudged it. He had been as keen as his father in the cause. It had been the romance of his life, since his life had been capable of romance;--but with him it had been no respect for the rank to which his father was so anxious to restore the Countess, no value which he attached to the names claimed by the mother and the daughter. He hated the countess-ship of the Countess, and the ladyship of the Lady Anna. He would fain that they should have abandoned them. They were to him odious signs of iniquitous pretensions. But he was keen enough to punish and to remedy the wickedness of the wicked Earl. He reverenced his father because he assaulted the wicked Earl and struck him to the ground. He was heart and soul in the cause of the injured wife. And then the one thing on earth that was really dear to him was the Lady Anna. It had been the romance of his life. They had grown up together as playmates in Cumberland. He had fought scores of battles on her behalf with those who had denied that she was the Lady Anna,--even though he had then hated the title. Boys had jeered him because of his noble little sweetheart, and he had exulted at hearing her so called. His only sister and his mother had died when he was young, and there had been none in the house but his father and himself. As a boy he had ever been

acknowledged

How many times the word 'acknowledged' appears in the text?

Anna would have the entire property, except such portion as would be claimed of right by her mother, the widow. Thus the Italian woman and the young lord were combined in interest against the mother and daughter as regarded the marriage; and the young lord and the mother and daughter were combined against the Italian woman as regarded the will;--but the young lord had to act alone against the Italian woman, and against the mother and daughter whom he and his friends regarded as swindlers and impostors. It was for him to set aside the will in reference to the Italian woman, and then to stand the brunt of the assault made upon him by the soi-disant wife. In a very short time after the old Earl's death a double compromise was offered on behalf of the young Earl. The money at stake was immense. Would the Italian woman take 10,000, and go her way back to Italy, renouncing all further claim; and would the soi-disant Countess abandon her title, acknowledge her child to be illegitimate, and go her way with another 10,000;--or with 20,000, as was soon hinted by the gentlemen acting on the Earl's behalf? The proposition was one somewhat difficult in the making, as the compromise, if made with both, would be excellent, but could not be made to any good effect with one only. The young Earl certainly could not afford to buy off the Italian woman for 10,000, if the effect of such buying off would only be to place the whole of the late lord's wealth in the hands of his daughter and of his daughter's mother. The Italian woman consented. She declared with Italian energy that her late loving friend had never been a day insane; but she knew nothing of English laws, and but little of English money. She would take the 10,000,--having had a calculation made for her of the number of lire into which it would run. The number was enormous, and she would take the offer. But when the proposal was mentioned to the Countess, and explained to her by her old friend, Thomas Thwaite, who had now become a poor man in her cause, she repudiated it with bitter scorn,--with a scorn in which she almost included the old man who had made it to her. "Is it for that, that I have been fighting?" she said. "For that in part," said the old man. "No, Mr. Thwaite, not for that at all; but that my girl may have her birth allowed and her name acknowledged." "Her name shall be allowed and her birth shall be acknowledged," said the tailor, in whose heart there was nothing base. "She shall be the Lady Anna, and her mother shall be the Countess Lovel." The estate of the Countess, if she had an estate, then owed the tailor some five or six thousand pounds, and the compromise offered would have paid the tailor every shilling and have left a comfortable income for the two women. "For myself I care but little," said the mother, taking the tailor's hand in hers and kissing it. "My child is the Lady Anna, and I do not dare to barter away her rights." This took place down at the cottage in Cumberland, and the tailor at once went up to London to make known the decision of the Countess,--as he invariably called her. Then the lawyers went to work. As the double compromise could not be effected, the single compromise could not stand. The Italian woman raved and stamped, and swore that she must have her half million of lire. But of course no right to such a claim had been made good to her, and the lawyers on behalf of the young Earl went on with their work. Public sympathy as a matter of course went with the young Earl. As against the Italian woman he had with him every English man and woman. It was horrible to the minds of English men and English women that an old English Earldom should be starved in order that an Italian harlot might revel in untold riches. It was felt by most men and protested by all women that any sign of madness, be it what it might,--however insignificant,--should be held to be sufficient against such a claimant. Was not the fact that the man had made such a will in itself sufficient proof of his madness? There were not a few who protested that no further proof could be necessary. But with us the law is the same for an Italian harlot and an English widow; and it may well be that in its niceties it shall be found kinder to the former than to the latter. But the Earl had been mad, and the law said that he was mad when he had made his will,--and the Italian woman went away, raging, into obscurity. The Italian woman was conquered, and now the battle was open and free between the young Earl and the claimant Countess. Applications were made on behalf of the Countess for funds from the estate wherewith to prove the claim, and to a certain limited amount they were granted. Such had been the life of the late Earl that it was held that the cost of all litigation resulting from his misdeeds should be paid from his estate;--but ready money was wanted, immediate ready money, to be at the disposal of the Countess to any amount needed by her agent, and this was hardly to be obtained. By this time public sympathy ran almost entirely with the Earl. Though it was acknowledged that the late lord was mad, and though it had become a cause of rejoicing that the Italian woman had been sent away penniless, howling into obscurity, because of the old man's madness, still it was believed that he had written the truth when he declared that the marriage had been a mock marriage. It would be better for the English world that the young Earl should be a rich man, fit to do honour to his position, fit to marry the daughter of a duke, fit to carry on the glory of the English peerage, than that a woman, ill reputed in the world, should be established as a Countess, with a daughter dowered with tens of thousands, as to whom it was already said that she was in love with a tailor's son. Nothing could be more touching, more likely to awaken sympathy, than the manner in which Josephine Murray had been carried away in marriage, and then roughly told by the man who should have protected her from every harshly blowing wind of heaven, that he had deceived her and that she was not his wife. No usage to which woman had ever been subjected, as has been said before, was more adapted to elicit compassion and energetic aid. But nineteen years had now passed by since the deed was done, and the facts were forgotten. One energetic friend there still was,--or we may say two, the tailor and his son Daniel. But public belief ran against the Countess, and nobody who was anybody in the world would give her her title. Bets were laid, two and three to one against her; and it was believed that she was an impostor. The Earl had all the glory of success over his first opponent, and the loud boasting of self-confident barristers buoyed up his cause. But loud-boasting barristers may nevertheless be wise lawyers, and the question of a compromise was again mooted. If the lady would take thirty thousand pounds and vanish, she should have the money clear of deduction, and all expenses should be paid. The amount offered was thought to be very liberal, but it did not amount to the annual income that was at stake. It was rejected with scorn. Had it been quadrupled, it would have been rejected with equal scorn. The loud-boasting barristers were still confident; but--. Though it was never admitted in words still it was felt that there might be a doubt. What if the contending parties were to join forces, if the Countess-ship of the Countess were to be admitted, and the heiress-ship of the Lady Anna, and if the Earl and the Lady Anna were to be united in holy wedlock? Might there not be a safe solution from further difficulty in that way? CHAPTER III. LADY ANNA. The idea of this further compromise, of this something more than compromise, of this half acknowledgment of their own weakness, came from Mr. Flick, of the firm of Norton and Flick, the solicitors who were employed in substantiating the Earl's position. When Mr. Flick mentioned it to Sir William Patterson, the great barrister, who was at that time Solicitor-General and leading counsel on behalf of Lord Lovel, Sir William Patterson stood aghast and was dismayed. Sir William intended to make mince-meat of the Countess. It was said of him that he intended to cross-examine the Countess off her legs, right out of her claim, and almost into her grave. He certainly did believe her to be an impostor, who had not thought herself to be entitled to her name when she first assumed it. "I should be sorry, Mr. Flick, to be driven to think that anything of that kind could be expedient." "It would make sure of the fortune to the family," said Mr. Flick. "And what about our friend, the Countess?" "Let her call herself Countess Lovel, Sir William. That will break no bones. As to the formality of her own marriage, there can be no doubt about that." "We can prove by Grogram that she was told that another wife was living," said Sir William. Grogram was an old butler who had been in the old Earl's service for thirty years. "I believe we can, Sir William; but--. It is quite clear that we shall never get the other wife to come over and face an English jury. It is of no use blinking it. The gentleman whom we have sent over doubts her altogether. That there was a marriage is certain, but he fears that this woman is not the old Countess. There were two sisters, and it may be that this was the other sister." Sir William was a good deal dismayed, but he recovered himself. The stakes were so high that it was quite possible that the gentleman who had been sent over might have been induced to open his eyes to the possibility of such personation by overtures from the other side. Sir William was of opinion that Mr. Flick himself should go to Sicily. He was not sure that he, Sir William, her Majesty's Solicitor-General, would not make the journey in person. He was by no means disposed to give way. "They tell me that the girl is no better than she should be," he said to Mr. Flick. "I don't think so bad as that of her," said Mr. Flick. "Is she a lady,--or anything like a lady?" "I am told she is very beautiful." "I dare say;--and so was her mother before her. I never saw a handsomer woman of her age than our friend the Countess. But I could not recommend the young lord to marry an underbred, bad girl, and a bastard who claims to be his cousin,--and support my proposition merely on the ground of her looks." "Thirty-five thousand a year, Sir William!" pleaded the attorney. "I hope we can get the thirty-five thousand a year for our client without paying so dear for them." It had been presumed that the real Countess, the original Countess, the Italian lady whom the Earl had married in early life, would be brought over, with properly attested documentary evidence in her pocket, to prove that she was the existing Countess, and that any other Countess must be either an impostor or a deluded dupe. No doubt the old Earl had declared, when first informing Josephine Murray that she was not his wife, that his real wife had died during the few months which had intervened since his mock marriage; but it was acknowledged on all sides, that the old Earl had been a villain and a liar. It was no part of the duty of the young Earl, or of those who acted for him, to defend the character of the old Earl. To wash that blackamoor white, or even to make him whity-brown, was not necessary to anybody. No one was now concerned to account for his crooked courses. But if it could be shown that he had married the lady in Italy,--as to which there was no doubt,--and that the lady was still alive, or that she had been alive when the second marriage took place, then the Lady Anna could not inherit the property which had been freed from the grasp of the Italian mistress. But it seemed that the lady, if she lived, could not be made to come. Mr. Flick did go to Sicily, and came back renewing his advice to Sir William that Lord Lovel should be advised to marry the Lady Anna. At this time the Countess, with her daughter, had moved their residence from Keswick up to London, and was living in very humble lodgings in a small street turning out of the New Road, near the Yorkshire Stingo. Old Thomas Thwaite had accompanied them from Cumberland, but the rooms had been taken for them by his son, Daniel Thwaite, who was at this time foreman to a somewhat celebrated tailor who carried on his business in Wigmore Street; and he, Daniel Thwaite, had a bedroom in the house in which the Countess lodged. The arrangement was not a wise one, as reports had already been spread abroad as to the partiality of the Lady Anna for the young tailor. But how should she not have been partial both to the father and to the son, feeling as she did that they were the only two men who befriended her cause and her mother's? As to the Countess herself, she, perhaps, alone of all those who interested themselves in her daughter's cause, had heard no word of these insinuations against her child. To her both Thomas and Daniel Thwaite were dear friends, to repay whom for their exertions with lavish generosity,--should the means to do so ever come within her reach,--was one of the dreams of her existence. But she was an ambitious woman, thinking much of her rank, thinking much even of the blood of her own ancestors, constantly urgent with her daughter in teaching her the duties and privileges of wealth and rank. For the Countess never doubted that she would at last attain success. That the Lady Anna should throw herself away upon Daniel Thwaite did not occur to her as a possibility. She had not even dreamed that Daniel Thwaite would aspire to her daughter's hand. And yet every shop-boy and every shop-girl in Keswick had been so saying for the last twelvemonth, and rumours which had hitherto been confined to Keswick and its neighbourhood, were now common in London. For the case was becoming one of the celebrated causes of the age, and all the world was talking of the Countess and her daughter. No momentary suspicion had crossed the mind of the Countess till after their arrival in London; and then when the suspicion did touch her it was not love that she suspected,--but rather an unbecoming familiarity which she attributed to her child's ignorance of the great life which awaited her. "My dear," she said one day when Daniel Thwaite had left them, "you should be less free in your manner with that young man." "What do you mean, mamma?" said the daughter, blushing. "You had better call him Mr. Thwaite." "But I have called him Daniel ever since I was born." "He always calls you Lady Anna." "Sometimes he does, mamma." "I never heard him call you anything else," said the Countess, almost with indignation. "It is all very well for the old man, because he is an old man and has done so much for us." "So has Daniel;--quite as much, mamma. They have both done everything." "True; they have both been warm friends; and if ever I forget them may God forget me. I trust that we may both live to show them that they are not forgotten. But it is not fitting that there should exist between you and him the intimacy of equal positions. You are not and cannot be his equal. He has been born to be a tailor, and you are the daughter and heiress of an Earl." These last words were spoken in a tone that was almost awful to the Lady Anna. She had heard so much of her father's rank and her father's wealth,--rank and wealth which were always to be hers, but which had never as yet reached her, which had been a perpetual trouble to her, and a crushing weight upon her young life, that she had almost learned to hate the title and the claim. Of course it was a part of the religion of her life that her mother had been duly married to her father. It was beyond a doubt to her that such was the case. But the constant battling for denied rights, the assumption of a position which could not be attained, the use of titles which were simply ridiculous in themselves as connected with the kind of life which she was obliged to lead,--these things had all become odious to her. She lacked the ambition which gave her mother strength, and would gladly have become Anna Murray or Anna Lovel, with a girl's ordinary privilege of loving her lover, had such an easy life been possible to her. In person she was very lovely, less tall and robust than her mother had been, but with a sweeter, softer face. Her hair was less dark, and her eyes were neither blue nor bold. But they were bright and soft and very eloquent, and when laden with tears would have softened the heart,--almost of her father. She was as yet less powerful than her mother, both in body and mind, but probably better calculated to make a happy home for a husband and children. She was affectionate, self-denying, and feminine. Had that offer of compromise for thirty, twenty, or for ten thousand pounds been made to her, she would have accepted it willingly,--caring little for her name, little even for fame, so that she might have been happy and quiet, and at liberty to think of a lover as are other girls. In her present condition, how could she have any happy love? She was the Lady Anna Lovel, heir to a ducal fortune,--but she lived in small close lodgings in Wyndham Street, New Road. She did not believe in the good time coming as did her mother. Their enemy was an undoubted Earl, undoubtedly owner of Lovel Grange of which she had heard all her life. Would it not be better to take what the young lord chose to give them and to be at rest? But she did not dare to express such thoughts to her mother. Her mother would have crushed her with a look. "I have told Mr. Thwaite," the mother said to her daughter, "what we were saying this morning." "About his son?" "Yes,--about his son." "Oh, mamma!" "I was bound to do so." "And what did he say, mamma?" "He did not like it, and told me that he did not like it;--but he admitted that it was true. He admitted that his son was no fitting intimate for Lady Anna Lovel." "What should we have done without him?" "Badly indeed; but that cannot change his duty, or ours. He is helping us to struggle for that which is our own; but he would mar his generosity if he put a taint on that which he is endeavouring to restore to us." "Put a taint, mamma!" "Yes;--a taint would rest upon your rank if you as Lady Anna Lovel were familiar with Daniel Thwaite as with an equal. His father understands it, and will speak to him." "Mamma, Daniel will be very angry." "Then will he be very unreasonable;--but, Anna, I will not have you call him Daniel any more." CHAPTER IV. THE TAILOR OF KESWICK. Old Thomas Thwaite was at this time up in London about the business of the Countess, but had no intention of residing there. He still kept his shop in Keswick, and still made coats and trousers for Cumberland statesmen. He was by no means in a condition to retire from business, having spent the savings of his life in the cause of the Countess and her daughter. Men had told him that, had he not struck the Earl in the yard of the Crown at Keswick, as horses were being brought out for the lord's travelling carriage, ample provision would have been made by the rich old sinner for his daughter. That might have been so, or might not, but the saying instigated the tailor to further zeal and increased generosity. To oppose an Earl, even though it might be on behalf of a Countess, was a joy to him; to set wrong right, and to put down cruelty and to relieve distressed women was the pride of his heart,--especially when his efforts were made in antagonism to one of high rank. And he was a man who would certainly be thorough in his work, though his thoroughness should be ruinous to himself. He had despised the Murrays, who ought to have stuck to their distant cousin, and had exulted in his heart at thinking that the world would say how much better and truer had been the Keswick tailor than the well-born and comparatively wealthy Scotch relations. And the poets of the lakes, who had not as yet become altogether Tories, had taken him by the hand and praised him. The rights of the Countess and the wrongs of the Countess had become his life. But he still kept on a diminished business in the north, and it was now needful that he should return to Cumberland. He had heard that renewed offers of compromise were to be made,--though no idea of the proposed marriage between the distant cousins had been suggested to him. He had been discussing the question of some compromise with the Countess when she spoke to him respecting his son; and had recommended that certain terms should, if possible, be effected. Let the money be divided, on condition that the marriage were allowed. There could be no difficulty in this if the young lord would accede to such an arrangement, as the marriage must be acknowledged unless an adverse party should bring home proof from Italy to the contrary. The sufficiency of the ceremony in Applethwaite Church was incontestable. Let the money be divided, and the Countess be Countess Lovel, and Lady Anna be the Lady Anna to all the world. Old Thomas Thwaite himself had seemed to think that there would be enough of triumph in such a settlement. "But the woman might afterwards be bribed to come over and renew her claim," said the Countess. "Unless it be absolutely settled now, they will say when I am dead and gone that my daughter has no right to her name." Then the tailor said that he would make further inquiry how that might be. He was inclined to think that there might be a decision which should be absolute, even though that decision should be reached by compromise between the now contending parties. Then the Countess had said her word about Daniel Thwaite the son, and Thomas Thwaite the father had heard it with ill-concealed anger. To fight against an Earl on behalf of the Earl's injured wife had been very sweet to him, but to be checked in his fight because he and his were unfit to associate with the child of that injured wife, was very bitter. And yet he had sense to know that what the Countess said to him was true. As far as words went, he admitted the truth; but his face was more eloquent than his words, and his face showed plainly his displeasure. "It is not of you that I am speaking," said the Countess, laying her hand upon the old man's sleeve. "Daniel is, at any rate, fitter than I," said the tailor. "He has been educated, and I never was." "He is as good as gold. It is not of that I speak. You know what I mean." "I know very well what you mean, Lady Lovel." "I have no friend like you, Mr. Thwaite;--none whom I love as I do you. And next to you is your son. For myself, there is nothing that I would not do for him or you;--no service, however menial, that I would not render you with my own hands. There is no limit to the gratitude which I owe you. But my girl is young, and if this burden of rank and wealth is to be hers,--it is proper that she do honour to it." "And it is not honourable that she should be seen speaking--to a tailor?" "Ah,--if you choose to take it so!" "How should I take it? What I say is true. And what you say is true also. I will speak to Daniel." But she knew well, as he left her, that his heart was bitter against her. The old man did speak to his son, sitting with him up in the bed-room over that which the Countess occupied. Old Thomas Thwaite was a strong man, but his son was in some respects stronger. As his father had said of him, he had been educated,--or rather instructed; and instruction leads to the power of thinking. He looked deeper into things than did his father, and was governed by wider and greater motives. His father had been a Radical all his life, guided thereto probably by some early training, and made steadfast in his creed by feelings which induced him to hate the pretensions of an assumed superiority. Old Thwaite could not endure to think that one man should be considered to be worthier than another because he was richer. He would admit the riches, and even the justice of the riches,--having been himself, during much of his life, a rich man in his own sphere; but would deny the worthiness; and would adduce, in proof of his creed, the unworthiness of certain exalted sinners. The career of the Earl Lovel had been to him a sure proof of the baseness of English aristocracy generally. He had dreams of a republic in which a tailor might be president or senator, or something almost noble. But no rational scheme of governance among mankind had ever entered his mind, and of pure politics he knew no more than the journeyman who sat stitching upon his board. But Daniel Thwaite was a thoughtful man who had read many books. More's Utopia and Harrington's Oceana, with many a tale written in the same spirit, had taught him to believe that a perfect form of government, or rather of policy, under which all men might be happy and satisfied, was practicable upon earth, and was to be achieved,--not merely by the slow amelioration of mankind under God's fostering ordinances,--but by the continued efforts of good and wise men who, by their goodness and wisdom, should be able to make the multitude believe in them. To diminish the distances, not only between the rich and the poor, but between the high and the low, was the grand political theory upon which his mind was always running. His father was ever thinking of himself and of Earl Lovel; while Daniel Thwaite was considering the injustice of the difference between ten thousand aristocrats and thirty million of people, who were for the most part ignorant and hungry. But it was not that he also had not thoughts of himself. Gradually he had come to learn that he need not have been a tailor's foreman in Wigmore Street had not his father spent on behalf of the Countess Lovel the means by which he, the son, might already have become a master tradesman. And yet he had never begrudged it. He had been as keen as his father in the cause. It had been the romance of his life, since his life had been capable of romance;--but with him it had been no respect for the rank to which his father was so anxious to restore the Countess, no value which he attached to the names claimed by the mother and the daughter. He hated the countess-ship of the Countess, and the ladyship of the Lady Anna. He would fain that they should have abandoned them. They were to him odious signs of iniquitous pretensions. But he was keen enough to punish and to remedy the wickedness of the wicked Earl. He reverenced his father because he assaulted the wicked Earl and struck him to the ground. He was heart and soul in the cause of the injured wife. And then the one thing on earth that was really dear to him was the Lady Anna. It had been the romance of his life. They had grown up together as playmates in Cumberland. He had fought scores of battles on her behalf with those who had denied that she was the Lady Anna,--even though he had then hated the title. Boys had jeered him because of his noble little sweetheart, and he had exulted at hearing her so called. His only sister and his mother had died when he was young, and there had been none in the house but his father and himself. As a boy he had ever been

law

How many times the word 'law' appears in the text?

Anna would have the entire property, except such portion as would be claimed of right by her mother, the widow. Thus the Italian woman and the young lord were combined in interest against the mother and daughter as regarded the marriage; and the young lord and the mother and daughter were combined against the Italian woman as regarded the will;--but the young lord had to act alone against the Italian woman, and against the mother and daughter whom he and his friends regarded as swindlers and impostors. It was for him to set aside the will in reference to the Italian woman, and then to stand the brunt of the assault made upon him by the soi-disant wife. In a very short time after the old Earl's death a double compromise was offered on behalf of the young Earl. The money at stake was immense. Would the Italian woman take 10,000, and go her way back to Italy, renouncing all further claim; and would the soi-disant Countess abandon her title, acknowledge her child to be illegitimate, and go her way with another 10,000;--or with 20,000, as was soon hinted by the gentlemen acting on the Earl's behalf? The proposition was one somewhat difficult in the making, as the compromise, if made with both, would be excellent, but could not be made to any good effect with one only. The young Earl certainly could not afford to buy off the Italian woman for 10,000, if the effect of such buying off would only be to place the whole of the late lord's wealth in the hands of his daughter and of his daughter's mother. The Italian woman consented. She declared with Italian energy that her late loving friend had never been a day insane; but she knew nothing of English laws, and but little of English money. She would take the 10,000,--having had a calculation made for her of the number of lire into which it would run. The number was enormous, and she would take the offer. But when the proposal was mentioned to the Countess, and explained to her by her old friend, Thomas Thwaite, who had now become a poor man in her cause, she repudiated it with bitter scorn,--with a scorn in which she almost included the old man who had made it to her. "Is it for that, that I have been fighting?" she said. "For that in part," said the old man. "No, Mr. Thwaite, not for that at all; but that my girl may have her birth allowed and her name acknowledged." "Her name shall be allowed and her birth shall be acknowledged," said the tailor, in whose heart there was nothing base. "She shall be the Lady Anna, and her mother shall be the Countess Lovel." The estate of the Countess, if she had an estate, then owed the tailor some five or six thousand pounds, and the compromise offered would have paid the tailor every shilling and have left a comfortable income for the two women. "For myself I care but little," said the mother, taking the tailor's hand in hers and kissing it. "My child is the Lady Anna, and I do not dare to barter away her rights." This took place down at the cottage in Cumberland, and the tailor at once went up to London to make known the decision of the Countess,--as he invariably called her. Then the lawyers went to work. As the double compromise could not be effected, the single compromise could not stand. The Italian woman raved and stamped, and swore that she must have her half million of lire. But of course no right to such a claim had been made good to her, and the lawyers on behalf of the young Earl went on with their work. Public sympathy as a matter of course went with the young Earl. As against the Italian woman he had with him every English man and woman. It was horrible to the minds of English men and English women that an old English Earldom should be starved in order that an Italian harlot might revel in untold riches. It was felt by most men and protested by all women that any sign of madness, be it what it might,--however insignificant,--should be held to be sufficient against such a claimant. Was not the fact that the man had made such a will in itself sufficient proof of his madness? There were not a few who protested that no further proof could be necessary. But with us the law is the same for an Italian harlot and an English widow; and it may well be that in its niceties it shall be found kinder to the former than to the latter. But the Earl had been mad, and the law said that he was mad when he had made his will,--and the Italian woman went away, raging, into obscurity. The Italian woman was conquered, and now the battle was open and free between the young Earl and the claimant Countess. Applications were made on behalf of the Countess for funds from the estate wherewith to prove the claim, and to a certain limited amount they were granted. Such had been the life of the late Earl that it was held that the cost of all litigation resulting from his misdeeds should be paid from his estate;--but ready money was wanted, immediate ready money, to be at the disposal of the Countess to any amount needed by her agent, and this was hardly to be obtained. By this time public sympathy ran almost entirely with the Earl. Though it was acknowledged that the late lord was mad, and though it had become a cause of rejoicing that the Italian woman had been sent away penniless, howling into obscurity, because of the old man's madness, still it was believed that he had written the truth when he declared that the marriage had been a mock marriage. It would be better for the English world that the young Earl should be a rich man, fit to do honour to his position, fit to marry the daughter of a duke, fit to carry on the glory of the English peerage, than that a woman, ill reputed in the world, should be established as a Countess, with a daughter dowered with tens of thousands, as to whom it was already said that she was in love with a tailor's son. Nothing could be more touching, more likely to awaken sympathy, than the manner in which Josephine Murray had been carried away in marriage, and then roughly told by the man who should have protected her from every harshly blowing wind of heaven, that he had deceived her and that she was not his wife. No usage to which woman had ever been subjected, as has been said before, was more adapted to elicit compassion and energetic aid. But nineteen years had now passed by since the deed was done, and the facts were forgotten. One energetic friend there still was,--or we may say two, the tailor and his son Daniel. But public belief ran against the Countess, and nobody who was anybody in the world would give her her title. Bets were laid, two and three to one against her; and it was believed that she was an impostor. The Earl had all the glory of success over his first opponent, and the loud boasting of self-confident barristers buoyed up his cause. But loud-boasting barristers may nevertheless be wise lawyers, and the question of a compromise was again mooted. If the lady would take thirty thousand pounds and vanish, she should have the money clear of deduction, and all expenses should be paid. The amount offered was thought to be very liberal, but it did not amount to the annual income that was at stake. It was rejected with scorn. Had it been quadrupled, it would have been rejected with equal scorn. The loud-boasting barristers were still confident; but--. Though it was never admitted in words still it was felt that there might be a doubt. What if the contending parties were to join forces, if the Countess-ship of the Countess were to be admitted, and the heiress-ship of the Lady Anna, and if the Earl and the Lady Anna were to be united in holy wedlock? Might there not be a safe solution from further difficulty in that way? CHAPTER III. LADY ANNA. The idea of this further compromise, of this something more than compromise, of this half acknowledgment of their own weakness, came from Mr. Flick, of the firm of Norton and Flick, the solicitors who were employed in substantiating the Earl's position. When Mr. Flick mentioned it to Sir William Patterson, the great barrister, who was at that time Solicitor-General and leading counsel on behalf of Lord Lovel, Sir William Patterson stood aghast and was dismayed. Sir William intended to make mince-meat of the Countess. It was said of him that he intended to cross-examine the Countess off her legs, right out of her claim, and almost into her grave. He certainly did believe her to be an impostor, who had not thought herself to be entitled to her name when she first assumed it. "I should be sorry, Mr. Flick, to be driven to think that anything of that kind could be expedient." "It would make sure of the fortune to the family," said Mr. Flick. "And what about our friend, the Countess?" "Let her call herself Countess Lovel, Sir William. That will break no bones. As to the formality of her own marriage, there can be no doubt about that." "We can prove by Grogram that she was told that another wife was living," said Sir William. Grogram was an old butler who had been in the old Earl's service for thirty years. "I believe we can, Sir William; but--. It is quite clear that we shall never get the other wife to come over and face an English jury. It is of no use blinking it. The gentleman whom we have sent over doubts her altogether. That there was a marriage is certain, but he fears that this woman is not the old Countess. There were two sisters, and it may be that this was the other sister." Sir William was a good deal dismayed, but he recovered himself. The stakes were so high that it was quite possible that the gentleman who had been sent over might have been induced to open his eyes to the possibility of such personation by overtures from the other side. Sir William was of opinion that Mr. Flick himself should go to Sicily. He was not sure that he, Sir William, her Majesty's Solicitor-General, would not make the journey in person. He was by no means disposed to give way. "They tell me that the girl is no better than she should be," he said to Mr. Flick. "I don't think so bad as that of her," said Mr. Flick. "Is she a lady,--or anything like a lady?" "I am told she is very beautiful." "I dare say;--and so was her mother before her. I never saw a handsomer woman of her age than our friend the Countess. But I could not recommend the young lord to marry an underbred, bad girl, and a bastard who claims to be his cousin,--and support my proposition merely on the ground of her looks." "Thirty-five thousand a year, Sir William!" pleaded the attorney. "I hope we can get the thirty-five thousand a year for our client without paying so dear for them." It had been presumed that the real Countess, the original Countess, the Italian lady whom the Earl had married in early life, would be brought over, with properly attested documentary evidence in her pocket, to prove that she was the existing Countess, and that any other Countess must be either an impostor or a deluded dupe. No doubt the old Earl had declared, when first informing Josephine Murray that she was not his wife, that his real wife had died during the few months which had intervened since his mock marriage; but it was acknowledged on all sides, that the old Earl had been a villain and a liar. It was no part of the duty of the young Earl, or of those who acted for him, to defend the character of the old Earl. To wash that blackamoor white, or even to make him whity-brown, was not necessary to anybody. No one was now concerned to account for his crooked courses. But if it could be shown that he had married the lady in Italy,--as to which there was no doubt,--and that the lady was still alive, or that she had been alive when the second marriage took place, then the Lady Anna could not inherit the property which had been freed from the grasp of the Italian mistress. But it seemed that the lady, if she lived, could not be made to come. Mr. Flick did go to Sicily, and came back renewing his advice to Sir William that Lord Lovel should be advised to marry the Lady Anna. At this time the Countess, with her daughter, had moved their residence from Keswick up to London, and was living in very humble lodgings in a small street turning out of the New Road, near the Yorkshire Stingo. Old Thomas Thwaite had accompanied them from Cumberland, but the rooms had been taken for them by his son, Daniel Thwaite, who was at this time foreman to a somewhat celebrated tailor who carried on his business in Wigmore Street; and he, Daniel Thwaite, had a bedroom in the house in which the Countess lodged. The arrangement was not a wise one, as reports had already been spread abroad as to the partiality of the Lady Anna for the young tailor. But how should she not have been partial both to the father and to the son, feeling as she did that they were the only two men who befriended her cause and her mother's? As to the Countess herself, she, perhaps, alone of all those who interested themselves in her daughter's cause, had heard no word of these insinuations against her child. To her both Thomas and Daniel Thwaite were dear friends, to repay whom for their exertions with lavish generosity,--should the means to do so ever come within her reach,--was one of the dreams of her existence. But she was an ambitious woman, thinking much of her rank, thinking much even of the blood of her own ancestors, constantly urgent with her daughter in teaching her the duties and privileges of wealth and rank. For the Countess never doubted that she would at last attain success. That the Lady Anna should throw herself away upon Daniel Thwaite did not occur to her as a possibility. She had not even dreamed that Daniel Thwaite would aspire to her daughter's hand. And yet every shop-boy and every shop-girl in Keswick had been so saying for the last twelvemonth, and rumours which had hitherto been confined to Keswick and its neighbourhood, were now common in London. For the case was becoming one of the celebrated causes of the age, and all the world was talking of the Countess and her daughter. No momentary suspicion had crossed the mind of the Countess till after their arrival in London; and then when the suspicion did touch her it was not love that she suspected,--but rather an unbecoming familiarity which she attributed to her child's ignorance of the great life which awaited her. "My dear," she said one day when Daniel Thwaite had left them, "you should be less free in your manner with that young man." "What do you mean, mamma?" said the daughter, blushing. "You had better call him Mr. Thwaite." "But I have called him Daniel ever since I was born." "He always calls you Lady Anna." "Sometimes he does, mamma." "I never heard him call you anything else," said the Countess, almost with indignation. "It is all very well for the old man, because he is an old man and has done so much for us." "So has Daniel;--quite as much, mamma. They have both done everything." "True; they have both been warm friends; and if ever I forget them may God forget me. I trust that we may both live to show them that they are not forgotten. But it is not fitting that there should exist between you and him the intimacy of equal positions. You are not and cannot be his equal. He has been born to be a tailor, and you are the daughter and heiress of an Earl." These last words were spoken in a tone that was almost awful to the Lady Anna. She had heard so much of her father's rank and her father's wealth,--rank and wealth which were always to be hers, but which had never as yet reached her, which had been a perpetual trouble to her, and a crushing weight upon her young life, that she had almost learned to hate the title and the claim. Of course it was a part of the religion of her life that her mother had been duly married to her father. It was beyond a doubt to her that such was the case. But the constant battling for denied rights, the assumption of a position which could not be attained, the use of titles which were simply ridiculous in themselves as connected with the kind of life which she was obliged to lead,--these things had all become odious to her. She lacked the ambition which gave her mother strength, and would gladly have become Anna Murray or Anna Lovel, with a girl's ordinary privilege of loving her lover, had such an easy life been possible to her. In person she was very lovely, less tall and robust than her mother had been, but with a sweeter, softer face. Her hair was less dark, and her eyes were neither blue nor bold. But they were bright and soft and very eloquent, and when laden with tears would have softened the heart,--almost of her father. She was as yet less powerful than her mother, both in body and mind, but probably better calculated to make a happy home for a husband and children. She was affectionate, self-denying, and feminine. Had that offer of compromise for thirty, twenty, or for ten thousand pounds been made to her, she would have accepted it willingly,--caring little for her name, little even for fame, so that she might have been happy and quiet, and at liberty to think of a lover as are other girls. In her present condition, how could she have any happy love? She was the Lady Anna Lovel, heir to a ducal fortune,--but she lived in small close lodgings in Wyndham Street, New Road. She did not believe in the good time coming as did her mother. Their enemy was an undoubted Earl, undoubtedly owner of Lovel Grange of which she had heard all her life. Would it not be better to take what the young lord chose to give them and to be at rest? But she did not dare to express such thoughts to her mother. Her mother would have crushed her with a look. "I have told Mr. Thwaite," the mother said to her daughter, "what we were saying this morning." "About his son?" "Yes,--about his son." "Oh, mamma!" "I was bound to do so." "And what did he say, mamma?" "He did not like it, and told me that he did not like it;--but he admitted that it was true. He admitted that his son was no fitting intimate for Lady Anna Lovel." "What should we have done without him?" "Badly indeed; but that cannot change his duty, or ours. He is helping us to struggle for that which is our own; but he would mar his generosity if he put a taint on that which he is endeavouring to restore to us." "Put a taint, mamma!" "Yes;--a taint would rest upon your rank if you as Lady Anna Lovel were familiar with Daniel Thwaite as with an equal. His father understands it, and will speak to him." "Mamma, Daniel will be very angry." "Then will he be very unreasonable;--but, Anna, I will not have you call him Daniel any more." CHAPTER IV. THE TAILOR OF KESWICK. Old Thomas Thwaite was at this time up in London about the business of the Countess, but had no intention of residing there. He still kept his shop in Keswick, and still made coats and trousers for Cumberland statesmen. He was by no means in a condition to retire from business, having spent the savings of his life in the cause of the Countess and her daughter. Men had told him that, had he not struck the Earl in the yard of the Crown at Keswick, as horses were being brought out for the lord's travelling carriage, ample provision would have been made by the rich old sinner for his daughter. That might have been so, or might not, but the saying instigated the tailor to further zeal and increased generosity. To oppose an Earl, even though it might be on behalf of a Countess, was a joy to him; to set wrong right, and to put down cruelty and to relieve distressed women was the pride of his heart,--especially when his efforts were made in antagonism to one of high rank. And he was a man who would certainly be thorough in his work, though his thoroughness should be ruinous to himself. He had despised the Murrays, who ought to have stuck to their distant cousin, and had exulted in his heart at thinking that the world would say how much better and truer had been the Keswick tailor than the well-born and comparatively wealthy Scotch relations. And the poets of the lakes, who had not as yet become altogether Tories, had taken him by the hand and praised him. The rights of the Countess and the wrongs of the Countess had become his life. But he still kept on a diminished business in the north, and it was now needful that he should return to Cumberland. He had heard that renewed offers of compromise were to be made,--though no idea of the proposed marriage between the distant cousins had been suggested to him. He had been discussing the question of some compromise with the Countess when she spoke to him respecting his son; and had recommended that certain terms should, if possible, be effected. Let the money be divided, on condition that the marriage were allowed. There could be no difficulty in this if the young lord would accede to such an arrangement, as the marriage must be acknowledged unless an adverse party should bring home proof from Italy to the contrary. The sufficiency of the ceremony in Applethwaite Church was incontestable. Let the money be divided, and the Countess be Countess Lovel, and Lady Anna be the Lady Anna to all the world. Old Thomas Thwaite himself had seemed to think that there would be enough of triumph in such a settlement. "But the woman might afterwards be bribed to come over and renew her claim," said the Countess. "Unless it be absolutely settled now, they will say when I am dead and gone that my daughter has no right to her name." Then the tailor said that he would make further inquiry how that might be. He was inclined to think that there might be a decision which should be absolute, even though that decision should be reached by compromise between the now contending parties. Then the Countess had said her word about Daniel Thwaite the son, and Thomas Thwaite the father had heard it with ill-concealed anger. To fight against an Earl on behalf of the Earl's injured wife had been very sweet to him, but to be checked in his fight because he and his were unfit to associate with the child of that injured wife, was very bitter. And yet he had sense to know that what the Countess said to him was true. As far as words went, he admitted the truth; but his face was more eloquent than his words, and his face showed plainly his displeasure. "It is not of you that I am speaking," said the Countess, laying her hand upon the old man's sleeve. "Daniel is, at any rate, fitter than I," said the tailor. "He has been educated, and I never was." "He is as good as gold. It is not of that I speak. You know what I mean." "I know very well what you mean, Lady Lovel." "I have no friend like you, Mr. Thwaite;--none whom I love as I do you. And next to you is your son. For myself, there is nothing that I would not do for him or you;--no service, however menial, that I would not render you with my own hands. There is no limit to the gratitude which I owe you. But my girl is young, and if this burden of rank and wealth is to be hers,--it is proper that she do honour to it." "And it is not honourable that she should be seen speaking--to a tailor?" "Ah,--if you choose to take it so!" "How should I take it? What I say is true. And what you say is true also. I will speak to Daniel." But she knew well, as he left her, that his heart was bitter against her. The old man did speak to his son, sitting with him up in the bed-room over that which the Countess occupied. Old Thomas Thwaite was a strong man, but his son was in some respects stronger. As his father had said of him, he had been educated,--or rather instructed; and instruction leads to the power of thinking. He looked deeper into things than did his father, and was governed by wider and greater motives. His father had been a Radical all his life, guided thereto probably by some early training, and made steadfast in his creed by feelings which induced him to hate the pretensions of an assumed superiority. Old Thwaite could not endure to think that one man should be considered to be worthier than another because he was richer. He would admit the riches, and even the justice of the riches,--having been himself, during much of his life, a rich man in his own sphere; but would deny the worthiness; and would adduce, in proof of his creed, the unworthiness of certain exalted sinners. The career of the Earl Lovel had been to him a sure proof of the baseness of English aristocracy generally. He had dreams of a republic in which a tailor might be president or senator, or something almost noble. But no rational scheme of governance among mankind had ever entered his mind, and of pure politics he knew no more than the journeyman who sat stitching upon his board. But Daniel Thwaite was a thoughtful man who had read many books. More's Utopia and Harrington's Oceana, with many a tale written in the same spirit, had taught him to believe that a perfect form of government, or rather of policy, under which all men might be happy and satisfied, was practicable upon earth, and was to be achieved,--not merely by the slow amelioration of mankind under God's fostering ordinances,--but by the continued efforts of good and wise men who, by their goodness and wisdom, should be able to make the multitude believe in them. To diminish the distances, not only between the rich and the poor, but between the high and the low, was the grand political theory upon which his mind was always running. His father was ever thinking of himself and of Earl Lovel; while Daniel Thwaite was considering the injustice of the difference between ten thousand aristocrats and thirty million of people, who were for the most part ignorant and hungry. But it was not that he also had not thoughts of himself. Gradually he had come to learn that he need not have been a tailor's foreman in Wigmore Street had not his father spent on behalf of the Countess Lovel the means by which he, the son, might already have become a master tradesman. And yet he had never begrudged it. He had been as keen as his father in the cause. It had been the romance of his life, since his life had been capable of romance;--but with him it had been no respect for the rank to which his father was so anxious to restore the Countess, no value which he attached to the names claimed by the mother and the daughter. He hated the countess-ship of the Countess, and the ladyship of the Lady Anna. He would fain that they should have abandoned them. They were to him odious signs of iniquitous pretensions. But he was keen enough to punish and to remedy the wickedness of the wicked Earl. He reverenced his father because he assaulted the wicked Earl and struck him to the ground. He was heart and soul in the cause of the injured wife. And then the one thing on earth that was really dear to him was the Lady Anna. It had been the romance of his life. They had grown up together as playmates in Cumberland. He had fought scores of battles on her behalf with those who had denied that she was the Lady Anna,--even though he had then hated the title. Boys had jeered him because of his noble little sweetheart, and he had exulted at hearing her so called. His only sister and his mother had died when he was young, and there had been none in the house but his father and himself. As a boy he had ever been

knock

How many times the word 'knock' appears in the text?

Anstruther's sister." Mr. Penzance, replacing his own hat, looked after her with surprised pleasure. "Really," he exclaimed, "Miss Vanderpoel! What a fine girl! How unusually handsome!" Selden turned with a gasp of delighted, amazed recognition. "Miss Vanderpoel," he burst forth, "Reuben Vanderpoel's daughter! The one that's over here visiting her sister. Is it that one--sure?" "Yes," from Mount Dunstan without fervour. "Lady Anstruthers lives at Stornham, about six miles from here." "Gee," with feverish regret. "If her father was there, and I could get next to him, my fortune would be made." "Should you," ventured Penzance politely, "endeavour to sell him a typewriter?" "A typewriter! Holy smoke! I'd try to sell him ten thousand. A fellow like that syndicates the world. If I could get next to him----" and he mounted his bicycle with a laugh. "Get next," murmured Penzance. "Get on the good side of him," Mount Dunstan murmured in reply. "So long, gentlemen, good-bye, and thank you again," called G. Selden as he wheeled off, and was carried soundlessly down the golden road. CHAPTER XXIV THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF STORNHAM The satin-skinned chestnut was one of the new horses now standing in the Stornham stables. There were several of them--a pair for the landau, saddle horses, smart young cobs for phaeton or dog cart, a pony for Ughtred--the animals necessary at such a place at Stornham. The stables themselves had been quickly put in order, grooms and stable boys kept them as they had not been kept for years. The men learned in a week's time that their work could not be done too well. There were new carriages as well as horses. They had come from London after Lady Anstruthers and her sister returned from town. The horses had been brought down by their grooms--immensely looked after, blanketed, hooded, and altogether cared for as if they were visiting dukes and duchesses. They were all fine, handsome, carefully chosen creatures. When they danced and sidled through the village on their way to the Court, they created a sensation. Whosoever had chosen them had known his business. The older vehicles had been repaired in the village by Tread, and did him credit. Fox had also done his work well. Plenty more of it had come into their work-shops. Tools to be used on the estate, garden implements, wheelbarrows, lawn rollers, things needed about the house, stables, and cottages, were to be attended to. The church roof was being repaired. Taking all these things and the "doing up" of the Court itself, there was more work than the village could manage, and carpenters, bricklayers, and decorators were necessarily brought from other places. Still Joe Buttle and Sim Soames were allowed to lead in all such things as lay within their capabilities. It was they who made such a splendid job of the entrance gates and the lodges. It was astonishing how much was done, and how the sense of life in the air--the work of resulting prosperity, made men begin to tread with less listless steps as they went to and from their labour. In the cottages things were being done which made downcast women bestir themselves and look less slatternly. Leaks mended here, windows there, the hopeless copper in the tiny washhouse replaced by a new one, chimneys cured of the habit of smoking, a clean, flowered paper put on a wall, a coat of whitewash--they were small matters, but produced great effect. Betty had begun to drop into the cottages, and make the acquaintance of their owners. Her first visits, she observed, created great consternation. Women looked frightened or sullen, children stared and refused to speak, clinging to skirts and aprons. She found the atmosphere clear after her second visit. The women began to talk, and the children collected in groups and listened with cheerful grins. She could pick up little Jane's kitten, or give a pat to small Thomas' mongrel dog, in a manner which threw down barriers. "Don't put out your pipe," she said to old Grandfather Doby, rising totteringly respectful from his chimney-side chair. "You have only just lighted it. You mustn't waste a whole pipeful of tobacco because I have come in." The old man, grown childish with age, tittered and shuffled and giggled. Such a joke as the grand young lady was having with him. She saw he had only just lighted his pipe. The gentry joked a bit sometimes. But he was afraid of his grandson's wife, who was frowning and shaking her head. Betty went to him, and put her hand on his arm. "Sit down," she said, "and I will sit by you." And she sat down and showed him that she had brought a package of tobacco with her, and actually a wonder of a red and yellow jar to hold it, at the sight of which unheard-of joys his rapture was so great that his trembling hands could scarcely clasp his treasures. "Tee-hee! Tee-hee-ee! Deary me! Thankee--thankee, my lady," he tittered, and he gazed and blinked at her beauty through heavenly tears. "Nearly a hundred years old, and he has lived on sixteen shillings a week all his life, and earned it by working every hour between sunrise and sunset," Betty said to her sister, when she went home. "A man has one life, and his has passed like that. It is done now, and all the years and work have left nothing in his old hands but his pipe. That's all. I should not like to put it out for him. Who am I that I can buy him a new one, and keep it filled for him until the end? How did it happen? No," suddenly, "I must not lose time in asking myself that. I must get the new pipe." She did it--a pipe of great magnificence--such as drew to the Doby cottage as many callers as the village could provide, each coming with fevered interest, to look at it--to be allowed to hold and examine it for a few moments, guessing at its probable enormous cost, and returning it reverently, to gaze at Doby with respect--the increase of which can be imagined when it was known that he was not only possessor of the pipe, but of an assurance that he would be supplied with as much tobacco as he could use, to the end of his days. From the time of the advent of the pipe, Grandfather Doby became a man of mark, and his life in the chimney corner a changed thing. A man who owns splendours and unlimited, excellent shag may like friends to drop in and crack jokes--and even smoke a pipe with him--a common pipe, which, however, is not amiss when excellent shag comes free. "He lives in a wild whirl of gaiety--a social vortex," said Betty to Lady Anstruthers, after one of her visits. "He is actually rejuvenated. I must order some new white smocks for him to receive his visitors in. Someone brought him an old copy of the Illustrated London News last night. We will send him illustrated papers every week." In the dull old brain, God knows what spark of life had been relighted. Young Mrs. Doby related with chuckles that granddad had begged that his chair might be dragged to the window, that he might sit and watch the village street. Sitting there, day after day, he smoked and looked at his pictures, and dozed and dreamed, his pipe and tobacco jar beside him on the window ledge. At any sound of wheels or footsteps his face lighted, and if, by chance, he caught a glimpse of Betty, he tottered to his feet, and stood hurriedly touching his bald forehead with a reverent, palsied hand. "'Tis 'urr," he would say, enrapt. "I seen 'urr--I did." And young Mrs. Doby knew that this was his joy, and what he waited for as one waits for the coming of the sun. "'Tis 'urr! 'Tis 'urr!" The vicar's wife, Mrs. Brent, who since the affair of John Wilson's fire had dropped into the background and felt it indiscreet to present tales of distress at the Court, began to recover her courage. Her perfunctory visits assumed a new character. The vicarage had, of course, called promptly upon Miss Vanderpoel, after her arrival. Mrs. Brent admired Miss Vanderpoel hugely. "You seem so unlike an American," she said once in her most tactful, ingratiating manner--which was very ingratiating indeed. "Do I? What is one like when one is like an American? I am one, you know." "I can scarcely believe it," with sweet ardour. "Pray try," said Betty with simple brevity, and Mrs. Brent felt that perhaps Miss Vanderpoel was not really very easy to get on with. "She meant to imply that I did not speak through my nose, and talk too much, and too vivaciously, in a shrill voice," Betty said afterwards, in talking the interview over with Rosy. "I like to convince myself that is not one's sole national characteristic. Also it was not exactly Mrs. Brent's place to kindly encourage me with the information that I do not seem to belong to my own country." Lady Anstruthers laughed, and Betty looked at her inquiringly. "You said that just like--just like an Englishwoman." "Did I?" said Betty. Mrs. Brent had come to talk to her because she did not wish to trouble dear Lady Anstruthers. Lady Anstruthers already looked much stronger, but she had been delicate so long that one hesitated to distress her with village matters. She did not add that she realised that she was coming to headquarters. The vicar and herself were much disturbed about a rather tiresome old woman--old Mrs. Welden--who lived in a tiny cottage in the village. She was eighty-three years old, and a respectable old person--a widow, who had reared ten children. The children had all grown up, and scattered, and old Mrs. Welden had nothing whatever to live on. No one knew how she lived, and really she would be better off in the workhouse. She could be sent to Brexley Union, and comfortably taken care of, but she had that singular, obstinate dislike to going, which it was so difficult to manage. She had asked for a shilling a week from the parish, but that could not be allowed her, as it would merely uphold her in her obstinate intention of remaining in her cottage, and taking care of herself--which she could not do. Betty gathered that the shilling a week would be a drain on the parish funds, and would so raise the old creature to affluence that she would feel she could defy fate. And the contumacity of old men and women should not be strengthened by the reckless bestowal of shillings. Knowing that Miss Vanderpoel had already gained influence among the village people, Mrs. Brent said, she had come to ask her if she would see old Mrs. Welden and argue with her in such a manner as would convince her that the workhouse was the best place for her. It was, of course, so much pleasanter if these old people could be induced to go to Brexley willingly. "Shall I be undermining the whole Political Economy of Stornham if I take care of her myself?" suggested Betty. "You--you will lead others to expect the same thing will be done for them." "When one has resources to draw on," Miss Vanderpoel commented, "in the case of a woman who has lived eighty-three years and brought up ten children until they were old and strong enough to leave her to take care of herself, it is difficult for the weak of mind to apply the laws of Political Economics. I will go and see old Mrs. Welden." If the Vanderpoels would provide for all the obstinate old men and women in the parish, the Political Economics of Stornham would proffer no marked objections. "A good many Americans," Mrs. Brent reflected, "seemed to have those odd, lavish ways," as witness Lady Anstruthers herself, on her first introduction to village life. Miss Vanderpoel was evidently a much stronger character, and extremely clever, and somehow the stream of the American fortune was at last being directed towards Stornham--which, of course, should have happened long ago. A good deal was "being done," and the whole situation looked more promising. So was the matter discussed and summed up, the same evening after dinner, at the vicarage. Betty found old Mrs. Welden's cottage. It was in a green lane, turning from the village street--which was almost a green lane itself. A tiny hedged-in front garden was before the cottage door. A crazy-looking wicket gate was in the hedge, and a fuschia bush and a few old roses were in the few yards of garden. There were actually two or three geraniums in the window, showing cheerful scarlet between the short, white dimity curtains. "A house this size and of this poverty in an American village," was Betty's thought, "would be a bare and straggling hideousness, with old tomato cans in the front yard. Here is one of the things we have to learn from them." When she knocked at the door an old woman opened it. She was a well-preserved and markedly respectable old person, in a decent print frock and a cap. At the sight of her visitor she beamed and made a suggestion of curtsey. "How do you do, Mrs. Welden?" said Betty. "I am Lady Anstruthers' sister, Miss Vanderpoel. I thought I would like to come and see you." "Thank you, miss, I am obliged for the kindness, miss. Won't you come in and have a chair?" There were no signs of decrepitude about her, and she had a cheery old eye. The tiny front room was neat, though there was scarcely space enough in it to contain the table covered with its blue-checked cotton cloth, the narrow sofa, and two or three chairs. There were a few small coloured prints, and a framed photograph or so on the walls, and on the table was a Bible, and a brown earthenware teapot, and a plate. "Tom Wood's wife, that's neighbour next door to me," she said, "gave me a pinch o' tea--an' I've just been 'avin it. Tom Woods, miss, 'as just been took on by Muster Kedgers as one of the new under gardeners at the Court." Betty found her delightful. She made no complaints, and was evidently pleased with the excitement of receiving a visitor. The truth was, that in common with every other old woman, she had secretly aspired to being visited some day by the amazing young lady from "Meriker." Betty had yet to learn of the heartburnings which may be occasioned by an unconscious favouritism. She was not aware that when she dropped in to talk to old Doby, his neighbour, old Megworth, peered from behind his curtains, with the dew of envy in his rheumy eyes. "S'ems," he mumbled, "as if they wasn't nobody now in Stornham village but Gaarge Doby--s'ems not." They were very fierce in their jealousy of attention, and one must beware of rousing evil passions in the octogenarian breast. The young lady from "Meriker" had not so far had time to make a call at any cottage in old Mrs. Welden's lane--and she had knocked just at old Mrs. Welden's door. This was enough to put in good spirits even a less cheery old person. At first Betty wondered how she could with delicacy ask personal questions. A few minutes' conversation, however, showed her that the personal affairs of Sir Nigel's tenants were also the affairs of not only himself, but of such of his relatives as attended to their natural duty. Her presence in the cottage, and her interest in Mrs. Welden's ready flow of simple talk, were desirable and proper compliments to the old woman herself. She was a decent and self-respecting old person, but in her mind there was no faintest glimmer of resentment of questions concerning rent and food and the needs of her simple, hard-driven existence. She had answered such questions on many occasions, when they had not been asked in the manner in which her ladyship's sister asked them. Mrs. Brent had scolded her and "poked about" her cottage, going into her tiny "wash 'us," and up into her infinitesimal bedroom under the slanting roof, to see that they were kept clean. Miss Vanderpoel showed no disposition to "poke." She sat and listened, and made an inquiry here and there, in a nice voice and with a smile in her eyes. There was some pleasure in relating the whole history of your eighty-three years to a young lady who listened as if she wanted to hear it. So old Mrs. Welden prattled on. About her good days, when she was young, and was kitchenmaid at the parsonage in a village twenty miles away; about her marriage with a young farm labourer; about his "steady" habits, and the comfort they had together, in spite of the yearly arrival of a new baby, and the crowding of the bit of a cottage his master allowed them. Ten of 'em, and it had been "up before sunrise, and a good bit of hard work to keep them all fed and clean." But she had not minded that until Jack died quite sudden after a sunstroke. It was odd how much colour her rustic phraseology held. She made Betty see it all. The apparent natural inevitableness of their being turned out of the cottage, because another man must have it; the years during which she worked her way while the ten were growing up, having measles, and chicken pox, and scarlet fever, one dying here and there, dropping out quite in the natural order of things, and being buried by the parish in corners of the ancient church yard. Three of them "was took" by scarlet fever, then one of a "decline," then one or two by other illnesses. Only four reached man and womanhood. One had gone to Australia, but he never was one to write, and after a year or two, Betty gathered, he had seemed to melt away into the great distance. Two girls had married, and Mrs. Welden could not say they had been "comf'able." They could barely feed themselves and their swarms of children. The other son had never been steady like his father. He had at last gone to London, and London had swallowed him up. Betty was struck by the fact that she did not seem to feel that the mother of ten might have expected some return for her labours, at eighty-three. Her unresentful acceptance of things was at once significant and moving. Betty found her amazing. What she lived on it was not easy to understand. She seemed rather like a cheerful old bird, getting up each unprovided-for morning, and picking up her sustenance where she found it. "There's more in the sayin' 'the Lord pervides' than a good many thinks," she said with a small chuckle, marked more by a genial and comfortable sense of humour than by an air of meritoriously quoting the vicar. "He DO." She paid one and threepence a week in rent for her cottage, and this was the most serious drain upon her resources. She apparently could live without food or fire, but the rent must be paid. "An' I do get a bit be'ind sometimes," she confessed apologetically, "an' then it's a trouble to get straight." Her cottage was one of a short row, and she did odd jobs for the women who were her neighbours. There were always babies to be looked after, and "bits of 'elp" needed, sometimes there were "movings" from one cottage to another, and "confinements" were plainly at once exhilarating and enriching. Her temperamental good cheer, combined with her experience, made her a desirable companion and assistant. She was engagingly frank. "When they're new to it, an' a bit frightened, I just give 'em a cup of 'ot tea, an' joke with 'em to cheer 'em up," she said. "I says to Charles Jenkins' wife, as lives next door, 'come now, me girl, it's been goin' on since Adam an' Eve, an' there's a good many of us left, isn't there?' An' a fine boy it was, too, miss, an' 'er up an' about before 'er month." She was paid in sixpences and spare shillings, and in cups of tea, or a fresh-baked loaf, or screws of sugar, or even in a garment not yet worn beyond repair. And she was free to run in and out, and grow a flower or so in her garden, and talk with a neighbour over the low dividing hedge. "They want me to go into the 'Ouse,'" reaching the dangerous subject at last. "They say I'll be took care of an' looked after. But I don't want to do it, miss. I want to keep my bit of a 'ome if I can, an' be free to come an' go. I'm eighty-three, an' it won't be long. I 'ad a shilling a week from the parish, but they stopped it because they said I ought to go into the 'Ouse.'" She looked at Betty with a momentarily anxious smile. "P'raps you don't quite understand, miss," she said. "It'll seem like nothin' to you--a place like this." "It doesn't," Betty answered, smiling bravely back into the old eyes, though she felt a slight fulness of the throat. "I understand all about it." It is possible that old Mrs. Welden was a little taken aback by an attitude which, satisfactory to her own prejudices though it might be, was, taken in connection with fixed customs, a trifle unnatural. "You don't mind me not wantin' to go?" she said. "No," was the answer, "not at all." Betty began to ask questions. How much tea, sugar, soap, candles, bread, butter, bacon, could Mrs. Welden use in a week? It was not very easy to find out the exact quantities, as Mrs. Welden's estimates of such things had been based, during her entire existence, upon calculation as to how little, not how much she could use. When Betty suggested a pound of tea, a half pound--the old woman smiled at the innocent ignorance the suggestion of such reckless profusion implied. "Oh, no! Bless you, miss, no! I couldn't never do away with it. A quarter, miss--that'd be plenty--a quarter." Mrs. Welden's idea of "the best," was that at two shillings a pound. Quarter of a pound would cost sixpence (twelve cents, thought Betty). A pound of sugar would be twopence, Mrs. Welden would use half a pound (the riotous extravagance of two cents). Half a pound of butter, "Good tub butter, miss," would be ten pence three farthings a pound. Soap, candles, bacon, bread, coal, wood, in the quantities required by Mrs. Welden, might, with the addition of rent, amount to the dizzying height of eight or ten shillings. "With careful extravagance," Betty mentally summed up, "I might spend almost two dollars a week in surrounding her with a riot of luxury." She made a list of the things, and added some extras as an idea of her own. Life had not afforded her this kind of thing before, she realised. She felt for the first time the joy of reckless extravagance, and thrilled with the excitement of it. "You need not think of Brexley Union any more," she said, when she, having risen to go, stood at the cottage door with old Mrs. Welden. "The things I have written down here shall be sent to you every Saturday night. I will pay your rent." "Miss--miss!" Mrs. Welden looked affrighted. "It's too much, miss. An' coals eighteen pence a hundred!" "Never mind," said her ladyship's sister, and the old woman, looking up into her eyes, found there the colour Mount Dunstan had thought of as being that of bluebells under water. "I think we can manage it, Mrs. Welden. Keep yourself as warm as you like, and sometime I will come and have a cup of tea with you and see if the tea is good." "Oh! Deary me!" said Mrs. Welden. "I can't think what to say, miss. It lifts everythin'--everythin'. It's not to be believed. It's like bein' left a fortune." When the wicket gate swung to and the young lady went up the lane, the old woman stood staring after her. And here was a piece of news to run into Charley Jenkins' cottage and tell--and what woman or man in the row would quite believe it? CHAPTER XXV "WE BEGAN TO MARRY THEM, MY GOOD FELLOW!" Lord Dunholm and his eldest son, Lord Westholt, sauntered together smoking their after-dinner cigars on the broad-turfed terrace overlooking park and gardens which seemed to sweep without boundary line into the purplish land beyond. The grey mass of the castle stood clear-cut against the blue of a sky whose twilight was still almost daylight, though in the purity of its evening stillness a star already hung, here and there, and a young moon swung low. The great spaces about them held a silence whose exquisite entirety was marked at intervals by the distant bark of a shepherd dog driving his master's sheep to the fold, their soft, intermittent plaints--the mother ewes' mellow answering to the tender, fretful lambs--floated on the air, a lovely part of the ending day's repose. Where two who are friends stroll together at such hours, the great beauty makes for silence or for thoughtful talk. These two men--father and son--were friends and intimates, and had been so from Westholt's first memory of the time when his childish individuality began to detach itself from the background of misty and indistinct things. They had liked each other, and their liking and intimacy had increased with the onward moving and change of years. After sixty sane and decently spent active years of life, Lord Dunholm, in either country tweed or evening dress, was a well-built and handsome man; at thirty-three his son was still like him. "Have you seen her?" he was saying. "Only at a distance. She was driving Lady Anstruthers across the marshes in a cart. She drove well and----" he laughed as he flicked the ash from his cigar--"the back of her head and shoulders looked handsome." "The American young woman is at present a factor which is without doubt to be counted with," Lord Dunholm put the matter without lightness. "Any young woman is a factor, but the American young woman just now--just now----" He paused a moment as though considering. "It did not seem at all necessary to count with them at first, when they began to appear among us. They were generally curiously exotic, funny little creatures with odd manners and voices. They were often most amusing, and one liked to hear them chatter and see the airy lightness with which they took superfluous, and sometimes unsuperfluous, conventions, as a hunter takes a five-barred gate. But it never occurred to us to marry them. We did not take them seriously enough. But we began to marry them--we began to marry them, my good fellow!" The final words broke forth with such a suggestion of sudden anxiety that, in spite of himself, Westholt laughed involuntarily, and his father, turning to look at him, laughed also. But he recovered his seriousness. "It was all rather a muddle at first," he went on. "Things were not fairly done, and certain bad lots looked on it as a paying scheme on the one side, while it was a matter of silly, little ambitions on the other. But that it is an extraordinary country there is no sane denying--huge, fabulously resourceful in every way--area, variety of climate, wealth of minerals, products of all sorts, soil to grow anything, and sun and rain enough to give each thing what it needs; last, or rather first, a people who, considered as a nation, are in the riot of youth, and who began by being English--which we Englishmen have an innocent belief is the one method of 'owning the earth.' That figure of speech is an Americanism I carefully committed to memory. Well, after all, look at the map--look at the map! There we are." They had frequently discussed together the question of the development of international relations. Lord Dunholm, a man of far-reaching and clear logic, had realised that the oddly unaccentuated growth of intercourse between the two countries might be a subject to be reflected on without lightness. "The habit we have of regarding America and Americans as rather a joke," he had once said, "has a sort of parallel in the condescendingly amiable amusement of a parent at the precocity or whimsicalness of a child. But the child is shooting up amazingly--amazingly. In a way which suggests divers possibilities." The exchange of visits between Dunholm and Stornham had been rare and formal. From the call made upon the younger Lady Anstruthers on her marriage, the Dunholms had returned with a sense of puzzled pity for the little American bride, with her wonderful frock and her uneasy, childish eyes. For some years Lady Anstruthers had been too delicate to make or return calls. One heard painful accounts of her apparent wretched ill-health and of the condition of her husband's estate. "As the relations between the two families have evidently been strained for years," Lord Dunholm said, "it is interesting to hear of the sudden advent of the sister. It seems to point to reconciliation. And you say the girl is an unusual person. "From what one hears, she would be unusual if she were an English girl who had spent her life on an English estate. That an American who is making her first visit to England should seem to see at once the practical needs of a neglected place is a thing to wonder at. What can she know about it, one

clinging

How many times the word 'clinging' appears in the text?

Anstruther's sister." Mr. Penzance, replacing his own hat, looked after her with surprised pleasure. "Really," he exclaimed, "Miss Vanderpoel! What a fine girl! How unusually handsome!" Selden turned with a gasp of delighted, amazed recognition. "Miss Vanderpoel," he burst forth, "Reuben Vanderpoel's daughter! The one that's over here visiting her sister. Is it that one--sure?" "Yes," from Mount Dunstan without fervour. "Lady Anstruthers lives at Stornham, about six miles from here." "Gee," with feverish regret. "If her father was there, and I could get next to him, my fortune would be made." "Should you," ventured Penzance politely, "endeavour to sell him a typewriter?" "A typewriter! Holy smoke! I'd try to sell him ten thousand. A fellow like that syndicates the world. If I could get next to him----" and he mounted his bicycle with a laugh. "Get next," murmured Penzance. "Get on the good side of him," Mount Dunstan murmured in reply. "So long, gentlemen, good-bye, and thank you again," called G. Selden as he wheeled off, and was carried soundlessly down the golden road. CHAPTER XXIV THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF STORNHAM The satin-skinned chestnut was one of the new horses now standing in the Stornham stables. There were several of them--a pair for the landau, saddle horses, smart young cobs for phaeton or dog cart, a pony for Ughtred--the animals necessary at such a place at Stornham. The stables themselves had been quickly put in order, grooms and stable boys kept them as they had not been kept for years. The men learned in a week's time that their work could not be done too well. There were new carriages as well as horses. They had come from London after Lady Anstruthers and her sister returned from town. The horses had been brought down by their grooms--immensely looked after, blanketed, hooded, and altogether cared for as if they were visiting dukes and duchesses. They were all fine, handsome, carefully chosen creatures. When they danced and sidled through the village on their way to the Court, they created a sensation. Whosoever had chosen them had known his business. The older vehicles had been repaired in the village by Tread, and did him credit. Fox had also done his work well. Plenty more of it had come into their work-shops. Tools to be used on the estate, garden implements, wheelbarrows, lawn rollers, things needed about the house, stables, and cottages, were to be attended to. The church roof was being repaired. Taking all these things and the "doing up" of the Court itself, there was more work than the village could manage, and carpenters, bricklayers, and decorators were necessarily brought from other places. Still Joe Buttle and Sim Soames were allowed to lead in all such things as lay within their capabilities. It was they who made such a splendid job of the entrance gates and the lodges. It was astonishing how much was done, and how the sense of life in the air--the work of resulting prosperity, made men begin to tread with less listless steps as they went to and from their labour. In the cottages things were being done which made downcast women bestir themselves and look less slatternly. Leaks mended here, windows there, the hopeless copper in the tiny washhouse replaced by a new one, chimneys cured of the habit of smoking, a clean, flowered paper put on a wall, a coat of whitewash--they were small matters, but produced great effect. Betty had begun to drop into the cottages, and make the acquaintance of their owners. Her first visits, she observed, created great consternation. Women looked frightened or sullen, children stared and refused to speak, clinging to skirts and aprons. She found the atmosphere clear after her second visit. The women began to talk, and the children collected in groups and listened with cheerful grins. She could pick up little Jane's kitten, or give a pat to small Thomas' mongrel dog, in a manner which threw down barriers. "Don't put out your pipe," she said to old Grandfather Doby, rising totteringly respectful from his chimney-side chair. "You have only just lighted it. You mustn't waste a whole pipeful of tobacco because I have come in." The old man, grown childish with age, tittered and shuffled and giggled. Such a joke as the grand young lady was having with him. She saw he had only just lighted his pipe. The gentry joked a bit sometimes. But he was afraid of his grandson's wife, who was frowning and shaking her head. Betty went to him, and put her hand on his arm. "Sit down," she said, "and I will sit by you." And she sat down and showed him that she had brought a package of tobacco with her, and actually a wonder of a red and yellow jar to hold it, at the sight of which unheard-of joys his rapture was so great that his trembling hands could scarcely clasp his treasures. "Tee-hee! Tee-hee-ee! Deary me! Thankee--thankee, my lady," he tittered, and he gazed and blinked at her beauty through heavenly tears. "Nearly a hundred years old, and he has lived on sixteen shillings a week all his life, and earned it by working every hour between sunrise and sunset," Betty said to her sister, when she went home. "A man has one life, and his has passed like that. It is done now, and all the years and work have left nothing in his old hands but his pipe. That's all. I should not like to put it out for him. Who am I that I can buy him a new one, and keep it filled for him until the end? How did it happen? No," suddenly, "I must not lose time in asking myself that. I must get the new pipe." She did it--a pipe of great magnificence--such as drew to the Doby cottage as many callers as the village could provide, each coming with fevered interest, to look at it--to be allowed to hold and examine it for a few moments, guessing at its probable enormous cost, and returning it reverently, to gaze at Doby with respect--the increase of which can be imagined when it was known that he was not only possessor of the pipe, but of an assurance that he would be supplied with as much tobacco as he could use, to the end of his days. From the time of the advent of the pipe, Grandfather Doby became a man of mark, and his life in the chimney corner a changed thing. A man who owns splendours and unlimited, excellent shag may like friends to drop in and crack jokes--and even smoke a pipe with him--a common pipe, which, however, is not amiss when excellent shag comes free. "He lives in a wild whirl of gaiety--a social vortex," said Betty to Lady Anstruthers, after one of her visits. "He is actually rejuvenated. I must order some new white smocks for him to receive his visitors in. Someone brought him an old copy of the Illustrated London News last night. We will send him illustrated papers every week." In the dull old brain, God knows what spark of life had been relighted. Young Mrs. Doby related with chuckles that granddad had begged that his chair might be dragged to the window, that he might sit and watch the village street. Sitting there, day after day, he smoked and looked at his pictures, and dozed and dreamed, his pipe and tobacco jar beside him on the window ledge. At any sound of wheels or footsteps his face lighted, and if, by chance, he caught a glimpse of Betty, he tottered to his feet, and stood hurriedly touching his bald forehead with a reverent, palsied hand. "'Tis 'urr," he would say, enrapt. "I seen 'urr--I did." And young Mrs. Doby knew that this was his joy, and what he waited for as one waits for the coming of the sun. "'Tis 'urr! 'Tis 'urr!" The vicar's wife, Mrs. Brent, who since the affair of John Wilson's fire had dropped into the background and felt it indiscreet to present tales of distress at the Court, began to recover her courage. Her perfunctory visits assumed a new character. The vicarage had, of course, called promptly upon Miss Vanderpoel, after her arrival. Mrs. Brent admired Miss Vanderpoel hugely. "You seem so unlike an American," she said once in her most tactful, ingratiating manner--which was very ingratiating indeed. "Do I? What is one like when one is like an American? I am one, you know." "I can scarcely believe it," with sweet ardour. "Pray try," said Betty with simple brevity, and Mrs. Brent felt that perhaps Miss Vanderpoel was not really very easy to get on with. "She meant to imply that I did not speak through my nose, and talk too much, and too vivaciously, in a shrill voice," Betty said afterwards, in talking the interview over with Rosy. "I like to convince myself that is not one's sole national characteristic. Also it was not exactly Mrs. Brent's place to kindly encourage me with the information that I do not seem to belong to my own country." Lady Anstruthers laughed, and Betty looked at her inquiringly. "You said that just like--just like an Englishwoman." "Did I?" said Betty. Mrs. Brent had come to talk to her because she did not wish to trouble dear Lady Anstruthers. Lady Anstruthers already looked much stronger, but she had been delicate so long that one hesitated to distress her with village matters. She did not add that she realised that she was coming to headquarters. The vicar and herself were much disturbed about a rather tiresome old woman--old Mrs. Welden--who lived in a tiny cottage in the village. She was eighty-three years old, and a respectable old person--a widow, who had reared ten children. The children had all grown up, and scattered, and old Mrs. Welden had nothing whatever to live on. No one knew how she lived, and really she would be better off in the workhouse. She could be sent to Brexley Union, and comfortably taken care of, but she had that singular, obstinate dislike to going, which it was so difficult to manage. She had asked for a shilling a week from the parish, but that could not be allowed her, as it would merely uphold her in her obstinate intention of remaining in her cottage, and taking care of herself--which she could not do. Betty gathered that the shilling a week would be a drain on the parish funds, and would so raise the old creature to affluence that she would feel she could defy fate. And the contumacity of old men and women should not be strengthened by the reckless bestowal of shillings. Knowing that Miss Vanderpoel had already gained influence among the village people, Mrs. Brent said, she had come to ask her if she would see old Mrs. Welden and argue with her in such a manner as would convince her that the workhouse was the best place for her. It was, of course, so much pleasanter if these old people could be induced to go to Brexley willingly. "Shall I be undermining the whole Political Economy of Stornham if I take care of her myself?" suggested Betty. "You--you will lead others to expect the same thing will be done for them." "When one has resources to draw on," Miss Vanderpoel commented, "in the case of a woman who has lived eighty-three years and brought up ten children until they were old and strong enough to leave her to take care of herself, it is difficult for the weak of mind to apply the laws of Political Economics. I will go and see old Mrs. Welden." If the Vanderpoels would provide for all the obstinate old men and women in the parish, the Political Economics of Stornham would proffer no marked objections. "A good many Americans," Mrs. Brent reflected, "seemed to have those odd, lavish ways," as witness Lady Anstruthers herself, on her first introduction to village life. Miss Vanderpoel was evidently a much stronger character, and extremely clever, and somehow the stream of the American fortune was at last being directed towards Stornham--which, of course, should have happened long ago. A good deal was "being done," and the whole situation looked more promising. So was the matter discussed and summed up, the same evening after dinner, at the vicarage. Betty found old Mrs. Welden's cottage. It was in a green lane, turning from the village street--which was almost a green lane itself. A tiny hedged-in front garden was before the cottage door. A crazy-looking wicket gate was in the hedge, and a fuschia bush and a few old roses were in the few yards of garden. There were actually two or three geraniums in the window, showing cheerful scarlet between the short, white dimity curtains. "A house this size and of this poverty in an American village," was Betty's thought, "would be a bare and straggling hideousness, with old tomato cans in the front yard. Here is one of the things we have to learn from them." When she knocked at the door an old woman opened it. She was a well-preserved and markedly respectable old person, in a decent print frock and a cap. At the sight of her visitor she beamed and made a suggestion of curtsey. "How do you do, Mrs. Welden?" said Betty. "I am Lady Anstruthers' sister, Miss Vanderpoel. I thought I would like to come and see you." "Thank you, miss, I am obliged for the kindness, miss. Won't you come in and have a chair?" There were no signs of decrepitude about her, and she had a cheery old eye. The tiny front room was neat, though there was scarcely space enough in it to contain the table covered with its blue-checked cotton cloth, the narrow sofa, and two or three chairs. There were a few small coloured prints, and a framed photograph or so on the walls, and on the table was a Bible, and a brown earthenware teapot, and a plate. "Tom Wood's wife, that's neighbour next door to me," she said, "gave me a pinch o' tea--an' I've just been 'avin it. Tom Woods, miss, 'as just been took on by Muster Kedgers as one of the new under gardeners at the Court." Betty found her delightful. She made no complaints, and was evidently pleased with the excitement of receiving a visitor. The truth was, that in common with every other old woman, she had secretly aspired to being visited some day by the amazing young lady from "Meriker." Betty had yet to learn of the heartburnings which may be occasioned by an unconscious favouritism. She was not aware that when she dropped in to talk to old Doby, his neighbour, old Megworth, peered from behind his curtains, with the dew of envy in his rheumy eyes. "S'ems," he mumbled, "as if they wasn't nobody now in Stornham village but Gaarge Doby--s'ems not." They were very fierce in their jealousy of attention, and one must beware of rousing evil passions in the octogenarian breast. The young lady from "Meriker" had not so far had time to make a call at any cottage in old Mrs. Welden's lane--and she had knocked just at old Mrs. Welden's door. This was enough to put in good spirits even a less cheery old person. At first Betty wondered how she could with delicacy ask personal questions. A few minutes' conversation, however, showed her that the personal affairs of Sir Nigel's tenants were also the affairs of not only himself, but of such of his relatives as attended to their natural duty. Her presence in the cottage, and her interest in Mrs. Welden's ready flow of simple talk, were desirable and proper compliments to the old woman herself. She was a decent and self-respecting old person, but in her mind there was no faintest glimmer of resentment of questions concerning rent and food and the needs of her simple, hard-driven existence. She had answered such questions on many occasions, when they had not been asked in the manner in which her ladyship's sister asked them. Mrs. Brent had scolded her and "poked about" her cottage, going into her tiny "wash 'us," and up into her infinitesimal bedroom under the slanting roof, to see that they were kept clean. Miss Vanderpoel showed no disposition to "poke." She sat and listened, and made an inquiry here and there, in a nice voice and with a smile in her eyes. There was some pleasure in relating the whole history of your eighty-three years to a young lady who listened as if she wanted to hear it. So old Mrs. Welden prattled on. About her good days, when she was young, and was kitchenmaid at the parsonage in a village twenty miles away; about her marriage with a young farm labourer; about his "steady" habits, and the comfort they had together, in spite of the yearly arrival of a new baby, and the crowding of the bit of a cottage his master allowed them. Ten of 'em, and it had been "up before sunrise, and a good bit of hard work to keep them all fed and clean." But she had not minded that until Jack died quite sudden after a sunstroke. It was odd how much colour her rustic phraseology held. She made Betty see it all. The apparent natural inevitableness of their being turned out of the cottage, because another man must have it; the years during which she worked her way while the ten were growing up, having measles, and chicken pox, and scarlet fever, one dying here and there, dropping out quite in the natural order of things, and being buried by the parish in corners of the ancient church yard. Three of them "was took" by scarlet fever, then one of a "decline," then one or two by other illnesses. Only four reached man and womanhood. One had gone to Australia, but he never was one to write, and after a year or two, Betty gathered, he had seemed to melt away into the great distance. Two girls had married, and Mrs. Welden could not say they had been "comf'able." They could barely feed themselves and their swarms of children. The other son had never been steady like his father. He had at last gone to London, and London had swallowed him up. Betty was struck by the fact that she did not seem to feel that the mother of ten might have expected some return for her labours, at eighty-three. Her unresentful acceptance of things was at once significant and moving. Betty found her amazing. What she lived on it was not easy to understand. She seemed rather like a cheerful old bird, getting up each unprovided-for morning, and picking up her sustenance where she found it. "There's more in the sayin' 'the Lord pervides' than a good many thinks," she said with a small chuckle, marked more by a genial and comfortable sense of humour than by an air of meritoriously quoting the vicar. "He DO." She paid one and threepence a week in rent for her cottage, and this was the most serious drain upon her resources. She apparently could live without food or fire, but the rent must be paid. "An' I do get a bit be'ind sometimes," she confessed apologetically, "an' then it's a trouble to get straight." Her cottage was one of a short row, and she did odd jobs for the women who were her neighbours. There were always babies to be looked after, and "bits of 'elp" needed, sometimes there were "movings" from one cottage to another, and "confinements" were plainly at once exhilarating and enriching. Her temperamental good cheer, combined with her experience, made her a desirable companion and assistant. She was engagingly frank. "When they're new to it, an' a bit frightened, I just give 'em a cup of 'ot tea, an' joke with 'em to cheer 'em up," she said. "I says to Charles Jenkins' wife, as lives next door, 'come now, me girl, it's been goin' on since Adam an' Eve, an' there's a good many of us left, isn't there?' An' a fine boy it was, too, miss, an' 'er up an' about before 'er month." She was paid in sixpences and spare shillings, and in cups of tea, or a fresh-baked loaf, or screws of sugar, or even in a garment not yet worn beyond repair. And she was free to run in and out, and grow a flower or so in her garden, and talk with a neighbour over the low dividing hedge. "They want me to go into the 'Ouse,'" reaching the dangerous subject at last. "They say I'll be took care of an' looked after. But I don't want to do it, miss. I want to keep my bit of a 'ome if I can, an' be free to come an' go. I'm eighty-three, an' it won't be long. I 'ad a shilling a week from the parish, but they stopped it because they said I ought to go into the 'Ouse.'" She looked at Betty with a momentarily anxious smile. "P'raps you don't quite understand, miss," she said. "It'll seem like nothin' to you--a place like this." "It doesn't," Betty answered, smiling bravely back into the old eyes, though she felt a slight fulness of the throat. "I understand all about it." It is possible that old Mrs. Welden was a little taken aback by an attitude which, satisfactory to her own prejudices though it might be, was, taken in connection with fixed customs, a trifle unnatural. "You don't mind me not wantin' to go?" she said. "No," was the answer, "not at all." Betty began to ask questions. How much tea, sugar, soap, candles, bread, butter, bacon, could Mrs. Welden use in a week? It was not very easy to find out the exact quantities, as Mrs. Welden's estimates of such things had been based, during her entire existence, upon calculation as to how little, not how much she could use. When Betty suggested a pound of tea, a half pound--the old woman smiled at the innocent ignorance the suggestion of such reckless profusion implied. "Oh, no! Bless you, miss, no! I couldn't never do away with it. A quarter, miss--that'd be plenty--a quarter." Mrs. Welden's idea of "the best," was that at two shillings a pound. Quarter of a pound would cost sixpence (twelve cents, thought Betty). A pound of sugar would be twopence, Mrs. Welden would use half a pound (the riotous extravagance of two cents). Half a pound of butter, "Good tub butter, miss," would be ten pence three farthings a pound. Soap, candles, bacon, bread, coal, wood, in the quantities required by Mrs. Welden, might, with the addition of rent, amount to the dizzying height of eight or ten shillings. "With careful extravagance," Betty mentally summed up, "I might spend almost two dollars a week in surrounding her with a riot of luxury." She made a list of the things, and added some extras as an idea of her own. Life had not afforded her this kind of thing before, she realised. She felt for the first time the joy of reckless extravagance, and thrilled with the excitement of it. "You need not think of Brexley Union any more," she said, when she, having risen to go, stood at the cottage door with old Mrs. Welden. "The things I have written down here shall be sent to you every Saturday night. I will pay your rent." "Miss--miss!" Mrs. Welden looked affrighted. "It's too much, miss. An' coals eighteen pence a hundred!" "Never mind," said her ladyship's sister, and the old woman, looking up into her eyes, found there the colour Mount Dunstan had thought of as being that of bluebells under water. "I think we can manage it, Mrs. Welden. Keep yourself as warm as you like, and sometime I will come and have a cup of tea with you and see if the tea is good." "Oh! Deary me!" said Mrs. Welden. "I can't think what to say, miss. It lifts everythin'--everythin'. It's not to be believed. It's like bein' left a fortune." When the wicket gate swung to and the young lady went up the lane, the old woman stood staring after her. And here was a piece of news to run into Charley Jenkins' cottage and tell--and what woman or man in the row would quite believe it? CHAPTER XXV "WE BEGAN TO MARRY THEM, MY GOOD FELLOW!" Lord Dunholm and his eldest son, Lord Westholt, sauntered together smoking their after-dinner cigars on the broad-turfed terrace overlooking park and gardens which seemed to sweep without boundary line into the purplish land beyond. The grey mass of the castle stood clear-cut against the blue of a sky whose twilight was still almost daylight, though in the purity of its evening stillness a star already hung, here and there, and a young moon swung low. The great spaces about them held a silence whose exquisite entirety was marked at intervals by the distant bark of a shepherd dog driving his master's sheep to the fold, their soft, intermittent plaints--the mother ewes' mellow answering to the tender, fretful lambs--floated on the air, a lovely part of the ending day's repose. Where two who are friends stroll together at such hours, the great beauty makes for silence or for thoughtful talk. These two men--father and son--were friends and intimates, and had been so from Westholt's first memory of the time when his childish individuality began to detach itself from the background of misty and indistinct things. They had liked each other, and their liking and intimacy had increased with the onward moving and change of years. After sixty sane and decently spent active years of life, Lord Dunholm, in either country tweed or evening dress, was a well-built and handsome man; at thirty-three his son was still like him. "Have you seen her?" he was saying. "Only at a distance. She was driving Lady Anstruthers across the marshes in a cart. She drove well and----" he laughed as he flicked the ash from his cigar--"the back of her head and shoulders looked handsome." "The American young woman is at present a factor which is without doubt to be counted with," Lord Dunholm put the matter without lightness. "Any young woman is a factor, but the American young woman just now--just now----" He paused a moment as though considering. "It did not seem at all necessary to count with them at first, when they began to appear among us. They were generally curiously exotic, funny little creatures with odd manners and voices. They were often most amusing, and one liked to hear them chatter and see the airy lightness with which they took superfluous, and sometimes unsuperfluous, conventions, as a hunter takes a five-barred gate. But it never occurred to us to marry them. We did not take them seriously enough. But we began to marry them--we began to marry them, my good fellow!" The final words broke forth with such a suggestion of sudden anxiety that, in spite of himself, Westholt laughed involuntarily, and his father, turning to look at him, laughed also. But he recovered his seriousness. "It was all rather a muddle at first," he went on. "Things were not fairly done, and certain bad lots looked on it as a paying scheme on the one side, while it was a matter of silly, little ambitions on the other. But that it is an extraordinary country there is no sane denying--huge, fabulously resourceful in every way--area, variety of climate, wealth of minerals, products of all sorts, soil to grow anything, and sun and rain enough to give each thing what it needs; last, or rather first, a people who, considered as a nation, are in the riot of youth, and who began by being English--which we Englishmen have an innocent belief is the one method of 'owning the earth.' That figure of speech is an Americanism I carefully committed to memory. Well, after all, look at the map--look at the map! There we are." They had frequently discussed together the question of the development of international relations. Lord Dunholm, a man of far-reaching and clear logic, had realised that the oddly unaccentuated growth of intercourse between the two countries might be a subject to be reflected on without lightness. "The habit we have of regarding America and Americans as rather a joke," he had once said, "has a sort of parallel in the condescendingly amiable amusement of a parent at the precocity or whimsicalness of a child. But the child is shooting up amazingly--amazingly. In a way which suggests divers possibilities." The exchange of visits between Dunholm and Stornham had been rare and formal. From the call made upon the younger Lady Anstruthers on her marriage, the Dunholms had returned with a sense of puzzled pity for the little American bride, with her wonderful frock and her uneasy, childish eyes. For some years Lady Anstruthers had been too delicate to make or return calls. One heard painful accounts of her apparent wretched ill-health and of the condition of her husband's estate. "As the relations between the two families have evidently been strained for years," Lord Dunholm said, "it is interesting to hear of the sudden advent of the sister. It seems to point to reconciliation. And you say the girl is an unusual person. "From what one hears, she would be unusual if she were an English girl who had spent her life on an English estate. That an American who is making her first visit to England should seem to see at once the practical needs of a neglected place is a thing to wonder at. What can she know about it, one

stable

How many times the word 'stable' appears in the text?

Anstruther's sister." Mr. Penzance, replacing his own hat, looked after her with surprised pleasure. "Really," he exclaimed, "Miss Vanderpoel! What a fine girl! How unusually handsome!" Selden turned with a gasp of delighted, amazed recognition. "Miss Vanderpoel," he burst forth, "Reuben Vanderpoel's daughter! The one that's over here visiting her sister. Is it that one--sure?" "Yes," from Mount Dunstan without fervour. "Lady Anstruthers lives at Stornham, about six miles from here." "Gee," with feverish regret. "If her father was there, and I could get next to him, my fortune would be made." "Should you," ventured Penzance politely, "endeavour to sell him a typewriter?" "A typewriter! Holy smoke! I'd try to sell him ten thousand. A fellow like that syndicates the world. If I could get next to him----" and he mounted his bicycle with a laugh. "Get next," murmured Penzance. "Get on the good side of him," Mount Dunstan murmured in reply. "So long, gentlemen, good-bye, and thank you again," called G. Selden as he wheeled off, and was carried soundlessly down the golden road. CHAPTER XXIV THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF STORNHAM The satin-skinned chestnut was one of the new horses now standing in the Stornham stables. There were several of them--a pair for the landau, saddle horses, smart young cobs for phaeton or dog cart, a pony for Ughtred--the animals necessary at such a place at Stornham. The stables themselves had been quickly put in order, grooms and stable boys kept them as they had not been kept for years. The men learned in a week's time that their work could not be done too well. There were new carriages as well as horses. They had come from London after Lady Anstruthers and her sister returned from town. The horses had been brought down by their grooms--immensely looked after, blanketed, hooded, and altogether cared for as if they were visiting dukes and duchesses. They were all fine, handsome, carefully chosen creatures. When they danced and sidled through the village on their way to the Court, they created a sensation. Whosoever had chosen them had known his business. The older vehicles had been repaired in the village by Tread, and did him credit. Fox had also done his work well. Plenty more of it had come into their work-shops. Tools to be used on the estate, garden implements, wheelbarrows, lawn rollers, things needed about the house, stables, and cottages, were to be attended to. The church roof was being repaired. Taking all these things and the "doing up" of the Court itself, there was more work than the village could manage, and carpenters, bricklayers, and decorators were necessarily brought from other places. Still Joe Buttle and Sim Soames were allowed to lead in all such things as lay within their capabilities. It was they who made such a splendid job of the entrance gates and the lodges. It was astonishing how much was done, and how the sense of life in the air--the work of resulting prosperity, made men begin to tread with less listless steps as they went to and from their labour. In the cottages things were being done which made downcast women bestir themselves and look less slatternly. Leaks mended here, windows there, the hopeless copper in the tiny washhouse replaced by a new one, chimneys cured of the habit of smoking, a clean, flowered paper put on a wall, a coat of whitewash--they were small matters, but produced great effect. Betty had begun to drop into the cottages, and make the acquaintance of their owners. Her first visits, she observed, created great consternation. Women looked frightened or sullen, children stared and refused to speak, clinging to skirts and aprons. She found the atmosphere clear after her second visit. The women began to talk, and the children collected in groups and listened with cheerful grins. She could pick up little Jane's kitten, or give a pat to small Thomas' mongrel dog, in a manner which threw down barriers. "Don't put out your pipe," she said to old Grandfather Doby, rising totteringly respectful from his chimney-side chair. "You have only just lighted it. You mustn't waste a whole pipeful of tobacco because I have come in." The old man, grown childish with age, tittered and shuffled and giggled. Such a joke as the grand young lady was having with him. She saw he had only just lighted his pipe. The gentry joked a bit sometimes. But he was afraid of his grandson's wife, who was frowning and shaking her head. Betty went to him, and put her hand on his arm. "Sit down," she said, "and I will sit by you." And she sat down and showed him that she had brought a package of tobacco with her, and actually a wonder of a red and yellow jar to hold it, at the sight of which unheard-of joys his rapture was so great that his trembling hands could scarcely clasp his treasures. "Tee-hee! Tee-hee-ee! Deary me! Thankee--thankee, my lady," he tittered, and he gazed and blinked at her beauty through heavenly tears. "Nearly a hundred years old, and he has lived on sixteen shillings a week all his life, and earned it by working every hour between sunrise and sunset," Betty said to her sister, when she went home. "A man has one life, and his has passed like that. It is done now, and all the years and work have left nothing in his old hands but his pipe. That's all. I should not like to put it out for him. Who am I that I can buy him a new one, and keep it filled for him until the end? How did it happen? No," suddenly, "I must not lose time in asking myself that. I must get the new pipe." She did it--a pipe of great magnificence--such as drew to the Doby cottage as many callers as the village could provide, each coming with fevered interest, to look at it--to be allowed to hold and examine it for a few moments, guessing at its probable enormous cost, and returning it reverently, to gaze at Doby with respect--the increase of which can be imagined when it was known that he was not only possessor of the pipe, but of an assurance that he would be supplied with as much tobacco as he could use, to the end of his days. From the time of the advent of the pipe, Grandfather Doby became a man of mark, and his life in the chimney corner a changed thing. A man who owns splendours and unlimited, excellent shag may like friends to drop in and crack jokes--and even smoke a pipe with him--a common pipe, which, however, is not amiss when excellent shag comes free. "He lives in a wild whirl of gaiety--a social vortex," said Betty to Lady Anstruthers, after one of her visits. "He is actually rejuvenated. I must order some new white smocks for him to receive his visitors in. Someone brought him an old copy of the Illustrated London News last night. We will send him illustrated papers every week." In the dull old brain, God knows what spark of life had been relighted. Young Mrs. Doby related with chuckles that granddad had begged that his chair might be dragged to the window, that he might sit and watch the village street. Sitting there, day after day, he smoked and looked at his pictures, and dozed and dreamed, his pipe and tobacco jar beside him on the window ledge. At any sound of wheels or footsteps his face lighted, and if, by chance, he caught a glimpse of Betty, he tottered to his feet, and stood hurriedly touching his bald forehead with a reverent, palsied hand. "'Tis 'urr," he would say, enrapt. "I seen 'urr--I did." And young Mrs. Doby knew that this was his joy, and what he waited for as one waits for the coming of the sun. "'Tis 'urr! 'Tis 'urr!" The vicar's wife, Mrs. Brent, who since the affair of John Wilson's fire had dropped into the background and felt it indiscreet to present tales of distress at the Court, began to recover her courage. Her perfunctory visits assumed a new character. The vicarage had, of course, called promptly upon Miss Vanderpoel, after her arrival. Mrs. Brent admired Miss Vanderpoel hugely. "You seem so unlike an American," she said once in her most tactful, ingratiating manner--which was very ingratiating indeed. "Do I? What is one like when one is like an American? I am one, you know." "I can scarcely believe it," with sweet ardour. "Pray try," said Betty with simple brevity, and Mrs. Brent felt that perhaps Miss Vanderpoel was not really very easy to get on with. "She meant to imply that I did not speak through my nose, and talk too much, and too vivaciously, in a shrill voice," Betty said afterwards, in talking the interview over with Rosy. "I like to convince myself that is not one's sole national characteristic. Also it was not exactly Mrs. Brent's place to kindly encourage me with the information that I do not seem to belong to my own country." Lady Anstruthers laughed, and Betty looked at her inquiringly. "You said that just like--just like an Englishwoman." "Did I?" said Betty. Mrs. Brent had come to talk to her because she did not wish to trouble dear Lady Anstruthers. Lady Anstruthers already looked much stronger, but she had been delicate so long that one hesitated to distress her with village matters. She did not add that she realised that she was coming to headquarters. The vicar and herself were much disturbed about a rather tiresome old woman--old Mrs. Welden--who lived in a tiny cottage in the village. She was eighty-three years old, and a respectable old person--a widow, who had reared ten children. The children had all grown up, and scattered, and old Mrs. Welden had nothing whatever to live on. No one knew how she lived, and really she would be better off in the workhouse. She could be sent to Brexley Union, and comfortably taken care of, but she had that singular, obstinate dislike to going, which it was so difficult to manage. She had asked for a shilling a week from the parish, but that could not be allowed her, as it would merely uphold her in her obstinate intention of remaining in her cottage, and taking care of herself--which she could not do. Betty gathered that the shilling a week would be a drain on the parish funds, and would so raise the old creature to affluence that she would feel she could defy fate. And the contumacity of old men and women should not be strengthened by the reckless bestowal of shillings. Knowing that Miss Vanderpoel had already gained influence among the village people, Mrs. Brent said, she had come to ask her if she would see old Mrs. Welden and argue with her in such a manner as would convince her that the workhouse was the best place for her. It was, of course, so much pleasanter if these old people could be induced to go to Brexley willingly. "Shall I be undermining the whole Political Economy of Stornham if I take care of her myself?" suggested Betty. "You--you will lead others to expect the same thing will be done for them." "When one has resources to draw on," Miss Vanderpoel commented, "in the case of a woman who has lived eighty-three years and brought up ten children until they were old and strong enough to leave her to take care of herself, it is difficult for the weak of mind to apply the laws of Political Economics. I will go and see old Mrs. Welden." If the Vanderpoels would provide for all the obstinate old men and women in the parish, the Political Economics of Stornham would proffer no marked objections. "A good many Americans," Mrs. Brent reflected, "seemed to have those odd, lavish ways," as witness Lady Anstruthers herself, on her first introduction to village life. Miss Vanderpoel was evidently a much stronger character, and extremely clever, and somehow the stream of the American fortune was at last being directed towards Stornham--which, of course, should have happened long ago. A good deal was "being done," and the whole situation looked more promising. So was the matter discussed and summed up, the same evening after dinner, at the vicarage. Betty found old Mrs. Welden's cottage. It was in a green lane, turning from the village street--which was almost a green lane itself. A tiny hedged-in front garden was before the cottage door. A crazy-looking wicket gate was in the hedge, and a fuschia bush and a few old roses were in the few yards of garden. There were actually two or three geraniums in the window, showing cheerful scarlet between the short, white dimity curtains. "A house this size and of this poverty in an American village," was Betty's thought, "would be a bare and straggling hideousness, with old tomato cans in the front yard. Here is one of the things we have to learn from them." When she knocked at the door an old woman opened it. She was a well-preserved and markedly respectable old person, in a decent print frock and a cap. At the sight of her visitor she beamed and made a suggestion of curtsey. "How do you do, Mrs. Welden?" said Betty. "I am Lady Anstruthers' sister, Miss Vanderpoel. I thought I would like to come and see you." "Thank you, miss, I am obliged for the kindness, miss. Won't you come in and have a chair?" There were no signs of decrepitude about her, and she had a cheery old eye. The tiny front room was neat, though there was scarcely space enough in it to contain the table covered with its blue-checked cotton cloth, the narrow sofa, and two or three chairs. There were a few small coloured prints, and a framed photograph or so on the walls, and on the table was a Bible, and a brown earthenware teapot, and a plate. "Tom Wood's wife, that's neighbour next door to me," she said, "gave me a pinch o' tea--an' I've just been 'avin it. Tom Woods, miss, 'as just been took on by Muster Kedgers as one of the new under gardeners at the Court." Betty found her delightful. She made no complaints, and was evidently pleased with the excitement of receiving a visitor. The truth was, that in common with every other old woman, she had secretly aspired to being visited some day by the amazing young lady from "Meriker." Betty had yet to learn of the heartburnings which may be occasioned by an unconscious favouritism. She was not aware that when she dropped in to talk to old Doby, his neighbour, old Megworth, peered from behind his curtains, with the dew of envy in his rheumy eyes. "S'ems," he mumbled, "as if they wasn't nobody now in Stornham village but Gaarge Doby--s'ems not." They were very fierce in their jealousy of attention, and one must beware of rousing evil passions in the octogenarian breast. The young lady from "Meriker" had not so far had time to make a call at any cottage in old Mrs. Welden's lane--and she had knocked just at old Mrs. Welden's door. This was enough to put in good spirits even a less cheery old person. At first Betty wondered how she could with delicacy ask personal questions. A few minutes' conversation, however, showed her that the personal affairs of Sir Nigel's tenants were also the affairs of not only himself, but of such of his relatives as attended to their natural duty. Her presence in the cottage, and her interest in Mrs. Welden's ready flow of simple talk, were desirable and proper compliments to the old woman herself. She was a decent and self-respecting old person, but in her mind there was no faintest glimmer of resentment of questions concerning rent and food and the needs of her simple, hard-driven existence. She had answered such questions on many occasions, when they had not been asked in the manner in which her ladyship's sister asked them. Mrs. Brent had scolded her and "poked about" her cottage, going into her tiny "wash 'us," and up into her infinitesimal bedroom under the slanting roof, to see that they were kept clean. Miss Vanderpoel showed no disposition to "poke." She sat and listened, and made an inquiry here and there, in a nice voice and with a smile in her eyes. There was some pleasure in relating the whole history of your eighty-three years to a young lady who listened as if she wanted to hear it. So old Mrs. Welden prattled on. About her good days, when she was young, and was kitchenmaid at the parsonage in a village twenty miles away; about her marriage with a young farm labourer; about his "steady" habits, and the comfort they had together, in spite of the yearly arrival of a new baby, and the crowding of the bit of a cottage his master allowed them. Ten of 'em, and it had been "up before sunrise, and a good bit of hard work to keep them all fed and clean." But she had not minded that until Jack died quite sudden after a sunstroke. It was odd how much colour her rustic phraseology held. She made Betty see it all. The apparent natural inevitableness of their being turned out of the cottage, because another man must have it; the years during which she worked her way while the ten were growing up, having measles, and chicken pox, and scarlet fever, one dying here and there, dropping out quite in the natural order of things, and being buried by the parish in corners of the ancient church yard. Three of them "was took" by scarlet fever, then one of a "decline," then one or two by other illnesses. Only four reached man and womanhood. One had gone to Australia, but he never was one to write, and after a year or two, Betty gathered, he had seemed to melt away into the great distance. Two girls had married, and Mrs. Welden could not say they had been "comf'able." They could barely feed themselves and their swarms of children. The other son had never been steady like his father. He had at last gone to London, and London had swallowed him up. Betty was struck by the fact that she did not seem to feel that the mother of ten might have expected some return for her labours, at eighty-three. Her unresentful acceptance of things was at once significant and moving. Betty found her amazing. What she lived on it was not easy to understand. She seemed rather like a cheerful old bird, getting up each unprovided-for morning, and picking up her sustenance where she found it. "There's more in the sayin' 'the Lord pervides' than a good many thinks," she said with a small chuckle, marked more by a genial and comfortable sense of humour than by an air of meritoriously quoting the vicar. "He DO." She paid one and threepence a week in rent for her cottage, and this was the most serious drain upon her resources. She apparently could live without food or fire, but the rent must be paid. "An' I do get a bit be'ind sometimes," she confessed apologetically, "an' then it's a trouble to get straight." Her cottage was one of a short row, and she did odd jobs for the women who were her neighbours. There were always babies to be looked after, and "bits of 'elp" needed, sometimes there were "movings" from one cottage to another, and "confinements" were plainly at once exhilarating and enriching. Her temperamental good cheer, combined with her experience, made her a desirable companion and assistant. She was engagingly frank. "When they're new to it, an' a bit frightened, I just give 'em a cup of 'ot tea, an' joke with 'em to cheer 'em up," she said. "I says to Charles Jenkins' wife, as lives next door, 'come now, me girl, it's been goin' on since Adam an' Eve, an' there's a good many of us left, isn't there?' An' a fine boy it was, too, miss, an' 'er up an' about before 'er month." She was paid in sixpences and spare shillings, and in cups of tea, or a fresh-baked loaf, or screws of sugar, or even in a garment not yet worn beyond repair. And she was free to run in and out, and grow a flower or so in her garden, and talk with a neighbour over the low dividing hedge. "They want me to go into the 'Ouse,'" reaching the dangerous subject at last. "They say I'll be took care of an' looked after. But I don't want to do it, miss. I want to keep my bit of a 'ome if I can, an' be free to come an' go. I'm eighty-three, an' it won't be long. I 'ad a shilling a week from the parish, but they stopped it because they said I ought to go into the 'Ouse.'" She looked at Betty with a momentarily anxious smile. "P'raps you don't quite understand, miss," she said. "It'll seem like nothin' to you--a place like this." "It doesn't," Betty answered, smiling bravely back into the old eyes, though she felt a slight fulness of the throat. "I understand all about it." It is possible that old Mrs. Welden was a little taken aback by an attitude which, satisfactory to her own prejudices though it might be, was, taken in connection with fixed customs, a trifle unnatural. "You don't mind me not wantin' to go?" she said. "No," was the answer, "not at all." Betty began to ask questions. How much tea, sugar, soap, candles, bread, butter, bacon, could Mrs. Welden use in a week? It was not very easy to find out the exact quantities, as Mrs. Welden's estimates of such things had been based, during her entire existence, upon calculation as to how little, not how much she could use. When Betty suggested a pound of tea, a half pound--the old woman smiled at the innocent ignorance the suggestion of such reckless profusion implied. "Oh, no! Bless you, miss, no! I couldn't never do away with it. A quarter, miss--that'd be plenty--a quarter." Mrs. Welden's idea of "the best," was that at two shillings a pound. Quarter of a pound would cost sixpence (twelve cents, thought Betty). A pound of sugar would be twopence, Mrs. Welden would use half a pound (the riotous extravagance of two cents). Half a pound of butter, "Good tub butter, miss," would be ten pence three farthings a pound. Soap, candles, bacon, bread, coal, wood, in the quantities required by Mrs. Welden, might, with the addition of rent, amount to the dizzying height of eight or ten shillings. "With careful extravagance," Betty mentally summed up, "I might spend almost two dollars a week in surrounding her with a riot of luxury." She made a list of the things, and added some extras as an idea of her own. Life had not afforded her this kind of thing before, she realised. She felt for the first time the joy of reckless extravagance, and thrilled with the excitement of it. "You need not think of Brexley Union any more," she said, when she, having risen to go, stood at the cottage door with old Mrs. Welden. "The things I have written down here shall be sent to you every Saturday night. I will pay your rent." "Miss--miss!" Mrs. Welden looked affrighted. "It's too much, miss. An' coals eighteen pence a hundred!" "Never mind," said her ladyship's sister, and the old woman, looking up into her eyes, found there the colour Mount Dunstan had thought of as being that of bluebells under water. "I think we can manage it, Mrs. Welden. Keep yourself as warm as you like, and sometime I will come and have a cup of tea with you and see if the tea is good." "Oh! Deary me!" said Mrs. Welden. "I can't think what to say, miss. It lifts everythin'--everythin'. It's not to be believed. It's like bein' left a fortune." When the wicket gate swung to and the young lady went up the lane, the old woman stood staring after her. And here was a piece of news to run into Charley Jenkins' cottage and tell--and what woman or man in the row would quite believe it? CHAPTER XXV "WE BEGAN TO MARRY THEM, MY GOOD FELLOW!" Lord Dunholm and his eldest son, Lord Westholt, sauntered together smoking their after-dinner cigars on the broad-turfed terrace overlooking park and gardens which seemed to sweep without boundary line into the purplish land beyond. The grey mass of the castle stood clear-cut against the blue of a sky whose twilight was still almost daylight, though in the purity of its evening stillness a star already hung, here and there, and a young moon swung low. The great spaces about them held a silence whose exquisite entirety was marked at intervals by the distant bark of a shepherd dog driving his master's sheep to the fold, their soft, intermittent plaints--the mother ewes' mellow answering to the tender, fretful lambs--floated on the air, a lovely part of the ending day's repose. Where two who are friends stroll together at such hours, the great beauty makes for silence or for thoughtful talk. These two men--father and son--were friends and intimates, and had been so from Westholt's first memory of the time when his childish individuality began to detach itself from the background of misty and indistinct things. They had liked each other, and their liking and intimacy had increased with the onward moving and change of years. After sixty sane and decently spent active years of life, Lord Dunholm, in either country tweed or evening dress, was a well-built and handsome man; at thirty-three his son was still like him. "Have you seen her?" he was saying. "Only at a distance. She was driving Lady Anstruthers across the marshes in a cart. She drove well and----" he laughed as he flicked the ash from his cigar--"the back of her head and shoulders looked handsome." "The American young woman is at present a factor which is without doubt to be counted with," Lord Dunholm put the matter without lightness. "Any young woman is a factor, but the American young woman just now--just now----" He paused a moment as though considering. "It did not seem at all necessary to count with them at first, when they began to appear among us. They were generally curiously exotic, funny little creatures with odd manners and voices. They were often most amusing, and one liked to hear them chatter and see the airy lightness with which they took superfluous, and sometimes unsuperfluous, conventions, as a hunter takes a five-barred gate. But it never occurred to us to marry them. We did not take them seriously enough. But we began to marry them--we began to marry them, my good fellow!" The final words broke forth with such a suggestion of sudden anxiety that, in spite of himself, Westholt laughed involuntarily, and his father, turning to look at him, laughed also. But he recovered his seriousness. "It was all rather a muddle at first," he went on. "Things were not fairly done, and certain bad lots looked on it as a paying scheme on the one side, while it was a matter of silly, little ambitions on the other. But that it is an extraordinary country there is no sane denying--huge, fabulously resourceful in every way--area, variety of climate, wealth of minerals, products of all sorts, soil to grow anything, and sun and rain enough to give each thing what it needs; last, or rather first, a people who, considered as a nation, are in the riot of youth, and who began by being English--which we Englishmen have an innocent belief is the one method of 'owning the earth.' That figure of speech is an Americanism I carefully committed to memory. Well, after all, look at the map--look at the map! There we are." They had frequently discussed together the question of the development of international relations. Lord Dunholm, a man of far-reaching and clear logic, had realised that the oddly unaccentuated growth of intercourse between the two countries might be a subject to be reflected on without lightness. "The habit we have of regarding America and Americans as rather a joke," he had once said, "has a sort of parallel in the condescendingly amiable amusement of a parent at the precocity or whimsicalness of a child. But the child is shooting up amazingly--amazingly. In a way which suggests divers possibilities." The exchange of visits between Dunholm and Stornham had been rare and formal. From the call made upon the younger Lady Anstruthers on her marriage, the Dunholms had returned with a sense of puzzled pity for the little American bride, with her wonderful frock and her uneasy, childish eyes. For some years Lady Anstruthers had been too delicate to make or return calls. One heard painful accounts of her apparent wretched ill-health and of the condition of her husband's estate. "As the relations between the two families have evidently been strained for years," Lord Dunholm said, "it is interesting to hear of the sudden advent of the sister. It seems to point to reconciliation. And you say the girl is an unusual person. "From what one hears, she would be unusual if she were an English girl who had spent her life on an English estate. That an American who is making her first visit to England should seem to see at once the practical needs of a neglected place is a thing to wonder at. What can she know about it, one

penzance

How many times the word 'penzance' appears in the text?

Anstruther's sister." Mr. Penzance, replacing his own hat, looked after her with surprised pleasure. "Really," he exclaimed, "Miss Vanderpoel! What a fine girl! How unusually handsome!" Selden turned with a gasp of delighted, amazed recognition. "Miss Vanderpoel," he burst forth, "Reuben Vanderpoel's daughter! The one that's over here visiting her sister. Is it that one--sure?" "Yes," from Mount Dunstan without fervour. "Lady Anstruthers lives at Stornham, about six miles from here." "Gee," with feverish regret. "If her father was there, and I could get next to him, my fortune would be made." "Should you," ventured Penzance politely, "endeavour to sell him a typewriter?" "A typewriter! Holy smoke! I'd try to sell him ten thousand. A fellow like that syndicates the world. If I could get next to him----" and he mounted his bicycle with a laugh. "Get next," murmured Penzance. "Get on the good side of him," Mount Dunstan murmured in reply. "So long, gentlemen, good-bye, and thank you again," called G. Selden as he wheeled off, and was carried soundlessly down the golden road. CHAPTER XXIV THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF STORNHAM The satin-skinned chestnut was one of the new horses now standing in the Stornham stables. There were several of them--a pair for the landau, saddle horses, smart young cobs for phaeton or dog cart, a pony for Ughtred--the animals necessary at such a place at Stornham. The stables themselves had been quickly put in order, grooms and stable boys kept them as they had not been kept for years. The men learned in a week's time that their work could not be done too well. There were new carriages as well as horses. They had come from London after Lady Anstruthers and her sister returned from town. The horses had been brought down by their grooms--immensely looked after, blanketed, hooded, and altogether cared for as if they were visiting dukes and duchesses. They were all fine, handsome, carefully chosen creatures. When they danced and sidled through the village on their way to the Court, they created a sensation. Whosoever had chosen them had known his business. The older vehicles had been repaired in the village by Tread, and did him credit. Fox had also done his work well. Plenty more of it had come into their work-shops. Tools to be used on the estate, garden implements, wheelbarrows, lawn rollers, things needed about the house, stables, and cottages, were to be attended to. The church roof was being repaired. Taking all these things and the "doing up" of the Court itself, there was more work than the village could manage, and carpenters, bricklayers, and decorators were necessarily brought from other places. Still Joe Buttle and Sim Soames were allowed to lead in all such things as lay within their capabilities. It was they who made such a splendid job of the entrance gates and the lodges. It was astonishing how much was done, and how the sense of life in the air--the work of resulting prosperity, made men begin to tread with less listless steps as they went to and from their labour. In the cottages things were being done which made downcast women bestir themselves and look less slatternly. Leaks mended here, windows there, the hopeless copper in the tiny washhouse replaced by a new one, chimneys cured of the habit of smoking, a clean, flowered paper put on a wall, a coat of whitewash--they were small matters, but produced great effect. Betty had begun to drop into the cottages, and make the acquaintance of their owners. Her first visits, she observed, created great consternation. Women looked frightened or sullen, children stared and refused to speak, clinging to skirts and aprons. She found the atmosphere clear after her second visit. The women began to talk, and the children collected in groups and listened with cheerful grins. She could pick up little Jane's kitten, or give a pat to small Thomas' mongrel dog, in a manner which threw down barriers. "Don't put out your pipe," she said to old Grandfather Doby, rising totteringly respectful from his chimney-side chair. "You have only just lighted it. You mustn't waste a whole pipeful of tobacco because I have come in." The old man, grown childish with age, tittered and shuffled and giggled. Such a joke as the grand young lady was having with him. She saw he had only just lighted his pipe. The gentry joked a bit sometimes. But he was afraid of his grandson's wife, who was frowning and shaking her head. Betty went to him, and put her hand on his arm. "Sit down," she said, "and I will sit by you." And she sat down and showed him that she had brought a package of tobacco with her, and actually a wonder of a red and yellow jar to hold it, at the sight of which unheard-of joys his rapture was so great that his trembling hands could scarcely clasp his treasures. "Tee-hee! Tee-hee-ee! Deary me! Thankee--thankee, my lady," he tittered, and he gazed and blinked at her beauty through heavenly tears. "Nearly a hundred years old, and he has lived on sixteen shillings a week all his life, and earned it by working every hour between sunrise and sunset," Betty said to her sister, when she went home. "A man has one life, and his has passed like that. It is done now, and all the years and work have left nothing in his old hands but his pipe. That's all. I should not like to put it out for him. Who am I that I can buy him a new one, and keep it filled for him until the end? How did it happen? No," suddenly, "I must not lose time in asking myself that. I must get the new pipe." She did it--a pipe of great magnificence--such as drew to the Doby cottage as many callers as the village could provide, each coming with fevered interest, to look at it--to be allowed to hold and examine it for a few moments, guessing at its probable enormous cost, and returning it reverently, to gaze at Doby with respect--the increase of which can be imagined when it was known that he was not only possessor of the pipe, but of an assurance that he would be supplied with as much tobacco as he could use, to the end of his days. From the time of the advent of the pipe, Grandfather Doby became a man of mark, and his life in the chimney corner a changed thing. A man who owns splendours and unlimited, excellent shag may like friends to drop in and crack jokes--and even smoke a pipe with him--a common pipe, which, however, is not amiss when excellent shag comes free. "He lives in a wild whirl of gaiety--a social vortex," said Betty to Lady Anstruthers, after one of her visits. "He is actually rejuvenated. I must order some new white smocks for him to receive his visitors in. Someone brought him an old copy of the Illustrated London News last night. We will send him illustrated papers every week." In the dull old brain, God knows what spark of life had been relighted. Young Mrs. Doby related with chuckles that granddad had begged that his chair might be dragged to the window, that he might sit and watch the village street. Sitting there, day after day, he smoked and looked at his pictures, and dozed and dreamed, his pipe and tobacco jar beside him on the window ledge. At any sound of wheels or footsteps his face lighted, and if, by chance, he caught a glimpse of Betty, he tottered to his feet, and stood hurriedly touching his bald forehead with a reverent, palsied hand. "'Tis 'urr," he would say, enrapt. "I seen 'urr--I did." And young Mrs. Doby knew that this was his joy, and what he waited for as one waits for the coming of the sun. "'Tis 'urr! 'Tis 'urr!" The vicar's wife, Mrs. Brent, who since the affair of John Wilson's fire had dropped into the background and felt it indiscreet to present tales of distress at the Court, began to recover her courage. Her perfunctory visits assumed a new character. The vicarage had, of course, called promptly upon Miss Vanderpoel, after her arrival. Mrs. Brent admired Miss Vanderpoel hugely. "You seem so unlike an American," she said once in her most tactful, ingratiating manner--which was very ingratiating indeed. "Do I? What is one like when one is like an American? I am one, you know." "I can scarcely believe it," with sweet ardour. "Pray try," said Betty with simple brevity, and Mrs. Brent felt that perhaps Miss Vanderpoel was not really very easy to get on with. "She meant to imply that I did not speak through my nose, and talk too much, and too vivaciously, in a shrill voice," Betty said afterwards, in talking the interview over with Rosy. "I like to convince myself that is not one's sole national characteristic. Also it was not exactly Mrs. Brent's place to kindly encourage me with the information that I do not seem to belong to my own country." Lady Anstruthers laughed, and Betty looked at her inquiringly. "You said that just like--just like an Englishwoman." "Did I?" said Betty. Mrs. Brent had come to talk to her because she did not wish to trouble dear Lady Anstruthers. Lady Anstruthers already looked much stronger, but she had been delicate so long that one hesitated to distress her with village matters. She did not add that she realised that she was coming to headquarters. The vicar and herself were much disturbed about a rather tiresome old woman--old Mrs. Welden--who lived in a tiny cottage in the village. She was eighty-three years old, and a respectable old person--a widow, who had reared ten children. The children had all grown up, and scattered, and old Mrs. Welden had nothing whatever to live on. No one knew how she lived, and really she would be better off in the workhouse. She could be sent to Brexley Union, and comfortably taken care of, but she had that singular, obstinate dislike to going, which it was so difficult to manage. She had asked for a shilling a week from the parish, but that could not be allowed her, as it would merely uphold her in her obstinate intention of remaining in her cottage, and taking care of herself--which she could not do. Betty gathered that the shilling a week would be a drain on the parish funds, and would so raise the old creature to affluence that she would feel she could defy fate. And the contumacity of old men and women should not be strengthened by the reckless bestowal of shillings. Knowing that Miss Vanderpoel had already gained influence among the village people, Mrs. Brent said, she had come to ask her if she would see old Mrs. Welden and argue with her in such a manner as would convince her that the workhouse was the best place for her. It was, of course, so much pleasanter if these old people could be induced to go to Brexley willingly. "Shall I be undermining the whole Political Economy of Stornham if I take care of her myself?" suggested Betty. "You--you will lead others to expect the same thing will be done for them." "When one has resources to draw on," Miss Vanderpoel commented, "in the case of a woman who has lived eighty-three years and brought up ten children until they were old and strong enough to leave her to take care of herself, it is difficult for the weak of mind to apply the laws of Political Economics. I will go and see old Mrs. Welden." If the Vanderpoels would provide for all the obstinate old men and women in the parish, the Political Economics of Stornham would proffer no marked objections. "A good many Americans," Mrs. Brent reflected, "seemed to have those odd, lavish ways," as witness Lady Anstruthers herself, on her first introduction to village life. Miss Vanderpoel was evidently a much stronger character, and extremely clever, and somehow the stream of the American fortune was at last being directed towards Stornham--which, of course, should have happened long ago. A good deal was "being done," and the whole situation looked more promising. So was the matter discussed and summed up, the same evening after dinner, at the vicarage. Betty found old Mrs. Welden's cottage. It was in a green lane, turning from the village street--which was almost a green lane itself. A tiny hedged-in front garden was before the cottage door. A crazy-looking wicket gate was in the hedge, and a fuschia bush and a few old roses were in the few yards of garden. There were actually two or three geraniums in the window, showing cheerful scarlet between the short, white dimity curtains. "A house this size and of this poverty in an American village," was Betty's thought, "would be a bare and straggling hideousness, with old tomato cans in the front yard. Here is one of the things we have to learn from them." When she knocked at the door an old woman opened it. She was a well-preserved and markedly respectable old person, in a decent print frock and a cap. At the sight of her visitor she beamed and made a suggestion of curtsey. "How do you do, Mrs. Welden?" said Betty. "I am Lady Anstruthers' sister, Miss Vanderpoel. I thought I would like to come and see you." "Thank you, miss, I am obliged for the kindness, miss. Won't you come in and have a chair?" There were no signs of decrepitude about her, and she had a cheery old eye. The tiny front room was neat, though there was scarcely space enough in it to contain the table covered with its blue-checked cotton cloth, the narrow sofa, and two or three chairs. There were a few small coloured prints, and a framed photograph or so on the walls, and on the table was a Bible, and a brown earthenware teapot, and a plate. "Tom Wood's wife, that's neighbour next door to me," she said, "gave me a pinch o' tea--an' I've just been 'avin it. Tom Woods, miss, 'as just been took on by Muster Kedgers as one of the new under gardeners at the Court." Betty found her delightful. She made no complaints, and was evidently pleased with the excitement of receiving a visitor. The truth was, that in common with every other old woman, she had secretly aspired to being visited some day by the amazing young lady from "Meriker." Betty had yet to learn of the heartburnings which may be occasioned by an unconscious favouritism. She was not aware that when she dropped in to talk to old Doby, his neighbour, old Megworth, peered from behind his curtains, with the dew of envy in his rheumy eyes. "S'ems," he mumbled, "as if they wasn't nobody now in Stornham village but Gaarge Doby--s'ems not." They were very fierce in their jealousy of attention, and one must beware of rousing evil passions in the octogenarian breast. The young lady from "Meriker" had not so far had time to make a call at any cottage in old Mrs. Welden's lane--and she had knocked just at old Mrs. Welden's door. This was enough to put in good spirits even a less cheery old person. At first Betty wondered how she could with delicacy ask personal questions. A few minutes' conversation, however, showed her that the personal affairs of Sir Nigel's tenants were also the affairs of not only himself, but of such of his relatives as attended to their natural duty. Her presence in the cottage, and her interest in Mrs. Welden's ready flow of simple talk, were desirable and proper compliments to the old woman herself. She was a decent and self-respecting old person, but in her mind there was no faintest glimmer of resentment of questions concerning rent and food and the needs of her simple, hard-driven existence. She had answered such questions on many occasions, when they had not been asked in the manner in which her ladyship's sister asked them. Mrs. Brent had scolded her and "poked about" her cottage, going into her tiny "wash 'us," and up into her infinitesimal bedroom under the slanting roof, to see that they were kept clean. Miss Vanderpoel showed no disposition to "poke." She sat and listened, and made an inquiry here and there, in a nice voice and with a smile in her eyes. There was some pleasure in relating the whole history of your eighty-three years to a young lady who listened as if she wanted to hear it. So old Mrs. Welden prattled on. About her good days, when she was young, and was kitchenmaid at the parsonage in a village twenty miles away; about her marriage with a young farm labourer; about his "steady" habits, and the comfort they had together, in spite of the yearly arrival of a new baby, and the crowding of the bit of a cottage his master allowed them. Ten of 'em, and it had been "up before sunrise, and a good bit of hard work to keep them all fed and clean." But she had not minded that until Jack died quite sudden after a sunstroke. It was odd how much colour her rustic phraseology held. She made Betty see it all. The apparent natural inevitableness of their being turned out of the cottage, because another man must have it; the years during which she worked her way while the ten were growing up, having measles, and chicken pox, and scarlet fever, one dying here and there, dropping out quite in the natural order of things, and being buried by the parish in corners of the ancient church yard. Three of them "was took" by scarlet fever, then one of a "decline," then one or two by other illnesses. Only four reached man and womanhood. One had gone to Australia, but he never was one to write, and after a year or two, Betty gathered, he had seemed to melt away into the great distance. Two girls had married, and Mrs. Welden could not say they had been "comf'able." They could barely feed themselves and their swarms of children. The other son had never been steady like his father. He had at last gone to London, and London had swallowed him up. Betty was struck by the fact that she did not seem to feel that the mother of ten might have expected some return for her labours, at eighty-three. Her unresentful acceptance of things was at once significant and moving. Betty found her amazing. What she lived on it was not easy to understand. She seemed rather like a cheerful old bird, getting up each unprovided-for morning, and picking up her sustenance where she found it. "There's more in the sayin' 'the Lord pervides' than a good many thinks," she said with a small chuckle, marked more by a genial and comfortable sense of humour than by an air of meritoriously quoting the vicar. "He DO." She paid one and threepence a week in rent for her cottage, and this was the most serious drain upon her resources. She apparently could live without food or fire, but the rent must be paid. "An' I do get a bit be'ind sometimes," she confessed apologetically, "an' then it's a trouble to get straight." Her cottage was one of a short row, and she did odd jobs for the women who were her neighbours. There were always babies to be looked after, and "bits of 'elp" needed, sometimes there were "movings" from one cottage to another, and "confinements" were plainly at once exhilarating and enriching. Her temperamental good cheer, combined with her experience, made her a desirable companion and assistant. She was engagingly frank. "When they're new to it, an' a bit frightened, I just give 'em a cup of 'ot tea, an' joke with 'em to cheer 'em up," she said. "I says to Charles Jenkins' wife, as lives next door, 'come now, me girl, it's been goin' on since Adam an' Eve, an' there's a good many of us left, isn't there?' An' a fine boy it was, too, miss, an' 'er up an' about before 'er month." She was paid in sixpences and spare shillings, and in cups of tea, or a fresh-baked loaf, or screws of sugar, or even in a garment not yet worn beyond repair. And she was free to run in and out, and grow a flower or so in her garden, and talk with a neighbour over the low dividing hedge. "They want me to go into the 'Ouse,'" reaching the dangerous subject at last. "They say I'll be took care of an' looked after. But I don't want to do it, miss. I want to keep my bit of a 'ome if I can, an' be free to come an' go. I'm eighty-three, an' it won't be long. I 'ad a shilling a week from the parish, but they stopped it because they said I ought to go into the 'Ouse.'" She looked at Betty with a momentarily anxious smile. "P'raps you don't quite understand, miss," she said. "It'll seem like nothin' to you--a place like this." "It doesn't," Betty answered, smiling bravely back into the old eyes, though she felt a slight fulness of the throat. "I understand all about it." It is possible that old Mrs. Welden was a little taken aback by an attitude which, satisfactory to her own prejudices though it might be, was, taken in connection with fixed customs, a trifle unnatural. "You don't mind me not wantin' to go?" she said. "No," was the answer, "not at all." Betty began to ask questions. How much tea, sugar, soap, candles, bread, butter, bacon, could Mrs. Welden use in a week? It was not very easy to find out the exact quantities, as Mrs. Welden's estimates of such things had been based, during her entire existence, upon calculation as to how little, not how much she could use. When Betty suggested a pound of tea, a half pound--the old woman smiled at the innocent ignorance the suggestion of such reckless profusion implied. "Oh, no! Bless you, miss, no! I couldn't never do away with it. A quarter, miss--that'd be plenty--a quarter." Mrs. Welden's idea of "the best," was that at two shillings a pound. Quarter of a pound would cost sixpence (twelve cents, thought Betty). A pound of sugar would be twopence, Mrs. Welden would use half a pound (the riotous extravagance of two cents). Half a pound of butter, "Good tub butter, miss," would be ten pence three farthings a pound. Soap, candles, bacon, bread, coal, wood, in the quantities required by Mrs. Welden, might, with the addition of rent, amount to the dizzying height of eight or ten shillings. "With careful extravagance," Betty mentally summed up, "I might spend almost two dollars a week in surrounding her with a riot of luxury." She made a list of the things, and added some extras as an idea of her own. Life had not afforded her this kind of thing before, she realised. She felt for the first time the joy of reckless extravagance, and thrilled with the excitement of it. "You need not think of Brexley Union any more," she said, when she, having risen to go, stood at the cottage door with old Mrs. Welden. "The things I have written down here shall be sent to you every Saturday night. I will pay your rent." "Miss--miss!" Mrs. Welden looked affrighted. "It's too much, miss. An' coals eighteen pence a hundred!" "Never mind," said her ladyship's sister, and the old woman, looking up into her eyes, found there the colour Mount Dunstan had thought of as being that of bluebells under water. "I think we can manage it, Mrs. Welden. Keep yourself as warm as you like, and sometime I will come and have a cup of tea with you and see if the tea is good." "Oh! Deary me!" said Mrs. Welden. "I can't think what to say, miss. It lifts everythin'--everythin'. It's not to be believed. It's like bein' left a fortune." When the wicket gate swung to and the young lady went up the lane, the old woman stood staring after her. And here was a piece of news to run into Charley Jenkins' cottage and tell--and what woman or man in the row would quite believe it? CHAPTER XXV "WE BEGAN TO MARRY THEM, MY GOOD FELLOW!" Lord Dunholm and his eldest son, Lord Westholt, sauntered together smoking their after-dinner cigars on the broad-turfed terrace overlooking park and gardens which seemed to sweep without boundary line into the purplish land beyond. The grey mass of the castle stood clear-cut against the blue of a sky whose twilight was still almost daylight, though in the purity of its evening stillness a star already hung, here and there, and a young moon swung low. The great spaces about them held a silence whose exquisite entirety was marked at intervals by the distant bark of a shepherd dog driving his master's sheep to the fold, their soft, intermittent plaints--the mother ewes' mellow answering to the tender, fretful lambs--floated on the air, a lovely part of the ending day's repose. Where two who are friends stroll together at such hours, the great beauty makes for silence or for thoughtful talk. These two men--father and son--were friends and intimates, and had been so from Westholt's first memory of the time when his childish individuality began to detach itself from the background of misty and indistinct things. They had liked each other, and their liking and intimacy had increased with the onward moving and change of years. After sixty sane and decently spent active years of life, Lord Dunholm, in either country tweed or evening dress, was a well-built and handsome man; at thirty-three his son was still like him. "Have you seen her?" he was saying. "Only at a distance. She was driving Lady Anstruthers across the marshes in a cart. She drove well and----" he laughed as he flicked the ash from his cigar--"the back of her head and shoulders looked handsome." "The American young woman is at present a factor which is without doubt to be counted with," Lord Dunholm put the matter without lightness. "Any young woman is a factor, but the American young woman just now--just now----" He paused a moment as though considering. "It did not seem at all necessary to count with them at first, when they began to appear among us. They were generally curiously exotic, funny little creatures with odd manners and voices. They were often most amusing, and one liked to hear them chatter and see the airy lightness with which they took superfluous, and sometimes unsuperfluous, conventions, as a hunter takes a five-barred gate. But it never occurred to us to marry them. We did not take them seriously enough. But we began to marry them--we began to marry them, my good fellow!" The final words broke forth with such a suggestion of sudden anxiety that, in spite of himself, Westholt laughed involuntarily, and his father, turning to look at him, laughed also. But he recovered his seriousness. "It was all rather a muddle at first," he went on. "Things were not fairly done, and certain bad lots looked on it as a paying scheme on the one side, while it was a matter of silly, little ambitions on the other. But that it is an extraordinary country there is no sane denying--huge, fabulously resourceful in every way--area, variety of climate, wealth of minerals, products of all sorts, soil to grow anything, and sun and rain enough to give each thing what it needs; last, or rather first, a people who, considered as a nation, are in the riot of youth, and who began by being English--which we Englishmen have an innocent belief is the one method of 'owning the earth.' That figure of speech is an Americanism I carefully committed to memory. Well, after all, look at the map--look at the map! There we are." They had frequently discussed together the question of the development of international relations. Lord Dunholm, a man of far-reaching and clear logic, had realised that the oddly unaccentuated growth of intercourse between the two countries might be a subject to be reflected on without lightness. "The habit we have of regarding America and Americans as rather a joke," he had once said, "has a sort of parallel in the condescendingly amiable amusement of a parent at the precocity or whimsicalness of a child. But the child is shooting up amazingly--amazingly. In a way which suggests divers possibilities." The exchange of visits between Dunholm and Stornham had been rare and formal. From the call made upon the younger Lady Anstruthers on her marriage, the Dunholms had returned with a sense of puzzled pity for the little American bride, with her wonderful frock and her uneasy, childish eyes. For some years Lady Anstruthers had been too delicate to make or return calls. One heard painful accounts of her apparent wretched ill-health and of the condition of her husband's estate. "As the relations between the two families have evidently been strained for years," Lord Dunholm said, "it is interesting to hear of the sudden advent of the sister. It seems to point to reconciliation. And you say the girl is an unusual person. "From what one hears, she would be unusual if she were an English girl who had spent her life on an English estate. That an American who is making her first visit to England should seem to see at once the practical needs of a neglected place is a thing to wonder at. What can she know about it, one

unusually

How many times the word 'unusually' appears in the text?

Anstruther's sister." Mr. Penzance, replacing his own hat, looked after her with surprised pleasure. "Really," he exclaimed, "Miss Vanderpoel! What a fine girl! How unusually handsome!" Selden turned with a gasp of delighted, amazed recognition. "Miss Vanderpoel," he burst forth, "Reuben Vanderpoel's daughter! The one that's over here visiting her sister. Is it that one--sure?" "Yes," from Mount Dunstan without fervour. "Lady Anstruthers lives at Stornham, about six miles from here." "Gee," with feverish regret. "If her father was there, and I could get next to him, my fortune would be made." "Should you," ventured Penzance politely, "endeavour to sell him a typewriter?" "A typewriter! Holy smoke! I'd try to sell him ten thousand. A fellow like that syndicates the world. If I could get next to him----" and he mounted his bicycle with a laugh. "Get next," murmured Penzance. "Get on the good side of him," Mount Dunstan murmured in reply. "So long, gentlemen, good-bye, and thank you again," called G. Selden as he wheeled off, and was carried soundlessly down the golden road. CHAPTER XXIV THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF STORNHAM The satin-skinned chestnut was one of the new horses now standing in the Stornham stables. There were several of them--a pair for the landau, saddle horses, smart young cobs for phaeton or dog cart, a pony for Ughtred--the animals necessary at such a place at Stornham. The stables themselves had been quickly put in order, grooms and stable boys kept them as they had not been kept for years. The men learned in a week's time that their work could not be done too well. There were new carriages as well as horses. They had come from London after Lady Anstruthers and her sister returned from town. The horses had been brought down by their grooms--immensely looked after, blanketed, hooded, and altogether cared for as if they were visiting dukes and duchesses. They were all fine, handsome, carefully chosen creatures. When they danced and sidled through the village on their way to the Court, they created a sensation. Whosoever had chosen them had known his business. The older vehicles had been repaired in the village by Tread, and did him credit. Fox had also done his work well. Plenty more of it had come into their work-shops. Tools to be used on the estate, garden implements, wheelbarrows, lawn rollers, things needed about the house, stables, and cottages, were to be attended to. The church roof was being repaired. Taking all these things and the "doing up" of the Court itself, there was more work than the village could manage, and carpenters, bricklayers, and decorators were necessarily brought from other places. Still Joe Buttle and Sim Soames were allowed to lead in all such things as lay within their capabilities. It was they who made such a splendid job of the entrance gates and the lodges. It was astonishing how much was done, and how the sense of life in the air--the work of resulting prosperity, made men begin to tread with less listless steps as they went to and from their labour. In the cottages things were being done which made downcast women bestir themselves and look less slatternly. Leaks mended here, windows there, the hopeless copper in the tiny washhouse replaced by a new one, chimneys cured of the habit of smoking, a clean, flowered paper put on a wall, a coat of whitewash--they were small matters, but produced great effect. Betty had begun to drop into the cottages, and make the acquaintance of their owners. Her first visits, she observed, created great consternation. Women looked frightened or sullen, children stared and refused to speak, clinging to skirts and aprons. She found the atmosphere clear after her second visit. The women began to talk, and the children collected in groups and listened with cheerful grins. She could pick up little Jane's kitten, or give a pat to small Thomas' mongrel dog, in a manner which threw down barriers. "Don't put out your pipe," she said to old Grandfather Doby, rising totteringly respectful from his chimney-side chair. "You have only just lighted it. You mustn't waste a whole pipeful of tobacco because I have come in." The old man, grown childish with age, tittered and shuffled and giggled. Such a joke as the grand young lady was having with him. She saw he had only just lighted his pipe. The gentry joked a bit sometimes. But he was afraid of his grandson's wife, who was frowning and shaking her head. Betty went to him, and put her hand on his arm. "Sit down," she said, "and I will sit by you." And she sat down and showed him that she had brought a package of tobacco with her, and actually a wonder of a red and yellow jar to hold it, at the sight of which unheard-of joys his rapture was so great that his trembling hands could scarcely clasp his treasures. "Tee-hee! Tee-hee-ee! Deary me! Thankee--thankee, my lady," he tittered, and he gazed and blinked at her beauty through heavenly tears. "Nearly a hundred years old, and he has lived on sixteen shillings a week all his life, and earned it by working every hour between sunrise and sunset," Betty said to her sister, when she went home. "A man has one life, and his has passed like that. It is done now, and all the years and work have left nothing in his old hands but his pipe. That's all. I should not like to put it out for him. Who am I that I can buy him a new one, and keep it filled for him until the end? How did it happen? No," suddenly, "I must not lose time in asking myself that. I must get the new pipe." She did it--a pipe of great magnificence--such as drew to the Doby cottage as many callers as the village could provide, each coming with fevered interest, to look at it--to be allowed to hold and examine it for a few moments, guessing at its probable enormous cost, and returning it reverently, to gaze at Doby with respect--the increase of which can be imagined when it was known that he was not only possessor of the pipe, but of an assurance that he would be supplied with as much tobacco as he could use, to the end of his days. From the time of the advent of the pipe, Grandfather Doby became a man of mark, and his life in the chimney corner a changed thing. A man who owns splendours and unlimited, excellent shag may like friends to drop in and crack jokes--and even smoke a pipe with him--a common pipe, which, however, is not amiss when excellent shag comes free. "He lives in a wild whirl of gaiety--a social vortex," said Betty to Lady Anstruthers, after one of her visits. "He is actually rejuvenated. I must order some new white smocks for him to receive his visitors in. Someone brought him an old copy of the Illustrated London News last night. We will send him illustrated papers every week." In the dull old brain, God knows what spark of life had been relighted. Young Mrs. Doby related with chuckles that granddad had begged that his chair might be dragged to the window, that he might sit and watch the village street. Sitting there, day after day, he smoked and looked at his pictures, and dozed and dreamed, his pipe and tobacco jar beside him on the window ledge. At any sound of wheels or footsteps his face lighted, and if, by chance, he caught a glimpse of Betty, he tottered to his feet, and stood hurriedly touching his bald forehead with a reverent, palsied hand. "'Tis 'urr," he would say, enrapt. "I seen 'urr--I did." And young Mrs. Doby knew that this was his joy, and what he waited for as one waits for the coming of the sun. "'Tis 'urr! 'Tis 'urr!" The vicar's wife, Mrs. Brent, who since the affair of John Wilson's fire had dropped into the background and felt it indiscreet to present tales of distress at the Court, began to recover her courage. Her perfunctory visits assumed a new character. The vicarage had, of course, called promptly upon Miss Vanderpoel, after her arrival. Mrs. Brent admired Miss Vanderpoel hugely. "You seem so unlike an American," she said once in her most tactful, ingratiating manner--which was very ingratiating indeed. "Do I? What is one like when one is like an American? I am one, you know." "I can scarcely believe it," with sweet ardour. "Pray try," said Betty with simple brevity, and Mrs. Brent felt that perhaps Miss Vanderpoel was not really very easy to get on with. "She meant to imply that I did not speak through my nose, and talk too much, and too vivaciously, in a shrill voice," Betty said afterwards, in talking the interview over with Rosy. "I like to convince myself that is not one's sole national characteristic. Also it was not exactly Mrs. Brent's place to kindly encourage me with the information that I do not seem to belong to my own country." Lady Anstruthers laughed, and Betty looked at her inquiringly. "You said that just like--just like an Englishwoman." "Did I?" said Betty. Mrs. Brent had come to talk to her because she did not wish to trouble dear Lady Anstruthers. Lady Anstruthers already looked much stronger, but she had been delicate so long that one hesitated to distress her with village matters. She did not add that she realised that she was coming to headquarters. The vicar and herself were much disturbed about a rather tiresome old woman--old Mrs. Welden--who lived in a tiny cottage in the village. She was eighty-three years old, and a respectable old person--a widow, who had reared ten children. The children had all grown up, and scattered, and old Mrs. Welden had nothing whatever to live on. No one knew how she lived, and really she would be better off in the workhouse. She could be sent to Brexley Union, and comfortably taken care of, but she had that singular, obstinate dislike to going, which it was so difficult to manage. She had asked for a shilling a week from the parish, but that could not be allowed her, as it would merely uphold her in her obstinate intention of remaining in her cottage, and taking care of herself--which she could not do. Betty gathered that the shilling a week would be a drain on the parish funds, and would so raise the old creature to affluence that she would feel she could defy fate. And the contumacity of old men and women should not be strengthened by the reckless bestowal of shillings. Knowing that Miss Vanderpoel had already gained influence among the village people, Mrs. Brent said, she had come to ask her if she would see old Mrs. Welden and argue with her in such a manner as would convince her that the workhouse was the best place for her. It was, of course, so much pleasanter if these old people could be induced to go to Brexley willingly. "Shall I be undermining the whole Political Economy of Stornham if I take care of her myself?" suggested Betty. "You--you will lead others to expect the same thing will be done for them." "When one has resources to draw on," Miss Vanderpoel commented, "in the case of a woman who has lived eighty-three years and brought up ten children until they were old and strong enough to leave her to take care of herself, it is difficult for the weak of mind to apply the laws of Political Economics. I will go and see old Mrs. Welden." If the Vanderpoels would provide for all the obstinate old men and women in the parish, the Political Economics of Stornham would proffer no marked objections. "A good many Americans," Mrs. Brent reflected, "seemed to have those odd, lavish ways," as witness Lady Anstruthers herself, on her first introduction to village life. Miss Vanderpoel was evidently a much stronger character, and extremely clever, and somehow the stream of the American fortune was at last being directed towards Stornham--which, of course, should have happened long ago. A good deal was "being done," and the whole situation looked more promising. So was the matter discussed and summed up, the same evening after dinner, at the vicarage. Betty found old Mrs. Welden's cottage. It was in a green lane, turning from the village street--which was almost a green lane itself. A tiny hedged-in front garden was before the cottage door. A crazy-looking wicket gate was in the hedge, and a fuschia bush and a few old roses were in the few yards of garden. There were actually two or three geraniums in the window, showing cheerful scarlet between the short, white dimity curtains. "A house this size and of this poverty in an American village," was Betty's thought, "would be a bare and straggling hideousness, with old tomato cans in the front yard. Here is one of the things we have to learn from them." When she knocked at the door an old woman opened it. She was a well-preserved and markedly respectable old person, in a decent print frock and a cap. At the sight of her visitor she beamed and made a suggestion of curtsey. "How do you do, Mrs. Welden?" said Betty. "I am Lady Anstruthers' sister, Miss Vanderpoel. I thought I would like to come and see you." "Thank you, miss, I am obliged for the kindness, miss. Won't you come in and have a chair?" There were no signs of decrepitude about her, and she had a cheery old eye. The tiny front room was neat, though there was scarcely space enough in it to contain the table covered with its blue-checked cotton cloth, the narrow sofa, and two or three chairs. There were a few small coloured prints, and a framed photograph or so on the walls, and on the table was a Bible, and a brown earthenware teapot, and a plate. "Tom Wood's wife, that's neighbour next door to me," she said, "gave me a pinch o' tea--an' I've just been 'avin it. Tom Woods, miss, 'as just been took on by Muster Kedgers as one of the new under gardeners at the Court." Betty found her delightful. She made no complaints, and was evidently pleased with the excitement of receiving a visitor. The truth was, that in common with every other old woman, she had secretly aspired to being visited some day by the amazing young lady from "Meriker." Betty had yet to learn of the heartburnings which may be occasioned by an unconscious favouritism. She was not aware that when she dropped in to talk to old Doby, his neighbour, old Megworth, peered from behind his curtains, with the dew of envy in his rheumy eyes. "S'ems," he mumbled, "as if they wasn't nobody now in Stornham village but Gaarge Doby--s'ems not." They were very fierce in their jealousy of attention, and one must beware of rousing evil passions in the octogenarian breast. The young lady from "Meriker" had not so far had time to make a call at any cottage in old Mrs. Welden's lane--and she had knocked just at old Mrs. Welden's door. This was enough to put in good spirits even a less cheery old person. At first Betty wondered how she could with delicacy ask personal questions. A few minutes' conversation, however, showed her that the personal affairs of Sir Nigel's tenants were also the affairs of not only himself, but of such of his relatives as attended to their natural duty. Her presence in the cottage, and her interest in Mrs. Welden's ready flow of simple talk, were desirable and proper compliments to the old woman herself. She was a decent and self-respecting old person, but in her mind there was no faintest glimmer of resentment of questions concerning rent and food and the needs of her simple, hard-driven existence. She had answered such questions on many occasions, when they had not been asked in the manner in which her ladyship's sister asked them. Mrs. Brent had scolded her and "poked about" her cottage, going into her tiny "wash 'us," and up into her infinitesimal bedroom under the slanting roof, to see that they were kept clean. Miss Vanderpoel showed no disposition to "poke." She sat and listened, and made an inquiry here and there, in a nice voice and with a smile in her eyes. There was some pleasure in relating the whole history of your eighty-three years to a young lady who listened as if she wanted to hear it. So old Mrs. Welden prattled on. About her good days, when she was young, and was kitchenmaid at the parsonage in a village twenty miles away; about her marriage with a young farm labourer; about his "steady" habits, and the comfort they had together, in spite of the yearly arrival of a new baby, and the crowding of the bit of a cottage his master allowed them. Ten of 'em, and it had been "up before sunrise, and a good bit of hard work to keep them all fed and clean." But she had not minded that until Jack died quite sudden after a sunstroke. It was odd how much colour her rustic phraseology held. She made Betty see it all. The apparent natural inevitableness of their being turned out of the cottage, because another man must have it; the years during which she worked her way while the ten were growing up, having measles, and chicken pox, and scarlet fever, one dying here and there, dropping out quite in the natural order of things, and being buried by the parish in corners of the ancient church yard. Three of them "was took" by scarlet fever, then one of a "decline," then one or two by other illnesses. Only four reached man and womanhood. One had gone to Australia, but he never was one to write, and after a year or two, Betty gathered, he had seemed to melt away into the great distance. Two girls had married, and Mrs. Welden could not say they had been "comf'able." They could barely feed themselves and their swarms of children. The other son had never been steady like his father. He had at last gone to London, and London had swallowed him up. Betty was struck by the fact that she did not seem to feel that the mother of ten might have expected some return for her labours, at eighty-three. Her unresentful acceptance of things was at once significant and moving. Betty found her amazing. What she lived on it was not easy to understand. She seemed rather like a cheerful old bird, getting up each unprovided-for morning, and picking up her sustenance where she found it. "There's more in the sayin' 'the Lord pervides' than a good many thinks," she said with a small chuckle, marked more by a genial and comfortable sense of humour than by an air of meritoriously quoting the vicar. "He DO." She paid one and threepence a week in rent for her cottage, and this was the most serious drain upon her resources. She apparently could live without food or fire, but the rent must be paid. "An' I do get a bit be'ind sometimes," she confessed apologetically, "an' then it's a trouble to get straight." Her cottage was one of a short row, and she did odd jobs for the women who were her neighbours. There were always babies to be looked after, and "bits of 'elp" needed, sometimes there were "movings" from one cottage to another, and "confinements" were plainly at once exhilarating and enriching. Her temperamental good cheer, combined with her experience, made her a desirable companion and assistant. She was engagingly frank. "When they're new to it, an' a bit frightened, I just give 'em a cup of 'ot tea, an' joke with 'em to cheer 'em up," she said. "I says to Charles Jenkins' wife, as lives next door, 'come now, me girl, it's been goin' on since Adam an' Eve, an' there's a good many of us left, isn't there?' An' a fine boy it was, too, miss, an' 'er up an' about before 'er month." She was paid in sixpences and spare shillings, and in cups of tea, or a fresh-baked loaf, or screws of sugar, or even in a garment not yet worn beyond repair. And she was free to run in and out, and grow a flower or so in her garden, and talk with a neighbour over the low dividing hedge. "They want me to go into the 'Ouse,'" reaching the dangerous subject at last. "They say I'll be took care of an' looked after. But I don't want to do it, miss. I want to keep my bit of a 'ome if I can, an' be free to come an' go. I'm eighty-three, an' it won't be long. I 'ad a shilling a week from the parish, but they stopped it because they said I ought to go into the 'Ouse.'" She looked at Betty with a momentarily anxious smile. "P'raps you don't quite understand, miss," she said. "It'll seem like nothin' to you--a place like this." "It doesn't," Betty answered, smiling bravely back into the old eyes, though she felt a slight fulness of the throat. "I understand all about it." It is possible that old Mrs. Welden was a little taken aback by an attitude which, satisfactory to her own prejudices though it might be, was, taken in connection with fixed customs, a trifle unnatural. "You don't mind me not wantin' to go?" she said. "No," was the answer, "not at all." Betty began to ask questions. How much tea, sugar, soap, candles, bread, butter, bacon, could Mrs. Welden use in a week? It was not very easy to find out the exact quantities, as Mrs. Welden's estimates of such things had been based, during her entire existence, upon calculation as to how little, not how much she could use. When Betty suggested a pound of tea, a half pound--the old woman smiled at the innocent ignorance the suggestion of such reckless profusion implied. "Oh, no! Bless you, miss, no! I couldn't never do away with it. A quarter, miss--that'd be plenty--a quarter." Mrs. Welden's idea of "the best," was that at two shillings a pound. Quarter of a pound would cost sixpence (twelve cents, thought Betty). A pound of sugar would be twopence, Mrs. Welden would use half a pound (the riotous extravagance of two cents). Half a pound of butter, "Good tub butter, miss," would be ten pence three farthings a pound. Soap, candles, bacon, bread, coal, wood, in the quantities required by Mrs. Welden, might, with the addition of rent, amount to the dizzying height of eight or ten shillings. "With careful extravagance," Betty mentally summed up, "I might spend almost two dollars a week in surrounding her with a riot of luxury." She made a list of the things, and added some extras as an idea of her own. Life had not afforded her this kind of thing before, she realised. She felt for the first time the joy of reckless extravagance, and thrilled with the excitement of it. "You need not think of Brexley Union any more," she said, when she, having risen to go, stood at the cottage door with old Mrs. Welden. "The things I have written down here shall be sent to you every Saturday night. I will pay your rent." "Miss--miss!" Mrs. Welden looked affrighted. "It's too much, miss. An' coals eighteen pence a hundred!" "Never mind," said her ladyship's sister, and the old woman, looking up into her eyes, found there the colour Mount Dunstan had thought of as being that of bluebells under water. "I think we can manage it, Mrs. Welden. Keep yourself as warm as you like, and sometime I will come and have a cup of tea with you and see if the tea is good." "Oh! Deary me!" said Mrs. Welden. "I can't think what to say, miss. It lifts everythin'--everythin'. It's not to be believed. It's like bein' left a fortune." When the wicket gate swung to and the young lady went up the lane, the old woman stood staring after her. And here was a piece of news to run into Charley Jenkins' cottage and tell--and what woman or man in the row would quite believe it? CHAPTER XXV "WE BEGAN TO MARRY THEM, MY GOOD FELLOW!" Lord Dunholm and his eldest son, Lord Westholt, sauntered together smoking their after-dinner cigars on the broad-turfed terrace overlooking park and gardens which seemed to sweep without boundary line into the purplish land beyond. The grey mass of the castle stood clear-cut against the blue of a sky whose twilight was still almost daylight, though in the purity of its evening stillness a star already hung, here and there, and a young moon swung low. The great spaces about them held a silence whose exquisite entirety was marked at intervals by the distant bark of a shepherd dog driving his master's sheep to the fold, their soft, intermittent plaints--the mother ewes' mellow answering to the tender, fretful lambs--floated on the air, a lovely part of the ending day's repose. Where two who are friends stroll together at such hours, the great beauty makes for silence or for thoughtful talk. These two men--father and son--were friends and intimates, and had been so from Westholt's first memory of the time when his childish individuality began to detach itself from the background of misty and indistinct things. They had liked each other, and their liking and intimacy had increased with the onward moving and change of years. After sixty sane and decently spent active years of life, Lord Dunholm, in either country tweed or evening dress, was a well-built and handsome man; at thirty-three his son was still like him. "Have you seen her?" he was saying. "Only at a distance. She was driving Lady Anstruthers across the marshes in a cart. She drove well and----" he laughed as he flicked the ash from his cigar--"the back of her head and shoulders looked handsome." "The American young woman is at present a factor which is without doubt to be counted with," Lord Dunholm put the matter without lightness. "Any young woman is a factor, but the American young woman just now--just now----" He paused a moment as though considering. "It did not seem at all necessary to count with them at first, when they began to appear among us. They were generally curiously exotic, funny little creatures with odd manners and voices. They were often most amusing, and one liked to hear them chatter and see the airy lightness with which they took superfluous, and sometimes unsuperfluous, conventions, as a hunter takes a five-barred gate. But it never occurred to us to marry them. We did not take them seriously enough. But we began to marry them--we began to marry them, my good fellow!" The final words broke forth with such a suggestion of sudden anxiety that, in spite of himself, Westholt laughed involuntarily, and his father, turning to look at him, laughed also. But he recovered his seriousness. "It was all rather a muddle at first," he went on. "Things were not fairly done, and certain bad lots looked on it as a paying scheme on the one side, while it was a matter of silly, little ambitions on the other. But that it is an extraordinary country there is no sane denying--huge, fabulously resourceful in every way--area, variety of climate, wealth of minerals, products of all sorts, soil to grow anything, and sun and rain enough to give each thing what it needs; last, or rather first, a people who, considered as a nation, are in the riot of youth, and who began by being English--which we Englishmen have an innocent belief is the one method of 'owning the earth.' That figure of speech is an Americanism I carefully committed to memory. Well, after all, look at the map--look at the map! There we are." They had frequently discussed together the question of the development of international relations. Lord Dunholm, a man of far-reaching and clear logic, had realised that the oddly unaccentuated growth of intercourse between the two countries might be a subject to be reflected on without lightness. "The habit we have of regarding America and Americans as rather a joke," he had once said, "has a sort of parallel in the condescendingly amiable amusement of a parent at the precocity or whimsicalness of a child. But the child is shooting up amazingly--amazingly. In a way which suggests divers possibilities." The exchange of visits between Dunholm and Stornham had been rare and formal. From the call made upon the younger Lady Anstruthers on her marriage, the Dunholms had returned with a sense of puzzled pity for the little American bride, with her wonderful frock and her uneasy, childish eyes. For some years Lady Anstruthers had been too delicate to make or return calls. One heard painful accounts of her apparent wretched ill-health and of the condition of her husband's estate. "As the relations between the two families have evidently been strained for years," Lord Dunholm said, "it is interesting to hear of the sudden advent of the sister. It seems to point to reconciliation. And you say the girl is an unusual person. "From what one hears, she would be unusual if she were an English girl who had spent her life on an English estate. That an American who is making her first visit to England should seem to see at once the practical needs of a neglected place is a thing to wonder at. What can she know about it, one

stables

How many times the word 'stables' appears in the text?

Anstruther's sister." Mr. Penzance, replacing his own hat, looked after her with surprised pleasure. "Really," he exclaimed, "Miss Vanderpoel! What a fine girl! How unusually handsome!" Selden turned with a gasp of delighted, amazed recognition. "Miss Vanderpoel," he burst forth, "Reuben Vanderpoel's daughter! The one that's over here visiting her sister. Is it that one--sure?" "Yes," from Mount Dunstan without fervour. "Lady Anstruthers lives at Stornham, about six miles from here." "Gee," with feverish regret. "If her father was there, and I could get next to him, my fortune would be made." "Should you," ventured Penzance politely, "endeavour to sell him a typewriter?" "A typewriter! Holy smoke! I'd try to sell him ten thousand. A fellow like that syndicates the world. If I could get next to him----" and he mounted his bicycle with a laugh. "Get next," murmured Penzance. "Get on the good side of him," Mount Dunstan murmured in reply. "So long, gentlemen, good-bye, and thank you again," called G. Selden as he wheeled off, and was carried soundlessly down the golden road. CHAPTER XXIV THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF STORNHAM The satin-skinned chestnut was one of the new horses now standing in the Stornham stables. There were several of them--a pair for the landau, saddle horses, smart young cobs for phaeton or dog cart, a pony for Ughtred--the animals necessary at such a place at Stornham. The stables themselves had been quickly put in order, grooms and stable boys kept them as they had not been kept for years. The men learned in a week's time that their work could not be done too well. There were new carriages as well as horses. They had come from London after Lady Anstruthers and her sister returned from town. The horses had been brought down by their grooms--immensely looked after, blanketed, hooded, and altogether cared for as if they were visiting dukes and duchesses. They were all fine, handsome, carefully chosen creatures. When they danced and sidled through the village on their way to the Court, they created a sensation. Whosoever had chosen them had known his business. The older vehicles had been repaired in the village by Tread, and did him credit. Fox had also done his work well. Plenty more of it had come into their work-shops. Tools to be used on the estate, garden implements, wheelbarrows, lawn rollers, things needed about the house, stables, and cottages, were to be attended to. The church roof was being repaired. Taking all these things and the "doing up" of the Court itself, there was more work than the village could manage, and carpenters, bricklayers, and decorators were necessarily brought from other places. Still Joe Buttle and Sim Soames were allowed to lead in all such things as lay within their capabilities. It was they who made such a splendid job of the entrance gates and the lodges. It was astonishing how much was done, and how the sense of life in the air--the work of resulting prosperity, made men begin to tread with less listless steps as they went to and from their labour. In the cottages things were being done which made downcast women bestir themselves and look less slatternly. Leaks mended here, windows there, the hopeless copper in the tiny washhouse replaced by a new one, chimneys cured of the habit of smoking, a clean, flowered paper put on a wall, a coat of whitewash--they were small matters, but produced great effect. Betty had begun to drop into the cottages, and make the acquaintance of their owners. Her first visits, she observed, created great consternation. Women looked frightened or sullen, children stared and refused to speak, clinging to skirts and aprons. She found the atmosphere clear after her second visit. The women began to talk, and the children collected in groups and listened with cheerful grins. She could pick up little Jane's kitten, or give a pat to small Thomas' mongrel dog, in a manner which threw down barriers. "Don't put out your pipe," she said to old Grandfather Doby, rising totteringly respectful from his chimney-side chair. "You have only just lighted it. You mustn't waste a whole pipeful of tobacco because I have come in." The old man, grown childish with age, tittered and shuffled and giggled. Such a joke as the grand young lady was having with him. She saw he had only just lighted his pipe. The gentry joked a bit sometimes. But he was afraid of his grandson's wife, who was frowning and shaking her head. Betty went to him, and put her hand on his arm. "Sit down," she said, "and I will sit by you." And she sat down and showed him that she had brought a package of tobacco with her, and actually a wonder of a red and yellow jar to hold it, at the sight of which unheard-of joys his rapture was so great that his trembling hands could scarcely clasp his treasures. "Tee-hee! Tee-hee-ee! Deary me! Thankee--thankee, my lady," he tittered, and he gazed and blinked at her beauty through heavenly tears. "Nearly a hundred years old, and he has lived on sixteen shillings a week all his life, and earned it by working every hour between sunrise and sunset," Betty said to her sister, when she went home. "A man has one life, and his has passed like that. It is done now, and all the years and work have left nothing in his old hands but his pipe. That's all. I should not like to put it out for him. Who am I that I can buy him a new one, and keep it filled for him until the end? How did it happen? No," suddenly, "I must not lose time in asking myself that. I must get the new pipe." She did it--a pipe of great magnificence--such as drew to the Doby cottage as many callers as the village could provide, each coming with fevered interest, to look at it--to be allowed to hold and examine it for a few moments, guessing at its probable enormous cost, and returning it reverently, to gaze at Doby with respect--the increase of which can be imagined when it was known that he was not only possessor of the pipe, but of an assurance that he would be supplied with as much tobacco as he could use, to the end of his days. From the time of the advent of the pipe, Grandfather Doby became a man of mark, and his life in the chimney corner a changed thing. A man who owns splendours and unlimited, excellent shag may like friends to drop in and crack jokes--and even smoke a pipe with him--a common pipe, which, however, is not amiss when excellent shag comes free. "He lives in a wild whirl of gaiety--a social vortex," said Betty to Lady Anstruthers, after one of her visits. "He is actually rejuvenated. I must order some new white smocks for him to receive his visitors in. Someone brought him an old copy of the Illustrated London News last night. We will send him illustrated papers every week." In the dull old brain, God knows what spark of life had been relighted. Young Mrs. Doby related with chuckles that granddad had begged that his chair might be dragged to the window, that he might sit and watch the village street. Sitting there, day after day, he smoked and looked at his pictures, and dozed and dreamed, his pipe and tobacco jar beside him on the window ledge. At any sound of wheels or footsteps his face lighted, and if, by chance, he caught a glimpse of Betty, he tottered to his feet, and stood hurriedly touching his bald forehead with a reverent, palsied hand. "'Tis 'urr," he would say, enrapt. "I seen 'urr--I did." And young Mrs. Doby knew that this was his joy, and what he waited for as one waits for the coming of the sun. "'Tis 'urr! 'Tis 'urr!" The vicar's wife, Mrs. Brent, who since the affair of John Wilson's fire had dropped into the background and felt it indiscreet to present tales of distress at the Court, began to recover her courage. Her perfunctory visits assumed a new character. The vicarage had, of course, called promptly upon Miss Vanderpoel, after her arrival. Mrs. Brent admired Miss Vanderpoel hugely. "You seem so unlike an American," she said once in her most tactful, ingratiating manner--which was very ingratiating indeed. "Do I? What is one like when one is like an American? I am one, you know." "I can scarcely believe it," with sweet ardour. "Pray try," said Betty with simple brevity, and Mrs. Brent felt that perhaps Miss Vanderpoel was not really very easy to get on with. "She meant to imply that I did not speak through my nose, and talk too much, and too vivaciously, in a shrill voice," Betty said afterwards, in talking the interview over with Rosy. "I like to convince myself that is not one's sole national characteristic. Also it was not exactly Mrs. Brent's place to kindly encourage me with the information that I do not seem to belong to my own country." Lady Anstruthers laughed, and Betty looked at her inquiringly. "You said that just like--just like an Englishwoman." "Did I?" said Betty. Mrs. Brent had come to talk to her because she did not wish to trouble dear Lady Anstruthers. Lady Anstruthers already looked much stronger, but she had been delicate so long that one hesitated to distress her with village matters. She did not add that she realised that she was coming to headquarters. The vicar and herself were much disturbed about a rather tiresome old woman--old Mrs. Welden--who lived in a tiny cottage in the village. She was eighty-three years old, and a respectable old person--a widow, who had reared ten children. The children had all grown up, and scattered, and old Mrs. Welden had nothing whatever to live on. No one knew how she lived, and really she would be better off in the workhouse. She could be sent to Brexley Union, and comfortably taken care of, but she had that singular, obstinate dislike to going, which it was so difficult to manage. She had asked for a shilling a week from the parish, but that could not be allowed her, as it would merely uphold her in her obstinate intention of remaining in her cottage, and taking care of herself--which she could not do. Betty gathered that the shilling a week would be a drain on the parish funds, and would so raise the old creature to affluence that she would feel she could defy fate. And the contumacity of old men and women should not be strengthened by the reckless bestowal of shillings. Knowing that Miss Vanderpoel had already gained influence among the village people, Mrs. Brent said, she had come to ask her if she would see old Mrs. Welden and argue with her in such a manner as would convince her that the workhouse was the best place for her. It was, of course, so much pleasanter if these old people could be induced to go to Brexley willingly. "Shall I be undermining the whole Political Economy of Stornham if I take care of her myself?" suggested Betty. "You--you will lead others to expect the same thing will be done for them." "When one has resources to draw on," Miss Vanderpoel commented, "in the case of a woman who has lived eighty-three years and brought up ten children until they were old and strong enough to leave her to take care of herself, it is difficult for the weak of mind to apply the laws of Political Economics. I will go and see old Mrs. Welden." If the Vanderpoels would provide for all the obstinate old men and women in the parish, the Political Economics of Stornham would proffer no marked objections. "A good many Americans," Mrs. Brent reflected, "seemed to have those odd, lavish ways," as witness Lady Anstruthers herself, on her first introduction to village life. Miss Vanderpoel was evidently a much stronger character, and extremely clever, and somehow the stream of the American fortune was at last being directed towards Stornham--which, of course, should have happened long ago. A good deal was "being done," and the whole situation looked more promising. So was the matter discussed and summed up, the same evening after dinner, at the vicarage. Betty found old Mrs. Welden's cottage. It was in a green lane, turning from the village street--which was almost a green lane itself. A tiny hedged-in front garden was before the cottage door. A crazy-looking wicket gate was in the hedge, and a fuschia bush and a few old roses were in the few yards of garden. There were actually two or three geraniums in the window, showing cheerful scarlet between the short, white dimity curtains. "A house this size and of this poverty in an American village," was Betty's thought, "would be a bare and straggling hideousness, with old tomato cans in the front yard. Here is one of the things we have to learn from them." When she knocked at the door an old woman opened it. She was a well-preserved and markedly respectable old person, in a decent print frock and a cap. At the sight of her visitor she beamed and made a suggestion of curtsey. "How do you do, Mrs. Welden?" said Betty. "I am Lady Anstruthers' sister, Miss Vanderpoel. I thought I would like to come and see you." "Thank you, miss, I am obliged for the kindness, miss. Won't you come in and have a chair?" There were no signs of decrepitude about her, and she had a cheery old eye. The tiny front room was neat, though there was scarcely space enough in it to contain the table covered with its blue-checked cotton cloth, the narrow sofa, and two or three chairs. There were a few small coloured prints, and a framed photograph or so on the walls, and on the table was a Bible, and a brown earthenware teapot, and a plate. "Tom Wood's wife, that's neighbour next door to me," she said, "gave me a pinch o' tea--an' I've just been 'avin it. Tom Woods, miss, 'as just been took on by Muster Kedgers as one of the new under gardeners at the Court." Betty found her delightful. She made no complaints, and was evidently pleased with the excitement of receiving a visitor. The truth was, that in common with every other old woman, she had secretly aspired to being visited some day by the amazing young lady from "Meriker." Betty had yet to learn of the heartburnings which may be occasioned by an unconscious favouritism. She was not aware that when she dropped in to talk to old Doby, his neighbour, old Megworth, peered from behind his curtains, with the dew of envy in his rheumy eyes. "S'ems," he mumbled, "as if they wasn't nobody now in Stornham village but Gaarge Doby--s'ems not." They were very fierce in their jealousy of attention, and one must beware of rousing evil passions in the octogenarian breast. The young lady from "Meriker" had not so far had time to make a call at any cottage in old Mrs. Welden's lane--and she had knocked just at old Mrs. Welden's door. This was enough to put in good spirits even a less cheery old person. At first Betty wondered how she could with delicacy ask personal questions. A few minutes' conversation, however, showed her that the personal affairs of Sir Nigel's tenants were also the affairs of not only himself, but of such of his relatives as attended to their natural duty. Her presence in the cottage, and her interest in Mrs. Welden's ready flow of simple talk, were desirable and proper compliments to the old woman herself. She was a decent and self-respecting old person, but in her mind there was no faintest glimmer of resentment of questions concerning rent and food and the needs of her simple, hard-driven existence. She had answered such questions on many occasions, when they had not been asked in the manner in which her ladyship's sister asked them. Mrs. Brent had scolded her and "poked about" her cottage, going into her tiny "wash 'us," and up into her infinitesimal bedroom under the slanting roof, to see that they were kept clean. Miss Vanderpoel showed no disposition to "poke." She sat and listened, and made an inquiry here and there, in a nice voice and with a smile in her eyes. There was some pleasure in relating the whole history of your eighty-three years to a young lady who listened as if she wanted to hear it. So old Mrs. Welden prattled on. About her good days, when she was young, and was kitchenmaid at the parsonage in a village twenty miles away; about her marriage with a young farm labourer; about his "steady" habits, and the comfort they had together, in spite of the yearly arrival of a new baby, and the crowding of the bit of a cottage his master allowed them. Ten of 'em, and it had been "up before sunrise, and a good bit of hard work to keep them all fed and clean." But she had not minded that until Jack died quite sudden after a sunstroke. It was odd how much colour her rustic phraseology held. She made Betty see it all. The apparent natural inevitableness of their being turned out of the cottage, because another man must have it; the years during which she worked her way while the ten were growing up, having measles, and chicken pox, and scarlet fever, one dying here and there, dropping out quite in the natural order of things, and being buried by the parish in corners of the ancient church yard. Three of them "was took" by scarlet fever, then one of a "decline," then one or two by other illnesses. Only four reached man and womanhood. One had gone to Australia, but he never was one to write, and after a year or two, Betty gathered, he had seemed to melt away into the great distance. Two girls had married, and Mrs. Welden could not say they had been "comf'able." They could barely feed themselves and their swarms of children. The other son had never been steady like his father. He had at last gone to London, and London had swallowed him up. Betty was struck by the fact that she did not seem to feel that the mother of ten might have expected some return for her labours, at eighty-three. Her unresentful acceptance of things was at once significant and moving. Betty found her amazing. What she lived on it was not easy to understand. She seemed rather like a cheerful old bird, getting up each unprovided-for morning, and picking up her sustenance where she found it. "There's more in the sayin' 'the Lord pervides' than a good many thinks," she said with a small chuckle, marked more by a genial and comfortable sense of humour than by an air of meritoriously quoting the vicar. "He DO." She paid one and threepence a week in rent for her cottage, and this was the most serious drain upon her resources. She apparently could live without food or fire, but the rent must be paid. "An' I do get a bit be'ind sometimes," she confessed apologetically, "an' then it's a trouble to get straight." Her cottage was one of a short row, and she did odd jobs for the women who were her neighbours. There were always babies to be looked after, and "bits of 'elp" needed, sometimes there were "movings" from one cottage to another, and "confinements" were plainly at once exhilarating and enriching. Her temperamental good cheer, combined with her experience, made her a desirable companion and assistant. She was engagingly frank. "When they're new to it, an' a bit frightened, I just give 'em a cup of 'ot tea, an' joke with 'em to cheer 'em up," she said. "I says to Charles Jenkins' wife, as lives next door, 'come now, me girl, it's been goin' on since Adam an' Eve, an' there's a good many of us left, isn't there?' An' a fine boy it was, too, miss, an' 'er up an' about before 'er month." She was paid in sixpences and spare shillings, and in cups of tea, or a fresh-baked loaf, or screws of sugar, or even in a garment not yet worn beyond repair. And she was free to run in and out, and grow a flower or so in her garden, and talk with a neighbour over the low dividing hedge. "They want me to go into the 'Ouse,'" reaching the dangerous subject at last. "They say I'll be took care of an' looked after. But I don't want to do it, miss. I want to keep my bit of a 'ome if I can, an' be free to come an' go. I'm eighty-three, an' it won't be long. I 'ad a shilling a week from the parish, but they stopped it because they said I ought to go into the 'Ouse.'" She looked at Betty with a momentarily anxious smile. "P'raps you don't quite understand, miss," she said. "It'll seem like nothin' to you--a place like this." "It doesn't," Betty answered, smiling bravely back into the old eyes, though she felt a slight fulness of the throat. "I understand all about it." It is possible that old Mrs. Welden was a little taken aback by an attitude which, satisfactory to her own prejudices though it might be, was, taken in connection with fixed customs, a trifle unnatural. "You don't mind me not wantin' to go?" she said. "No," was the answer, "not at all." Betty began to ask questions. How much tea, sugar, soap, candles, bread, butter, bacon, could Mrs. Welden use in a week? It was not very easy to find out the exact quantities, as Mrs. Welden's estimates of such things had been based, during her entire existence, upon calculation as to how little, not how much she could use. When Betty suggested a pound of tea, a half pound--the old woman smiled at the innocent ignorance the suggestion of such reckless profusion implied. "Oh, no! Bless you, miss, no! I couldn't never do away with it. A quarter, miss--that'd be plenty--a quarter." Mrs. Welden's idea of "the best," was that at two shillings a pound. Quarter of a pound would cost sixpence (twelve cents, thought Betty). A pound of sugar would be twopence, Mrs. Welden would use half a pound (the riotous extravagance of two cents). Half a pound of butter, "Good tub butter, miss," would be ten pence three farthings a pound. Soap, candles, bacon, bread, coal, wood, in the quantities required by Mrs. Welden, might, with the addition of rent, amount to the dizzying height of eight or ten shillings. "With careful extravagance," Betty mentally summed up, "I might spend almost two dollars a week in surrounding her with a riot of luxury." She made a list of the things, and added some extras as an idea of her own. Life had not afforded her this kind of thing before, she realised. She felt for the first time the joy of reckless extravagance, and thrilled with the excitement of it. "You need not think of Brexley Union any more," she said, when she, having risen to go, stood at the cottage door with old Mrs. Welden. "The things I have written down here shall be sent to you every Saturday night. I will pay your rent." "Miss--miss!" Mrs. Welden looked affrighted. "It's too much, miss. An' coals eighteen pence a hundred!" "Never mind," said her ladyship's sister, and the old woman, looking up into her eyes, found there the colour Mount Dunstan had thought of as being that of bluebells under water. "I think we can manage it, Mrs. Welden. Keep yourself as warm as you like, and sometime I will come and have a cup of tea with you and see if the tea is good." "Oh! Deary me!" said Mrs. Welden. "I can't think what to say, miss. It lifts everythin'--everythin'. It's not to be believed. It's like bein' left a fortune." When the wicket gate swung to and the young lady went up the lane, the old woman stood staring after her. And here was a piece of news to run into Charley Jenkins' cottage and tell--and what woman or man in the row would quite believe it? CHAPTER XXV "WE BEGAN TO MARRY THEM, MY GOOD FELLOW!" Lord Dunholm and his eldest son, Lord Westholt, sauntered together smoking their after-dinner cigars on the broad-turfed terrace overlooking park and gardens which seemed to sweep without boundary line into the purplish land beyond. The grey mass of the castle stood clear-cut against the blue of a sky whose twilight was still almost daylight, though in the purity of its evening stillness a star already hung, here and there, and a young moon swung low. The great spaces about them held a silence whose exquisite entirety was marked at intervals by the distant bark of a shepherd dog driving his master's sheep to the fold, their soft, intermittent plaints--the mother ewes' mellow answering to the tender, fretful lambs--floated on the air, a lovely part of the ending day's repose. Where two who are friends stroll together at such hours, the great beauty makes for silence or for thoughtful talk. These two men--father and son--were friends and intimates, and had been so from Westholt's first memory of the time when his childish individuality began to detach itself from the background of misty and indistinct things. They had liked each other, and their liking and intimacy had increased with the onward moving and change of years. After sixty sane and decently spent active years of life, Lord Dunholm, in either country tweed or evening dress, was a well-built and handsome man; at thirty-three his son was still like him. "Have you seen her?" he was saying. "Only at a distance. She was driving Lady Anstruthers across the marshes in a cart. She drove well and----" he laughed as he flicked the ash from his cigar--"the back of her head and shoulders looked handsome." "The American young woman is at present a factor which is without doubt to be counted with," Lord Dunholm put the matter without lightness. "Any young woman is a factor, but the American young woman just now--just now----" He paused a moment as though considering. "It did not seem at all necessary to count with them at first, when they began to appear among us. They were generally curiously exotic, funny little creatures with odd manners and voices. They were often most amusing, and one liked to hear them chatter and see the airy lightness with which they took superfluous, and sometimes unsuperfluous, conventions, as a hunter takes a five-barred gate. But it never occurred to us to marry them. We did not take them seriously enough. But we began to marry them--we began to marry them, my good fellow!" The final words broke forth with such a suggestion of sudden anxiety that, in spite of himself, Westholt laughed involuntarily, and his father, turning to look at him, laughed also. But he recovered his seriousness. "It was all rather a muddle at first," he went on. "Things were not fairly done, and certain bad lots looked on it as a paying scheme on the one side, while it was a matter of silly, little ambitions on the other. But that it is an extraordinary country there is no sane denying--huge, fabulously resourceful in every way--area, variety of climate, wealth of minerals, products of all sorts, soil to grow anything, and sun and rain enough to give each thing what it needs; last, or rather first, a people who, considered as a nation, are in the riot of youth, and who began by being English--which we Englishmen have an innocent belief is the one method of 'owning the earth.' That figure of speech is an Americanism I carefully committed to memory. Well, after all, look at the map--look at the map! There we are." They had frequently discussed together the question of the development of international relations. Lord Dunholm, a man of far-reaching and clear logic, had realised that the oddly unaccentuated growth of intercourse between the two countries might be a subject to be reflected on without lightness. "The habit we have of regarding America and Americans as rather a joke," he had once said, "has a sort of parallel in the condescendingly amiable amusement of a parent at the precocity or whimsicalness of a child. But the child is shooting up amazingly--amazingly. In a way which suggests divers possibilities." The exchange of visits between Dunholm and Stornham had been rare and formal. From the call made upon the younger Lady Anstruthers on her marriage, the Dunholms had returned with a sense of puzzled pity for the little American bride, with her wonderful frock and her uneasy, childish eyes. For some years Lady Anstruthers had been too delicate to make or return calls. One heard painful accounts of her apparent wretched ill-health and of the condition of her husband's estate. "As the relations between the two families have evidently been strained for years," Lord Dunholm said, "it is interesting to hear of the sudden advent of the sister. It seems to point to reconciliation. And you say the girl is an unusual person. "From what one hears, she would be unusual if she were an English girl who had spent her life on an English estate. That an American who is making her first visit to England should seem to see at once the practical needs of a neglected place is a thing to wonder at. What can she know about it, one

tobacco

How many times the word 'tobacco' appears in the text?

Anstruther's sister." Mr. Penzance, replacing his own hat, looked after her with surprised pleasure. "Really," he exclaimed, "Miss Vanderpoel! What a fine girl! How unusually handsome!" Selden turned with a gasp of delighted, amazed recognition. "Miss Vanderpoel," he burst forth, "Reuben Vanderpoel's daughter! The one that's over here visiting her sister. Is it that one--sure?" "Yes," from Mount Dunstan without fervour. "Lady Anstruthers lives at Stornham, about six miles from here." "Gee," with feverish regret. "If her father was there, and I could get next to him, my fortune would be made." "Should you," ventured Penzance politely, "endeavour to sell him a typewriter?" "A typewriter! Holy smoke! I'd try to sell him ten thousand. A fellow like that syndicates the world. If I could get next to him----" and he mounted his bicycle with a laugh. "Get next," murmured Penzance. "Get on the good side of him," Mount Dunstan murmured in reply. "So long, gentlemen, good-bye, and thank you again," called G. Selden as he wheeled off, and was carried soundlessly down the golden road. CHAPTER XXIV THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF STORNHAM The satin-skinned chestnut was one of the new horses now standing in the Stornham stables. There were several of them--a pair for the landau, saddle horses, smart young cobs for phaeton or dog cart, a pony for Ughtred--the animals necessary at such a place at Stornham. The stables themselves had been quickly put in order, grooms and stable boys kept them as they had not been kept for years. The men learned in a week's time that their work could not be done too well. There were new carriages as well as horses. They had come from London after Lady Anstruthers and her sister returned from town. The horses had been brought down by their grooms--immensely looked after, blanketed, hooded, and altogether cared for as if they were visiting dukes and duchesses. They were all fine, handsome, carefully chosen creatures. When they danced and sidled through the village on their way to the Court, they created a sensation. Whosoever had chosen them had known his business. The older vehicles had been repaired in the village by Tread, and did him credit. Fox had also done his work well. Plenty more of it had come into their work-shops. Tools to be used on the estate, garden implements, wheelbarrows, lawn rollers, things needed about the house, stables, and cottages, were to be attended to. The church roof was being repaired. Taking all these things and the "doing up" of the Court itself, there was more work than the village could manage, and carpenters, bricklayers, and decorators were necessarily brought from other places. Still Joe Buttle and Sim Soames were allowed to lead in all such things as lay within their capabilities. It was they who made such a splendid job of the entrance gates and the lodges. It was astonishing how much was done, and how the sense of life in the air--the work of resulting prosperity, made men begin to tread with less listless steps as they went to and from their labour. In the cottages things were being done which made downcast women bestir themselves and look less slatternly. Leaks mended here, windows there, the hopeless copper in the tiny washhouse replaced by a new one, chimneys cured of the habit of smoking, a clean, flowered paper put on a wall, a coat of whitewash--they were small matters, but produced great effect. Betty had begun to drop into the cottages, and make the acquaintance of their owners. Her first visits, she observed, created great consternation. Women looked frightened or sullen, children stared and refused to speak, clinging to skirts and aprons. She found the atmosphere clear after her second visit. The women began to talk, and the children collected in groups and listened with cheerful grins. She could pick up little Jane's kitten, or give a pat to small Thomas' mongrel dog, in a manner which threw down barriers. "Don't put out your pipe," she said to old Grandfather Doby, rising totteringly respectful from his chimney-side chair. "You have only just lighted it. You mustn't waste a whole pipeful of tobacco because I have come in." The old man, grown childish with age, tittered and shuffled and giggled. Such a joke as the grand young lady was having with him. She saw he had only just lighted his pipe. The gentry joked a bit sometimes. But he was afraid of his grandson's wife, who was frowning and shaking her head. Betty went to him, and put her hand on his arm. "Sit down," she said, "and I will sit by you." And she sat down and showed him that she had brought a package of tobacco with her, and actually a wonder of a red and yellow jar to hold it, at the sight of which unheard-of joys his rapture was so great that his trembling hands could scarcely clasp his treasures. "Tee-hee! Tee-hee-ee! Deary me! Thankee--thankee, my lady," he tittered, and he gazed and blinked at her beauty through heavenly tears. "Nearly a hundred years old, and he has lived on sixteen shillings a week all his life, and earned it by working every hour between sunrise and sunset," Betty said to her sister, when she went home. "A man has one life, and his has passed like that. It is done now, and all the years and work have left nothing in his old hands but his pipe. That's all. I should not like to put it out for him. Who am I that I can buy him a new one, and keep it filled for him until the end? How did it happen? No," suddenly, "I must not lose time in asking myself that. I must get the new pipe." She did it--a pipe of great magnificence--such as drew to the Doby cottage as many callers as the village could provide, each coming with fevered interest, to look at it--to be allowed to hold and examine it for a few moments, guessing at its probable enormous cost, and returning it reverently, to gaze at Doby with respect--the increase of which can be imagined when it was known that he was not only possessor of the pipe, but of an assurance that he would be supplied with as much tobacco as he could use, to the end of his days. From the time of the advent of the pipe, Grandfather Doby became a man of mark, and his life in the chimney corner a changed thing. A man who owns splendours and unlimited, excellent shag may like friends to drop in and crack jokes--and even smoke a pipe with him--a common pipe, which, however, is not amiss when excellent shag comes free. "He lives in a wild whirl of gaiety--a social vortex," said Betty to Lady Anstruthers, after one of her visits. "He is actually rejuvenated. I must order some new white smocks for him to receive his visitors in. Someone brought him an old copy of the Illustrated London News last night. We will send him illustrated papers every week." In the dull old brain, God knows what spark of life had been relighted. Young Mrs. Doby related with chuckles that granddad had begged that his chair might be dragged to the window, that he might sit and watch the village street. Sitting there, day after day, he smoked and looked at his pictures, and dozed and dreamed, his pipe and tobacco jar beside him on the window ledge. At any sound of wheels or footsteps his face lighted, and if, by chance, he caught a glimpse of Betty, he tottered to his feet, and stood hurriedly touching his bald forehead with a reverent, palsied hand. "'Tis 'urr," he would say, enrapt. "I seen 'urr--I did." And young Mrs. Doby knew that this was his joy, and what he waited for as one waits for the coming of the sun. "'Tis 'urr! 'Tis 'urr!" The vicar's wife, Mrs. Brent, who since the affair of John Wilson's fire had dropped into the background and felt it indiscreet to present tales of distress at the Court, began to recover her courage. Her perfunctory visits assumed a new character. The vicarage had, of course, called promptly upon Miss Vanderpoel, after her arrival. Mrs. Brent admired Miss Vanderpoel hugely. "You seem so unlike an American," she said once in her most tactful, ingratiating manner--which was very ingratiating indeed. "Do I? What is one like when one is like an American? I am one, you know." "I can scarcely believe it," with sweet ardour. "Pray try," said Betty with simple brevity, and Mrs. Brent felt that perhaps Miss Vanderpoel was not really very easy to get on with. "She meant to imply that I did not speak through my nose, and talk too much, and too vivaciously, in a shrill voice," Betty said afterwards, in talking the interview over with Rosy. "I like to convince myself that is not one's sole national characteristic. Also it was not exactly Mrs. Brent's place to kindly encourage me with the information that I do not seem to belong to my own country." Lady Anstruthers laughed, and Betty looked at her inquiringly. "You said that just like--just like an Englishwoman." "Did I?" said Betty. Mrs. Brent had come to talk to her because she did not wish to trouble dear Lady Anstruthers. Lady Anstruthers already looked much stronger, but she had been delicate so long that one hesitated to distress her with village matters. She did not add that she realised that she was coming to headquarters. The vicar and herself were much disturbed about a rather tiresome old woman--old Mrs. Welden--who lived in a tiny cottage in the village. She was eighty-three years old, and a respectable old person--a widow, who had reared ten children. The children had all grown up, and scattered, and old Mrs. Welden had nothing whatever to live on. No one knew how she lived, and really she would be better off in the workhouse. She could be sent to Brexley Union, and comfortably taken care of, but she had that singular, obstinate dislike to going, which it was so difficult to manage. She had asked for a shilling a week from the parish, but that could not be allowed her, as it would merely uphold her in her obstinate intention of remaining in her cottage, and taking care of herself--which she could not do. Betty gathered that the shilling a week would be a drain on the parish funds, and would so raise the old creature to affluence that she would feel she could defy fate. And the contumacity of old men and women should not be strengthened by the reckless bestowal of shillings. Knowing that Miss Vanderpoel had already gained influence among the village people, Mrs. Brent said, she had come to ask her if she would see old Mrs. Welden and argue with her in such a manner as would convince her that the workhouse was the best place for her. It was, of course, so much pleasanter if these old people could be induced to go to Brexley willingly. "Shall I be undermining the whole Political Economy of Stornham if I take care of her myself?" suggested Betty. "You--you will lead others to expect the same thing will be done for them." "When one has resources to draw on," Miss Vanderpoel commented, "in the case of a woman who has lived eighty-three years and brought up ten children until they were old and strong enough to leave her to take care of herself, it is difficult for the weak of mind to apply the laws of Political Economics. I will go and see old Mrs. Welden." If the Vanderpoels would provide for all the obstinate old men and women in the parish, the Political Economics of Stornham would proffer no marked objections. "A good many Americans," Mrs. Brent reflected, "seemed to have those odd, lavish ways," as witness Lady Anstruthers herself, on her first introduction to village life. Miss Vanderpoel was evidently a much stronger character, and extremely clever, and somehow the stream of the American fortune was at last being directed towards Stornham--which, of course, should have happened long ago. A good deal was "being done," and the whole situation looked more promising. So was the matter discussed and summed up, the same evening after dinner, at the vicarage. Betty found old Mrs. Welden's cottage. It was in a green lane, turning from the village street--which was almost a green lane itself. A tiny hedged-in front garden was before the cottage door. A crazy-looking wicket gate was in the hedge, and a fuschia bush and a few old roses were in the few yards of garden. There were actually two or three geraniums in the window, showing cheerful scarlet between the short, white dimity curtains. "A house this size and of this poverty in an American village," was Betty's thought, "would be a bare and straggling hideousness, with old tomato cans in the front yard. Here is one of the things we have to learn from them." When she knocked at the door an old woman opened it. She was a well-preserved and markedly respectable old person, in a decent print frock and a cap. At the sight of her visitor she beamed and made a suggestion of curtsey. "How do you do, Mrs. Welden?" said Betty. "I am Lady Anstruthers' sister, Miss Vanderpoel. I thought I would like to come and see you." "Thank you, miss, I am obliged for the kindness, miss. Won't you come in and have a chair?" There were no signs of decrepitude about her, and she had a cheery old eye. The tiny front room was neat, though there was scarcely space enough in it to contain the table covered with its blue-checked cotton cloth, the narrow sofa, and two or three chairs. There were a few small coloured prints, and a framed photograph or so on the walls, and on the table was a Bible, and a brown earthenware teapot, and a plate. "Tom Wood's wife, that's neighbour next door to me," she said, "gave me a pinch o' tea--an' I've just been 'avin it. Tom Woods, miss, 'as just been took on by Muster Kedgers as one of the new under gardeners at the Court." Betty found her delightful. She made no complaints, and was evidently pleased with the excitement of receiving a visitor. The truth was, that in common with every other old woman, she had secretly aspired to being visited some day by the amazing young lady from "Meriker." Betty had yet to learn of the heartburnings which may be occasioned by an unconscious favouritism. She was not aware that when she dropped in to talk to old Doby, his neighbour, old Megworth, peered from behind his curtains, with the dew of envy in his rheumy eyes. "S'ems," he mumbled, "as if they wasn't nobody now in Stornham village but Gaarge Doby--s'ems not." They were very fierce in their jealousy of attention, and one must beware of rousing evil passions in the octogenarian breast. The young lady from "Meriker" had not so far had time to make a call at any cottage in old Mrs. Welden's lane--and she had knocked just at old Mrs. Welden's door. This was enough to put in good spirits even a less cheery old person. At first Betty wondered how she could with delicacy ask personal questions. A few minutes' conversation, however, showed her that the personal affairs of Sir Nigel's tenants were also the affairs of not only himself, but of such of his relatives as attended to their natural duty. Her presence in the cottage, and her interest in Mrs. Welden's ready flow of simple talk, were desirable and proper compliments to the old woman herself. She was a decent and self-respecting old person, but in her mind there was no faintest glimmer of resentment of questions concerning rent and food and the needs of her simple, hard-driven existence. She had answered such questions on many occasions, when they had not been asked in the manner in which her ladyship's sister asked them. Mrs. Brent had scolded her and "poked about" her cottage, going into her tiny "wash 'us," and up into her infinitesimal bedroom under the slanting roof, to see that they were kept clean. Miss Vanderpoel showed no disposition to "poke." She sat and listened, and made an inquiry here and there, in a nice voice and with a smile in her eyes. There was some pleasure in relating the whole history of your eighty-three years to a young lady who listened as if she wanted to hear it. So old Mrs. Welden prattled on. About her good days, when she was young, and was kitchenmaid at the parsonage in a village twenty miles away; about her marriage with a young farm labourer; about his "steady" habits, and the comfort they had together, in spite of the yearly arrival of a new baby, and the crowding of the bit of a cottage his master allowed them. Ten of 'em, and it had been "up before sunrise, and a good bit of hard work to keep them all fed and clean." But she had not minded that until Jack died quite sudden after a sunstroke. It was odd how much colour her rustic phraseology held. She made Betty see it all. The apparent natural inevitableness of their being turned out of the cottage, because another man must have it; the years during which she worked her way while the ten were growing up, having measles, and chicken pox, and scarlet fever, one dying here and there, dropping out quite in the natural order of things, and being buried by the parish in corners of the ancient church yard. Three of them "was took" by scarlet fever, then one of a "decline," then one or two by other illnesses. Only four reached man and womanhood. One had gone to Australia, but he never was one to write, and after a year or two, Betty gathered, he had seemed to melt away into the great distance. Two girls had married, and Mrs. Welden could not say they had been "comf'able." They could barely feed themselves and their swarms of children. The other son had never been steady like his father. He had at last gone to London, and London had swallowed him up. Betty was struck by the fact that she did not seem to feel that the mother of ten might have expected some return for her labours, at eighty-three. Her unresentful acceptance of things was at once significant and moving. Betty found her amazing. What she lived on it was not easy to understand. She seemed rather like a cheerful old bird, getting up each unprovided-for morning, and picking up her sustenance where she found it. "There's more in the sayin' 'the Lord pervides' than a good many thinks," she said with a small chuckle, marked more by a genial and comfortable sense of humour than by an air of meritoriously quoting the vicar. "He DO." She paid one and threepence a week in rent for her cottage, and this was the most serious drain upon her resources. She apparently could live without food or fire, but the rent must be paid. "An' I do get a bit be'ind sometimes," she confessed apologetically, "an' then it's a trouble to get straight." Her cottage was one of a short row, and she did odd jobs for the women who were her neighbours. There were always babies to be looked after, and "bits of 'elp" needed, sometimes there were "movings" from one cottage to another, and "confinements" were plainly at once exhilarating and enriching. Her temperamental good cheer, combined with her experience, made her a desirable companion and assistant. She was engagingly frank. "When they're new to it, an' a bit frightened, I just give 'em a cup of 'ot tea, an' joke with 'em to cheer 'em up," she said. "I says to Charles Jenkins' wife, as lives next door, 'come now, me girl, it's been goin' on since Adam an' Eve, an' there's a good many of us left, isn't there?' An' a fine boy it was, too, miss, an' 'er up an' about before 'er month." She was paid in sixpences and spare shillings, and in cups of tea, or a fresh-baked loaf, or screws of sugar, or even in a garment not yet worn beyond repair. And she was free to run in and out, and grow a flower or so in her garden, and talk with a neighbour over the low dividing hedge. "They want me to go into the 'Ouse,'" reaching the dangerous subject at last. "They say I'll be took care of an' looked after. But I don't want to do it, miss. I want to keep my bit of a 'ome if I can, an' be free to come an' go. I'm eighty-three, an' it won't be long. I 'ad a shilling a week from the parish, but they stopped it because they said I ought to go into the 'Ouse.'" She looked at Betty with a momentarily anxious smile. "P'raps you don't quite understand, miss," she said. "It'll seem like nothin' to you--a place like this." "It doesn't," Betty answered, smiling bravely back into the old eyes, though she felt a slight fulness of the throat. "I understand all about it." It is possible that old Mrs. Welden was a little taken aback by an attitude which, satisfactory to her own prejudices though it might be, was, taken in connection with fixed customs, a trifle unnatural. "You don't mind me not wantin' to go?" she said. "No," was the answer, "not at all." Betty began to ask questions. How much tea, sugar, soap, candles, bread, butter, bacon, could Mrs. Welden use in a week? It was not very easy to find out the exact quantities, as Mrs. Welden's estimates of such things had been based, during her entire existence, upon calculation as to how little, not how much she could use. When Betty suggested a pound of tea, a half pound--the old woman smiled at the innocent ignorance the suggestion of such reckless profusion implied. "Oh, no! Bless you, miss, no! I couldn't never do away with it. A quarter, miss--that'd be plenty--a quarter." Mrs. Welden's idea of "the best," was that at two shillings a pound. Quarter of a pound would cost sixpence (twelve cents, thought Betty). A pound of sugar would be twopence, Mrs. Welden would use half a pound (the riotous extravagance of two cents). Half a pound of butter, "Good tub butter, miss," would be ten pence three farthings a pound. Soap, candles, bacon, bread, coal, wood, in the quantities required by Mrs. Welden, might, with the addition of rent, amount to the dizzying height of eight or ten shillings. "With careful extravagance," Betty mentally summed up, "I might spend almost two dollars a week in surrounding her with a riot of luxury." She made a list of the things, and added some extras as an idea of her own. Life had not afforded her this kind of thing before, she realised. She felt for the first time the joy of reckless extravagance, and thrilled with the excitement of it. "You need not think of Brexley Union any more," she said, when she, having risen to go, stood at the cottage door with old Mrs. Welden. "The things I have written down here shall be sent to you every Saturday night. I will pay your rent." "Miss--miss!" Mrs. Welden looked affrighted. "It's too much, miss. An' coals eighteen pence a hundred!" "Never mind," said her ladyship's sister, and the old woman, looking up into her eyes, found there the colour Mount Dunstan had thought of as being that of bluebells under water. "I think we can manage it, Mrs. Welden. Keep yourself as warm as you like, and sometime I will come and have a cup of tea with you and see if the tea is good." "Oh! Deary me!" said Mrs. Welden. "I can't think what to say, miss. It lifts everythin'--everythin'. It's not to be believed. It's like bein' left a fortune." When the wicket gate swung to and the young lady went up the lane, the old woman stood staring after her. And here was a piece of news to run into Charley Jenkins' cottage and tell--and what woman or man in the row would quite believe it? CHAPTER XXV "WE BEGAN TO MARRY THEM, MY GOOD FELLOW!" Lord Dunholm and his eldest son, Lord Westholt, sauntered together smoking their after-dinner cigars on the broad-turfed terrace overlooking park and gardens which seemed to sweep without boundary line into the purplish land beyond. The grey mass of the castle stood clear-cut against the blue of a sky whose twilight was still almost daylight, though in the purity of its evening stillness a star already hung, here and there, and a young moon swung low. The great spaces about them held a silence whose exquisite entirety was marked at intervals by the distant bark of a shepherd dog driving his master's sheep to the fold, their soft, intermittent plaints--the mother ewes' mellow answering to the tender, fretful lambs--floated on the air, a lovely part of the ending day's repose. Where two who are friends stroll together at such hours, the great beauty makes for silence or for thoughtful talk. These two men--father and son--were friends and intimates, and had been so from Westholt's first memory of the time when his childish individuality began to detach itself from the background of misty and indistinct things. They had liked each other, and their liking and intimacy had increased with the onward moving and change of years. After sixty sane and decently spent active years of life, Lord Dunholm, in either country tweed or evening dress, was a well-built and handsome man; at thirty-three his son was still like him. "Have you seen her?" he was saying. "Only at a distance. She was driving Lady Anstruthers across the marshes in a cart. She drove well and----" he laughed as he flicked the ash from his cigar--"the back of her head and shoulders looked handsome." "The American young woman is at present a factor which is without doubt to be counted with," Lord Dunholm put the matter without lightness. "Any young woman is a factor, but the American young woman just now--just now----" He paused a moment as though considering. "It did not seem at all necessary to count with them at first, when they began to appear among us. They were generally curiously exotic, funny little creatures with odd manners and voices. They were often most amusing, and one liked to hear them chatter and see the airy lightness with which they took superfluous, and sometimes unsuperfluous, conventions, as a hunter takes a five-barred gate. But it never occurred to us to marry them. We did not take them seriously enough. But we began to marry them--we began to marry them, my good fellow!" The final words broke forth with such a suggestion of sudden anxiety that, in spite of himself, Westholt laughed involuntarily, and his father, turning to look at him, laughed also. But he recovered his seriousness. "It was all rather a muddle at first," he went on. "Things were not fairly done, and certain bad lots looked on it as a paying scheme on the one side, while it was a matter of silly, little ambitions on the other. But that it is an extraordinary country there is no sane denying--huge, fabulously resourceful in every way--area, variety of climate, wealth of minerals, products of all sorts, soil to grow anything, and sun and rain enough to give each thing what it needs; last, or rather first, a people who, considered as a nation, are in the riot of youth, and who began by being English--which we Englishmen have an innocent belief is the one method of 'owning the earth.' That figure of speech is an Americanism I carefully committed to memory. Well, after all, look at the map--look at the map! There we are." They had frequently discussed together the question of the development of international relations. Lord Dunholm, a man of far-reaching and clear logic, had realised that the oddly unaccentuated growth of intercourse between the two countries might be a subject to be reflected on without lightness. "The habit we have of regarding America and Americans as rather a joke," he had once said, "has a sort of parallel in the condescendingly amiable amusement of a parent at the precocity or whimsicalness of a child. But the child is shooting up amazingly--amazingly. In a way which suggests divers possibilities." The exchange of visits between Dunholm and Stornham had been rare and formal. From the call made upon the younger Lady Anstruthers on her marriage, the Dunholms had returned with a sense of puzzled pity for the little American bride, with her wonderful frock and her uneasy, childish eyes. For some years Lady Anstruthers had been too delicate to make or return calls. One heard painful accounts of her apparent wretched ill-health and of the condition of her husband's estate. "As the relations between the two families have evidently been strained for years," Lord Dunholm said, "it is interesting to hear of the sudden advent of the sister. It seems to point to reconciliation. And you say the girl is an unusual person. "From what one hears, she would be unusual if she were an English girl who had spent her life on an English estate. That an American who is making her first visit to England should seem to see at once the practical needs of a neglected place is a thing to wonder at. What can she know about it, one

altogether

How many times the word 'altogether' appears in the text?

Anstruther's sister." Mr. Penzance, replacing his own hat, looked after her with surprised pleasure. "Really," he exclaimed, "Miss Vanderpoel! What a fine girl! How unusually handsome!" Selden turned with a gasp of delighted, amazed recognition. "Miss Vanderpoel," he burst forth, "Reuben Vanderpoel's daughter! The one that's over here visiting her sister. Is it that one--sure?" "Yes," from Mount Dunstan without fervour. "Lady Anstruthers lives at Stornham, about six miles from here." "Gee," with feverish regret. "If her father was there, and I could get next to him, my fortune would be made." "Should you," ventured Penzance politely, "endeavour to sell him a typewriter?" "A typewriter! Holy smoke! I'd try to sell him ten thousand. A fellow like that syndicates the world. If I could get next to him----" and he mounted his bicycle with a laugh. "Get next," murmured Penzance. "Get on the good side of him," Mount Dunstan murmured in reply. "So long, gentlemen, good-bye, and thank you again," called G. Selden as he wheeled off, and was carried soundlessly down the golden road. CHAPTER XXIV THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF STORNHAM The satin-skinned chestnut was one of the new horses now standing in the Stornham stables. There were several of them--a pair for the landau, saddle horses, smart young cobs for phaeton or dog cart, a pony for Ughtred--the animals necessary at such a place at Stornham. The stables themselves had been quickly put in order, grooms and stable boys kept them as they had not been kept for years. The men learned in a week's time that their work could not be done too well. There were new carriages as well as horses. They had come from London after Lady Anstruthers and her sister returned from town. The horses had been brought down by their grooms--immensely looked after, blanketed, hooded, and altogether cared for as if they were visiting dukes and duchesses. They were all fine, handsome, carefully chosen creatures. When they danced and sidled through the village on their way to the Court, they created a sensation. Whosoever had chosen them had known his business. The older vehicles had been repaired in the village by Tread, and did him credit. Fox had also done his work well. Plenty more of it had come into their work-shops. Tools to be used on the estate, garden implements, wheelbarrows, lawn rollers, things needed about the house, stables, and cottages, were to be attended to. The church roof was being repaired. Taking all these things and the "doing up" of the Court itself, there was more work than the village could manage, and carpenters, bricklayers, and decorators were necessarily brought from other places. Still Joe Buttle and Sim Soames were allowed to lead in all such things as lay within their capabilities. It was they who made such a splendid job of the entrance gates and the lodges. It was astonishing how much was done, and how the sense of life in the air--the work of resulting prosperity, made men begin to tread with less listless steps as they went to and from their labour. In the cottages things were being done which made downcast women bestir themselves and look less slatternly. Leaks mended here, windows there, the hopeless copper in the tiny washhouse replaced by a new one, chimneys cured of the habit of smoking, a clean, flowered paper put on a wall, a coat of whitewash--they were small matters, but produced great effect. Betty had begun to drop into the cottages, and make the acquaintance of their owners. Her first visits, she observed, created great consternation. Women looked frightened or sullen, children stared and refused to speak, clinging to skirts and aprons. She found the atmosphere clear after her second visit. The women began to talk, and the children collected in groups and listened with cheerful grins. She could pick up little Jane's kitten, or give a pat to small Thomas' mongrel dog, in a manner which threw down barriers. "Don't put out your pipe," she said to old Grandfather Doby, rising totteringly respectful from his chimney-side chair. "You have only just lighted it. You mustn't waste a whole pipeful of tobacco because I have come in." The old man, grown childish with age, tittered and shuffled and giggled. Such a joke as the grand young lady was having with him. She saw he had only just lighted his pipe. The gentry joked a bit sometimes. But he was afraid of his grandson's wife, who was frowning and shaking her head. Betty went to him, and put her hand on his arm. "Sit down," she said, "and I will sit by you." And she sat down and showed him that she had brought a package of tobacco with her, and actually a wonder of a red and yellow jar to hold it, at the sight of which unheard-of joys his rapture was so great that his trembling hands could scarcely clasp his treasures. "Tee-hee! Tee-hee-ee! Deary me! Thankee--thankee, my lady," he tittered, and he gazed and blinked at her beauty through heavenly tears. "Nearly a hundred years old, and he has lived on sixteen shillings a week all his life, and earned it by working every hour between sunrise and sunset," Betty said to her sister, when she went home. "A man has one life, and his has passed like that. It is done now, and all the years and work have left nothing in his old hands but his pipe. That's all. I should not like to put it out for him. Who am I that I can buy him a new one, and keep it filled for him until the end? How did it happen? No," suddenly, "I must not lose time in asking myself that. I must get the new pipe." She did it--a pipe of great magnificence--such as drew to the Doby cottage as many callers as the village could provide, each coming with fevered interest, to look at it--to be allowed to hold and examine it for a few moments, guessing at its probable enormous cost, and returning it reverently, to gaze at Doby with respect--the increase of which can be imagined when it was known that he was not only possessor of the pipe, but of an assurance that he would be supplied with as much tobacco as he could use, to the end of his days. From the time of the advent of the pipe, Grandfather Doby became a man of mark, and his life in the chimney corner a changed thing. A man who owns splendours and unlimited, excellent shag may like friends to drop in and crack jokes--and even smoke a pipe with him--a common pipe, which, however, is not amiss when excellent shag comes free. "He lives in a wild whirl of gaiety--a social vortex," said Betty to Lady Anstruthers, after one of her visits. "He is actually rejuvenated. I must order some new white smocks for him to receive his visitors in. Someone brought him an old copy of the Illustrated London News last night. We will send him illustrated papers every week." In the dull old brain, God knows what spark of life had been relighted. Young Mrs. Doby related with chuckles that granddad had begged that his chair might be dragged to the window, that he might sit and watch the village street. Sitting there, day after day, he smoked and looked at his pictures, and dozed and dreamed, his pipe and tobacco jar beside him on the window ledge. At any sound of wheels or footsteps his face lighted, and if, by chance, he caught a glimpse of Betty, he tottered to his feet, and stood hurriedly touching his bald forehead with a reverent, palsied hand. "'Tis 'urr," he would say, enrapt. "I seen 'urr--I did." And young Mrs. Doby knew that this was his joy, and what he waited for as one waits for the coming of the sun. "'Tis 'urr! 'Tis 'urr!" The vicar's wife, Mrs. Brent, who since the affair of John Wilson's fire had dropped into the background and felt it indiscreet to present tales of distress at the Court, began to recover her courage. Her perfunctory visits assumed a new character. The vicarage had, of course, called promptly upon Miss Vanderpoel, after her arrival. Mrs. Brent admired Miss Vanderpoel hugely. "You seem so unlike an American," she said once in her most tactful, ingratiating manner--which was very ingratiating indeed. "Do I? What is one like when one is like an American? I am one, you know." "I can scarcely believe it," with sweet ardour. "Pray try," said Betty with simple brevity, and Mrs. Brent felt that perhaps Miss Vanderpoel was not really very easy to get on with. "She meant to imply that I did not speak through my nose, and talk too much, and too vivaciously, in a shrill voice," Betty said afterwards, in talking the interview over with Rosy. "I like to convince myself that is not one's sole national characteristic. Also it was not exactly Mrs. Brent's place to kindly encourage me with the information that I do not seem to belong to my own country." Lady Anstruthers laughed, and Betty looked at her inquiringly. "You said that just like--just like an Englishwoman." "Did I?" said Betty. Mrs. Brent had come to talk to her because she did not wish to trouble dear Lady Anstruthers. Lady Anstruthers already looked much stronger, but she had been delicate so long that one hesitated to distress her with village matters. She did not add that she realised that she was coming to headquarters. The vicar and herself were much disturbed about a rather tiresome old woman--old Mrs. Welden--who lived in a tiny cottage in the village. She was eighty-three years old, and a respectable old person--a widow, who had reared ten children. The children had all grown up, and scattered, and old Mrs. Welden had nothing whatever to live on. No one knew how she lived, and really she would be better off in the workhouse. She could be sent to Brexley Union, and comfortably taken care of, but she had that singular, obstinate dislike to going, which it was so difficult to manage. She had asked for a shilling a week from the parish, but that could not be allowed her, as it would merely uphold her in her obstinate intention of remaining in her cottage, and taking care of herself--which she could not do. Betty gathered that the shilling a week would be a drain on the parish funds, and would so raise the old creature to affluence that she would feel she could defy fate. And the contumacity of old men and women should not be strengthened by the reckless bestowal of shillings. Knowing that Miss Vanderpoel had already gained influence among the village people, Mrs. Brent said, she had come to ask her if she would see old Mrs. Welden and argue with her in such a manner as would convince her that the workhouse was the best place for her. It was, of course, so much pleasanter if these old people could be induced to go to Brexley willingly. "Shall I be undermining the whole Political Economy of Stornham if I take care of her myself?" suggested Betty. "You--you will lead others to expect the same thing will be done for them." "When one has resources to draw on," Miss Vanderpoel commented, "in the case of a woman who has lived eighty-three years and brought up ten children until they were old and strong enough to leave her to take care of herself, it is difficult for the weak of mind to apply the laws of Political Economics. I will go and see old Mrs. Welden." If the Vanderpoels would provide for all the obstinate old men and women in the parish, the Political Economics of Stornham would proffer no marked objections. "A good many Americans," Mrs. Brent reflected, "seemed to have those odd, lavish ways," as witness Lady Anstruthers herself, on her first introduction to village life. Miss Vanderpoel was evidently a much stronger character, and extremely clever, and somehow the stream of the American fortune was at last being directed towards Stornham--which, of course, should have happened long ago. A good deal was "being done," and the whole situation looked more promising. So was the matter discussed and summed up, the same evening after dinner, at the vicarage. Betty found old Mrs. Welden's cottage. It was in a green lane, turning from the village street--which was almost a green lane itself. A tiny hedged-in front garden was before the cottage door. A crazy-looking wicket gate was in the hedge, and a fuschia bush and a few old roses were in the few yards of garden. There were actually two or three geraniums in the window, showing cheerful scarlet between the short, white dimity curtains. "A house this size and of this poverty in an American village," was Betty's thought, "would be a bare and straggling hideousness, with old tomato cans in the front yard. Here is one of the things we have to learn from them." When she knocked at the door an old woman opened it. She was a well-preserved and markedly respectable old person, in a decent print frock and a cap. At the sight of her visitor she beamed and made a suggestion of curtsey. "How do you do, Mrs. Welden?" said Betty. "I am Lady Anstruthers' sister, Miss Vanderpoel. I thought I would like to come and see you." "Thank you, miss, I am obliged for the kindness, miss. Won't you come in and have a chair?" There were no signs of decrepitude about her, and she had a cheery old eye. The tiny front room was neat, though there was scarcely space enough in it to contain the table covered with its blue-checked cotton cloth, the narrow sofa, and two or three chairs. There were a few small coloured prints, and a framed photograph or so on the walls, and on the table was a Bible, and a brown earthenware teapot, and a plate. "Tom Wood's wife, that's neighbour next door to me," she said, "gave me a pinch o' tea--an' I've just been 'avin it. Tom Woods, miss, 'as just been took on by Muster Kedgers as one of the new under gardeners at the Court." Betty found her delightful. She made no complaints, and was evidently pleased with the excitement of receiving a visitor. The truth was, that in common with every other old woman, she had secretly aspired to being visited some day by the amazing young lady from "Meriker." Betty had yet to learn of the heartburnings which may be occasioned by an unconscious favouritism. She was not aware that when she dropped in to talk to old Doby, his neighbour, old Megworth, peered from behind his curtains, with the dew of envy in his rheumy eyes. "S'ems," he mumbled, "as if they wasn't nobody now in Stornham village but Gaarge Doby--s'ems not." They were very fierce in their jealousy of attention, and one must beware of rousing evil passions in the octogenarian breast. The young lady from "Meriker" had not so far had time to make a call at any cottage in old Mrs. Welden's lane--and she had knocked just at old Mrs. Welden's door. This was enough to put in good spirits even a less cheery old person. At first Betty wondered how she could with delicacy ask personal questions. A few minutes' conversation, however, showed her that the personal affairs of Sir Nigel's tenants were also the affairs of not only himself, but of such of his relatives as attended to their natural duty. Her presence in the cottage, and her interest in Mrs. Welden's ready flow of simple talk, were desirable and proper compliments to the old woman herself. She was a decent and self-respecting old person, but in her mind there was no faintest glimmer of resentment of questions concerning rent and food and the needs of her simple, hard-driven existence. She had answered such questions on many occasions, when they had not been asked in the manner in which her ladyship's sister asked them. Mrs. Brent had scolded her and "poked about" her cottage, going into her tiny "wash 'us," and up into her infinitesimal bedroom under the slanting roof, to see that they were kept clean. Miss Vanderpoel showed no disposition to "poke." She sat and listened, and made an inquiry here and there, in a nice voice and with a smile in her eyes. There was some pleasure in relating the whole history of your eighty-three years to a young lady who listened as if she wanted to hear it. So old Mrs. Welden prattled on. About her good days, when she was young, and was kitchenmaid at the parsonage in a village twenty miles away; about her marriage with a young farm labourer; about his "steady" habits, and the comfort they had together, in spite of the yearly arrival of a new baby, and the crowding of the bit of a cottage his master allowed them. Ten of 'em, and it had been "up before sunrise, and a good bit of hard work to keep them all fed and clean." But she had not minded that until Jack died quite sudden after a sunstroke. It was odd how much colour her rustic phraseology held. She made Betty see it all. The apparent natural inevitableness of their being turned out of the cottage, because another man must have it; the years during which she worked her way while the ten were growing up, having measles, and chicken pox, and scarlet fever, one dying here and there, dropping out quite in the natural order of things, and being buried by the parish in corners of the ancient church yard. Three of them "was took" by scarlet fever, then one of a "decline," then one or two by other illnesses. Only four reached man and womanhood. One had gone to Australia, but he never was one to write, and after a year or two, Betty gathered, he had seemed to melt away into the great distance. Two girls had married, and Mrs. Welden could not say they had been "comf'able." They could barely feed themselves and their swarms of children. The other son had never been steady like his father. He had at last gone to London, and London had swallowed him up. Betty was struck by the fact that she did not seem to feel that the mother of ten might have expected some return for her labours, at eighty-three. Her unresentful acceptance of things was at once significant and moving. Betty found her amazing. What she lived on it was not easy to understand. She seemed rather like a cheerful old bird, getting up each unprovided-for morning, and picking up her sustenance where she found it. "There's more in the sayin' 'the Lord pervides' than a good many thinks," she said with a small chuckle, marked more by a genial and comfortable sense of humour than by an air of meritoriously quoting the vicar. "He DO." She paid one and threepence a week in rent for her cottage, and this was the most serious drain upon her resources. She apparently could live without food or fire, but the rent must be paid. "An' I do get a bit be'ind sometimes," she confessed apologetically, "an' then it's a trouble to get straight." Her cottage was one of a short row, and she did odd jobs for the women who were her neighbours. There were always babies to be looked after, and "bits of 'elp" needed, sometimes there were "movings" from one cottage to another, and "confinements" were plainly at once exhilarating and enriching. Her temperamental good cheer, combined with her experience, made her a desirable companion and assistant. She was engagingly frank. "When they're new to it, an' a bit frightened, I just give 'em a cup of 'ot tea, an' joke with 'em to cheer 'em up," she said. "I says to Charles Jenkins' wife, as lives next door, 'come now, me girl, it's been goin' on since Adam an' Eve, an' there's a good many of us left, isn't there?' An' a fine boy it was, too, miss, an' 'er up an' about before 'er month." She was paid in sixpences and spare shillings, and in cups of tea, or a fresh-baked loaf, or screws of sugar, or even in a garment not yet worn beyond repair. And she was free to run in and out, and grow a flower or so in her garden, and talk with a neighbour over the low dividing hedge. "They want me to go into the 'Ouse,'" reaching the dangerous subject at last. "They say I'll be took care of an' looked after. But I don't want to do it, miss. I want to keep my bit of a 'ome if I can, an' be free to come an' go. I'm eighty-three, an' it won't be long. I 'ad a shilling a week from the parish, but they stopped it because they said I ought to go into the 'Ouse.'" She looked at Betty with a momentarily anxious smile. "P'raps you don't quite understand, miss," she said. "It'll seem like nothin' to you--a place like this." "It doesn't," Betty answered, smiling bravely back into the old eyes, though she felt a slight fulness of the throat. "I understand all about it." It is possible that old Mrs. Welden was a little taken aback by an attitude which, satisfactory to her own prejudices though it might be, was, taken in connection with fixed customs, a trifle unnatural. "You don't mind me not wantin' to go?" she said. "No," was the answer, "not at all." Betty began to ask questions. How much tea, sugar, soap, candles, bread, butter, bacon, could Mrs. Welden use in a week? It was not very easy to find out the exact quantities, as Mrs. Welden's estimates of such things had been based, during her entire existence, upon calculation as to how little, not how much she could use. When Betty suggested a pound of tea, a half pound--the old woman smiled at the innocent ignorance the suggestion of such reckless profusion implied. "Oh, no! Bless you, miss, no! I couldn't never do away with it. A quarter, miss--that'd be plenty--a quarter." Mrs. Welden's idea of "the best," was that at two shillings a pound. Quarter of a pound would cost sixpence (twelve cents, thought Betty). A pound of sugar would be twopence, Mrs. Welden would use half a pound (the riotous extravagance of two cents). Half a pound of butter, "Good tub butter, miss," would be ten pence three farthings a pound. Soap, candles, bacon, bread, coal, wood, in the quantities required by Mrs. Welden, might, with the addition of rent, amount to the dizzying height of eight or ten shillings. "With careful extravagance," Betty mentally summed up, "I might spend almost two dollars a week in surrounding her with a riot of luxury." She made a list of the things, and added some extras as an idea of her own. Life had not afforded her this kind of thing before, she realised. She felt for the first time the joy of reckless extravagance, and thrilled with the excitement of it. "You need not think of Brexley Union any more," she said, when she, having risen to go, stood at the cottage door with old Mrs. Welden. "The things I have written down here shall be sent to you every Saturday night. I will pay your rent." "Miss--miss!" Mrs. Welden looked affrighted. "It's too much, miss. An' coals eighteen pence a hundred!" "Never mind," said her ladyship's sister, and the old woman, looking up into her eyes, found there the colour Mount Dunstan had thought of as being that of bluebells under water. "I think we can manage it, Mrs. Welden. Keep yourself as warm as you like, and sometime I will come and have a cup of tea with you and see if the tea is good." "Oh! Deary me!" said Mrs. Welden. "I can't think what to say, miss. It lifts everythin'--everythin'. It's not to be believed. It's like bein' left a fortune." When the wicket gate swung to and the young lady went up the lane, the old woman stood staring after her. And here was a piece of news to run into Charley Jenkins' cottage and tell--and what woman or man in the row would quite believe it? CHAPTER XXV "WE BEGAN TO MARRY THEM, MY GOOD FELLOW!" Lord Dunholm and his eldest son, Lord Westholt, sauntered together smoking their after-dinner cigars on the broad-turfed terrace overlooking park and gardens which seemed to sweep without boundary line into the purplish land beyond. The grey mass of the castle stood clear-cut against the blue of a sky whose twilight was still almost daylight, though in the purity of its evening stillness a star already hung, here and there, and a young moon swung low. The great spaces about them held a silence whose exquisite entirety was marked at intervals by the distant bark of a shepherd dog driving his master's sheep to the fold, their soft, intermittent plaints--the mother ewes' mellow answering to the tender, fretful lambs--floated on the air, a lovely part of the ending day's repose. Where two who are friends stroll together at such hours, the great beauty makes for silence or for thoughtful talk. These two men--father and son--were friends and intimates, and had been so from Westholt's first memory of the time when his childish individuality began to detach itself from the background of misty and indistinct things. They had liked each other, and their liking and intimacy had increased with the onward moving and change of years. After sixty sane and decently spent active years of life, Lord Dunholm, in either country tweed or evening dress, was a well-built and handsome man; at thirty-three his son was still like him. "Have you seen her?" he was saying. "Only at a distance. She was driving Lady Anstruthers across the marshes in a cart. She drove well and----" he laughed as he flicked the ash from his cigar--"the back of her head and shoulders looked handsome." "The American young woman is at present a factor which is without doubt to be counted with," Lord Dunholm put the matter without lightness. "Any young woman is a factor, but the American young woman just now--just now----" He paused a moment as though considering. "It did not seem at all necessary to count with them at first, when they began to appear among us. They were generally curiously exotic, funny little creatures with odd manners and voices. They were often most amusing, and one liked to hear them chatter and see the airy lightness with which they took superfluous, and sometimes unsuperfluous, conventions, as a hunter takes a five-barred gate. But it never occurred to us to marry them. We did not take them seriously enough. But we began to marry them--we began to marry them, my good fellow!" The final words broke forth with such a suggestion of sudden anxiety that, in spite of himself, Westholt laughed involuntarily, and his father, turning to look at him, laughed also. But he recovered his seriousness. "It was all rather a muddle at first," he went on. "Things were not fairly done, and certain bad lots looked on it as a paying scheme on the one side, while it was a matter of silly, little ambitions on the other. But that it is an extraordinary country there is no sane denying--huge, fabulously resourceful in every way--area, variety of climate, wealth of minerals, products of all sorts, soil to grow anything, and sun and rain enough to give each thing what it needs; last, or rather first, a people who, considered as a nation, are in the riot of youth, and who began by being English--which we Englishmen have an innocent belief is the one method of 'owning the earth.' That figure of speech is an Americanism I carefully committed to memory. Well, after all, look at the map--look at the map! There we are." They had frequently discussed together the question of the development of international relations. Lord Dunholm, a man of far-reaching and clear logic, had realised that the oddly unaccentuated growth of intercourse between the two countries might be a subject to be reflected on without lightness. "The habit we have of regarding America and Americans as rather a joke," he had once said, "has a sort of parallel in the condescendingly amiable amusement of a parent at the precocity or whimsicalness of a child. But the child is shooting up amazingly--amazingly. In a way which suggests divers possibilities." The exchange of visits between Dunholm and Stornham had been rare and formal. From the call made upon the younger Lady Anstruthers on her marriage, the Dunholms had returned with a sense of puzzled pity for the little American bride, with her wonderful frock and her uneasy, childish eyes. For some years Lady Anstruthers had been too delicate to make or return calls. One heard painful accounts of her apparent wretched ill-health and of the condition of her husband's estate. "As the relations between the two families have evidently been strained for years," Lord Dunholm said, "it is interesting to hear of the sudden advent of the sister. It seems to point to reconciliation. And you say the girl is an unusual person. "From what one hears, she would be unusual if she were an English girl who had spent her life on an English estate. That an American who is making her first visit to England should seem to see at once the practical needs of a neglected place is a thing to wonder at. What can she know about it, one

cottages

How many times the word 'cottages' appears in the text?

Anstruther's sister." Mr. Penzance, replacing his own hat, looked after her with surprised pleasure. "Really," he exclaimed, "Miss Vanderpoel! What a fine girl! How unusually handsome!" Selden turned with a gasp of delighted, amazed recognition. "Miss Vanderpoel," he burst forth, "Reuben Vanderpoel's daughter! The one that's over here visiting her sister. Is it that one--sure?" "Yes," from Mount Dunstan without fervour. "Lady Anstruthers lives at Stornham, about six miles from here." "Gee," with feverish regret. "If her father was there, and I could get next to him, my fortune would be made." "Should you," ventured Penzance politely, "endeavour to sell him a typewriter?" "A typewriter! Holy smoke! I'd try to sell him ten thousand. A fellow like that syndicates the world. If I could get next to him----" and he mounted his bicycle with a laugh. "Get next," murmured Penzance. "Get on the good side of him," Mount Dunstan murmured in reply. "So long, gentlemen, good-bye, and thank you again," called G. Selden as he wheeled off, and was carried soundlessly down the golden road. CHAPTER XXIV THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF STORNHAM The satin-skinned chestnut was one of the new horses now standing in the Stornham stables. There were several of them--a pair for the landau, saddle horses, smart young cobs for phaeton or dog cart, a pony for Ughtred--the animals necessary at such a place at Stornham. The stables themselves had been quickly put in order, grooms and stable boys kept them as they had not been kept for years. The men learned in a week's time that their work could not be done too well. There were new carriages as well as horses. They had come from London after Lady Anstruthers and her sister returned from town. The horses had been brought down by their grooms--immensely looked after, blanketed, hooded, and altogether cared for as if they were visiting dukes and duchesses. They were all fine, handsome, carefully chosen creatures. When they danced and sidled through the village on their way to the Court, they created a sensation. Whosoever had chosen them had known his business. The older vehicles had been repaired in the village by Tread, and did him credit. Fox had also done his work well. Plenty more of it had come into their work-shops. Tools to be used on the estate, garden implements, wheelbarrows, lawn rollers, things needed about the house, stables, and cottages, were to be attended to. The church roof was being repaired. Taking all these things and the "doing up" of the Court itself, there was more work than the village could manage, and carpenters, bricklayers, and decorators were necessarily brought from other places. Still Joe Buttle and Sim Soames were allowed to lead in all such things as lay within their capabilities. It was they who made such a splendid job of the entrance gates and the lodges. It was astonishing how much was done, and how the sense of life in the air--the work of resulting prosperity, made men begin to tread with less listless steps as they went to and from their labour. In the cottages things were being done which made downcast women bestir themselves and look less slatternly. Leaks mended here, windows there, the hopeless copper in the tiny washhouse replaced by a new one, chimneys cured of the habit of smoking, a clean, flowered paper put on a wall, a coat of whitewash--they were small matters, but produced great effect. Betty had begun to drop into the cottages, and make the acquaintance of their owners. Her first visits, she observed, created great consternation. Women looked frightened or sullen, children stared and refused to speak, clinging to skirts and aprons. She found the atmosphere clear after her second visit. The women began to talk, and the children collected in groups and listened with cheerful grins. She could pick up little Jane's kitten, or give a pat to small Thomas' mongrel dog, in a manner which threw down barriers. "Don't put out your pipe," she said to old Grandfather Doby, rising totteringly respectful from his chimney-side chair. "You have only just lighted it. You mustn't waste a whole pipeful of tobacco because I have come in." The old man, grown childish with age, tittered and shuffled and giggled. Such a joke as the grand young lady was having with him. She saw he had only just lighted his pipe. The gentry joked a bit sometimes. But he was afraid of his grandson's wife, who was frowning and shaking her head. Betty went to him, and put her hand on his arm. "Sit down," she said, "and I will sit by you." And she sat down and showed him that she had brought a package of tobacco with her, and actually a wonder of a red and yellow jar to hold it, at the sight of which unheard-of joys his rapture was so great that his trembling hands could scarcely clasp his treasures. "Tee-hee! Tee-hee-ee! Deary me! Thankee--thankee, my lady," he tittered, and he gazed and blinked at her beauty through heavenly tears. "Nearly a hundred years old, and he has lived on sixteen shillings a week all his life, and earned it by working every hour between sunrise and sunset," Betty said to her sister, when she went home. "A man has one life, and his has passed like that. It is done now, and all the years and work have left nothing in his old hands but his pipe. That's all. I should not like to put it out for him. Who am I that I can buy him a new one, and keep it filled for him until the end? How did it happen? No," suddenly, "I must not lose time in asking myself that. I must get the new pipe." She did it--a pipe of great magnificence--such as drew to the Doby cottage as many callers as the village could provide, each coming with fevered interest, to look at it--to be allowed to hold and examine it for a few moments, guessing at its probable enormous cost, and returning it reverently, to gaze at Doby with respect--the increase of which can be imagined when it was known that he was not only possessor of the pipe, but of an assurance that he would be supplied with as much tobacco as he could use, to the end of his days. From the time of the advent of the pipe, Grandfather Doby became a man of mark, and his life in the chimney corner a changed thing. A man who owns splendours and unlimited, excellent shag may like friends to drop in and crack jokes--and even smoke a pipe with him--a common pipe, which, however, is not amiss when excellent shag comes free. "He lives in a wild whirl of gaiety--a social vortex," said Betty to Lady Anstruthers, after one of her visits. "He is actually rejuvenated. I must order some new white smocks for him to receive his visitors in. Someone brought him an old copy of the Illustrated London News last night. We will send him illustrated papers every week." In the dull old brain, God knows what spark of life had been relighted. Young Mrs. Doby related with chuckles that granddad had begged that his chair might be dragged to the window, that he might sit and watch the village street. Sitting there, day after day, he smoked and looked at his pictures, and dozed and dreamed, his pipe and tobacco jar beside him on the window ledge. At any sound of wheels or footsteps his face lighted, and if, by chance, he caught a glimpse of Betty, he tottered to his feet, and stood hurriedly touching his bald forehead with a reverent, palsied hand. "'Tis 'urr," he would say, enrapt. "I seen 'urr--I did." And young Mrs. Doby knew that this was his joy, and what he waited for as one waits for the coming of the sun. "'Tis 'urr! 'Tis 'urr!" The vicar's wife, Mrs. Brent, who since the affair of John Wilson's fire had dropped into the background and felt it indiscreet to present tales of distress at the Court, began to recover her courage. Her perfunctory visits assumed a new character. The vicarage had, of course, called promptly upon Miss Vanderpoel, after her arrival. Mrs. Brent admired Miss Vanderpoel hugely. "You seem so unlike an American," she said once in her most tactful, ingratiating manner--which was very ingratiating indeed. "Do I? What is one like when one is like an American? I am one, you know." "I can scarcely believe it," with sweet ardour. "Pray try," said Betty with simple brevity, and Mrs. Brent felt that perhaps Miss Vanderpoel was not really very easy to get on with. "She meant to imply that I did not speak through my nose, and talk too much, and too vivaciously, in a shrill voice," Betty said afterwards, in talking the interview over with Rosy. "I like to convince myself that is not one's sole national characteristic. Also it was not exactly Mrs. Brent's place to kindly encourage me with the information that I do not seem to belong to my own country." Lady Anstruthers laughed, and Betty looked at her inquiringly. "You said that just like--just like an Englishwoman." "Did I?" said Betty. Mrs. Brent had come to talk to her because she did not wish to trouble dear Lady Anstruthers. Lady Anstruthers already looked much stronger, but she had been delicate so long that one hesitated to distress her with village matters. She did not add that she realised that she was coming to headquarters. The vicar and herself were much disturbed about a rather tiresome old woman--old Mrs. Welden--who lived in a tiny cottage in the village. She was eighty-three years old, and a respectable old person--a widow, who had reared ten children. The children had all grown up, and scattered, and old Mrs. Welden had nothing whatever to live on. No one knew how she lived, and really she would be better off in the workhouse. She could be sent to Brexley Union, and comfortably taken care of, but she had that singular, obstinate dislike to going, which it was so difficult to manage. She had asked for a shilling a week from the parish, but that could not be allowed her, as it would merely uphold her in her obstinate intention of remaining in her cottage, and taking care of herself--which she could not do. Betty gathered that the shilling a week would be a drain on the parish funds, and would so raise the old creature to affluence that she would feel she could defy fate. And the contumacity of old men and women should not be strengthened by the reckless bestowal of shillings. Knowing that Miss Vanderpoel had already gained influence among the village people, Mrs. Brent said, she had come to ask her if she would see old Mrs. Welden and argue with her in such a manner as would convince her that the workhouse was the best place for her. It was, of course, so much pleasanter if these old people could be induced to go to Brexley willingly. "Shall I be undermining the whole Political Economy of Stornham if I take care of her myself?" suggested Betty. "You--you will lead others to expect the same thing will be done for them." "When one has resources to draw on," Miss Vanderpoel commented, "in the case of a woman who has lived eighty-three years and brought up ten children until they were old and strong enough to leave her to take care of herself, it is difficult for the weak of mind to apply the laws of Political Economics. I will go and see old Mrs. Welden." If the Vanderpoels would provide for all the obstinate old men and women in the parish, the Political Economics of Stornham would proffer no marked objections. "A good many Americans," Mrs. Brent reflected, "seemed to have those odd, lavish ways," as witness Lady Anstruthers herself, on her first introduction to village life. Miss Vanderpoel was evidently a much stronger character, and extremely clever, and somehow the stream of the American fortune was at last being directed towards Stornham--which, of course, should have happened long ago. A good deal was "being done," and the whole situation looked more promising. So was the matter discussed and summed up, the same evening after dinner, at the vicarage. Betty found old Mrs. Welden's cottage. It was in a green lane, turning from the village street--which was almost a green lane itself. A tiny hedged-in front garden was before the cottage door. A crazy-looking wicket gate was in the hedge, and a fuschia bush and a few old roses were in the few yards of garden. There were actually two or three geraniums in the window, showing cheerful scarlet between the short, white dimity curtains. "A house this size and of this poverty in an American village," was Betty's thought, "would be a bare and straggling hideousness, with old tomato cans in the front yard. Here is one of the things we have to learn from them." When she knocked at the door an old woman opened it. She was a well-preserved and markedly respectable old person, in a decent print frock and a cap. At the sight of her visitor she beamed and made a suggestion of curtsey. "How do you do, Mrs. Welden?" said Betty. "I am Lady Anstruthers' sister, Miss Vanderpoel. I thought I would like to come and see you." "Thank you, miss, I am obliged for the kindness, miss. Won't you come in and have a chair?" There were no signs of decrepitude about her, and she had a cheery old eye. The tiny front room was neat, though there was scarcely space enough in it to contain the table covered with its blue-checked cotton cloth, the narrow sofa, and two or three chairs. There were a few small coloured prints, and a framed photograph or so on the walls, and on the table was a Bible, and a brown earthenware teapot, and a plate. "Tom Wood's wife, that's neighbour next door to me," she said, "gave me a pinch o' tea--an' I've just been 'avin it. Tom Woods, miss, 'as just been took on by Muster Kedgers as one of the new under gardeners at the Court." Betty found her delightful. She made no complaints, and was evidently pleased with the excitement of receiving a visitor. The truth was, that in common with every other old woman, she had secretly aspired to being visited some day by the amazing young lady from "Meriker." Betty had yet to learn of the heartburnings which may be occasioned by an unconscious favouritism. She was not aware that when she dropped in to talk to old Doby, his neighbour, old Megworth, peered from behind his curtains, with the dew of envy in his rheumy eyes. "S'ems," he mumbled, "as if they wasn't nobody now in Stornham village but Gaarge Doby--s'ems not." They were very fierce in their jealousy of attention, and one must beware of rousing evil passions in the octogenarian breast. The young lady from "Meriker" had not so far had time to make a call at any cottage in old Mrs. Welden's lane--and she had knocked just at old Mrs. Welden's door. This was enough to put in good spirits even a less cheery old person. At first Betty wondered how she could with delicacy ask personal questions. A few minutes' conversation, however, showed her that the personal affairs of Sir Nigel's tenants were also the affairs of not only himself, but of such of his relatives as attended to their natural duty. Her presence in the cottage, and her interest in Mrs. Welden's ready flow of simple talk, were desirable and proper compliments to the old woman herself. She was a decent and self-respecting old person, but in her mind there was no faintest glimmer of resentment of questions concerning rent and food and the needs of her simple, hard-driven existence. She had answered such questions on many occasions, when they had not been asked in the manner in which her ladyship's sister asked them. Mrs. Brent had scolded her and "poked about" her cottage, going into her tiny "wash 'us," and up into her infinitesimal bedroom under the slanting roof, to see that they were kept clean. Miss Vanderpoel showed no disposition to "poke." She sat and listened, and made an inquiry here and there, in a nice voice and with a smile in her eyes. There was some pleasure in relating the whole history of your eighty-three years to a young lady who listened as if she wanted to hear it. So old Mrs. Welden prattled on. About her good days, when she was young, and was kitchenmaid at the parsonage in a village twenty miles away; about her marriage with a young farm labourer; about his "steady" habits, and the comfort they had together, in spite of the yearly arrival of a new baby, and the crowding of the bit of a cottage his master allowed them. Ten of 'em, and it had been "up before sunrise, and a good bit of hard work to keep them all fed and clean." But she had not minded that until Jack died quite sudden after a sunstroke. It was odd how much colour her rustic phraseology held. She made Betty see it all. The apparent natural inevitableness of their being turned out of the cottage, because another man must have it; the years during which she worked her way while the ten were growing up, having measles, and chicken pox, and scarlet fever, one dying here and there, dropping out quite in the natural order of things, and being buried by the parish in corners of the ancient church yard. Three of them "was took" by scarlet fever, then one of a "decline," then one or two by other illnesses. Only four reached man and womanhood. One had gone to Australia, but he never was one to write, and after a year or two, Betty gathered, he had seemed to melt away into the great distance. Two girls had married, and Mrs. Welden could not say they had been "comf'able." They could barely feed themselves and their swarms of children. The other son had never been steady like his father. He had at last gone to London, and London had swallowed him up. Betty was struck by the fact that she did not seem to feel that the mother of ten might have expected some return for her labours, at eighty-three. Her unresentful acceptance of things was at once significant and moving. Betty found her amazing. What she lived on it was not easy to understand. She seemed rather like a cheerful old bird, getting up each unprovided-for morning, and picking up her sustenance where she found it. "There's more in the sayin' 'the Lord pervides' than a good many thinks," she said with a small chuckle, marked more by a genial and comfortable sense of humour than by an air of meritoriously quoting the vicar. "He DO." She paid one and threepence a week in rent for her cottage, and this was the most serious drain upon her resources. She apparently could live without food or fire, but the rent must be paid. "An' I do get a bit be'ind sometimes," she confessed apologetically, "an' then it's a trouble to get straight." Her cottage was one of a short row, and she did odd jobs for the women who were her neighbours. There were always babies to be looked after, and "bits of 'elp" needed, sometimes there were "movings" from one cottage to another, and "confinements" were plainly at once exhilarating and enriching. Her temperamental good cheer, combined with her experience, made her a desirable companion and assistant. She was engagingly frank. "When they're new to it, an' a bit frightened, I just give 'em a cup of 'ot tea, an' joke with 'em to cheer 'em up," she said. "I says to Charles Jenkins' wife, as lives next door, 'come now, me girl, it's been goin' on since Adam an' Eve, an' there's a good many of us left, isn't there?' An' a fine boy it was, too, miss, an' 'er up an' about before 'er month." She was paid in sixpences and spare shillings, and in cups of tea, or a fresh-baked loaf, or screws of sugar, or even in a garment not yet worn beyond repair. And she was free to run in and out, and grow a flower or so in her garden, and talk with a neighbour over the low dividing hedge. "They want me to go into the 'Ouse,'" reaching the dangerous subject at last. "They say I'll be took care of an' looked after. But I don't want to do it, miss. I want to keep my bit of a 'ome if I can, an' be free to come an' go. I'm eighty-three, an' it won't be long. I 'ad a shilling a week from the parish, but they stopped it because they said I ought to go into the 'Ouse.'" She looked at Betty with a momentarily anxious smile. "P'raps you don't quite understand, miss," she said. "It'll seem like nothin' to you--a place like this." "It doesn't," Betty answered, smiling bravely back into the old eyes, though she felt a slight fulness of the throat. "I understand all about it." It is possible that old Mrs. Welden was a little taken aback by an attitude which, satisfactory to her own prejudices though it might be, was, taken in connection with fixed customs, a trifle unnatural. "You don't mind me not wantin' to go?" she said. "No," was the answer, "not at all." Betty began to ask questions. How much tea, sugar, soap, candles, bread, butter, bacon, could Mrs. Welden use in a week? It was not very easy to find out the exact quantities, as Mrs. Welden's estimates of such things had been based, during her entire existence, upon calculation as to how little, not how much she could use. When Betty suggested a pound of tea, a half pound--the old woman smiled at the innocent ignorance the suggestion of such reckless profusion implied. "Oh, no! Bless you, miss, no! I couldn't never do away with it. A quarter, miss--that'd be plenty--a quarter." Mrs. Welden's idea of "the best," was that at two shillings a pound. Quarter of a pound would cost sixpence (twelve cents, thought Betty). A pound of sugar would be twopence, Mrs. Welden would use half a pound (the riotous extravagance of two cents). Half a pound of butter, "Good tub butter, miss," would be ten pence three farthings a pound. Soap, candles, bacon, bread, coal, wood, in the quantities required by Mrs. Welden, might, with the addition of rent, amount to the dizzying height of eight or ten shillings. "With careful extravagance," Betty mentally summed up, "I might spend almost two dollars a week in surrounding her with a riot of luxury." She made a list of the things, and added some extras as an idea of her own. Life had not afforded her this kind of thing before, she realised. She felt for the first time the joy of reckless extravagance, and thrilled with the excitement of it. "You need not think of Brexley Union any more," she said, when she, having risen to go, stood at the cottage door with old Mrs. Welden. "The things I have written down here shall be sent to you every Saturday night. I will pay your rent." "Miss--miss!" Mrs. Welden looked affrighted. "It's too much, miss. An' coals eighteen pence a hundred!" "Never mind," said her ladyship's sister, and the old woman, looking up into her eyes, found there the colour Mount Dunstan had thought of as being that of bluebells under water. "I think we can manage it, Mrs. Welden. Keep yourself as warm as you like, and sometime I will come and have a cup of tea with you and see if the tea is good." "Oh! Deary me!" said Mrs. Welden. "I can't think what to say, miss. It lifts everythin'--everythin'. It's not to be believed. It's like bein' left a fortune." When the wicket gate swung to and the young lady went up the lane, the old woman stood staring after her. And here was a piece of news to run into Charley Jenkins' cottage and tell--and what woman or man in the row would quite believe it? CHAPTER XXV "WE BEGAN TO MARRY THEM, MY GOOD FELLOW!" Lord Dunholm and his eldest son, Lord Westholt, sauntered together smoking their after-dinner cigars on the broad-turfed terrace overlooking park and gardens which seemed to sweep without boundary line into the purplish land beyond. The grey mass of the castle stood clear-cut against the blue of a sky whose twilight was still almost daylight, though in the purity of its evening stillness a star already hung, here and there, and a young moon swung low. The great spaces about them held a silence whose exquisite entirety was marked at intervals by the distant bark of a shepherd dog driving his master's sheep to the fold, their soft, intermittent plaints--the mother ewes' mellow answering to the tender, fretful lambs--floated on the air, a lovely part of the ending day's repose. Where two who are friends stroll together at such hours, the great beauty makes for silence or for thoughtful talk. These two men--father and son--were friends and intimates, and had been so from Westholt's first memory of the time when his childish individuality began to detach itself from the background of misty and indistinct things. They had liked each other, and their liking and intimacy had increased with the onward moving and change of years. After sixty sane and decently spent active years of life, Lord Dunholm, in either country tweed or evening dress, was a well-built and handsome man; at thirty-three his son was still like him. "Have you seen her?" he was saying. "Only at a distance. She was driving Lady Anstruthers across the marshes in a cart. She drove well and----" he laughed as he flicked the ash from his cigar--"the back of her head and shoulders looked handsome." "The American young woman is at present a factor which is without doubt to be counted with," Lord Dunholm put the matter without lightness. "Any young woman is a factor, but the American young woman just now--just now----" He paused a moment as though considering. "It did not seem at all necessary to count with them at first, when they began to appear among us. They were generally curiously exotic, funny little creatures with odd manners and voices. They were often most amusing, and one liked to hear them chatter and see the airy lightness with which they took superfluous, and sometimes unsuperfluous, conventions, as a hunter takes a five-barred gate. But it never occurred to us to marry them. We did not take them seriously enough. But we began to marry them--we began to marry them, my good fellow!" The final words broke forth with such a suggestion of sudden anxiety that, in spite of himself, Westholt laughed involuntarily, and his father, turning to look at him, laughed also. But he recovered his seriousness. "It was all rather a muddle at first," he went on. "Things were not fairly done, and certain bad lots looked on it as a paying scheme on the one side, while it was a matter of silly, little ambitions on the other. But that it is an extraordinary country there is no sane denying--huge, fabulously resourceful in every way--area, variety of climate, wealth of minerals, products of all sorts, soil to grow anything, and sun and rain enough to give each thing what it needs; last, or rather first, a people who, considered as a nation, are in the riot of youth, and who began by being English--which we Englishmen have an innocent belief is the one method of 'owning the earth.' That figure of speech is an Americanism I carefully committed to memory. Well, after all, look at the map--look at the map! There we are." They had frequently discussed together the question of the development of international relations. Lord Dunholm, a man of far-reaching and clear logic, had realised that the oddly unaccentuated growth of intercourse between the two countries might be a subject to be reflected on without lightness. "The habit we have of regarding America and Americans as rather a joke," he had once said, "has a sort of parallel in the condescendingly amiable amusement of a parent at the precocity or whimsicalness of a child. But the child is shooting up amazingly--amazingly. In a way which suggests divers possibilities." The exchange of visits between Dunholm and Stornham had been rare and formal. From the call made upon the younger Lady Anstruthers on her marriage, the Dunholms had returned with a sense of puzzled pity for the little American bride, with her wonderful frock and her uneasy, childish eyes. For some years Lady Anstruthers had been too delicate to make or return calls. One heard painful accounts of her apparent wretched ill-health and of the condition of her husband's estate. "As the relations between the two families have evidently been strained for years," Lord Dunholm said, "it is interesting to hear of the sudden advent of the sister. It seems to point to reconciliation. And you say the girl is an unusual person. "From what one hears, she would be unusual if she were an English girl who had spent her life on an English estate. That an American who is making her first visit to England should seem to see at once the practical needs of a neglected place is a thing to wonder at. What can she know about it, one

owners

How many times the word 'owners' appears in the text?

Anstruther's sister." Mr. Penzance, replacing his own hat, looked after her with surprised pleasure. "Really," he exclaimed, "Miss Vanderpoel! What a fine girl! How unusually handsome!" Selden turned with a gasp of delighted, amazed recognition. "Miss Vanderpoel," he burst forth, "Reuben Vanderpoel's daughter! The one that's over here visiting her sister. Is it that one--sure?" "Yes," from Mount Dunstan without fervour. "Lady Anstruthers lives at Stornham, about six miles from here." "Gee," with feverish regret. "If her father was there, and I could get next to him, my fortune would be made." "Should you," ventured Penzance politely, "endeavour to sell him a typewriter?" "A typewriter! Holy smoke! I'd try to sell him ten thousand. A fellow like that syndicates the world. If I could get next to him----" and he mounted his bicycle with a laugh. "Get next," murmured Penzance. "Get on the good side of him," Mount Dunstan murmured in reply. "So long, gentlemen, good-bye, and thank you again," called G. Selden as he wheeled off, and was carried soundlessly down the golden road. CHAPTER XXIV THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF STORNHAM The satin-skinned chestnut was one of the new horses now standing in the Stornham stables. There were several of them--a pair for the landau, saddle horses, smart young cobs for phaeton or dog cart, a pony for Ughtred--the animals necessary at such a place at Stornham. The stables themselves had been quickly put in order, grooms and stable boys kept them as they had not been kept for years. The men learned in a week's time that their work could not be done too well. There were new carriages as well as horses. They had come from London after Lady Anstruthers and her sister returned from town. The horses had been brought down by their grooms--immensely looked after, blanketed, hooded, and altogether cared for as if they were visiting dukes and duchesses. They were all fine, handsome, carefully chosen creatures. When they danced and sidled through the village on their way to the Court, they created a sensation. Whosoever had chosen them had known his business. The older vehicles had been repaired in the village by Tread, and did him credit. Fox had also done his work well. Plenty more of it had come into their work-shops. Tools to be used on the estate, garden implements, wheelbarrows, lawn rollers, things needed about the house, stables, and cottages, were to be attended to. The church roof was being repaired. Taking all these things and the "doing up" of the Court itself, there was more work than the village could manage, and carpenters, bricklayers, and decorators were necessarily brought from other places. Still Joe Buttle and Sim Soames were allowed to lead in all such things as lay within their capabilities. It was they who made such a splendid job of the entrance gates and the lodges. It was astonishing how much was done, and how the sense of life in the air--the work of resulting prosperity, made men begin to tread with less listless steps as they went to and from their labour. In the cottages things were being done which made downcast women bestir themselves and look less slatternly. Leaks mended here, windows there, the hopeless copper in the tiny washhouse replaced by a new one, chimneys cured of the habit of smoking, a clean, flowered paper put on a wall, a coat of whitewash--they were small matters, but produced great effect. Betty had begun to drop into the cottages, and make the acquaintance of their owners. Her first visits, she observed, created great consternation. Women looked frightened or sullen, children stared and refused to speak, clinging to skirts and aprons. She found the atmosphere clear after her second visit. The women began to talk, and the children collected in groups and listened with cheerful grins. She could pick up little Jane's kitten, or give a pat to small Thomas' mongrel dog, in a manner which threw down barriers. "Don't put out your pipe," she said to old Grandfather Doby, rising totteringly respectful from his chimney-side chair. "You have only just lighted it. You mustn't waste a whole pipeful of tobacco because I have come in." The old man, grown childish with age, tittered and shuffled and giggled. Such a joke as the grand young lady was having with him. She saw he had only just lighted his pipe. The gentry joked a bit sometimes. But he was afraid of his grandson's wife, who was frowning and shaking her head. Betty went to him, and put her hand on his arm. "Sit down," she said, "and I will sit by you." And she sat down and showed him that she had brought a package of tobacco with her, and actually a wonder of a red and yellow jar to hold it, at the sight of which unheard-of joys his rapture was so great that his trembling hands could scarcely clasp his treasures. "Tee-hee! Tee-hee-ee! Deary me! Thankee--thankee, my lady," he tittered, and he gazed and blinked at her beauty through heavenly tears. "Nearly a hundred years old, and he has lived on sixteen shillings a week all his life, and earned it by working every hour between sunrise and sunset," Betty said to her sister, when she went home. "A man has one life, and his has passed like that. It is done now, and all the years and work have left nothing in his old hands but his pipe. That's all. I should not like to put it out for him. Who am I that I can buy him a new one, and keep it filled for him until the end? How did it happen? No," suddenly, "I must not lose time in asking myself that. I must get the new pipe." She did it--a pipe of great magnificence--such as drew to the Doby cottage as many callers as the village could provide, each coming with fevered interest, to look at it--to be allowed to hold and examine it for a few moments, guessing at its probable enormous cost, and returning it reverently, to gaze at Doby with respect--the increase of which can be imagined when it was known that he was not only possessor of the pipe, but of an assurance that he would be supplied with as much tobacco as he could use, to the end of his days. From the time of the advent of the pipe, Grandfather Doby became a man of mark, and his life in the chimney corner a changed thing. A man who owns splendours and unlimited, excellent shag may like friends to drop in and crack jokes--and even smoke a pipe with him--a common pipe, which, however, is not amiss when excellent shag comes free. "He lives in a wild whirl of gaiety--a social vortex," said Betty to Lady Anstruthers, after one of her visits. "He is actually rejuvenated. I must order some new white smocks for him to receive his visitors in. Someone brought him an old copy of the Illustrated London News last night. We will send him illustrated papers every week." In the dull old brain, God knows what spark of life had been relighted. Young Mrs. Doby related with chuckles that granddad had begged that his chair might be dragged to the window, that he might sit and watch the village street. Sitting there, day after day, he smoked and looked at his pictures, and dozed and dreamed, his pipe and tobacco jar beside him on the window ledge. At any sound of wheels or footsteps his face lighted, and if, by chance, he caught a glimpse of Betty, he tottered to his feet, and stood hurriedly touching his bald forehead with a reverent, palsied hand. "'Tis 'urr," he would say, enrapt. "I seen 'urr--I did." And young Mrs. Doby knew that this was his joy, and what he waited for as one waits for the coming of the sun. "'Tis 'urr! 'Tis 'urr!" The vicar's wife, Mrs. Brent, who since the affair of John Wilson's fire had dropped into the background and felt it indiscreet to present tales of distress at the Court, began to recover her courage. Her perfunctory visits assumed a new character. The vicarage had, of course, called promptly upon Miss Vanderpoel, after her arrival. Mrs. Brent admired Miss Vanderpoel hugely. "You seem so unlike an American," she said once in her most tactful, ingratiating manner--which was very ingratiating indeed. "Do I? What is one like when one is like an American? I am one, you know." "I can scarcely believe it," with sweet ardour. "Pray try," said Betty with simple brevity, and Mrs. Brent felt that perhaps Miss Vanderpoel was not really very easy to get on with. "She meant to imply that I did not speak through my nose, and talk too much, and too vivaciously, in a shrill voice," Betty said afterwards, in talking the interview over with Rosy. "I like to convince myself that is not one's sole national characteristic. Also it was not exactly Mrs. Brent's place to kindly encourage me with the information that I do not seem to belong to my own country." Lady Anstruthers laughed, and Betty looked at her inquiringly. "You said that just like--just like an Englishwoman." "Did I?" said Betty. Mrs. Brent had come to talk to her because she did not wish to trouble dear Lady Anstruthers. Lady Anstruthers already looked much stronger, but she had been delicate so long that one hesitated to distress her with village matters. She did not add that she realised that she was coming to headquarters. The vicar and herself were much disturbed about a rather tiresome old woman--old Mrs. Welden--who lived in a tiny cottage in the village. She was eighty-three years old, and a respectable old person--a widow, who had reared ten children. The children had all grown up, and scattered, and old Mrs. Welden had nothing whatever to live on. No one knew how she lived, and really she would be better off in the workhouse. She could be sent to Brexley Union, and comfortably taken care of, but she had that singular, obstinate dislike to going, which it was so difficult to manage. She had asked for a shilling a week from the parish, but that could not be allowed her, as it would merely uphold her in her obstinate intention of remaining in her cottage, and taking care of herself--which she could not do. Betty gathered that the shilling a week would be a drain on the parish funds, and would so raise the old creature to affluence that she would feel she could defy fate. And the contumacity of old men and women should not be strengthened by the reckless bestowal of shillings. Knowing that Miss Vanderpoel had already gained influence among the village people, Mrs. Brent said, she had come to ask her if she would see old Mrs. Welden and argue with her in such a manner as would convince her that the workhouse was the best place for her. It was, of course, so much pleasanter if these old people could be induced to go to Brexley willingly. "Shall I be undermining the whole Political Economy of Stornham if I take care of her myself?" suggested Betty. "You--you will lead others to expect the same thing will be done for them." "When one has resources to draw on," Miss Vanderpoel commented, "in the case of a woman who has lived eighty-three years and brought up ten children until they were old and strong enough to leave her to take care of herself, it is difficult for the weak of mind to apply the laws of Political Economics. I will go and see old Mrs. Welden." If the Vanderpoels would provide for all the obstinate old men and women in the parish, the Political Economics of Stornham would proffer no marked objections. "A good many Americans," Mrs. Brent reflected, "seemed to have those odd, lavish ways," as witness Lady Anstruthers herself, on her first introduction to village life. Miss Vanderpoel was evidently a much stronger character, and extremely clever, and somehow the stream of the American fortune was at last being directed towards Stornham--which, of course, should have happened long ago. A good deal was "being done," and the whole situation looked more promising. So was the matter discussed and summed up, the same evening after dinner, at the vicarage. Betty found old Mrs. Welden's cottage. It was in a green lane, turning from the village street--which was almost a green lane itself. A tiny hedged-in front garden was before the cottage door. A crazy-looking wicket gate was in the hedge, and a fuschia bush and a few old roses were in the few yards of garden. There were actually two or three geraniums in the window, showing cheerful scarlet between the short, white dimity curtains. "A house this size and of this poverty in an American village," was Betty's thought, "would be a bare and straggling hideousness, with old tomato cans in the front yard. Here is one of the things we have to learn from them." When she knocked at the door an old woman opened it. She was a well-preserved and markedly respectable old person, in a decent print frock and a cap. At the sight of her visitor she beamed and made a suggestion of curtsey. "How do you do, Mrs. Welden?" said Betty. "I am Lady Anstruthers' sister, Miss Vanderpoel. I thought I would like to come and see you." "Thank you, miss, I am obliged for the kindness, miss. Won't you come in and have a chair?" There were no signs of decrepitude about her, and she had a cheery old eye. The tiny front room was neat, though there was scarcely space enough in it to contain the table covered with its blue-checked cotton cloth, the narrow sofa, and two or three chairs. There were a few small coloured prints, and a framed photograph or so on the walls, and on the table was a Bible, and a brown earthenware teapot, and a plate. "Tom Wood's wife, that's neighbour next door to me," she said, "gave me a pinch o' tea--an' I've just been 'avin it. Tom Woods, miss, 'as just been took on by Muster Kedgers as one of the new under gardeners at the Court." Betty found her delightful. She made no complaints, and was evidently pleased with the excitement of receiving a visitor. The truth was, that in common with every other old woman, she had secretly aspired to being visited some day by the amazing young lady from "Meriker." Betty had yet to learn of the heartburnings which may be occasioned by an unconscious favouritism. She was not aware that when she dropped in to talk to old Doby, his neighbour, old Megworth, peered from behind his curtains, with the dew of envy in his rheumy eyes. "S'ems," he mumbled, "as if they wasn't nobody now in Stornham village but Gaarge Doby--s'ems not." They were very fierce in their jealousy of attention, and one must beware of rousing evil passions in the octogenarian breast. The young lady from "Meriker" had not so far had time to make a call at any cottage in old Mrs. Welden's lane--and she had knocked just at old Mrs. Welden's door. This was enough to put in good spirits even a less cheery old person. At first Betty wondered how she could with delicacy ask personal questions. A few minutes' conversation, however, showed her that the personal affairs of Sir Nigel's tenants were also the affairs of not only himself, but of such of his relatives as attended to their natural duty. Her presence in the cottage, and her interest in Mrs. Welden's ready flow of simple talk, were desirable and proper compliments to the old woman herself. She was a decent and self-respecting old person, but in her mind there was no faintest glimmer of resentment of questions concerning rent and food and the needs of her simple, hard-driven existence. She had answered such questions on many occasions, when they had not been asked in the manner in which her ladyship's sister asked them. Mrs. Brent had scolded her and "poked about" her cottage, going into her tiny "wash 'us," and up into her infinitesimal bedroom under the slanting roof, to see that they were kept clean. Miss Vanderpoel showed no disposition to "poke." She sat and listened, and made an inquiry here and there, in a nice voice and with a smile in her eyes. There was some pleasure in relating the whole history of your eighty-three years to a young lady who listened as if she wanted to hear it. So old Mrs. Welden prattled on. About her good days, when she was young, and was kitchenmaid at the parsonage in a village twenty miles away; about her marriage with a young farm labourer; about his "steady" habits, and the comfort they had together, in spite of the yearly arrival of a new baby, and the crowding of the bit of a cottage his master allowed them. Ten of 'em, and it had been "up before sunrise, and a good bit of hard work to keep them all fed and clean." But she had not minded that until Jack died quite sudden after a sunstroke. It was odd how much colour her rustic phraseology held. She made Betty see it all. The apparent natural inevitableness of their being turned out of the cottage, because another man must have it; the years during which she worked her way while the ten were growing up, having measles, and chicken pox, and scarlet fever, one dying here and there, dropping out quite in the natural order of things, and being buried by the parish in corners of the ancient church yard. Three of them "was took" by scarlet fever, then one of a "decline," then one or two by other illnesses. Only four reached man and womanhood. One had gone to Australia, but he never was one to write, and after a year or two, Betty gathered, he had seemed to melt away into the great distance. Two girls had married, and Mrs. Welden could not say they had been "comf'able." They could barely feed themselves and their swarms of children. The other son had never been steady like his father. He had at last gone to London, and London had swallowed him up. Betty was struck by the fact that she did not seem to feel that the mother of ten might have expected some return for her labours, at eighty-three. Her unresentful acceptance of things was at once significant and moving. Betty found her amazing. What she lived on it was not easy to understand. She seemed rather like a cheerful old bird, getting up each unprovided-for morning, and picking up her sustenance where she found it. "There's more in the sayin' 'the Lord pervides' than a good many thinks," she said with a small chuckle, marked more by a genial and comfortable sense of humour than by an air of meritoriously quoting the vicar. "He DO." She paid one and threepence a week in rent for her cottage, and this was the most serious drain upon her resources. She apparently could live without food or fire, but the rent must be paid. "An' I do get a bit be'ind sometimes," she confessed apologetically, "an' then it's a trouble to get straight." Her cottage was one of a short row, and she did odd jobs for the women who were her neighbours. There were always babies to be looked after, and "bits of 'elp" needed, sometimes there were "movings" from one cottage to another, and "confinements" were plainly at once exhilarating and enriching. Her temperamental good cheer, combined with her experience, made her a desirable companion and assistant. She was engagingly frank. "When they're new to it, an' a bit frightened, I just give 'em a cup of 'ot tea, an' joke with 'em to cheer 'em up," she said. "I says to Charles Jenkins' wife, as lives next door, 'come now, me girl, it's been goin' on since Adam an' Eve, an' there's a good many of us left, isn't there?' An' a fine boy it was, too, miss, an' 'er up an' about before 'er month." She was paid in sixpences and spare shillings, and in cups of tea, or a fresh-baked loaf, or screws of sugar, or even in a garment not yet worn beyond repair. And she was free to run in and out, and grow a flower or so in her garden, and talk with a neighbour over the low dividing hedge. "They want me to go into the 'Ouse,'" reaching the dangerous subject at last. "They say I'll be took care of an' looked after. But I don't want to do it, miss. I want to keep my bit of a 'ome if I can, an' be free to come an' go. I'm eighty-three, an' it won't be long. I 'ad a shilling a week from the parish, but they stopped it because they said I ought to go into the 'Ouse.'" She looked at Betty with a momentarily anxious smile. "P'raps you don't quite understand, miss," she said. "It'll seem like nothin' to you--a place like this." "It doesn't," Betty answered, smiling bravely back into the old eyes, though she felt a slight fulness of the throat. "I understand all about it." It is possible that old Mrs. Welden was a little taken aback by an attitude which, satisfactory to her own prejudices though it might be, was, taken in connection with fixed customs, a trifle unnatural. "You don't mind me not wantin' to go?" she said. "No," was the answer, "not at all." Betty began to ask questions. How much tea, sugar, soap, candles, bread, butter, bacon, could Mrs. Welden use in a week? It was not very easy to find out the exact quantities, as Mrs. Welden's estimates of such things had been based, during her entire existence, upon calculation as to how little, not how much she could use. When Betty suggested a pound of tea, a half pound--the old woman smiled at the innocent ignorance the suggestion of such reckless profusion implied. "Oh, no! Bless you, miss, no! I couldn't never do away with it. A quarter, miss--that'd be plenty--a quarter." Mrs. Welden's idea of "the best," was that at two shillings a pound. Quarter of a pound would cost sixpence (twelve cents, thought Betty). A pound of sugar would be twopence, Mrs. Welden would use half a pound (the riotous extravagance of two cents). Half a pound of butter, "Good tub butter, miss," would be ten pence three farthings a pound. Soap, candles, bacon, bread, coal, wood, in the quantities required by Mrs. Welden, might, with the addition of rent, amount to the dizzying height of eight or ten shillings. "With careful extravagance," Betty mentally summed up, "I might spend almost two dollars a week in surrounding her with a riot of luxury." She made a list of the things, and added some extras as an idea of her own. Life had not afforded her this kind of thing before, she realised. She felt for the first time the joy of reckless extravagance, and thrilled with the excitement of it. "You need not think of Brexley Union any more," she said, when she, having risen to go, stood at the cottage door with old Mrs. Welden. "The things I have written down here shall be sent to you every Saturday night. I will pay your rent." "Miss--miss!" Mrs. Welden looked affrighted. "It's too much, miss. An' coals eighteen pence a hundred!" "Never mind," said her ladyship's sister, and the old woman, looking up into her eyes, found there the colour Mount Dunstan had thought of as being that of bluebells under water. "I think we can manage it, Mrs. Welden. Keep yourself as warm as you like, and sometime I will come and have a cup of tea with you and see if the tea is good." "Oh! Deary me!" said Mrs. Welden. "I can't think what to say, miss. It lifts everythin'--everythin'. It's not to be believed. It's like bein' left a fortune." When the wicket gate swung to and the young lady went up the lane, the old woman stood staring after her. And here was a piece of news to run into Charley Jenkins' cottage and tell--and what woman or man in the row would quite believe it? CHAPTER XXV "WE BEGAN TO MARRY THEM, MY GOOD FELLOW!" Lord Dunholm and his eldest son, Lord Westholt, sauntered together smoking their after-dinner cigars on the broad-turfed terrace overlooking park and gardens which seemed to sweep without boundary line into the purplish land beyond. The grey mass of the castle stood clear-cut against the blue of a sky whose twilight was still almost daylight, though in the purity of its evening stillness a star already hung, here and there, and a young moon swung low. The great spaces about them held a silence whose exquisite entirety was marked at intervals by the distant bark of a shepherd dog driving his master's sheep to the fold, their soft, intermittent plaints--the mother ewes' mellow answering to the tender, fretful lambs--floated on the air, a lovely part of the ending day's repose. Where two who are friends stroll together at such hours, the great beauty makes for silence or for thoughtful talk. These two men--father and son--were friends and intimates, and had been so from Westholt's first memory of the time when his childish individuality began to detach itself from the background of misty and indistinct things. They had liked each other, and their liking and intimacy had increased with the onward moving and change of years. After sixty sane and decently spent active years of life, Lord Dunholm, in either country tweed or evening dress, was a well-built and handsome man; at thirty-three his son was still like him. "Have you seen her?" he was saying. "Only at a distance. She was driving Lady Anstruthers across the marshes in a cart. She drove well and----" he laughed as he flicked the ash from his cigar--"the back of her head and shoulders looked handsome." "The American young woman is at present a factor which is without doubt to be counted with," Lord Dunholm put the matter without lightness. "Any young woman is a factor, but the American young woman just now--just now----" He paused a moment as though considering. "It did not seem at all necessary to count with them at first, when they began to appear among us. They were generally curiously exotic, funny little creatures with odd manners and voices. They were often most amusing, and one liked to hear them chatter and see the airy lightness with which they took superfluous, and sometimes unsuperfluous, conventions, as a hunter takes a five-barred gate. But it never occurred to us to marry them. We did not take them seriously enough. But we began to marry them--we began to marry them, my good fellow!" The final words broke forth with such a suggestion of sudden anxiety that, in spite of himself, Westholt laughed involuntarily, and his father, turning to look at him, laughed also. But he recovered his seriousness. "It was all rather a muddle at first," he went on. "Things were not fairly done, and certain bad lots looked on it as a paying scheme on the one side, while it was a matter of silly, little ambitions on the other. But that it is an extraordinary country there is no sane denying--huge, fabulously resourceful in every way--area, variety of climate, wealth of minerals, products of all sorts, soil to grow anything, and sun and rain enough to give each thing what it needs; last, or rather first, a people who, considered as a nation, are in the riot of youth, and who began by being English--which we Englishmen have an innocent belief is the one method of 'owning the earth.' That figure of speech is an Americanism I carefully committed to memory. Well, after all, look at the map--look at the map! There we are." They had frequently discussed together the question of the development of international relations. Lord Dunholm, a man of far-reaching and clear logic, had realised that the oddly unaccentuated growth of intercourse between the two countries might be a subject to be reflected on without lightness. "The habit we have of regarding America and Americans as rather a joke," he had once said, "has a sort of parallel in the condescendingly amiable amusement of a parent at the precocity or whimsicalness of a child. But the child is shooting up amazingly--amazingly. In a way which suggests divers possibilities." The exchange of visits between Dunholm and Stornham had been rare and formal. From the call made upon the younger Lady Anstruthers on her marriage, the Dunholms had returned with a sense of puzzled pity for the little American bride, with her wonderful frock and her uneasy, childish eyes. For some years Lady Anstruthers had been too delicate to make or return calls. One heard painful accounts of her apparent wretched ill-health and of the condition of her husband's estate. "As the relations between the two families have evidently been strained for years," Lord Dunholm said, "it is interesting to hear of the sudden advent of the sister. It seems to point to reconciliation. And you say the girl is an unusual person. "From what one hears, she would be unusual if she were an English girl who had spent her life on an English estate. That an American who is making her first visit to England should seem to see at once the practical needs of a neglected place is a thing to wonder at. What can she know about it, one

louise

How many times the word 'louise' appears in the text?

Anstruther's sister." Mr. Penzance, replacing his own hat, looked after her with surprised pleasure. "Really," he exclaimed, "Miss Vanderpoel! What a fine girl! How unusually handsome!" Selden turned with a gasp of delighted, amazed recognition. "Miss Vanderpoel," he burst forth, "Reuben Vanderpoel's daughter! The one that's over here visiting her sister. Is it that one--sure?" "Yes," from Mount Dunstan without fervour. "Lady Anstruthers lives at Stornham, about six miles from here." "Gee," with feverish regret. "If her father was there, and I could get next to him, my fortune would be made." "Should you," ventured Penzance politely, "endeavour to sell him a typewriter?" "A typewriter! Holy smoke! I'd try to sell him ten thousand. A fellow like that syndicates the world. If I could get next to him----" and he mounted his bicycle with a laugh. "Get next," murmured Penzance. "Get on the good side of him," Mount Dunstan murmured in reply. "So long, gentlemen, good-bye, and thank you again," called G. Selden as he wheeled off, and was carried soundlessly down the golden road. CHAPTER XXIV THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF STORNHAM The satin-skinned chestnut was one of the new horses now standing in the Stornham stables. There were several of them--a pair for the landau, saddle horses, smart young cobs for phaeton or dog cart, a pony for Ughtred--the animals necessary at such a place at Stornham. The stables themselves had been quickly put in order, grooms and stable boys kept them as they had not been kept for years. The men learned in a week's time that their work could not be done too well. There were new carriages as well as horses. They had come from London after Lady Anstruthers and her sister returned from town. The horses had been brought down by their grooms--immensely looked after, blanketed, hooded, and altogether cared for as if they were visiting dukes and duchesses. They were all fine, handsome, carefully chosen creatures. When they danced and sidled through the village on their way to the Court, they created a sensation. Whosoever had chosen them had known his business. The older vehicles had been repaired in the village by Tread, and did him credit. Fox had also done his work well. Plenty more of it had come into their work-shops. Tools to be used on the estate, garden implements, wheelbarrows, lawn rollers, things needed about the house, stables, and cottages, were to be attended to. The church roof was being repaired. Taking all these things and the "doing up" of the Court itself, there was more work than the village could manage, and carpenters, bricklayers, and decorators were necessarily brought from other places. Still Joe Buttle and Sim Soames were allowed to lead in all such things as lay within their capabilities. It was they who made such a splendid job of the entrance gates and the lodges. It was astonishing how much was done, and how the sense of life in the air--the work of resulting prosperity, made men begin to tread with less listless steps as they went to and from their labour. In the cottages things were being done which made downcast women bestir themselves and look less slatternly. Leaks mended here, windows there, the hopeless copper in the tiny washhouse replaced by a new one, chimneys cured of the habit of smoking, a clean, flowered paper put on a wall, a coat of whitewash--they were small matters, but produced great effect. Betty had begun to drop into the cottages, and make the acquaintance of their owners. Her first visits, she observed, created great consternation. Women looked frightened or sullen, children stared and refused to speak, clinging to skirts and aprons. She found the atmosphere clear after her second visit. The women began to talk, and the children collected in groups and listened with cheerful grins. She could pick up little Jane's kitten, or give a pat to small Thomas' mongrel dog, in a manner which threw down barriers. "Don't put out your pipe," she said to old Grandfather Doby, rising totteringly respectful from his chimney-side chair. "You have only just lighted it. You mustn't waste a whole pipeful of tobacco because I have come in." The old man, grown childish with age, tittered and shuffled and giggled. Such a joke as the grand young lady was having with him. She saw he had only just lighted his pipe. The gentry joked a bit sometimes. But he was afraid of his grandson's wife, who was frowning and shaking her head. Betty went to him, and put her hand on his arm. "Sit down," she said, "and I will sit by you." And she sat down and showed him that she had brought a package of tobacco with her, and actually a wonder of a red and yellow jar to hold it, at the sight of which unheard-of joys his rapture was so great that his trembling hands could scarcely clasp his treasures. "Tee-hee! Tee-hee-ee! Deary me! Thankee--thankee, my lady," he tittered, and he gazed and blinked at her beauty through heavenly tears. "Nearly a hundred years old, and he has lived on sixteen shillings a week all his life, and earned it by working every hour between sunrise and sunset," Betty said to her sister, when she went home. "A man has one life, and his has passed like that. It is done now, and all the years and work have left nothing in his old hands but his pipe. That's all. I should not like to put it out for him. Who am I that I can buy him a new one, and keep it filled for him until the end? How did it happen? No," suddenly, "I must not lose time in asking myself that. I must get the new pipe." She did it--a pipe of great magnificence--such as drew to the Doby cottage as many callers as the village could provide, each coming with fevered interest, to look at it--to be allowed to hold and examine it for a few moments, guessing at its probable enormous cost, and returning it reverently, to gaze at Doby with respect--the increase of which can be imagined when it was known that he was not only possessor of the pipe, but of an assurance that he would be supplied with as much tobacco as he could use, to the end of his days. From the time of the advent of the pipe, Grandfather Doby became a man of mark, and his life in the chimney corner a changed thing. A man who owns splendours and unlimited, excellent shag may like friends to drop in and crack jokes--and even smoke a pipe with him--a common pipe, which, however, is not amiss when excellent shag comes free. "He lives in a wild whirl of gaiety--a social vortex," said Betty to Lady Anstruthers, after one of her visits. "He is actually rejuvenated. I must order some new white smocks for him to receive his visitors in. Someone brought him an old copy of the Illustrated London News last night. We will send him illustrated papers every week." In the dull old brain, God knows what spark of life had been relighted. Young Mrs. Doby related with chuckles that granddad had begged that his chair might be dragged to the window, that he might sit and watch the village street. Sitting there, day after day, he smoked and looked at his pictures, and dozed and dreamed, his pipe and tobacco jar beside him on the window ledge. At any sound of wheels or footsteps his face lighted, and if, by chance, he caught a glimpse of Betty, he tottered to his feet, and stood hurriedly touching his bald forehead with a reverent, palsied hand. "'Tis 'urr," he would say, enrapt. "I seen 'urr--I did." And young Mrs. Doby knew that this was his joy, and what he waited for as one waits for the coming of the sun. "'Tis 'urr! 'Tis 'urr!" The vicar's wife, Mrs. Brent, who since the affair of John Wilson's fire had dropped into the background and felt it indiscreet to present tales of distress at the Court, began to recover her courage. Her perfunctory visits assumed a new character. The vicarage had, of course, called promptly upon Miss Vanderpoel, after her arrival. Mrs. Brent admired Miss Vanderpoel hugely. "You seem so unlike an American," she said once in her most tactful, ingratiating manner--which was very ingratiating indeed. "Do I? What is one like when one is like an American? I am one, you know." "I can scarcely believe it," with sweet ardour. "Pray try," said Betty with simple brevity, and Mrs. Brent felt that perhaps Miss Vanderpoel was not really very easy to get on with. "She meant to imply that I did not speak through my nose, and talk too much, and too vivaciously, in a shrill voice," Betty said afterwards, in talking the interview over with Rosy. "I like to convince myself that is not one's sole national characteristic. Also it was not exactly Mrs. Brent's place to kindly encourage me with the information that I do not seem to belong to my own country." Lady Anstruthers laughed, and Betty looked at her inquiringly. "You said that just like--just like an Englishwoman." "Did I?" said Betty. Mrs. Brent had come to talk to her because she did not wish to trouble dear Lady Anstruthers. Lady Anstruthers already looked much stronger, but she had been delicate so long that one hesitated to distress her with village matters. She did not add that she realised that she was coming to headquarters. The vicar and herself were much disturbed about a rather tiresome old woman--old Mrs. Welden--who lived in a tiny cottage in the village. She was eighty-three years old, and a respectable old person--a widow, who had reared ten children. The children had all grown up, and scattered, and old Mrs. Welden had nothing whatever to live on. No one knew how she lived, and really she would be better off in the workhouse. She could be sent to Brexley Union, and comfortably taken care of, but she had that singular, obstinate dislike to going, which it was so difficult to manage. She had asked for a shilling a week from the parish, but that could not be allowed her, as it would merely uphold her in her obstinate intention of remaining in her cottage, and taking care of herself--which she could not do. Betty gathered that the shilling a week would be a drain on the parish funds, and would so raise the old creature to affluence that she would feel she could defy fate. And the contumacity of old men and women should not be strengthened by the reckless bestowal of shillings. Knowing that Miss Vanderpoel had already gained influence among the village people, Mrs. Brent said, she had come to ask her if she would see old Mrs. Welden and argue with her in such a manner as would convince her that the workhouse was the best place for her. It was, of course, so much pleasanter if these old people could be induced to go to Brexley willingly. "Shall I be undermining the whole Political Economy of Stornham if I take care of her myself?" suggested Betty. "You--you will lead others to expect the same thing will be done for them." "When one has resources to draw on," Miss Vanderpoel commented, "in the case of a woman who has lived eighty-three years and brought up ten children until they were old and strong enough to leave her to take care of herself, it is difficult for the weak of mind to apply the laws of Political Economics. I will go and see old Mrs. Welden." If the Vanderpoels would provide for all the obstinate old men and women in the parish, the Political Economics of Stornham would proffer no marked objections. "A good many Americans," Mrs. Brent reflected, "seemed to have those odd, lavish ways," as witness Lady Anstruthers herself, on her first introduction to village life. Miss Vanderpoel was evidently a much stronger character, and extremely clever, and somehow the stream of the American fortune was at last being directed towards Stornham--which, of course, should have happened long ago. A good deal was "being done," and the whole situation looked more promising. So was the matter discussed and summed up, the same evening after dinner, at the vicarage. Betty found old Mrs. Welden's cottage. It was in a green lane, turning from the village street--which was almost a green lane itself. A tiny hedged-in front garden was before the cottage door. A crazy-looking wicket gate was in the hedge, and a fuschia bush and a few old roses were in the few yards of garden. There were actually two or three geraniums in the window, showing cheerful scarlet between the short, white dimity curtains. "A house this size and of this poverty in an American village," was Betty's thought, "would be a bare and straggling hideousness, with old tomato cans in the front yard. Here is one of the things we have to learn from them." When she knocked at the door an old woman opened it. She was a well-preserved and markedly respectable old person, in a decent print frock and a cap. At the sight of her visitor she beamed and made a suggestion of curtsey. "How do you do, Mrs. Welden?" said Betty. "I am Lady Anstruthers' sister, Miss Vanderpoel. I thought I would like to come and see you." "Thank you, miss, I am obliged for the kindness, miss. Won't you come in and have a chair?" There were no signs of decrepitude about her, and she had a cheery old eye. The tiny front room was neat, though there was scarcely space enough in it to contain the table covered with its blue-checked cotton cloth, the narrow sofa, and two or three chairs. There were a few small coloured prints, and a framed photograph or so on the walls, and on the table was a Bible, and a brown earthenware teapot, and a plate. "Tom Wood's wife, that's neighbour next door to me," she said, "gave me a pinch o' tea--an' I've just been 'avin it. Tom Woods, miss, 'as just been took on by Muster Kedgers as one of the new under gardeners at the Court." Betty found her delightful. She made no complaints, and was evidently pleased with the excitement of receiving a visitor. The truth was, that in common with every other old woman, she had secretly aspired to being visited some day by the amazing young lady from "Meriker." Betty had yet to learn of the heartburnings which may be occasioned by an unconscious favouritism. She was not aware that when she dropped in to talk to old Doby, his neighbour, old Megworth, peered from behind his curtains, with the dew of envy in his rheumy eyes. "S'ems," he mumbled, "as if they wasn't nobody now in Stornham village but Gaarge Doby--s'ems not." They were very fierce in their jealousy of attention, and one must beware of rousing evil passions in the octogenarian breast. The young lady from "Meriker" had not so far had time to make a call at any cottage in old Mrs. Welden's lane--and she had knocked just at old Mrs. Welden's door. This was enough to put in good spirits even a less cheery old person. At first Betty wondered how she could with delicacy ask personal questions. A few minutes' conversation, however, showed her that the personal affairs of Sir Nigel's tenants were also the affairs of not only himself, but of such of his relatives as attended to their natural duty. Her presence in the cottage, and her interest in Mrs. Welden's ready flow of simple talk, were desirable and proper compliments to the old woman herself. She was a decent and self-respecting old person, but in her mind there was no faintest glimmer of resentment of questions concerning rent and food and the needs of her simple, hard-driven existence. She had answered such questions on many occasions, when they had not been asked in the manner in which her ladyship's sister asked them. Mrs. Brent had scolded her and "poked about" her cottage, going into her tiny "wash 'us," and up into her infinitesimal bedroom under the slanting roof, to see that they were kept clean. Miss Vanderpoel showed no disposition to "poke." She sat and listened, and made an inquiry here and there, in a nice voice and with a smile in her eyes. There was some pleasure in relating the whole history of your eighty-three years to a young lady who listened as if she wanted to hear it. So old Mrs. Welden prattled on. About her good days, when she was young, and was kitchenmaid at the parsonage in a village twenty miles away; about her marriage with a young farm labourer; about his "steady" habits, and the comfort they had together, in spite of the yearly arrival of a new baby, and the crowding of the bit of a cottage his master allowed them. Ten of 'em, and it had been "up before sunrise, and a good bit of hard work to keep them all fed and clean." But she had not minded that until Jack died quite sudden after a sunstroke. It was odd how much colour her rustic phraseology held. She made Betty see it all. The apparent natural inevitableness of their being turned out of the cottage, because another man must have it; the years during which she worked her way while the ten were growing up, having measles, and chicken pox, and scarlet fever, one dying here and there, dropping out quite in the natural order of things, and being buried by the parish in corners of the ancient church yard. Three of them "was took" by scarlet fever, then one of a "decline," then one or two by other illnesses. Only four reached man and womanhood. One had gone to Australia, but he never was one to write, and after a year or two, Betty gathered, he had seemed to melt away into the great distance. Two girls had married, and Mrs. Welden could not say they had been "comf'able." They could barely feed themselves and their swarms of children. The other son had never been steady like his father. He had at last gone to London, and London had swallowed him up. Betty was struck by the fact that she did not seem to feel that the mother of ten might have expected some return for her labours, at eighty-three. Her unresentful acceptance of things was at once significant and moving. Betty found her amazing. What she lived on it was not easy to understand. She seemed rather like a cheerful old bird, getting up each unprovided-for morning, and picking up her sustenance where she found it. "There's more in the sayin' 'the Lord pervides' than a good many thinks," she said with a small chuckle, marked more by a genial and comfortable sense of humour than by an air of meritoriously quoting the vicar. "He DO." She paid one and threepence a week in rent for her cottage, and this was the most serious drain upon her resources. She apparently could live without food or fire, but the rent must be paid. "An' I do get a bit be'ind sometimes," she confessed apologetically, "an' then it's a trouble to get straight." Her cottage was one of a short row, and she did odd jobs for the women who were her neighbours. There were always babies to be looked after, and "bits of 'elp" needed, sometimes there were "movings" from one cottage to another, and "confinements" were plainly at once exhilarating and enriching. Her temperamental good cheer, combined with her experience, made her a desirable companion and assistant. She was engagingly frank. "When they're new to it, an' a bit frightened, I just give 'em a cup of 'ot tea, an' joke with 'em to cheer 'em up," she said. "I says to Charles Jenkins' wife, as lives next door, 'come now, me girl, it's been goin' on since Adam an' Eve, an' there's a good many of us left, isn't there?' An' a fine boy it was, too, miss, an' 'er up an' about before 'er month." She was paid in sixpences and spare shillings, and in cups of tea, or a fresh-baked loaf, or screws of sugar, or even in a garment not yet worn beyond repair. And she was free to run in and out, and grow a flower or so in her garden, and talk with a neighbour over the low dividing hedge. "They want me to go into the 'Ouse,'" reaching the dangerous subject at last. "They say I'll be took care of an' looked after. But I don't want to do it, miss. I want to keep my bit of a 'ome if I can, an' be free to come an' go. I'm eighty-three, an' it won't be long. I 'ad a shilling a week from the parish, but they stopped it because they said I ought to go into the 'Ouse.'" She looked at Betty with a momentarily anxious smile. "P'raps you don't quite understand, miss," she said. "It'll seem like nothin' to you--a place like this." "It doesn't," Betty answered, smiling bravely back into the old eyes, though she felt a slight fulness of the throat. "I understand all about it." It is possible that old Mrs. Welden was a little taken aback by an attitude which, satisfactory to her own prejudices though it might be, was, taken in connection with fixed customs, a trifle unnatural. "You don't mind me not wantin' to go?" she said. "No," was the answer, "not at all." Betty began to ask questions. How much tea, sugar, soap, candles, bread, butter, bacon, could Mrs. Welden use in a week? It was not very easy to find out the exact quantities, as Mrs. Welden's estimates of such things had been based, during her entire existence, upon calculation as to how little, not how much she could use. When Betty suggested a pound of tea, a half pound--the old woman smiled at the innocent ignorance the suggestion of such reckless profusion implied. "Oh, no! Bless you, miss, no! I couldn't never do away with it. A quarter, miss--that'd be plenty--a quarter." Mrs. Welden's idea of "the best," was that at two shillings a pound. Quarter of a pound would cost sixpence (twelve cents, thought Betty). A pound of sugar would be twopence, Mrs. Welden would use half a pound (the riotous extravagance of two cents). Half a pound of butter, "Good tub butter, miss," would be ten pence three farthings a pound. Soap, candles, bacon, bread, coal, wood, in the quantities required by Mrs. Welden, might, with the addition of rent, amount to the dizzying height of eight or ten shillings. "With careful extravagance," Betty mentally summed up, "I might spend almost two dollars a week in surrounding her with a riot of luxury." She made a list of the things, and added some extras as an idea of her own. Life had not afforded her this kind of thing before, she realised. She felt for the first time the joy of reckless extravagance, and thrilled with the excitement of it. "You need not think of Brexley Union any more," she said, when she, having risen to go, stood at the cottage door with old Mrs. Welden. "The things I have written down here shall be sent to you every Saturday night. I will pay your rent." "Miss--miss!" Mrs. Welden looked affrighted. "It's too much, miss. An' coals eighteen pence a hundred!" "Never mind," said her ladyship's sister, and the old woman, looking up into her eyes, found there the colour Mount Dunstan had thought of as being that of bluebells under water. "I think we can manage it, Mrs. Welden. Keep yourself as warm as you like, and sometime I will come and have a cup of tea with you and see if the tea is good." "Oh! Deary me!" said Mrs. Welden. "I can't think what to say, miss. It lifts everythin'--everythin'. It's not to be believed. It's like bein' left a fortune." When the wicket gate swung to and the young lady went up the lane, the old woman stood staring after her. And here was a piece of news to run into Charley Jenkins' cottage and tell--and what woman or man in the row would quite believe it? CHAPTER XXV "WE BEGAN TO MARRY THEM, MY GOOD FELLOW!" Lord Dunholm and his eldest son, Lord Westholt, sauntered together smoking their after-dinner cigars on the broad-turfed terrace overlooking park and gardens which seemed to sweep without boundary line into the purplish land beyond. The grey mass of the castle stood clear-cut against the blue of a sky whose twilight was still almost daylight, though in the purity of its evening stillness a star already hung, here and there, and a young moon swung low. The great spaces about them held a silence whose exquisite entirety was marked at intervals by the distant bark of a shepherd dog driving his master's sheep to the fold, their soft, intermittent plaints--the mother ewes' mellow answering to the tender, fretful lambs--floated on the air, a lovely part of the ending day's repose. Where two who are friends stroll together at such hours, the great beauty makes for silence or for thoughtful talk. These two men--father and son--were friends and intimates, and had been so from Westholt's first memory of the time when his childish individuality began to detach itself from the background of misty and indistinct things. They had liked each other, and their liking and intimacy had increased with the onward moving and change of years. After sixty sane and decently spent active years of life, Lord Dunholm, in either country tweed or evening dress, was a well-built and handsome man; at thirty-three his son was still like him. "Have you seen her?" he was saying. "Only at a distance. She was driving Lady Anstruthers across the marshes in a cart. She drove well and----" he laughed as he flicked the ash from his cigar--"the back of her head and shoulders looked handsome." "The American young woman is at present a factor which is without doubt to be counted with," Lord Dunholm put the matter without lightness. "Any young woman is a factor, but the American young woman just now--just now----" He paused a moment as though considering. "It did not seem at all necessary to count with them at first, when they began to appear among us. They were generally curiously exotic, funny little creatures with odd manners and voices. They were often most amusing, and one liked to hear them chatter and see the airy lightness with which they took superfluous, and sometimes unsuperfluous, conventions, as a hunter takes a five-barred gate. But it never occurred to us to marry them. We did not take them seriously enough. But we began to marry them--we began to marry them, my good fellow!" The final words broke forth with such a suggestion of sudden anxiety that, in spite of himself, Westholt laughed involuntarily, and his father, turning to look at him, laughed also. But he recovered his seriousness. "It was all rather a muddle at first," he went on. "Things were not fairly done, and certain bad lots looked on it as a paying scheme on the one side, while it was a matter of silly, little ambitions on the other. But that it is an extraordinary country there is no sane denying--huge, fabulously resourceful in every way--area, variety of climate, wealth of minerals, products of all sorts, soil to grow anything, and sun and rain enough to give each thing what it needs; last, or rather first, a people who, considered as a nation, are in the riot of youth, and who began by being English--which we Englishmen have an innocent belief is the one method of 'owning the earth.' That figure of speech is an Americanism I carefully committed to memory. Well, after all, look at the map--look at the map! There we are." They had frequently discussed together the question of the development of international relations. Lord Dunholm, a man of far-reaching and clear logic, had realised that the oddly unaccentuated growth of intercourse between the two countries might be a subject to be reflected on without lightness. "The habit we have of regarding America and Americans as rather a joke," he had once said, "has a sort of parallel in the condescendingly amiable amusement of a parent at the precocity or whimsicalness of a child. But the child is shooting up amazingly--amazingly. In a way which suggests divers possibilities." The exchange of visits between Dunholm and Stornham had been rare and formal. From the call made upon the younger Lady Anstruthers on her marriage, the Dunholms had returned with a sense of puzzled pity for the little American bride, with her wonderful frock and her uneasy, childish eyes. For some years Lady Anstruthers had been too delicate to make or return calls. One heard painful accounts of her apparent wretched ill-health and of the condition of her husband's estate. "As the relations between the two families have evidently been strained for years," Lord Dunholm said, "it is interesting to hear of the sudden advent of the sister. It seems to point to reconciliation. And you say the girl is an unusual person. "From what one hears, she would be unusual if she were an English girl who had spent her life on an English estate. That an American who is making her first visit to England should seem to see at once the practical needs of a neglected place is a thing to wonder at. What can she know about it, one

selden

How many times the word 'selden' appears in the text?

Anstruther's sister." Mr. Penzance, replacing his own hat, looked after her with surprised pleasure. "Really," he exclaimed, "Miss Vanderpoel! What a fine girl! How unusually handsome!" Selden turned with a gasp of delighted, amazed recognition. "Miss Vanderpoel," he burst forth, "Reuben Vanderpoel's daughter! The one that's over here visiting her sister. Is it that one--sure?" "Yes," from Mount Dunstan without fervour. "Lady Anstruthers lives at Stornham, about six miles from here." "Gee," with feverish regret. "If her father was there, and I could get next to him, my fortune would be made." "Should you," ventured Penzance politely, "endeavour to sell him a typewriter?" "A typewriter! Holy smoke! I'd try to sell him ten thousand. A fellow like that syndicates the world. If I could get next to him----" and he mounted his bicycle with a laugh. "Get next," murmured Penzance. "Get on the good side of him," Mount Dunstan murmured in reply. "So long, gentlemen, good-bye, and thank you again," called G. Selden as he wheeled off, and was carried soundlessly down the golden road. CHAPTER XXIV THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF STORNHAM The satin-skinned chestnut was one of the new horses now standing in the Stornham stables. There were several of them--a pair for the landau, saddle horses, smart young cobs for phaeton or dog cart, a pony for Ughtred--the animals necessary at such a place at Stornham. The stables themselves had been quickly put in order, grooms and stable boys kept them as they had not been kept for years. The men learned in a week's time that their work could not be done too well. There were new carriages as well as horses. They had come from London after Lady Anstruthers and her sister returned from town. The horses had been brought down by their grooms--immensely looked after, blanketed, hooded, and altogether cared for as if they were visiting dukes and duchesses. They were all fine, handsome, carefully chosen creatures. When they danced and sidled through the village on their way to the Court, they created a sensation. Whosoever had chosen them had known his business. The older vehicles had been repaired in the village by Tread, and did him credit. Fox had also done his work well. Plenty more of it had come into their work-shops. Tools to be used on the estate, garden implements, wheelbarrows, lawn rollers, things needed about the house, stables, and cottages, were to be attended to. The church roof was being repaired. Taking all these things and the "doing up" of the Court itself, there was more work than the village could manage, and carpenters, bricklayers, and decorators were necessarily brought from other places. Still Joe Buttle and Sim Soames were allowed to lead in all such things as lay within their capabilities. It was they who made such a splendid job of the entrance gates and the lodges. It was astonishing how much was done, and how the sense of life in the air--the work of resulting prosperity, made men begin to tread with less listless steps as they went to and from their labour. In the cottages things were being done which made downcast women bestir themselves and look less slatternly. Leaks mended here, windows there, the hopeless copper in the tiny washhouse replaced by a new one, chimneys cured of the habit of smoking, a clean, flowered paper put on a wall, a coat of whitewash--they were small matters, but produced great effect. Betty had begun to drop into the cottages, and make the acquaintance of their owners. Her first visits, she observed, created great consternation. Women looked frightened or sullen, children stared and refused to speak, clinging to skirts and aprons. She found the atmosphere clear after her second visit. The women began to talk, and the children collected in groups and listened with cheerful grins. She could pick up little Jane's kitten, or give a pat to small Thomas' mongrel dog, in a manner which threw down barriers. "Don't put out your pipe," she said to old Grandfather Doby, rising totteringly respectful from his chimney-side chair. "You have only just lighted it. You mustn't waste a whole pipeful of tobacco because I have come in." The old man, grown childish with age, tittered and shuffled and giggled. Such a joke as the grand young lady was having with him. She saw he had only just lighted his pipe. The gentry joked a bit sometimes. But he was afraid of his grandson's wife, who was frowning and shaking her head. Betty went to him, and put her hand on his arm. "Sit down," she said, "and I will sit by you." And she sat down and showed him that she had brought a package of tobacco with her, and actually a wonder of a red and yellow jar to hold it, at the sight of which unheard-of joys his rapture was so great that his trembling hands could scarcely clasp his treasures. "Tee-hee! Tee-hee-ee! Deary me! Thankee--thankee, my lady," he tittered, and he gazed and blinked at her beauty through heavenly tears. "Nearly a hundred years old, and he has lived on sixteen shillings a week all his life, and earned it by working every hour between sunrise and sunset," Betty said to her sister, when she went home. "A man has one life, and his has passed like that. It is done now, and all the years and work have left nothing in his old hands but his pipe. That's all. I should not like to put it out for him. Who am I that I can buy him a new one, and keep it filled for him until the end? How did it happen? No," suddenly, "I must not lose time in asking myself that. I must get the new pipe." She did it--a pipe of great magnificence--such as drew to the Doby cottage as many callers as the village could provide, each coming with fevered interest, to look at it--to be allowed to hold and examine it for a few moments, guessing at its probable enormous cost, and returning it reverently, to gaze at Doby with respect--the increase of which can be imagined when it was known that he was not only possessor of the pipe, but of an assurance that he would be supplied with as much tobacco as he could use, to the end of his days. From the time of the advent of the pipe, Grandfather Doby became a man of mark, and his life in the chimney corner a changed thing. A man who owns splendours and unlimited, excellent shag may like friends to drop in and crack jokes--and even smoke a pipe with him--a common pipe, which, however, is not amiss when excellent shag comes free. "He lives in a wild whirl of gaiety--a social vortex," said Betty to Lady Anstruthers, after one of her visits. "He is actually rejuvenated. I must order some new white smocks for him to receive his visitors in. Someone brought him an old copy of the Illustrated London News last night. We will send him illustrated papers every week." In the dull old brain, God knows what spark of life had been relighted. Young Mrs. Doby related with chuckles that granddad had begged that his chair might be dragged to the window, that he might sit and watch the village street. Sitting there, day after day, he smoked and looked at his pictures, and dozed and dreamed, his pipe and tobacco jar beside him on the window ledge. At any sound of wheels or footsteps his face lighted, and if, by chance, he caught a glimpse of Betty, he tottered to his feet, and stood hurriedly touching his bald forehead with a reverent, palsied hand. "'Tis 'urr," he would say, enrapt. "I seen 'urr--I did." And young Mrs. Doby knew that this was his joy, and what he waited for as one waits for the coming of the sun. "'Tis 'urr! 'Tis 'urr!" The vicar's wife, Mrs. Brent, who since the affair of John Wilson's fire had dropped into the background and felt it indiscreet to present tales of distress at the Court, began to recover her courage. Her perfunctory visits assumed a new character. The vicarage had, of course, called promptly upon Miss Vanderpoel, after her arrival. Mrs. Brent admired Miss Vanderpoel hugely. "You seem so unlike an American," she said once in her most tactful, ingratiating manner--which was very ingratiating indeed. "Do I? What is one like when one is like an American? I am one, you know." "I can scarcely believe it," with sweet ardour. "Pray try," said Betty with simple brevity, and Mrs. Brent felt that perhaps Miss Vanderpoel was not really very easy to get on with. "She meant to imply that I did not speak through my nose, and talk too much, and too vivaciously, in a shrill voice," Betty said afterwards, in talking the interview over with Rosy. "I like to convince myself that is not one's sole national characteristic. Also it was not exactly Mrs. Brent's place to kindly encourage me with the information that I do not seem to belong to my own country." Lady Anstruthers laughed, and Betty looked at her inquiringly. "You said that just like--just like an Englishwoman." "Did I?" said Betty. Mrs. Brent had come to talk to her because she did not wish to trouble dear Lady Anstruthers. Lady Anstruthers already looked much stronger, but she had been delicate so long that one hesitated to distress her with village matters. She did not add that she realised that she was coming to headquarters. The vicar and herself were much disturbed about a rather tiresome old woman--old Mrs. Welden--who lived in a tiny cottage in the village. She was eighty-three years old, and a respectable old person--a widow, who had reared ten children. The children had all grown up, and scattered, and old Mrs. Welden had nothing whatever to live on. No one knew how she lived, and really she would be better off in the workhouse. She could be sent to Brexley Union, and comfortably taken care of, but she had that singular, obstinate dislike to going, which it was so difficult to manage. She had asked for a shilling a week from the parish, but that could not be allowed her, as it would merely uphold her in her obstinate intention of remaining in her cottage, and taking care of herself--which she could not do. Betty gathered that the shilling a week would be a drain on the parish funds, and would so raise the old creature to affluence that she would feel she could defy fate. And the contumacity of old men and women should not be strengthened by the reckless bestowal of shillings. Knowing that Miss Vanderpoel had already gained influence among the village people, Mrs. Brent said, she had come to ask her if she would see old Mrs. Welden and argue with her in such a manner as would convince her that the workhouse was the best place for her. It was, of course, so much pleasanter if these old people could be induced to go to Brexley willingly. "Shall I be undermining the whole Political Economy of Stornham if I take care of her myself?" suggested Betty. "You--you will lead others to expect the same thing will be done for them." "When one has resources to draw on," Miss Vanderpoel commented, "in the case of a woman who has lived eighty-three years and brought up ten children until they were old and strong enough to leave her to take care of herself, it is difficult for the weak of mind to apply the laws of Political Economics. I will go and see old Mrs. Welden." If the Vanderpoels would provide for all the obstinate old men and women in the parish, the Political Economics of Stornham would proffer no marked objections. "A good many Americans," Mrs. Brent reflected, "seemed to have those odd, lavish ways," as witness Lady Anstruthers herself, on her first introduction to village life. Miss Vanderpoel was evidently a much stronger character, and extremely clever, and somehow the stream of the American fortune was at last being directed towards Stornham--which, of course, should have happened long ago. A good deal was "being done," and the whole situation looked more promising. So was the matter discussed and summed up, the same evening after dinner, at the vicarage. Betty found old Mrs. Welden's cottage. It was in a green lane, turning from the village street--which was almost a green lane itself. A tiny hedged-in front garden was before the cottage door. A crazy-looking wicket gate was in the hedge, and a fuschia bush and a few old roses were in the few yards of garden. There were actually two or three geraniums in the window, showing cheerful scarlet between the short, white dimity curtains. "A house this size and of this poverty in an American village," was Betty's thought, "would be a bare and straggling hideousness, with old tomato cans in the front yard. Here is one of the things we have to learn from them." When she knocked at the door an old woman opened it. She was a well-preserved and markedly respectable old person, in a decent print frock and a cap. At the sight of her visitor she beamed and made a suggestion of curtsey. "How do you do, Mrs. Welden?" said Betty. "I am Lady Anstruthers' sister, Miss Vanderpoel. I thought I would like to come and see you." "Thank you, miss, I am obliged for the kindness, miss. Won't you come in and have a chair?" There were no signs of decrepitude about her, and she had a cheery old eye. The tiny front room was neat, though there was scarcely space enough in it to contain the table covered with its blue-checked cotton cloth, the narrow sofa, and two or three chairs. There were a few small coloured prints, and a framed photograph or so on the walls, and on the table was a Bible, and a brown earthenware teapot, and a plate. "Tom Wood's wife, that's neighbour next door to me," she said, "gave me a pinch o' tea--an' I've just been 'avin it. Tom Woods, miss, 'as just been took on by Muster Kedgers as one of the new under gardeners at the Court." Betty found her delightful. She made no complaints, and was evidently pleased with the excitement of receiving a visitor. The truth was, that in common with every other old woman, she had secretly aspired to being visited some day by the amazing young lady from "Meriker." Betty had yet to learn of the heartburnings which may be occasioned by an unconscious favouritism. She was not aware that when she dropped in to talk to old Doby, his neighbour, old Megworth, peered from behind his curtains, with the dew of envy in his rheumy eyes. "S'ems," he mumbled, "as if they wasn't nobody now in Stornham village but Gaarge Doby--s'ems not." They were very fierce in their jealousy of attention, and one must beware of rousing evil passions in the octogenarian breast. The young lady from "Meriker" had not so far had time to make a call at any cottage in old Mrs. Welden's lane--and she had knocked just at old Mrs. Welden's door. This was enough to put in good spirits even a less cheery old person. At first Betty wondered how she could with delicacy ask personal questions. A few minutes' conversation, however, showed her that the personal affairs of Sir Nigel's tenants were also the affairs of not only himself, but of such of his relatives as attended to their natural duty. Her presence in the cottage, and her interest in Mrs. Welden's ready flow of simple talk, were desirable and proper compliments to the old woman herself. She was a decent and self-respecting old person, but in her mind there was no faintest glimmer of resentment of questions concerning rent and food and the needs of her simple, hard-driven existence. She had answered such questions on many occasions, when they had not been asked in the manner in which her ladyship's sister asked them. Mrs. Brent had scolded her and "poked about" her cottage, going into her tiny "wash 'us," and up into her infinitesimal bedroom under the slanting roof, to see that they were kept clean. Miss Vanderpoel showed no disposition to "poke." She sat and listened, and made an inquiry here and there, in a nice voice and with a smile in her eyes. There was some pleasure in relating the whole history of your eighty-three years to a young lady who listened as if she wanted to hear it. So old Mrs. Welden prattled on. About her good days, when she was young, and was kitchenmaid at the parsonage in a village twenty miles away; about her marriage with a young farm labourer; about his "steady" habits, and the comfort they had together, in spite of the yearly arrival of a new baby, and the crowding of the bit of a cottage his master allowed them. Ten of 'em, and it had been "up before sunrise, and a good bit of hard work to keep them all fed and clean." But she had not minded that until Jack died quite sudden after a sunstroke. It was odd how much colour her rustic phraseology held. She made Betty see it all. The apparent natural inevitableness of their being turned out of the cottage, because another man must have it; the years during which she worked her way while the ten were growing up, having measles, and chicken pox, and scarlet fever, one dying here and there, dropping out quite in the natural order of things, and being buried by the parish in corners of the ancient church yard. Three of them "was took" by scarlet fever, then one of a "decline," then one or two by other illnesses. Only four reached man and womanhood. One had gone to Australia, but he never was one to write, and after a year or two, Betty gathered, he had seemed to melt away into the great distance. Two girls had married, and Mrs. Welden could not say they had been "comf'able." They could barely feed themselves and their swarms of children. The other son had never been steady like his father. He had at last gone to London, and London had swallowed him up. Betty was struck by the fact that she did not seem to feel that the mother of ten might have expected some return for her labours, at eighty-three. Her unresentful acceptance of things was at once significant and moving. Betty found her amazing. What she lived on it was not easy to understand. She seemed rather like a cheerful old bird, getting up each unprovided-for morning, and picking up her sustenance where she found it. "There's more in the sayin' 'the Lord pervides' than a good many thinks," she said with a small chuckle, marked more by a genial and comfortable sense of humour than by an air of meritoriously quoting the vicar. "He DO." She paid one and threepence a week in rent for her cottage, and this was the most serious drain upon her resources. She apparently could live without food or fire, but the rent must be paid. "An' I do get a bit be'ind sometimes," she confessed apologetically, "an' then it's a trouble to get straight." Her cottage was one of a short row, and she did odd jobs for the women who were her neighbours. There were always babies to be looked after, and "bits of 'elp" needed, sometimes there were "movings" from one cottage to another, and "confinements" were plainly at once exhilarating and enriching. Her temperamental good cheer, combined with her experience, made her a desirable companion and assistant. She was engagingly frank. "When they're new to it, an' a bit frightened, I just give 'em a cup of 'ot tea, an' joke with 'em to cheer 'em up," she said. "I says to Charles Jenkins' wife, as lives next door, 'come now, me girl, it's been goin' on since Adam an' Eve, an' there's a good many of us left, isn't there?' An' a fine boy it was, too, miss, an' 'er up an' about before 'er month." She was paid in sixpences and spare shillings, and in cups of tea, or a fresh-baked loaf, or screws of sugar, or even in a garment not yet worn beyond repair. And she was free to run in and out, and grow a flower or so in her garden, and talk with a neighbour over the low dividing hedge. "They want me to go into the 'Ouse,'" reaching the dangerous subject at last. "They say I'll be took care of an' looked after. But I don't want to do it, miss. I want to keep my bit of a 'ome if I can, an' be free to come an' go. I'm eighty-three, an' it won't be long. I 'ad a shilling a week from the parish, but they stopped it because they said I ought to go into the 'Ouse.'" She looked at Betty with a momentarily anxious smile. "P'raps you don't quite understand, miss," she said. "It'll seem like nothin' to you--a place like this." "It doesn't," Betty answered, smiling bravely back into the old eyes, though she felt a slight fulness of the throat. "I understand all about it." It is possible that old Mrs. Welden was a little taken aback by an attitude which, satisfactory to her own prejudices though it might be, was, taken in connection with fixed customs, a trifle unnatural. "You don't mind me not wantin' to go?" she said. "No," was the answer, "not at all." Betty began to ask questions. How much tea, sugar, soap, candles, bread, butter, bacon, could Mrs. Welden use in a week? It was not very easy to find out the exact quantities, as Mrs. Welden's estimates of such things had been based, during her entire existence, upon calculation as to how little, not how much she could use. When Betty suggested a pound of tea, a half pound--the old woman smiled at the innocent ignorance the suggestion of such reckless profusion implied. "Oh, no! Bless you, miss, no! I couldn't never do away with it. A quarter, miss--that'd be plenty--a quarter." Mrs. Welden's idea of "the best," was that at two shillings a pound. Quarter of a pound would cost sixpence (twelve cents, thought Betty). A pound of sugar would be twopence, Mrs. Welden would use half a pound (the riotous extravagance of two cents). Half a pound of butter, "Good tub butter, miss," would be ten pence three farthings a pound. Soap, candles, bacon, bread, coal, wood, in the quantities required by Mrs. Welden, might, with the addition of rent, amount to the dizzying height of eight or ten shillings. "With careful extravagance," Betty mentally summed up, "I might spend almost two dollars a week in surrounding her with a riot of luxury." She made a list of the things, and added some extras as an idea of her own. Life had not afforded her this kind of thing before, she realised. She felt for the first time the joy of reckless extravagance, and thrilled with the excitement of it. "You need not think of Brexley Union any more," she said, when she, having risen to go, stood at the cottage door with old Mrs. Welden. "The things I have written down here shall be sent to you every Saturday night. I will pay your rent." "Miss--miss!" Mrs. Welden looked affrighted. "It's too much, miss. An' coals eighteen pence a hundred!" "Never mind," said her ladyship's sister, and the old woman, looking up into her eyes, found there the colour Mount Dunstan had thought of as being that of bluebells under water. "I think we can manage it, Mrs. Welden. Keep yourself as warm as you like, and sometime I will come and have a cup of tea with you and see if the tea is good." "Oh! Deary me!" said Mrs. Welden. "I can't think what to say, miss. It lifts everythin'--everythin'. It's not to be believed. It's like bein' left a fortune." When the wicket gate swung to and the young lady went up the lane, the old woman stood staring after her. And here was a piece of news to run into Charley Jenkins' cottage and tell--and what woman or man in the row would quite believe it? CHAPTER XXV "WE BEGAN TO MARRY THEM, MY GOOD FELLOW!" Lord Dunholm and his eldest son, Lord Westholt, sauntered together smoking their after-dinner cigars on the broad-turfed terrace overlooking park and gardens which seemed to sweep without boundary line into the purplish land beyond. The grey mass of the castle stood clear-cut against the blue of a sky whose twilight was still almost daylight, though in the purity of its evening stillness a star already hung, here and there, and a young moon swung low. The great spaces about them held a silence whose exquisite entirety was marked at intervals by the distant bark of a shepherd dog driving his master's sheep to the fold, their soft, intermittent plaints--the mother ewes' mellow answering to the tender, fretful lambs--floated on the air, a lovely part of the ending day's repose. Where two who are friends stroll together at such hours, the great beauty makes for silence or for thoughtful talk. These two men--father and son--were friends and intimates, and had been so from Westholt's first memory of the time when his childish individuality began to detach itself from the background of misty and indistinct things. They had liked each other, and their liking and intimacy had increased with the onward moving and change of years. After sixty sane and decently spent active years of life, Lord Dunholm, in either country tweed or evening dress, was a well-built and handsome man; at thirty-three his son was still like him. "Have you seen her?" he was saying. "Only at a distance. She was driving Lady Anstruthers across the marshes in a cart. She drove well and----" he laughed as he flicked the ash from his cigar--"the back of her head and shoulders looked handsome." "The American young woman is at present a factor which is without doubt to be counted with," Lord Dunholm put the matter without lightness. "Any young woman is a factor, but the American young woman just now--just now----" He paused a moment as though considering. "It did not seem at all necessary to count with them at first, when they began to appear among us. They were generally curiously exotic, funny little creatures with odd manners and voices. They were often most amusing, and one liked to hear them chatter and see the airy lightness with which they took superfluous, and sometimes unsuperfluous, conventions, as a hunter takes a five-barred gate. But it never occurred to us to marry them. We did not take them seriously enough. But we began to marry them--we began to marry them, my good fellow!" The final words broke forth with such a suggestion of sudden anxiety that, in spite of himself, Westholt laughed involuntarily, and his father, turning to look at him, laughed also. But he recovered his seriousness. "It was all rather a muddle at first," he went on. "Things were not fairly done, and certain bad lots looked on it as a paying scheme on the one side, while it was a matter of silly, little ambitions on the other. But that it is an extraordinary country there is no sane denying--huge, fabulously resourceful in every way--area, variety of climate, wealth of minerals, products of all sorts, soil to grow anything, and sun and rain enough to give each thing what it needs; last, or rather first, a people who, considered as a nation, are in the riot of youth, and who began by being English--which we Englishmen have an innocent belief is the one method of 'owning the earth.' That figure of speech is an Americanism I carefully committed to memory. Well, after all, look at the map--look at the map! There we are." They had frequently discussed together the question of the development of international relations. Lord Dunholm, a man of far-reaching and clear logic, had realised that the oddly unaccentuated growth of intercourse between the two countries might be a subject to be reflected on without lightness. "The habit we have of regarding America and Americans as rather a joke," he had once said, "has a sort of parallel in the condescendingly amiable amusement of a parent at the precocity or whimsicalness of a child. But the child is shooting up amazingly--amazingly. In a way which suggests divers possibilities." The exchange of visits between Dunholm and Stornham had been rare and formal. From the call made upon the younger Lady Anstruthers on her marriage, the Dunholms had returned with a sense of puzzled pity for the little American bride, with her wonderful frock and her uneasy, childish eyes. For some years Lady Anstruthers had been too delicate to make or return calls. One heard painful accounts of her apparent wretched ill-health and of the condition of her husband's estate. "As the relations between the two families have evidently been strained for years," Lord Dunholm said, "it is interesting to hear of the sudden advent of the sister. It seems to point to reconciliation. And you say the girl is an unusual person. "From what one hears, she would be unusual if she were an English girl who had spent her life on an English estate. That an American who is making her first visit to England should seem to see at once the practical needs of a neglected place is a thing to wonder at. What can she know about it, one

reuben

How many times the word 'reuben' appears in the text?

Anstruther's sister." Mr. Penzance, replacing his own hat, looked after her with surprised pleasure. "Really," he exclaimed, "Miss Vanderpoel! What a fine girl! How unusually handsome!" Selden turned with a gasp of delighted, amazed recognition. "Miss Vanderpoel," he burst forth, "Reuben Vanderpoel's daughter! The one that's over here visiting her sister. Is it that one--sure?" "Yes," from Mount Dunstan without fervour. "Lady Anstruthers lives at Stornham, about six miles from here." "Gee," with feverish regret. "If her father was there, and I could get next to him, my fortune would be made." "Should you," ventured Penzance politely, "endeavour to sell him a typewriter?" "A typewriter! Holy smoke! I'd try to sell him ten thousand. A fellow like that syndicates the world. If I could get next to him----" and he mounted his bicycle with a laugh. "Get next," murmured Penzance. "Get on the good side of him," Mount Dunstan murmured in reply. "So long, gentlemen, good-bye, and thank you again," called G. Selden as he wheeled off, and was carried soundlessly down the golden road. CHAPTER XXIV THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF STORNHAM The satin-skinned chestnut was one of the new horses now standing in the Stornham stables. There were several of them--a pair for the landau, saddle horses, smart young cobs for phaeton or dog cart, a pony for Ughtred--the animals necessary at such a place at Stornham. The stables themselves had been quickly put in order, grooms and stable boys kept them as they had not been kept for years. The men learned in a week's time that their work could not be done too well. There were new carriages as well as horses. They had come from London after Lady Anstruthers and her sister returned from town. The horses had been brought down by their grooms--immensely looked after, blanketed, hooded, and altogether cared for as if they were visiting dukes and duchesses. They were all fine, handsome, carefully chosen creatures. When they danced and sidled through the village on their way to the Court, they created a sensation. Whosoever had chosen them had known his business. The older vehicles had been repaired in the village by Tread, and did him credit. Fox had also done his work well. Plenty more of it had come into their work-shops. Tools to be used on the estate, garden implements, wheelbarrows, lawn rollers, things needed about the house, stables, and cottages, were to be attended to. The church roof was being repaired. Taking all these things and the "doing up" of the Court itself, there was more work than the village could manage, and carpenters, bricklayers, and decorators were necessarily brought from other places. Still Joe Buttle and Sim Soames were allowed to lead in all such things as lay within their capabilities. It was they who made such a splendid job of the entrance gates and the lodges. It was astonishing how much was done, and how the sense of life in the air--the work of resulting prosperity, made men begin to tread with less listless steps as they went to and from their labour. In the cottages things were being done which made downcast women bestir themselves and look less slatternly. Leaks mended here, windows there, the hopeless copper in the tiny washhouse replaced by a new one, chimneys cured of the habit of smoking, a clean, flowered paper put on a wall, a coat of whitewash--they were small matters, but produced great effect. Betty had begun to drop into the cottages, and make the acquaintance of their owners. Her first visits, she observed, created great consternation. Women looked frightened or sullen, children stared and refused to speak, clinging to skirts and aprons. She found the atmosphere clear after her second visit. The women began to talk, and the children collected in groups and listened with cheerful grins. She could pick up little Jane's kitten, or give a pat to small Thomas' mongrel dog, in a manner which threw down barriers. "Don't put out your pipe," she said to old Grandfather Doby, rising totteringly respectful from his chimney-side chair. "You have only just lighted it. You mustn't waste a whole pipeful of tobacco because I have come in." The old man, grown childish with age, tittered and shuffled and giggled. Such a joke as the grand young lady was having with him. She saw he had only just lighted his pipe. The gentry joked a bit sometimes. But he was afraid of his grandson's wife, who was frowning and shaking her head. Betty went to him, and put her hand on his arm. "Sit down," she said, "and I will sit by you." And she sat down and showed him that she had brought a package of tobacco with her, and actually a wonder of a red and yellow jar to hold it, at the sight of which unheard-of joys his rapture was so great that his trembling hands could scarcely clasp his treasures. "Tee-hee! Tee-hee-ee! Deary me! Thankee--thankee, my lady," he tittered, and he gazed and blinked at her beauty through heavenly tears. "Nearly a hundred years old, and he has lived on sixteen shillings a week all his life, and earned it by working every hour between sunrise and sunset," Betty said to her sister, when she went home. "A man has one life, and his has passed like that. It is done now, and all the years and work have left nothing in his old hands but his pipe. That's all. I should not like to put it out for him. Who am I that I can buy him a new one, and keep it filled for him until the end? How did it happen? No," suddenly, "I must not lose time in asking myself that. I must get the new pipe." She did it--a pipe of great magnificence--such as drew to the Doby cottage as many callers as the village could provide, each coming with fevered interest, to look at it--to be allowed to hold and examine it for a few moments, guessing at its probable enormous cost, and returning it reverently, to gaze at Doby with respect--the increase of which can be imagined when it was known that he was not only possessor of the pipe, but of an assurance that he would be supplied with as much tobacco as he could use, to the end of his days. From the time of the advent of the pipe, Grandfather Doby became a man of mark, and his life in the chimney corner a changed thing. A man who owns splendours and unlimited, excellent shag may like friends to drop in and crack jokes--and even smoke a pipe with him--a common pipe, which, however, is not amiss when excellent shag comes free. "He lives in a wild whirl of gaiety--a social vortex," said Betty to Lady Anstruthers, after one of her visits. "He is actually rejuvenated. I must order some new white smocks for him to receive his visitors in. Someone brought him an old copy of the Illustrated London News last night. We will send him illustrated papers every week." In the dull old brain, God knows what spark of life had been relighted. Young Mrs. Doby related with chuckles that granddad had begged that his chair might be dragged to the window, that he might sit and watch the village street. Sitting there, day after day, he smoked and looked at his pictures, and dozed and dreamed, his pipe and tobacco jar beside him on the window ledge. At any sound of wheels or footsteps his face lighted, and if, by chance, he caught a glimpse of Betty, he tottered to his feet, and stood hurriedly touching his bald forehead with a reverent, palsied hand. "'Tis 'urr," he would say, enrapt. "I seen 'urr--I did." And young Mrs. Doby knew that this was his joy, and what he waited for as one waits for the coming of the sun. "'Tis 'urr! 'Tis 'urr!" The vicar's wife, Mrs. Brent, who since the affair of John Wilson's fire had dropped into the background and felt it indiscreet to present tales of distress at the Court, began to recover her courage. Her perfunctory visits assumed a new character. The vicarage had, of course, called promptly upon Miss Vanderpoel, after her arrival. Mrs. Brent admired Miss Vanderpoel hugely. "You seem so unlike an American," she said once in her most tactful, ingratiating manner--which was very ingratiating indeed. "Do I? What is one like when one is like an American? I am one, you know." "I can scarcely believe it," with sweet ardour. "Pray try," said Betty with simple brevity, and Mrs. Brent felt that perhaps Miss Vanderpoel was not really very easy to get on with. "She meant to imply that I did not speak through my nose, and talk too much, and too vivaciously, in a shrill voice," Betty said afterwards, in talking the interview over with Rosy. "I like to convince myself that is not one's sole national characteristic. Also it was not exactly Mrs. Brent's place to kindly encourage me with the information that I do not seem to belong to my own country." Lady Anstruthers laughed, and Betty looked at her inquiringly. "You said that just like--just like an Englishwoman." "Did I?" said Betty. Mrs. Brent had come to talk to her because she did not wish to trouble dear Lady Anstruthers. Lady Anstruthers already looked much stronger, but she had been delicate so long that one hesitated to distress her with village matters. She did not add that she realised that she was coming to headquarters. The vicar and herself were much disturbed about a rather tiresome old woman--old Mrs. Welden--who lived in a tiny cottage in the village. She was eighty-three years old, and a respectable old person--a widow, who had reared ten children. The children had all grown up, and scattered, and old Mrs. Welden had nothing whatever to live on. No one knew how she lived, and really she would be better off in the workhouse. She could be sent to Brexley Union, and comfortably taken care of, but she had that singular, obstinate dislike to going, which it was so difficult to manage. She had asked for a shilling a week from the parish, but that could not be allowed her, as it would merely uphold her in her obstinate intention of remaining in her cottage, and taking care of herself--which she could not do. Betty gathered that the shilling a week would be a drain on the parish funds, and would so raise the old creature to affluence that she would feel she could defy fate. And the contumacity of old men and women should not be strengthened by the reckless bestowal of shillings. Knowing that Miss Vanderpoel had already gained influence among the village people, Mrs. Brent said, she had come to ask her if she would see old Mrs. Welden and argue with her in such a manner as would convince her that the workhouse was the best place for her. It was, of course, so much pleasanter if these old people could be induced to go to Brexley willingly. "Shall I be undermining the whole Political Economy of Stornham if I take care of her myself?" suggested Betty. "You--you will lead others to expect the same thing will be done for them." "When one has resources to draw on," Miss Vanderpoel commented, "in the case of a woman who has lived eighty-three years and brought up ten children until they were old and strong enough to leave her to take care of herself, it is difficult for the weak of mind to apply the laws of Political Economics. I will go and see old Mrs. Welden." If the Vanderpoels would provide for all the obstinate old men and women in the parish, the Political Economics of Stornham would proffer no marked objections. "A good many Americans," Mrs. Brent reflected, "seemed to have those odd, lavish ways," as witness Lady Anstruthers herself, on her first introduction to village life. Miss Vanderpoel was evidently a much stronger character, and extremely clever, and somehow the stream of the American fortune was at last being directed towards Stornham--which, of course, should have happened long ago. A good deal was "being done," and the whole situation looked more promising. So was the matter discussed and summed up, the same evening after dinner, at the vicarage. Betty found old Mrs. Welden's cottage. It was in a green lane, turning from the village street--which was almost a green lane itself. A tiny hedged-in front garden was before the cottage door. A crazy-looking wicket gate was in the hedge, and a fuschia bush and a few old roses were in the few yards of garden. There were actually two or three geraniums in the window, showing cheerful scarlet between the short, white dimity curtains. "A house this size and of this poverty in an American village," was Betty's thought, "would be a bare and straggling hideousness, with old tomato cans in the front yard. Here is one of the things we have to learn from them." When she knocked at the door an old woman opened it. She was a well-preserved and markedly respectable old person, in a decent print frock and a cap. At the sight of her visitor she beamed and made a suggestion of curtsey. "How do you do, Mrs. Welden?" said Betty. "I am Lady Anstruthers' sister, Miss Vanderpoel. I thought I would like to come and see you." "Thank you, miss, I am obliged for the kindness, miss. Won't you come in and have a chair?" There were no signs of decrepitude about her, and she had a cheery old eye. The tiny front room was neat, though there was scarcely space enough in it to contain the table covered with its blue-checked cotton cloth, the narrow sofa, and two or three chairs. There were a few small coloured prints, and a framed photograph or so on the walls, and on the table was a Bible, and a brown earthenware teapot, and a plate. "Tom Wood's wife, that's neighbour next door to me," she said, "gave me a pinch o' tea--an' I've just been 'avin it. Tom Woods, miss, 'as just been took on by Muster Kedgers as one of the new under gardeners at the Court." Betty found her delightful. She made no complaints, and was evidently pleased with the excitement of receiving a visitor. The truth was, that in common with every other old woman, she had secretly aspired to being visited some day by the amazing young lady from "Meriker." Betty had yet to learn of the heartburnings which may be occasioned by an unconscious favouritism. She was not aware that when she dropped in to talk to old Doby, his neighbour, old Megworth, peered from behind his curtains, with the dew of envy in his rheumy eyes. "S'ems," he mumbled, "as if they wasn't nobody now in Stornham village but Gaarge Doby--s'ems not." They were very fierce in their jealousy of attention, and one must beware of rousing evil passions in the octogenarian breast. The young lady from "Meriker" had not so far had time to make a call at any cottage in old Mrs. Welden's lane--and she had knocked just at old Mrs. Welden's door. This was enough to put in good spirits even a less cheery old person. At first Betty wondered how she could with delicacy ask personal questions. A few minutes' conversation, however, showed her that the personal affairs of Sir Nigel's tenants were also the affairs of not only himself, but of such of his relatives as attended to their natural duty. Her presence in the cottage, and her interest in Mrs. Welden's ready flow of simple talk, were desirable and proper compliments to the old woman herself. She was a decent and self-respecting old person, but in her mind there was no faintest glimmer of resentment of questions concerning rent and food and the needs of her simple, hard-driven existence. She had answered such questions on many occasions, when they had not been asked in the manner in which her ladyship's sister asked them. Mrs. Brent had scolded her and "poked about" her cottage, going into her tiny "wash 'us," and up into her infinitesimal bedroom under the slanting roof, to see that they were kept clean. Miss Vanderpoel showed no disposition to "poke." She sat and listened, and made an inquiry here and there, in a nice voice and with a smile in her eyes. There was some pleasure in relating the whole history of your eighty-three years to a young lady who listened as if she wanted to hear it. So old Mrs. Welden prattled on. About her good days, when she was young, and was kitchenmaid at the parsonage in a village twenty miles away; about her marriage with a young farm labourer; about his "steady" habits, and the comfort they had together, in spite of the yearly arrival of a new baby, and the crowding of the bit of a cottage his master allowed them. Ten of 'em, and it had been "up before sunrise, and a good bit of hard work to keep them all fed and clean." But she had not minded that until Jack died quite sudden after a sunstroke. It was odd how much colour her rustic phraseology held. She made Betty see it all. The apparent natural inevitableness of their being turned out of the cottage, because another man must have it; the years during which she worked her way while the ten were growing up, having measles, and chicken pox, and scarlet fever, one dying here and there, dropping out quite in the natural order of things, and being buried by the parish in corners of the ancient church yard. Three of them "was took" by scarlet fever, then one of a "decline," then one or two by other illnesses. Only four reached man and womanhood. One had gone to Australia, but he never was one to write, and after a year or two, Betty gathered, he had seemed to melt away into the great distance. Two girls had married, and Mrs. Welden could not say they had been "comf'able." They could barely feed themselves and their swarms of children. The other son had never been steady like his father. He had at last gone to London, and London had swallowed him up. Betty was struck by the fact that she did not seem to feel that the mother of ten might have expected some return for her labours, at eighty-three. Her unresentful acceptance of things was at once significant and moving. Betty found her amazing. What she lived on it was not easy to understand. She seemed rather like a cheerful old bird, getting up each unprovided-for morning, and picking up her sustenance where she found it. "There's more in the sayin' 'the Lord pervides' than a good many thinks," she said with a small chuckle, marked more by a genial and comfortable sense of humour than by an air of meritoriously quoting the vicar. "He DO." She paid one and threepence a week in rent for her cottage, and this was the most serious drain upon her resources. She apparently could live without food or fire, but the rent must be paid. "An' I do get a bit be'ind sometimes," she confessed apologetically, "an' then it's a trouble to get straight." Her cottage was one of a short row, and she did odd jobs for the women who were her neighbours. There were always babies to be looked after, and "bits of 'elp" needed, sometimes there were "movings" from one cottage to another, and "confinements" were plainly at once exhilarating and enriching. Her temperamental good cheer, combined with her experience, made her a desirable companion and assistant. She was engagingly frank. "When they're new to it, an' a bit frightened, I just give 'em a cup of 'ot tea, an' joke with 'em to cheer 'em up," she said. "I says to Charles Jenkins' wife, as lives next door, 'come now, me girl, it's been goin' on since Adam an' Eve, an' there's a good many of us left, isn't there?' An' a fine boy it was, too, miss, an' 'er up an' about before 'er month." She was paid in sixpences and spare shillings, and in cups of tea, or a fresh-baked loaf, or screws of sugar, or even in a garment not yet worn beyond repair. And she was free to run in and out, and grow a flower or so in her garden, and talk with a neighbour over the low dividing hedge. "They want me to go into the 'Ouse,'" reaching the dangerous subject at last. "They say I'll be took care of an' looked after. But I don't want to do it, miss. I want to keep my bit of a 'ome if I can, an' be free to come an' go. I'm eighty-three, an' it won't be long. I 'ad a shilling a week from the parish, but they stopped it because they said I ought to go into the 'Ouse.'" She looked at Betty with a momentarily anxious smile. "P'raps you don't quite understand, miss," she said. "It'll seem like nothin' to you--a place like this." "It doesn't," Betty answered, smiling bravely back into the old eyes, though she felt a slight fulness of the throat. "I understand all about it." It is possible that old Mrs. Welden was a little taken aback by an attitude which, satisfactory to her own prejudices though it might be, was, taken in connection with fixed customs, a trifle unnatural. "You don't mind me not wantin' to go?" she said. "No," was the answer, "not at all." Betty began to ask questions. How much tea, sugar, soap, candles, bread, butter, bacon, could Mrs. Welden use in a week? It was not very easy to find out the exact quantities, as Mrs. Welden's estimates of such things had been based, during her entire existence, upon calculation as to how little, not how much she could use. When Betty suggested a pound of tea, a half pound--the old woman smiled at the innocent ignorance the suggestion of such reckless profusion implied. "Oh, no! Bless you, miss, no! I couldn't never do away with it. A quarter, miss--that'd be plenty--a quarter." Mrs. Welden's idea of "the best," was that at two shillings a pound. Quarter of a pound would cost sixpence (twelve cents, thought Betty). A pound of sugar would be twopence, Mrs. Welden would use half a pound (the riotous extravagance of two cents). Half a pound of butter, "Good tub butter, miss," would be ten pence three farthings a pound. Soap, candles, bacon, bread, coal, wood, in the quantities required by Mrs. Welden, might, with the addition of rent, amount to the dizzying height of eight or ten shillings. "With careful extravagance," Betty mentally summed up, "I might spend almost two dollars a week in surrounding her with a riot of luxury." She made a list of the things, and added some extras as an idea of her own. Life had not afforded her this kind of thing before, she realised. She felt for the first time the joy of reckless extravagance, and thrilled with the excitement of it. "You need not think of Brexley Union any more," she said, when she, having risen to go, stood at the cottage door with old Mrs. Welden. "The things I have written down here shall be sent to you every Saturday night. I will pay your rent." "Miss--miss!" Mrs. Welden looked affrighted. "It's too much, miss. An' coals eighteen pence a hundred!" "Never mind," said her ladyship's sister, and the old woman, looking up into her eyes, found there the colour Mount Dunstan had thought of as being that of bluebells under water. "I think we can manage it, Mrs. Welden. Keep yourself as warm as you like, and sometime I will come and have a cup of tea with you and see if the tea is good." "Oh! Deary me!" said Mrs. Welden. "I can't think what to say, miss. It lifts everythin'--everythin'. It's not to be believed. It's like bein' left a fortune." When the wicket gate swung to and the young lady went up the lane, the old woman stood staring after her. And here was a piece of news to run into Charley Jenkins' cottage and tell--and what woman or man in the row would quite believe it? CHAPTER XXV "WE BEGAN TO MARRY THEM, MY GOOD FELLOW!" Lord Dunholm and his eldest son, Lord Westholt, sauntered together smoking their after-dinner cigars on the broad-turfed terrace overlooking park and gardens which seemed to sweep without boundary line into the purplish land beyond. The grey mass of the castle stood clear-cut against the blue of a sky whose twilight was still almost daylight, though in the purity of its evening stillness a star already hung, here and there, and a young moon swung low. The great spaces about them held a silence whose exquisite entirety was marked at intervals by the distant bark of a shepherd dog driving his master's sheep to the fold, their soft, intermittent plaints--the mother ewes' mellow answering to the tender, fretful lambs--floated on the air, a lovely part of the ending day's repose. Where two who are friends stroll together at such hours, the great beauty makes for silence or for thoughtful talk. These two men--father and son--were friends and intimates, and had been so from Westholt's first memory of the time when his childish individuality began to detach itself from the background of misty and indistinct things. They had liked each other, and their liking and intimacy had increased with the onward moving and change of years. After sixty sane and decently spent active years of life, Lord Dunholm, in either country tweed or evening dress, was a well-built and handsome man; at thirty-three his son was still like him. "Have you seen her?" he was saying. "Only at a distance. She was driving Lady Anstruthers across the marshes in a cart. She drove well and----" he laughed as he flicked the ash from his cigar--"the back of her head and shoulders looked handsome." "The American young woman is at present a factor which is without doubt to be counted with," Lord Dunholm put the matter without lightness. "Any young woman is a factor, but the American young woman just now--just now----" He paused a moment as though considering. "It did not seem at all necessary to count with them at first, when they began to appear among us. They were generally curiously exotic, funny little creatures with odd manners and voices. They were often most amusing, and one liked to hear them chatter and see the airy lightness with which they took superfluous, and sometimes unsuperfluous, conventions, as a hunter takes a five-barred gate. But it never occurred to us to marry them. We did not take them seriously enough. But we began to marry them--we began to marry them, my good fellow!" The final words broke forth with such a suggestion of sudden anxiety that, in spite of himself, Westholt laughed involuntarily, and his father, turning to look at him, laughed also. But he recovered his seriousness. "It was all rather a muddle at first," he went on. "Things were not fairly done, and certain bad lots looked on it as a paying scheme on the one side, while it was a matter of silly, little ambitions on the other. But that it is an extraordinary country there is no sane denying--huge, fabulously resourceful in every way--area, variety of climate, wealth of minerals, products of all sorts, soil to grow anything, and sun and rain enough to give each thing what it needs; last, or rather first, a people who, considered as a nation, are in the riot of youth, and who began by being English--which we Englishmen have an innocent belief is the one method of 'owning the earth.' That figure of speech is an Americanism I carefully committed to memory. Well, after all, look at the map--look at the map! There we are." They had frequently discussed together the question of the development of international relations. Lord Dunholm, a man of far-reaching and clear logic, had realised that the oddly unaccentuated growth of intercourse between the two countries might be a subject to be reflected on without lightness. "The habit we have of regarding America and Americans as rather a joke," he had once said, "has a sort of parallel in the condescendingly amiable amusement of a parent at the precocity or whimsicalness of a child. But the child is shooting up amazingly--amazingly. In a way which suggests divers possibilities." The exchange of visits between Dunholm and Stornham had been rare and formal. From the call made upon the younger Lady Anstruthers on her marriage, the Dunholms had returned with a sense of puzzled pity for the little American bride, with her wonderful frock and her uneasy, childish eyes. For some years Lady Anstruthers had been too delicate to make or return calls. One heard painful accounts of her apparent wretched ill-health and of the condition of her husband's estate. "As the relations between the two families have evidently been strained for years," Lord Dunholm said, "it is interesting to hear of the sudden advent of the sister. It seems to point to reconciliation. And you say the girl is an unusual person. "From what one hears, she would be unusual if she were an English girl who had spent her life on an English estate. That an American who is making her first visit to England should seem to see at once the practical needs of a neglected place is a thing to wonder at. What can she know about it, one

hold

How many times the word 'hold' appears in the text?

Anstruther's sister." Mr. Penzance, replacing his own hat, looked after her with surprised pleasure. "Really," he exclaimed, "Miss Vanderpoel! What a fine girl! How unusually handsome!" Selden turned with a gasp of delighted, amazed recognition. "Miss Vanderpoel," he burst forth, "Reuben Vanderpoel's daughter! The one that's over here visiting her sister. Is it that one--sure?" "Yes," from Mount Dunstan without fervour. "Lady Anstruthers lives at Stornham, about six miles from here." "Gee," with feverish regret. "If her father was there, and I could get next to him, my fortune would be made." "Should you," ventured Penzance politely, "endeavour to sell him a typewriter?" "A typewriter! Holy smoke! I'd try to sell him ten thousand. A fellow like that syndicates the world. If I could get next to him----" and he mounted his bicycle with a laugh. "Get next," murmured Penzance. "Get on the good side of him," Mount Dunstan murmured in reply. "So long, gentlemen, good-bye, and thank you again," called G. Selden as he wheeled off, and was carried soundlessly down the golden road. CHAPTER XXIV THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF STORNHAM The satin-skinned chestnut was one of the new horses now standing in the Stornham stables. There were several of them--a pair for the landau, saddle horses, smart young cobs for phaeton or dog cart, a pony for Ughtred--the animals necessary at such a place at Stornham. The stables themselves had been quickly put in order, grooms and stable boys kept them as they had not been kept for years. The men learned in a week's time that their work could not be done too well. There were new carriages as well as horses. They had come from London after Lady Anstruthers and her sister returned from town. The horses had been brought down by their grooms--immensely looked after, blanketed, hooded, and altogether cared for as if they were visiting dukes and duchesses. They were all fine, handsome, carefully chosen creatures. When they danced and sidled through the village on their way to the Court, they created a sensation. Whosoever had chosen them had known his business. The older vehicles had been repaired in the village by Tread, and did him credit. Fox had also done his work well. Plenty more of it had come into their work-shops. Tools to be used on the estate, garden implements, wheelbarrows, lawn rollers, things needed about the house, stables, and cottages, were to be attended to. The church roof was being repaired. Taking all these things and the "doing up" of the Court itself, there was more work than the village could manage, and carpenters, bricklayers, and decorators were necessarily brought from other places. Still Joe Buttle and Sim Soames were allowed to lead in all such things as lay within their capabilities. It was they who made such a splendid job of the entrance gates and the lodges. It was astonishing how much was done, and how the sense of life in the air--the work of resulting prosperity, made men begin to tread with less listless steps as they went to and from their labour. In the cottages things were being done which made downcast women bestir themselves and look less slatternly. Leaks mended here, windows there, the hopeless copper in the tiny washhouse replaced by a new one, chimneys cured of the habit of smoking, a clean, flowered paper put on a wall, a coat of whitewash--they were small matters, but produced great effect. Betty had begun to drop into the cottages, and make the acquaintance of their owners. Her first visits, she observed, created great consternation. Women looked frightened or sullen, children stared and refused to speak, clinging to skirts and aprons. She found the atmosphere clear after her second visit. The women began to talk, and the children collected in groups and listened with cheerful grins. She could pick up little Jane's kitten, or give a pat to small Thomas' mongrel dog, in a manner which threw down barriers. "Don't put out your pipe," she said to old Grandfather Doby, rising totteringly respectful from his chimney-side chair. "You have only just lighted it. You mustn't waste a whole pipeful of tobacco because I have come in." The old man, grown childish with age, tittered and shuffled and giggled. Such a joke as the grand young lady was having with him. She saw he had only just lighted his pipe. The gentry joked a bit sometimes. But he was afraid of his grandson's wife, who was frowning and shaking her head. Betty went to him, and put her hand on his arm. "Sit down," she said, "and I will sit by you." And she sat down and showed him that she had brought a package of tobacco with her, and actually a wonder of a red and yellow jar to hold it, at the sight of which unheard-of joys his rapture was so great that his trembling hands could scarcely clasp his treasures. "Tee-hee! Tee-hee-ee! Deary me! Thankee--thankee, my lady," he tittered, and he gazed and blinked at her beauty through heavenly tears. "Nearly a hundred years old, and he has lived on sixteen shillings a week all his life, and earned it by working every hour between sunrise and sunset," Betty said to her sister, when she went home. "A man has one life, and his has passed like that. It is done now, and all the years and work have left nothing in his old hands but his pipe. That's all. I should not like to put it out for him. Who am I that I can buy him a new one, and keep it filled for him until the end? How did it happen? No," suddenly, "I must not lose time in asking myself that. I must get the new pipe." She did it--a pipe of great magnificence--such as drew to the Doby cottage as many callers as the village could provide, each coming with fevered interest, to look at it--to be allowed to hold and examine it for a few moments, guessing at its probable enormous cost, and returning it reverently, to gaze at Doby with respect--the increase of which can be imagined when it was known that he was not only possessor of the pipe, but of an assurance that he would be supplied with as much tobacco as he could use, to the end of his days. From the time of the advent of the pipe, Grandfather Doby became a man of mark, and his life in the chimney corner a changed thing. A man who owns splendours and unlimited, excellent shag may like friends to drop in and crack jokes--and even smoke a pipe with him--a common pipe, which, however, is not amiss when excellent shag comes free. "He lives in a wild whirl of gaiety--a social vortex," said Betty to Lady Anstruthers, after one of her visits. "He is actually rejuvenated. I must order some new white smocks for him to receive his visitors in. Someone brought him an old copy of the Illustrated London News last night. We will send him illustrated papers every week." In the dull old brain, God knows what spark of life had been relighted. Young Mrs. Doby related with chuckles that granddad had begged that his chair might be dragged to the window, that he might sit and watch the village street. Sitting there, day after day, he smoked and looked at his pictures, and dozed and dreamed, his pipe and tobacco jar beside him on the window ledge. At any sound of wheels or footsteps his face lighted, and if, by chance, he caught a glimpse of Betty, he tottered to his feet, and stood hurriedly touching his bald forehead with a reverent, palsied hand. "'Tis 'urr," he would say, enrapt. "I seen 'urr--I did." And young Mrs. Doby knew that this was his joy, and what he waited for as one waits for the coming of the sun. "'Tis 'urr! 'Tis 'urr!" The vicar's wife, Mrs. Brent, who since the affair of John Wilson's fire had dropped into the background and felt it indiscreet to present tales of distress at the Court, began to recover her courage. Her perfunctory visits assumed a new character. The vicarage had, of course, called promptly upon Miss Vanderpoel, after her arrival. Mrs. Brent admired Miss Vanderpoel hugely. "You seem so unlike an American," she said once in her most tactful, ingratiating manner--which was very ingratiating indeed. "Do I? What is one like when one is like an American? I am one, you know." "I can scarcely believe it," with sweet ardour. "Pray try," said Betty with simple brevity, and Mrs. Brent felt that perhaps Miss Vanderpoel was not really very easy to get on with. "She meant to imply that I did not speak through my nose, and talk too much, and too vivaciously, in a shrill voice," Betty said afterwards, in talking the interview over with Rosy. "I like to convince myself that is not one's sole national characteristic. Also it was not exactly Mrs. Brent's place to kindly encourage me with the information that I do not seem to belong to my own country." Lady Anstruthers laughed, and Betty looked at her inquiringly. "You said that just like--just like an Englishwoman." "Did I?" said Betty. Mrs. Brent had come to talk to her because she did not wish to trouble dear Lady Anstruthers. Lady Anstruthers already looked much stronger, but she had been delicate so long that one hesitated to distress her with village matters. She did not add that she realised that she was coming to headquarters. The vicar and herself were much disturbed about a rather tiresome old woman--old Mrs. Welden--who lived in a tiny cottage in the village. She was eighty-three years old, and a respectable old person--a widow, who had reared ten children. The children had all grown up, and scattered, and old Mrs. Welden had nothing whatever to live on. No one knew how she lived, and really she would be better off in the workhouse. She could be sent to Brexley Union, and comfortably taken care of, but she had that singular, obstinate dislike to going, which it was so difficult to manage. She had asked for a shilling a week from the parish, but that could not be allowed her, as it would merely uphold her in her obstinate intention of remaining in her cottage, and taking care of herself--which she could not do. Betty gathered that the shilling a week would be a drain on the parish funds, and would so raise the old creature to affluence that she would feel she could defy fate. And the contumacity of old men and women should not be strengthened by the reckless bestowal of shillings. Knowing that Miss Vanderpoel had already gained influence among the village people, Mrs. Brent said, she had come to ask her if she would see old Mrs. Welden and argue with her in such a manner as would convince her that the workhouse was the best place for her. It was, of course, so much pleasanter if these old people could be induced to go to Brexley willingly. "Shall I be undermining the whole Political Economy of Stornham if I take care of her myself?" suggested Betty. "You--you will lead others to expect the same thing will be done for them." "When one has resources to draw on," Miss Vanderpoel commented, "in the case of a woman who has lived eighty-three years and brought up ten children until they were old and strong enough to leave her to take care of herself, it is difficult for the weak of mind to apply the laws of Political Economics. I will go and see old Mrs. Welden." If the Vanderpoels would provide for all the obstinate old men and women in the parish, the Political Economics of Stornham would proffer no marked objections. "A good many Americans," Mrs. Brent reflected, "seemed to have those odd, lavish ways," as witness Lady Anstruthers herself, on her first introduction to village life. Miss Vanderpoel was evidently a much stronger character, and extremely clever, and somehow the stream of the American fortune was at last being directed towards Stornham--which, of course, should have happened long ago. A good deal was "being done," and the whole situation looked more promising. So was the matter discussed and summed up, the same evening after dinner, at the vicarage. Betty found old Mrs. Welden's cottage. It was in a green lane, turning from the village street--which was almost a green lane itself. A tiny hedged-in front garden was before the cottage door. A crazy-looking wicket gate was in the hedge, and a fuschia bush and a few old roses were in the few yards of garden. There were actually two or three geraniums in the window, showing cheerful scarlet between the short, white dimity curtains. "A house this size and of this poverty in an American village," was Betty's thought, "would be a bare and straggling hideousness, with old tomato cans in the front yard. Here is one of the things we have to learn from them." When she knocked at the door an old woman opened it. She was a well-preserved and markedly respectable old person, in a decent print frock and a cap. At the sight of her visitor she beamed and made a suggestion of curtsey. "How do you do, Mrs. Welden?" said Betty. "I am Lady Anstruthers' sister, Miss Vanderpoel. I thought I would like to come and see you." "Thank you, miss, I am obliged for the kindness, miss. Won't you come in and have a chair?" There were no signs of decrepitude about her, and she had a cheery old eye. The tiny front room was neat, though there was scarcely space enough in it to contain the table covered with its blue-checked cotton cloth, the narrow sofa, and two or three chairs. There were a few small coloured prints, and a framed photograph or so on the walls, and on the table was a Bible, and a brown earthenware teapot, and a plate. "Tom Wood's wife, that's neighbour next door to me," she said, "gave me a pinch o' tea--an' I've just been 'avin it. Tom Woods, miss, 'as just been took on by Muster Kedgers as one of the new under gardeners at the Court." Betty found her delightful. She made no complaints, and was evidently pleased with the excitement of receiving a visitor. The truth was, that in common with every other old woman, she had secretly aspired to being visited some day by the amazing young lady from "Meriker." Betty had yet to learn of the heartburnings which may be occasioned by an unconscious favouritism. She was not aware that when she dropped in to talk to old Doby, his neighbour, old Megworth, peered from behind his curtains, with the dew of envy in his rheumy eyes. "S'ems," he mumbled, "as if they wasn't nobody now in Stornham village but Gaarge Doby--s'ems not." They were very fierce in their jealousy of attention, and one must beware of rousing evil passions in the octogenarian breast. The young lady from "Meriker" had not so far had time to make a call at any cottage in old Mrs. Welden's lane--and she had knocked just at old Mrs. Welden's door. This was enough to put in good spirits even a less cheery old person. At first Betty wondered how she could with delicacy ask personal questions. A few minutes' conversation, however, showed her that the personal affairs of Sir Nigel's tenants were also the affairs of not only himself, but of such of his relatives as attended to their natural duty. Her presence in the cottage, and her interest in Mrs. Welden's ready flow of simple talk, were desirable and proper compliments to the old woman herself. She was a decent and self-respecting old person, but in her mind there was no faintest glimmer of resentment of questions concerning rent and food and the needs of her simple, hard-driven existence. She had answered such questions on many occasions, when they had not been asked in the manner in which her ladyship's sister asked them. Mrs. Brent had scolded her and "poked about" her cottage, going into her tiny "wash 'us," and up into her infinitesimal bedroom under the slanting roof, to see that they were kept clean. Miss Vanderpoel showed no disposition to "poke." She sat and listened, and made an inquiry here and there, in a nice voice and with a smile in her eyes. There was some pleasure in relating the whole history of your eighty-three years to a young lady who listened as if she wanted to hear it. So old Mrs. Welden prattled on. About her good days, when she was young, and was kitchenmaid at the parsonage in a village twenty miles away; about her marriage with a young farm labourer; about his "steady" habits, and the comfort they had together, in spite of the yearly arrival of a new baby, and the crowding of the bit of a cottage his master allowed them. Ten of 'em, and it had been "up before sunrise, and a good bit of hard work to keep them all fed and clean." But she had not minded that until Jack died quite sudden after a sunstroke. It was odd how much colour her rustic phraseology held. She made Betty see it all. The apparent natural inevitableness of their being turned out of the cottage, because another man must have it; the years during which she worked her way while the ten were growing up, having measles, and chicken pox, and scarlet fever, one dying here and there, dropping out quite in the natural order of things, and being buried by the parish in corners of the ancient church yard. Three of them "was took" by scarlet fever, then one of a "decline," then one or two by other illnesses. Only four reached man and womanhood. One had gone to Australia, but he never was one to write, and after a year or two, Betty gathered, he had seemed to melt away into the great distance. Two girls had married, and Mrs. Welden could not say they had been "comf'able." They could barely feed themselves and their swarms of children. The other son had never been steady like his father. He had at last gone to London, and London had swallowed him up. Betty was struck by the fact that she did not seem to feel that the mother of ten might have expected some return for her labours, at eighty-three. Her unresentful acceptance of things was at once significant and moving. Betty found her amazing. What she lived on it was not easy to understand. She seemed rather like a cheerful old bird, getting up each unprovided-for morning, and picking up her sustenance where she found it. "There's more in the sayin' 'the Lord pervides' than a good many thinks," she said with a small chuckle, marked more by a genial and comfortable sense of humour than by an air of meritoriously quoting the vicar. "He DO." She paid one and threepence a week in rent for her cottage, and this was the most serious drain upon her resources. She apparently could live without food or fire, but the rent must be paid. "An' I do get a bit be'ind sometimes," she confessed apologetically, "an' then it's a trouble to get straight." Her cottage was one of a short row, and she did odd jobs for the women who were her neighbours. There were always babies to be looked after, and "bits of 'elp" needed, sometimes there were "movings" from one cottage to another, and "confinements" were plainly at once exhilarating and enriching. Her temperamental good cheer, combined with her experience, made her a desirable companion and assistant. She was engagingly frank. "When they're new to it, an' a bit frightened, I just give 'em a cup of 'ot tea, an' joke with 'em to cheer 'em up," she said. "I says to Charles Jenkins' wife, as lives next door, 'come now, me girl, it's been goin' on since Adam an' Eve, an' there's a good many of us left, isn't there?' An' a fine boy it was, too, miss, an' 'er up an' about before 'er month." She was paid in sixpences and spare shillings, and in cups of tea, or a fresh-baked loaf, or screws of sugar, or even in a garment not yet worn beyond repair. And she was free to run in and out, and grow a flower or so in her garden, and talk with a neighbour over the low dividing hedge. "They want me to go into the 'Ouse,'" reaching the dangerous subject at last. "They say I'll be took care of an' looked after. But I don't want to do it, miss. I want to keep my bit of a 'ome if I can, an' be free to come an' go. I'm eighty-three, an' it won't be long. I 'ad a shilling a week from the parish, but they stopped it because they said I ought to go into the 'Ouse.'" She looked at Betty with a momentarily anxious smile. "P'raps you don't quite understand, miss," she said. "It'll seem like nothin' to you--a place like this." "It doesn't," Betty answered, smiling bravely back into the old eyes, though she felt a slight fulness of the throat. "I understand all about it." It is possible that old Mrs. Welden was a little taken aback by an attitude which, satisfactory to her own prejudices though it might be, was, taken in connection with fixed customs, a trifle unnatural. "You don't mind me not wantin' to go?" she said. "No," was the answer, "not at all." Betty began to ask questions. How much tea, sugar, soap, candles, bread, butter, bacon, could Mrs. Welden use in a week? It was not very easy to find out the exact quantities, as Mrs. Welden's estimates of such things had been based, during her entire existence, upon calculation as to how little, not how much she could use. When Betty suggested a pound of tea, a half pound--the old woman smiled at the innocent ignorance the suggestion of such reckless profusion implied. "Oh, no! Bless you, miss, no! I couldn't never do away with it. A quarter, miss--that'd be plenty--a quarter." Mrs. Welden's idea of "the best," was that at two shillings a pound. Quarter of a pound would cost sixpence (twelve cents, thought Betty). A pound of sugar would be twopence, Mrs. Welden would use half a pound (the riotous extravagance of two cents). Half a pound of butter, "Good tub butter, miss," would be ten pence three farthings a pound. Soap, candles, bacon, bread, coal, wood, in the quantities required by Mrs. Welden, might, with the addition of rent, amount to the dizzying height of eight or ten shillings. "With careful extravagance," Betty mentally summed up, "I might spend almost two dollars a week in surrounding her with a riot of luxury." She made a list of the things, and added some extras as an idea of her own. Life had not afforded her this kind of thing before, she realised. She felt for the first time the joy of reckless extravagance, and thrilled with the excitement of it. "You need not think of Brexley Union any more," she said, when she, having risen to go, stood at the cottage door with old Mrs. Welden. "The things I have written down here shall be sent to you every Saturday night. I will pay your rent." "Miss--miss!" Mrs. Welden looked affrighted. "It's too much, miss. An' coals eighteen pence a hundred!" "Never mind," said her ladyship's sister, and the old woman, looking up into her eyes, found there the colour Mount Dunstan had thought of as being that of bluebells under water. "I think we can manage it, Mrs. Welden. Keep yourself as warm as you like, and sometime I will come and have a cup of tea with you and see if the tea is good." "Oh! Deary me!" said Mrs. Welden. "I can't think what to say, miss. It lifts everythin'--everythin'. It's not to be believed. It's like bein' left a fortune." When the wicket gate swung to and the young lady went up the lane, the old woman stood staring after her. And here was a piece of news to run into Charley Jenkins' cottage and tell--and what woman or man in the row would quite believe it? CHAPTER XXV "WE BEGAN TO MARRY THEM, MY GOOD FELLOW!" Lord Dunholm and his eldest son, Lord Westholt, sauntered together smoking their after-dinner cigars on the broad-turfed terrace overlooking park and gardens which seemed to sweep without boundary line into the purplish land beyond. The grey mass of the castle stood clear-cut against the blue of a sky whose twilight was still almost daylight, though in the purity of its evening stillness a star already hung, here and there, and a young moon swung low. The great spaces about them held a silence whose exquisite entirety was marked at intervals by the distant bark of a shepherd dog driving his master's sheep to the fold, their soft, intermittent plaints--the mother ewes' mellow answering to the tender, fretful lambs--floated on the air, a lovely part of the ending day's repose. Where two who are friends stroll together at such hours, the great beauty makes for silence or for thoughtful talk. These two men--father and son--were friends and intimates, and had been so from Westholt's first memory of the time when his childish individuality began to detach itself from the background of misty and indistinct things. They had liked each other, and their liking and intimacy had increased with the onward moving and change of years. After sixty sane and decently spent active years of life, Lord Dunholm, in either country tweed or evening dress, was a well-built and handsome man; at thirty-three his son was still like him. "Have you seen her?" he was saying. "Only at a distance. She was driving Lady Anstruthers across the marshes in a cart. She drove well and----" he laughed as he flicked the ash from his cigar--"the back of her head and shoulders looked handsome." "The American young woman is at present a factor which is without doubt to be counted with," Lord Dunholm put the matter without lightness. "Any young woman is a factor, but the American young woman just now--just now----" He paused a moment as though considering. "It did not seem at all necessary to count with them at first, when they began to appear among us. They were generally curiously exotic, funny little creatures with odd manners and voices. They were often most amusing, and one liked to hear them chatter and see the airy lightness with which they took superfluous, and sometimes unsuperfluous, conventions, as a hunter takes a five-barred gate. But it never occurred to us to marry them. We did not take them seriously enough. But we began to marry them--we began to marry them, my good fellow!" The final words broke forth with such a suggestion of sudden anxiety that, in spite of himself, Westholt laughed involuntarily, and his father, turning to look at him, laughed also. But he recovered his seriousness. "It was all rather a muddle at first," he went on. "Things were not fairly done, and certain bad lots looked on it as a paying scheme on the one side, while it was a matter of silly, little ambitions on the other. But that it is an extraordinary country there is no sane denying--huge, fabulously resourceful in every way--area, variety of climate, wealth of minerals, products of all sorts, soil to grow anything, and sun and rain enough to give each thing what it needs; last, or rather first, a people who, considered as a nation, are in the riot of youth, and who began by being English--which we Englishmen have an innocent belief is the one method of 'owning the earth.' That figure of speech is an Americanism I carefully committed to memory. Well, after all, look at the map--look at the map! There we are." They had frequently discussed together the question of the development of international relations. Lord Dunholm, a man of far-reaching and clear logic, had realised that the oddly unaccentuated growth of intercourse between the two countries might be a subject to be reflected on without lightness. "The habit we have of regarding America and Americans as rather a joke," he had once said, "has a sort of parallel in the condescendingly amiable amusement of a parent at the precocity or whimsicalness of a child. But the child is shooting up amazingly--amazingly. In a way which suggests divers possibilities." The exchange of visits between Dunholm and Stornham had been rare and formal. From the call made upon the younger Lady Anstruthers on her marriage, the Dunholms had returned with a sense of puzzled pity for the little American bride, with her wonderful frock and her uneasy, childish eyes. For some years Lady Anstruthers had been too delicate to make or return calls. One heard painful accounts of her apparent wretched ill-health and of the condition of her husband's estate. "As the relations between the two families have evidently been strained for years," Lord Dunholm said, "it is interesting to hear of the sudden advent of the sister. It seems to point to reconciliation. And you say the girl is an unusual person. "From what one hears, she would be unusual if she were an English girl who had spent her life on an English estate. That an American who is making her first visit to England should seem to see at once the practical needs of a neglected place is a thing to wonder at. What can she know about it, one

drinking

How many times the word 'drinking' appears in the text?

Anstruther's sister." Mr. Penzance, replacing his own hat, looked after her with surprised pleasure. "Really," he exclaimed, "Miss Vanderpoel! What a fine girl! How unusually handsome!" Selden turned with a gasp of delighted, amazed recognition. "Miss Vanderpoel," he burst forth, "Reuben Vanderpoel's daughter! The one that's over here visiting her sister. Is it that one--sure?" "Yes," from Mount Dunstan without fervour. "Lady Anstruthers lives at Stornham, about six miles from here." "Gee," with feverish regret. "If her father was there, and I could get next to him, my fortune would be made." "Should you," ventured Penzance politely, "endeavour to sell him a typewriter?" "A typewriter! Holy smoke! I'd try to sell him ten thousand. A fellow like that syndicates the world. If I could get next to him----" and he mounted his bicycle with a laugh. "Get next," murmured Penzance. "Get on the good side of him," Mount Dunstan murmured in reply. "So long, gentlemen, good-bye, and thank you again," called G. Selden as he wheeled off, and was carried soundlessly down the golden road. CHAPTER XXIV THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF STORNHAM The satin-skinned chestnut was one of the new horses now standing in the Stornham stables. There were several of them--a pair for the landau, saddle horses, smart young cobs for phaeton or dog cart, a pony for Ughtred--the animals necessary at such a place at Stornham. The stables themselves had been quickly put in order, grooms and stable boys kept them as they had not been kept for years. The men learned in a week's time that their work could not be done too well. There were new carriages as well as horses. They had come from London after Lady Anstruthers and her sister returned from town. The horses had been brought down by their grooms--immensely looked after, blanketed, hooded, and altogether cared for as if they were visiting dukes and duchesses. They were all fine, handsome, carefully chosen creatures. When they danced and sidled through the village on their way to the Court, they created a sensation. Whosoever had chosen them had known his business. The older vehicles had been repaired in the village by Tread, and did him credit. Fox had also done his work well. Plenty more of it had come into their work-shops. Tools to be used on the estate, garden implements, wheelbarrows, lawn rollers, things needed about the house, stables, and cottages, were to be attended to. The church roof was being repaired. Taking all these things and the "doing up" of the Court itself, there was more work than the village could manage, and carpenters, bricklayers, and decorators were necessarily brought from other places. Still Joe Buttle and Sim Soames were allowed to lead in all such things as lay within their capabilities. It was they who made such a splendid job of the entrance gates and the lodges. It was astonishing how much was done, and how the sense of life in the air--the work of resulting prosperity, made men begin to tread with less listless steps as they went to and from their labour. In the cottages things were being done which made downcast women bestir themselves and look less slatternly. Leaks mended here, windows there, the hopeless copper in the tiny washhouse replaced by a new one, chimneys cured of the habit of smoking, a clean, flowered paper put on a wall, a coat of whitewash--they were small matters, but produced great effect. Betty had begun to drop into the cottages, and make the acquaintance of their owners. Her first visits, she observed, created great consternation. Women looked frightened or sullen, children stared and refused to speak, clinging to skirts and aprons. She found the atmosphere clear after her second visit. The women began to talk, and the children collected in groups and listened with cheerful grins. She could pick up little Jane's kitten, or give a pat to small Thomas' mongrel dog, in a manner which threw down barriers. "Don't put out your pipe," she said to old Grandfather Doby, rising totteringly respectful from his chimney-side chair. "You have only just lighted it. You mustn't waste a whole pipeful of tobacco because I have come in." The old man, grown childish with age, tittered and shuffled and giggled. Such a joke as the grand young lady was having with him. She saw he had only just lighted his pipe. The gentry joked a bit sometimes. But he was afraid of his grandson's wife, who was frowning and shaking her head. Betty went to him, and put her hand on his arm. "Sit down," she said, "and I will sit by you." And she sat down and showed him that she had brought a package of tobacco with her, and actually a wonder of a red and yellow jar to hold it, at the sight of which unheard-of joys his rapture was so great that his trembling hands could scarcely clasp his treasures. "Tee-hee! Tee-hee-ee! Deary me! Thankee--thankee, my lady," he tittered, and he gazed and blinked at her beauty through heavenly tears. "Nearly a hundred years old, and he has lived on sixteen shillings a week all his life, and earned it by working every hour between sunrise and sunset," Betty said to her sister, when she went home. "A man has one life, and his has passed like that. It is done now, and all the years and work have left nothing in his old hands but his pipe. That's all. I should not like to put it out for him. Who am I that I can buy him a new one, and keep it filled for him until the end? How did it happen? No," suddenly, "I must not lose time in asking myself that. I must get the new pipe." She did it--a pipe of great magnificence--such as drew to the Doby cottage as many callers as the village could provide, each coming with fevered interest, to look at it--to be allowed to hold and examine it for a few moments, guessing at its probable enormous cost, and returning it reverently, to gaze at Doby with respect--the increase of which can be imagined when it was known that he was not only possessor of the pipe, but of an assurance that he would be supplied with as much tobacco as he could use, to the end of his days. From the time of the advent of the pipe, Grandfather Doby became a man of mark, and his life in the chimney corner a changed thing. A man who owns splendours and unlimited, excellent shag may like friends to drop in and crack jokes--and even smoke a pipe with him--a common pipe, which, however, is not amiss when excellent shag comes free. "He lives in a wild whirl of gaiety--a social vortex," said Betty to Lady Anstruthers, after one of her visits. "He is actually rejuvenated. I must order some new white smocks for him to receive his visitors in. Someone brought him an old copy of the Illustrated London News last night. We will send him illustrated papers every week." In the dull old brain, God knows what spark of life had been relighted. Young Mrs. Doby related with chuckles that granddad had begged that his chair might be dragged to the window, that he might sit and watch the village street. Sitting there, day after day, he smoked and looked at his pictures, and dozed and dreamed, his pipe and tobacco jar beside him on the window ledge. At any sound of wheels or footsteps his face lighted, and if, by chance, he caught a glimpse of Betty, he tottered to his feet, and stood hurriedly touching his bald forehead with a reverent, palsied hand. "'Tis 'urr," he would say, enrapt. "I seen 'urr--I did." And young Mrs. Doby knew that this was his joy, and what he waited for as one waits for the coming of the sun. "'Tis 'urr! 'Tis 'urr!" The vicar's wife, Mrs. Brent, who since the affair of John Wilson's fire had dropped into the background and felt it indiscreet to present tales of distress at the Court, began to recover her courage. Her perfunctory visits assumed a new character. The vicarage had, of course, called promptly upon Miss Vanderpoel, after her arrival. Mrs. Brent admired Miss Vanderpoel hugely. "You seem so unlike an American," she said once in her most tactful, ingratiating manner--which was very ingratiating indeed. "Do I? What is one like when one is like an American? I am one, you know." "I can scarcely believe it," with sweet ardour. "Pray try," said Betty with simple brevity, and Mrs. Brent felt that perhaps Miss Vanderpoel was not really very easy to get on with. "She meant to imply that I did not speak through my nose, and talk too much, and too vivaciously, in a shrill voice," Betty said afterwards, in talking the interview over with Rosy. "I like to convince myself that is not one's sole national characteristic. Also it was not exactly Mrs. Brent's place to kindly encourage me with the information that I do not seem to belong to my own country." Lady Anstruthers laughed, and Betty looked at her inquiringly. "You said that just like--just like an Englishwoman." "Did I?" said Betty. Mrs. Brent had come to talk to her because she did not wish to trouble dear Lady Anstruthers. Lady Anstruthers already looked much stronger, but she had been delicate so long that one hesitated to distress her with village matters. She did not add that she realised that she was coming to headquarters. The vicar and herself were much disturbed about a rather tiresome old woman--old Mrs. Welden--who lived in a tiny cottage in the village. She was eighty-three years old, and a respectable old person--a widow, who had reared ten children. The children had all grown up, and scattered, and old Mrs. Welden had nothing whatever to live on. No one knew how she lived, and really she would be better off in the workhouse. She could be sent to Brexley Union, and comfortably taken care of, but she had that singular, obstinate dislike to going, which it was so difficult to manage. She had asked for a shilling a week from the parish, but that could not be allowed her, as it would merely uphold her in her obstinate intention of remaining in her cottage, and taking care of herself--which she could not do. Betty gathered that the shilling a week would be a drain on the parish funds, and would so raise the old creature to affluence that she would feel she could defy fate. And the contumacity of old men and women should not be strengthened by the reckless bestowal of shillings. Knowing that Miss Vanderpoel had already gained influence among the village people, Mrs. Brent said, she had come to ask her if she would see old Mrs. Welden and argue with her in such a manner as would convince her that the workhouse was the best place for her. It was, of course, so much pleasanter if these old people could be induced to go to Brexley willingly. "Shall I be undermining the whole Political Economy of Stornham if I take care of her myself?" suggested Betty. "You--you will lead others to expect the same thing will be done for them." "When one has resources to draw on," Miss Vanderpoel commented, "in the case of a woman who has lived eighty-three years and brought up ten children until they were old and strong enough to leave her to take care of herself, it is difficult for the weak of mind to apply the laws of Political Economics. I will go and see old Mrs. Welden." If the Vanderpoels would provide for all the obstinate old men and women in the parish, the Political Economics of Stornham would proffer no marked objections. "A good many Americans," Mrs. Brent reflected, "seemed to have those odd, lavish ways," as witness Lady Anstruthers herself, on her first introduction to village life. Miss Vanderpoel was evidently a much stronger character, and extremely clever, and somehow the stream of the American fortune was at last being directed towards Stornham--which, of course, should have happened long ago. A good deal was "being done," and the whole situation looked more promising. So was the matter discussed and summed up, the same evening after dinner, at the vicarage. Betty found old Mrs. Welden's cottage. It was in a green lane, turning from the village street--which was almost a green lane itself. A tiny hedged-in front garden was before the cottage door. A crazy-looking wicket gate was in the hedge, and a fuschia bush and a few old roses were in the few yards of garden. There were actually two or three geraniums in the window, showing cheerful scarlet between the short, white dimity curtains. "A house this size and of this poverty in an American village," was Betty's thought, "would be a bare and straggling hideousness, with old tomato cans in the front yard. Here is one of the things we have to learn from them." When she knocked at the door an old woman opened it. She was a well-preserved and markedly respectable old person, in a decent print frock and a cap. At the sight of her visitor she beamed and made a suggestion of curtsey. "How do you do, Mrs. Welden?" said Betty. "I am Lady Anstruthers' sister, Miss Vanderpoel. I thought I would like to come and see you." "Thank you, miss, I am obliged for the kindness, miss. Won't you come in and have a chair?" There were no signs of decrepitude about her, and she had a cheery old eye. The tiny front room was neat, though there was scarcely space enough in it to contain the table covered with its blue-checked cotton cloth, the narrow sofa, and two or three chairs. There were a few small coloured prints, and a framed photograph or so on the walls, and on the table was a Bible, and a brown earthenware teapot, and a plate. "Tom Wood's wife, that's neighbour next door to me," she said, "gave me a pinch o' tea--an' I've just been 'avin it. Tom Woods, miss, 'as just been took on by Muster Kedgers as one of the new under gardeners at the Court." Betty found her delightful. She made no complaints, and was evidently pleased with the excitement of receiving a visitor. The truth was, that in common with every other old woman, she had secretly aspired to being visited some day by the amazing young lady from "Meriker." Betty had yet to learn of the heartburnings which may be occasioned by an unconscious favouritism. She was not aware that when she dropped in to talk to old Doby, his neighbour, old Megworth, peered from behind his curtains, with the dew of envy in his rheumy eyes. "S'ems," he mumbled, "as if they wasn't nobody now in Stornham village but Gaarge Doby--s'ems not." They were very fierce in their jealousy of attention, and one must beware of rousing evil passions in the octogenarian breast. The young lady from "Meriker" had not so far had time to make a call at any cottage in old Mrs. Welden's lane--and she had knocked just at old Mrs. Welden's door. This was enough to put in good spirits even a less cheery old person. At first Betty wondered how she could with delicacy ask personal questions. A few minutes' conversation, however, showed her that the personal affairs of Sir Nigel's tenants were also the affairs of not only himself, but of such of his relatives as attended to their natural duty. Her presence in the cottage, and her interest in Mrs. Welden's ready flow of simple talk, were desirable and proper compliments to the old woman herself. She was a decent and self-respecting old person, but in her mind there was no faintest glimmer of resentment of questions concerning rent and food and the needs of her simple, hard-driven existence. She had answered such questions on many occasions, when they had not been asked in the manner in which her ladyship's sister asked them. Mrs. Brent had scolded her and "poked about" her cottage, going into her tiny "wash 'us," and up into her infinitesimal bedroom under the slanting roof, to see that they were kept clean. Miss Vanderpoel showed no disposition to "poke." She sat and listened, and made an inquiry here and there, in a nice voice and with a smile in her eyes. There was some pleasure in relating the whole history of your eighty-three years to a young lady who listened as if she wanted to hear it. So old Mrs. Welden prattled on. About her good days, when she was young, and was kitchenmaid at the parsonage in a village twenty miles away; about her marriage with a young farm labourer; about his "steady" habits, and the comfort they had together, in spite of the yearly arrival of a new baby, and the crowding of the bit of a cottage his master allowed them. Ten of 'em, and it had been "up before sunrise, and a good bit of hard work to keep them all fed and clean." But she had not minded that until Jack died quite sudden after a sunstroke. It was odd how much colour her rustic phraseology held. She made Betty see it all. The apparent natural inevitableness of their being turned out of the cottage, because another man must have it; the years during which she worked her way while the ten were growing up, having measles, and chicken pox, and scarlet fever, one dying here and there, dropping out quite in the natural order of things, and being buried by the parish in corners of the ancient church yard. Three of them "was took" by scarlet fever, then one of a "decline," then one or two by other illnesses. Only four reached man and womanhood. One had gone to Australia, but he never was one to write, and after a year or two, Betty gathered, he had seemed to melt away into the great distance. Two girls had married, and Mrs. Welden could not say they had been "comf'able." They could barely feed themselves and their swarms of children. The other son had never been steady like his father. He had at last gone to London, and London had swallowed him up. Betty was struck by the fact that she did not seem to feel that the mother of ten might have expected some return for her labours, at eighty-three. Her unresentful acceptance of things was at once significant and moving. Betty found her amazing. What she lived on it was not easy to understand. She seemed rather like a cheerful old bird, getting up each unprovided-for morning, and picking up her sustenance where she found it. "There's more in the sayin' 'the Lord pervides' than a good many thinks," she said with a small chuckle, marked more by a genial and comfortable sense of humour than by an air of meritoriously quoting the vicar. "He DO." She paid one and threepence a week in rent for her cottage, and this was the most serious drain upon her resources. She apparently could live without food or fire, but the rent must be paid. "An' I do get a bit be'ind sometimes," she confessed apologetically, "an' then it's a trouble to get straight." Her cottage was one of a short row, and she did odd jobs for the women who were her neighbours. There were always babies to be looked after, and "bits of 'elp" needed, sometimes there were "movings" from one cottage to another, and "confinements" were plainly at once exhilarating and enriching. Her temperamental good cheer, combined with her experience, made her a desirable companion and assistant. She was engagingly frank. "When they're new to it, an' a bit frightened, I just give 'em a cup of 'ot tea, an' joke with 'em to cheer 'em up," she said. "I says to Charles Jenkins' wife, as lives next door, 'come now, me girl, it's been goin' on since Adam an' Eve, an' there's a good many of us left, isn't there?' An' a fine boy it was, too, miss, an' 'er up an' about before 'er month." She was paid in sixpences and spare shillings, and in cups of tea, or a fresh-baked loaf, or screws of sugar, or even in a garment not yet worn beyond repair. And she was free to run in and out, and grow a flower or so in her garden, and talk with a neighbour over the low dividing hedge. "They want me to go into the 'Ouse,'" reaching the dangerous subject at last. "They say I'll be took care of an' looked after. But I don't want to do it, miss. I want to keep my bit of a 'ome if I can, an' be free to come an' go. I'm eighty-three, an' it won't be long. I 'ad a shilling a week from the parish, but they stopped it because they said I ought to go into the 'Ouse.'" She looked at Betty with a momentarily anxious smile. "P'raps you don't quite understand, miss," she said. "It'll seem like nothin' to you--a place like this." "It doesn't," Betty answered, smiling bravely back into the old eyes, though she felt a slight fulness of the throat. "I understand all about it." It is possible that old Mrs. Welden was a little taken aback by an attitude which, satisfactory to her own prejudices though it might be, was, taken in connection with fixed customs, a trifle unnatural. "You don't mind me not wantin' to go?" she said. "No," was the answer, "not at all." Betty began to ask questions. How much tea, sugar, soap, candles, bread, butter, bacon, could Mrs. Welden use in a week? It was not very easy to find out the exact quantities, as Mrs. Welden's estimates of such things had been based, during her entire existence, upon calculation as to how little, not how much she could use. When Betty suggested a pound of tea, a half pound--the old woman smiled at the innocent ignorance the suggestion of such reckless profusion implied. "Oh, no! Bless you, miss, no! I couldn't never do away with it. A quarter, miss--that'd be plenty--a quarter." Mrs. Welden's idea of "the best," was that at two shillings a pound. Quarter of a pound would cost sixpence (twelve cents, thought Betty). A pound of sugar would be twopence, Mrs. Welden would use half a pound (the riotous extravagance of two cents). Half a pound of butter, "Good tub butter, miss," would be ten pence three farthings a pound. Soap, candles, bacon, bread, coal, wood, in the quantities required by Mrs. Welden, might, with the addition of rent, amount to the dizzying height of eight or ten shillings. "With careful extravagance," Betty mentally summed up, "I might spend almost two dollars a week in surrounding her with a riot of luxury." She made a list of the things, and added some extras as an idea of her own. Life had not afforded her this kind of thing before, she realised. She felt for the first time the joy of reckless extravagance, and thrilled with the excitement of it. "You need not think of Brexley Union any more," she said, when she, having risen to go, stood at the cottage door with old Mrs. Welden. "The things I have written down here shall be sent to you every Saturday night. I will pay your rent." "Miss--miss!" Mrs. Welden looked affrighted. "It's too much, miss. An' coals eighteen pence a hundred!" "Never mind," said her ladyship's sister, and the old woman, looking up into her eyes, found there the colour Mount Dunstan had thought of as being that of bluebells under water. "I think we can manage it, Mrs. Welden. Keep yourself as warm as you like, and sometime I will come and have a cup of tea with you and see if the tea is good." "Oh! Deary me!" said Mrs. Welden. "I can't think what to say, miss. It lifts everythin'--everythin'. It's not to be believed. It's like bein' left a fortune." When the wicket gate swung to and the young lady went up the lane, the old woman stood staring after her. And here was a piece of news to run into Charley Jenkins' cottage and tell--and what woman or man in the row would quite believe it? CHAPTER XXV "WE BEGAN TO MARRY THEM, MY GOOD FELLOW!" Lord Dunholm and his eldest son, Lord Westholt, sauntered together smoking their after-dinner cigars on the broad-turfed terrace overlooking park and gardens which seemed to sweep without boundary line into the purplish land beyond. The grey mass of the castle stood clear-cut against the blue of a sky whose twilight was still almost daylight, though in the purity of its evening stillness a star already hung, here and there, and a young moon swung low. The great spaces about them held a silence whose exquisite entirety was marked at intervals by the distant bark of a shepherd dog driving his master's sheep to the fold, their soft, intermittent plaints--the mother ewes' mellow answering to the tender, fretful lambs--floated on the air, a lovely part of the ending day's repose. Where two who are friends stroll together at such hours, the great beauty makes for silence or for thoughtful talk. These two men--father and son--were friends and intimates, and had been so from Westholt's first memory of the time when his childish individuality began to detach itself from the background of misty and indistinct things. They had liked each other, and their liking and intimacy had increased with the onward moving and change of years. After sixty sane and decently spent active years of life, Lord Dunholm, in either country tweed or evening dress, was a well-built and handsome man; at thirty-three his son was still like him. "Have you seen her?" he was saying. "Only at a distance. She was driving Lady Anstruthers across the marshes in a cart. She drove well and----" he laughed as he flicked the ash from his cigar--"the back of her head and shoulders looked handsome." "The American young woman is at present a factor which is without doubt to be counted with," Lord Dunholm put the matter without lightness. "Any young woman is a factor, but the American young woman just now--just now----" He paused a moment as though considering. "It did not seem at all necessary to count with them at first, when they began to appear among us. They were generally curiously exotic, funny little creatures with odd manners and voices. They were often most amusing, and one liked to hear them chatter and see the airy lightness with which they took superfluous, and sometimes unsuperfluous, conventions, as a hunter takes a five-barred gate. But it never occurred to us to marry them. We did not take them seriously enough. But we began to marry them--we began to marry them, my good fellow!" The final words broke forth with such a suggestion of sudden anxiety that, in spite of himself, Westholt laughed involuntarily, and his father, turning to look at him, laughed also. But he recovered his seriousness. "It was all rather a muddle at first," he went on. "Things were not fairly done, and certain bad lots looked on it as a paying scheme on the one side, while it was a matter of silly, little ambitions on the other. But that it is an extraordinary country there is no sane denying--huge, fabulously resourceful in every way--area, variety of climate, wealth of minerals, products of all sorts, soil to grow anything, and sun and rain enough to give each thing what it needs; last, or rather first, a people who, considered as a nation, are in the riot of youth, and who began by being English--which we Englishmen have an innocent belief is the one method of 'owning the earth.' That figure of speech is an Americanism I carefully committed to memory. Well, after all, look at the map--look at the map! There we are." They had frequently discussed together the question of the development of international relations. Lord Dunholm, a man of far-reaching and clear logic, had realised that the oddly unaccentuated growth of intercourse between the two countries might be a subject to be reflected on without lightness. "The habit we have of regarding America and Americans as rather a joke," he had once said, "has a sort of parallel in the condescendingly amiable amusement of a parent at the precocity or whimsicalness of a child. But the child is shooting up amazingly--amazingly. In a way which suggests divers possibilities." The exchange of visits between Dunholm and Stornham had been rare and formal. From the call made upon the younger Lady Anstruthers on her marriage, the Dunholms had returned with a sense of puzzled pity for the little American bride, with her wonderful frock and her uneasy, childish eyes. For some years Lady Anstruthers had been too delicate to make or return calls. One heard painful accounts of her apparent wretched ill-health and of the condition of her husband's estate. "As the relations between the two families have evidently been strained for years," Lord Dunholm said, "it is interesting to hear of the sudden advent of the sister. It seems to point to reconciliation. And you say the girl is an unusual person. "From what one hears, she would be unusual if she were an English girl who had spent her life on an English estate. That an American who is making her first visit to England should seem to see at once the practical needs of a neglected place is a thing to wonder at. What can she know about it, one

six

How many times the word 'six' appears in the text?

Anstruther's sister." Mr. Penzance, replacing his own hat, looked after her with surprised pleasure. "Really," he exclaimed, "Miss Vanderpoel! What a fine girl! How unusually handsome!" Selden turned with a gasp of delighted, amazed recognition. "Miss Vanderpoel," he burst forth, "Reuben Vanderpoel's daughter! The one that's over here visiting her sister. Is it that one--sure?" "Yes," from Mount Dunstan without fervour. "Lady Anstruthers lives at Stornham, about six miles from here." "Gee," with feverish regret. "If her father was there, and I could get next to him, my fortune would be made." "Should you," ventured Penzance politely, "endeavour to sell him a typewriter?" "A typewriter! Holy smoke! I'd try to sell him ten thousand. A fellow like that syndicates the world. If I could get next to him----" and he mounted his bicycle with a laugh. "Get next," murmured Penzance. "Get on the good side of him," Mount Dunstan murmured in reply. "So long, gentlemen, good-bye, and thank you again," called G. Selden as he wheeled off, and was carried soundlessly down the golden road. CHAPTER XXIV THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF STORNHAM The satin-skinned chestnut was one of the new horses now standing in the Stornham stables. There were several of them--a pair for the landau, saddle horses, smart young cobs for phaeton or dog cart, a pony for Ughtred--the animals necessary at such a place at Stornham. The stables themselves had been quickly put in order, grooms and stable boys kept them as they had not been kept for years. The men learned in a week's time that their work could not be done too well. There were new carriages as well as horses. They had come from London after Lady Anstruthers and her sister returned from town. The horses had been brought down by their grooms--immensely looked after, blanketed, hooded, and altogether cared for as if they were visiting dukes and duchesses. They were all fine, handsome, carefully chosen creatures. When they danced and sidled through the village on their way to the Court, they created a sensation. Whosoever had chosen them had known his business. The older vehicles had been repaired in the village by Tread, and did him credit. Fox had also done his work well. Plenty more of it had come into their work-shops. Tools to be used on the estate, garden implements, wheelbarrows, lawn rollers, things needed about the house, stables, and cottages, were to be attended to. The church roof was being repaired. Taking all these things and the "doing up" of the Court itself, there was more work than the village could manage, and carpenters, bricklayers, and decorators were necessarily brought from other places. Still Joe Buttle and Sim Soames were allowed to lead in all such things as lay within their capabilities. It was they who made such a splendid job of the entrance gates and the lodges. It was astonishing how much was done, and how the sense of life in the air--the work of resulting prosperity, made men begin to tread with less listless steps as they went to and from their labour. In the cottages things were being done which made downcast women bestir themselves and look less slatternly. Leaks mended here, windows there, the hopeless copper in the tiny washhouse replaced by a new one, chimneys cured of the habit of smoking, a clean, flowered paper put on a wall, a coat of whitewash--they were small matters, but produced great effect. Betty had begun to drop into the cottages, and make the acquaintance of their owners. Her first visits, she observed, created great consternation. Women looked frightened or sullen, children stared and refused to speak, clinging to skirts and aprons. She found the atmosphere clear after her second visit. The women began to talk, and the children collected in groups and listened with cheerful grins. She could pick up little Jane's kitten, or give a pat to small Thomas' mongrel dog, in a manner which threw down barriers. "Don't put out your pipe," she said to old Grandfather Doby, rising totteringly respectful from his chimney-side chair. "You have only just lighted it. You mustn't waste a whole pipeful of tobacco because I have come in." The old man, grown childish with age, tittered and shuffled and giggled. Such a joke as the grand young lady was having with him. She saw he had only just lighted his pipe. The gentry joked a bit sometimes. But he was afraid of his grandson's wife, who was frowning and shaking her head. Betty went to him, and put her hand on his arm. "Sit down," she said, "and I will sit by you." And she sat down and showed him that she had brought a package of tobacco with her, and actually a wonder of a red and yellow jar to hold it, at the sight of which unheard-of joys his rapture was so great that his trembling hands could scarcely clasp his treasures. "Tee-hee! Tee-hee-ee! Deary me! Thankee--thankee, my lady," he tittered, and he gazed and blinked at her beauty through heavenly tears. "Nearly a hundred years old, and he has lived on sixteen shillings a week all his life, and earned it by working every hour between sunrise and sunset," Betty said to her sister, when she went home. "A man has one life, and his has passed like that. It is done now, and all the years and work have left nothing in his old hands but his pipe. That's all. I should not like to put it out for him. Who am I that I can buy him a new one, and keep it filled for him until the end? How did it happen? No," suddenly, "I must not lose time in asking myself that. I must get the new pipe." She did it--a pipe of great magnificence--such as drew to the Doby cottage as many callers as the village could provide, each coming with fevered interest, to look at it--to be allowed to hold and examine it for a few moments, guessing at its probable enormous cost, and returning it reverently, to gaze at Doby with respect--the increase of which can be imagined when it was known that he was not only possessor of the pipe, but of an assurance that he would be supplied with as much tobacco as he could use, to the end of his days. From the time of the advent of the pipe, Grandfather Doby became a man of mark, and his life in the chimney corner a changed thing. A man who owns splendours and unlimited, excellent shag may like friends to drop in and crack jokes--and even smoke a pipe with him--a common pipe, which, however, is not amiss when excellent shag comes free. "He lives in a wild whirl of gaiety--a social vortex," said Betty to Lady Anstruthers, after one of her visits. "He is actually rejuvenated. I must order some new white smocks for him to receive his visitors in. Someone brought him an old copy of the Illustrated London News last night. We will send him illustrated papers every week." In the dull old brain, God knows what spark of life had been relighted. Young Mrs. Doby related with chuckles that granddad had begged that his chair might be dragged to the window, that he might sit and watch the village street. Sitting there, day after day, he smoked and looked at his pictures, and dozed and dreamed, his pipe and tobacco jar beside him on the window ledge. At any sound of wheels or footsteps his face lighted, and if, by chance, he caught a glimpse of Betty, he tottered to his feet, and stood hurriedly touching his bald forehead with a reverent, palsied hand. "'Tis 'urr," he would say, enrapt. "I seen 'urr--I did." And young Mrs. Doby knew that this was his joy, and what he waited for as one waits for the coming of the sun. "'Tis 'urr! 'Tis 'urr!" The vicar's wife, Mrs. Brent, who since the affair of John Wilson's fire had dropped into the background and felt it indiscreet to present tales of distress at the Court, began to recover her courage. Her perfunctory visits assumed a new character. The vicarage had, of course, called promptly upon Miss Vanderpoel, after her arrival. Mrs. Brent admired Miss Vanderpoel hugely. "You seem so unlike an American," she said once in her most tactful, ingratiating manner--which was very ingratiating indeed. "Do I? What is one like when one is like an American? I am one, you know." "I can scarcely believe it," with sweet ardour. "Pray try," said Betty with simple brevity, and Mrs. Brent felt that perhaps Miss Vanderpoel was not really very easy to get on with. "She meant to imply that I did not speak through my nose, and talk too much, and too vivaciously, in a shrill voice," Betty said afterwards, in talking the interview over with Rosy. "I like to convince myself that is not one's sole national characteristic. Also it was not exactly Mrs. Brent's place to kindly encourage me with the information that I do not seem to belong to my own country." Lady Anstruthers laughed, and Betty looked at her inquiringly. "You said that just like--just like an Englishwoman." "Did I?" said Betty. Mrs. Brent had come to talk to her because she did not wish to trouble dear Lady Anstruthers. Lady Anstruthers already looked much stronger, but she had been delicate so long that one hesitated to distress her with village matters. She did not add that she realised that she was coming to headquarters. The vicar and herself were much disturbed about a rather tiresome old woman--old Mrs. Welden--who lived in a tiny cottage in the village. She was eighty-three years old, and a respectable old person--a widow, who had reared ten children. The children had all grown up, and scattered, and old Mrs. Welden had nothing whatever to live on. No one knew how she lived, and really she would be better off in the workhouse. She could be sent to Brexley Union, and comfortably taken care of, but she had that singular, obstinate dislike to going, which it was so difficult to manage. She had asked for a shilling a week from the parish, but that could not be allowed her, as it would merely uphold her in her obstinate intention of remaining in her cottage, and taking care of herself--which she could not do. Betty gathered that the shilling a week would be a drain on the parish funds, and would so raise the old creature to affluence that she would feel she could defy fate. And the contumacity of old men and women should not be strengthened by the reckless bestowal of shillings. Knowing that Miss Vanderpoel had already gained influence among the village people, Mrs. Brent said, she had come to ask her if she would see old Mrs. Welden and argue with her in such a manner as would convince her that the workhouse was the best place for her. It was, of course, so much pleasanter if these old people could be induced to go to Brexley willingly. "Shall I be undermining the whole Political Economy of Stornham if I take care of her myself?" suggested Betty. "You--you will lead others to expect the same thing will be done for them." "When one has resources to draw on," Miss Vanderpoel commented, "in the case of a woman who has lived eighty-three years and brought up ten children until they were old and strong enough to leave her to take care of herself, it is difficult for the weak of mind to apply the laws of Political Economics. I will go and see old Mrs. Welden." If the Vanderpoels would provide for all the obstinate old men and women in the parish, the Political Economics of Stornham would proffer no marked objections. "A good many Americans," Mrs. Brent reflected, "seemed to have those odd, lavish ways," as witness Lady Anstruthers herself, on her first introduction to village life. Miss Vanderpoel was evidently a much stronger character, and extremely clever, and somehow the stream of the American fortune was at last being directed towards Stornham--which, of course, should have happened long ago. A good deal was "being done," and the whole situation looked more promising. So was the matter discussed and summed up, the same evening after dinner, at the vicarage. Betty found old Mrs. Welden's cottage. It was in a green lane, turning from the village street--which was almost a green lane itself. A tiny hedged-in front garden was before the cottage door. A crazy-looking wicket gate was in the hedge, and a fuschia bush and a few old roses were in the few yards of garden. There were actually two or three geraniums in the window, showing cheerful scarlet between the short, white dimity curtains. "A house this size and of this poverty in an American village," was Betty's thought, "would be a bare and straggling hideousness, with old tomato cans in the front yard. Here is one of the things we have to learn from them." When she knocked at the door an old woman opened it. She was a well-preserved and markedly respectable old person, in a decent print frock and a cap. At the sight of her visitor she beamed and made a suggestion of curtsey. "How do you do, Mrs. Welden?" said Betty. "I am Lady Anstruthers' sister, Miss Vanderpoel. I thought I would like to come and see you." "Thank you, miss, I am obliged for the kindness, miss. Won't you come in and have a chair?" There were no signs of decrepitude about her, and she had a cheery old eye. The tiny front room was neat, though there was scarcely space enough in it to contain the table covered with its blue-checked cotton cloth, the narrow sofa, and two or three chairs. There were a few small coloured prints, and a framed photograph or so on the walls, and on the table was a Bible, and a brown earthenware teapot, and a plate. "Tom Wood's wife, that's neighbour next door to me," she said, "gave me a pinch o' tea--an' I've just been 'avin it. Tom Woods, miss, 'as just been took on by Muster Kedgers as one of the new under gardeners at the Court." Betty found her delightful. She made no complaints, and was evidently pleased with the excitement of receiving a visitor. The truth was, that in common with every other old woman, she had secretly aspired to being visited some day by the amazing young lady from "Meriker." Betty had yet to learn of the heartburnings which may be occasioned by an unconscious favouritism. She was not aware that when she dropped in to talk to old Doby, his neighbour, old Megworth, peered from behind his curtains, with the dew of envy in his rheumy eyes. "S'ems," he mumbled, "as if they wasn't nobody now in Stornham village but Gaarge Doby--s'ems not." They were very fierce in their jealousy of attention, and one must beware of rousing evil passions in the octogenarian breast. The young lady from "Meriker" had not so far had time to make a call at any cottage in old Mrs. Welden's lane--and she had knocked just at old Mrs. Welden's door. This was enough to put in good spirits even a less cheery old person. At first Betty wondered how she could with delicacy ask personal questions. A few minutes' conversation, however, showed her that the personal affairs of Sir Nigel's tenants were also the affairs of not only himself, but of such of his relatives as attended to their natural duty. Her presence in the cottage, and her interest in Mrs. Welden's ready flow of simple talk, were desirable and proper compliments to the old woman herself. She was a decent and self-respecting old person, but in her mind there was no faintest glimmer of resentment of questions concerning rent and food and the needs of her simple, hard-driven existence. She had answered such questions on many occasions, when they had not been asked in the manner in which her ladyship's sister asked them. Mrs. Brent had scolded her and "poked about" her cottage, going into her tiny "wash 'us," and up into her infinitesimal bedroom under the slanting roof, to see that they were kept clean. Miss Vanderpoel showed no disposition to "poke." She sat and listened, and made an inquiry here and there, in a nice voice and with a smile in her eyes. There was some pleasure in relating the whole history of your eighty-three years to a young lady who listened as if she wanted to hear it. So old Mrs. Welden prattled on. About her good days, when she was young, and was kitchenmaid at the parsonage in a village twenty miles away; about her marriage with a young farm labourer; about his "steady" habits, and the comfort they had together, in spite of the yearly arrival of a new baby, and the crowding of the bit of a cottage his master allowed them. Ten of 'em, and it had been "up before sunrise, and a good bit of hard work to keep them all fed and clean." But she had not minded that until Jack died quite sudden after a sunstroke. It was odd how much colour her rustic phraseology held. She made Betty see it all. The apparent natural inevitableness of their being turned out of the cottage, because another man must have it; the years during which she worked her way while the ten were growing up, having measles, and chicken pox, and scarlet fever, one dying here and there, dropping out quite in the natural order of things, and being buried by the parish in corners of the ancient church yard. Three of them "was took" by scarlet fever, then one of a "decline," then one or two by other illnesses. Only four reached man and womanhood. One had gone to Australia, but he never was one to write, and after a year or two, Betty gathered, he had seemed to melt away into the great distance. Two girls had married, and Mrs. Welden could not say they had been "comf'able." They could barely feed themselves and their swarms of children. The other son had never been steady like his father. He had at last gone to London, and London had swallowed him up. Betty was struck by the fact that she did not seem to feel that the mother of ten might have expected some return for her labours, at eighty-three. Her unresentful acceptance of things was at once significant and moving. Betty found her amazing. What she lived on it was not easy to understand. She seemed rather like a cheerful old bird, getting up each unprovided-for morning, and picking up her sustenance where she found it. "There's more in the sayin' 'the Lord pervides' than a good many thinks," she said with a small chuckle, marked more by a genial and comfortable sense of humour than by an air of meritoriously quoting the vicar. "He DO." She paid one and threepence a week in rent for her cottage, and this was the most serious drain upon her resources. She apparently could live without food or fire, but the rent must be paid. "An' I do get a bit be'ind sometimes," she confessed apologetically, "an' then it's a trouble to get straight." Her cottage was one of a short row, and she did odd jobs for the women who were her neighbours. There were always babies to be looked after, and "bits of 'elp" needed, sometimes there were "movings" from one cottage to another, and "confinements" were plainly at once exhilarating and enriching. Her temperamental good cheer, combined with her experience, made her a desirable companion and assistant. She was engagingly frank. "When they're new to it, an' a bit frightened, I just give 'em a cup of 'ot tea, an' joke with 'em to cheer 'em up," she said. "I says to Charles Jenkins' wife, as lives next door, 'come now, me girl, it's been goin' on since Adam an' Eve, an' there's a good many of us left, isn't there?' An' a fine boy it was, too, miss, an' 'er up an' about before 'er month." She was paid in sixpences and spare shillings, and in cups of tea, or a fresh-baked loaf, or screws of sugar, or even in a garment not yet worn beyond repair. And she was free to run in and out, and grow a flower or so in her garden, and talk with a neighbour over the low dividing hedge. "They want me to go into the 'Ouse,'" reaching the dangerous subject at last. "They say I'll be took care of an' looked after. But I don't want to do it, miss. I want to keep my bit of a 'ome if I can, an' be free to come an' go. I'm eighty-three, an' it won't be long. I 'ad a shilling a week from the parish, but they stopped it because they said I ought to go into the 'Ouse.'" She looked at Betty with a momentarily anxious smile. "P'raps you don't quite understand, miss," she said. "It'll seem like nothin' to you--a place like this." "It doesn't," Betty answered, smiling bravely back into the old eyes, though she felt a slight fulness of the throat. "I understand all about it." It is possible that old Mrs. Welden was a little taken aback by an attitude which, satisfactory to her own prejudices though it might be, was, taken in connection with fixed customs, a trifle unnatural. "You don't mind me not wantin' to go?" she said. "No," was the answer, "not at all." Betty began to ask questions. How much tea, sugar, soap, candles, bread, butter, bacon, could Mrs. Welden use in a week? It was not very easy to find out the exact quantities, as Mrs. Welden's estimates of such things had been based, during her entire existence, upon calculation as to how little, not how much she could use. When Betty suggested a pound of tea, a half pound--the old woman smiled at the innocent ignorance the suggestion of such reckless profusion implied. "Oh, no! Bless you, miss, no! I couldn't never do away with it. A quarter, miss--that'd be plenty--a quarter." Mrs. Welden's idea of "the best," was that at two shillings a pound. Quarter of a pound would cost sixpence (twelve cents, thought Betty). A pound of sugar would be twopence, Mrs. Welden would use half a pound (the riotous extravagance of two cents). Half a pound of butter, "Good tub butter, miss," would be ten pence three farthings a pound. Soap, candles, bacon, bread, coal, wood, in the quantities required by Mrs. Welden, might, with the addition of rent, amount to the dizzying height of eight or ten shillings. "With careful extravagance," Betty mentally summed up, "I might spend almost two dollars a week in surrounding her with a riot of luxury." She made a list of the things, and added some extras as an idea of her own. Life had not afforded her this kind of thing before, she realised. She felt for the first time the joy of reckless extravagance, and thrilled with the excitement of it. "You need not think of Brexley Union any more," she said, when she, having risen to go, stood at the cottage door with old Mrs. Welden. "The things I have written down here shall be sent to you every Saturday night. I will pay your rent." "Miss--miss!" Mrs. Welden looked affrighted. "It's too much, miss. An' coals eighteen pence a hundred!" "Never mind," said her ladyship's sister, and the old woman, looking up into her eyes, found there the colour Mount Dunstan had thought of as being that of bluebells under water. "I think we can manage it, Mrs. Welden. Keep yourself as warm as you like, and sometime I will come and have a cup of tea with you and see if the tea is good." "Oh! Deary me!" said Mrs. Welden. "I can't think what to say, miss. It lifts everythin'--everythin'. It's not to be believed. It's like bein' left a fortune." When the wicket gate swung to and the young lady went up the lane, the old woman stood staring after her. And here was a piece of news to run into Charley Jenkins' cottage and tell--and what woman or man in the row would quite believe it? CHAPTER XXV "WE BEGAN TO MARRY THEM, MY GOOD FELLOW!" Lord Dunholm and his eldest son, Lord Westholt, sauntered together smoking their after-dinner cigars on the broad-turfed terrace overlooking park and gardens which seemed to sweep without boundary line into the purplish land beyond. The grey mass of the castle stood clear-cut against the blue of a sky whose twilight was still almost daylight, though in the purity of its evening stillness a star already hung, here and there, and a young moon swung low. The great spaces about them held a silence whose exquisite entirety was marked at intervals by the distant bark of a shepherd dog driving his master's sheep to the fold, their soft, intermittent plaints--the mother ewes' mellow answering to the tender, fretful lambs--floated on the air, a lovely part of the ending day's repose. Where two who are friends stroll together at such hours, the great beauty makes for silence or for thoughtful talk. These two men--father and son--were friends and intimates, and had been so from Westholt's first memory of the time when his childish individuality began to detach itself from the background of misty and indistinct things. They had liked each other, and their liking and intimacy had increased with the onward moving and change of years. After sixty sane and decently spent active years of life, Lord Dunholm, in either country tweed or evening dress, was a well-built and handsome man; at thirty-three his son was still like him. "Have you seen her?" he was saying. "Only at a distance. She was driving Lady Anstruthers across the marshes in a cart. She drove well and----" he laughed as he flicked the ash from his cigar--"the back of her head and shoulders looked handsome." "The American young woman is at present a factor which is without doubt to be counted with," Lord Dunholm put the matter without lightness. "Any young woman is a factor, but the American young woman just now--just now----" He paused a moment as though considering. "It did not seem at all necessary to count with them at first, when they began to appear among us. They were generally curiously exotic, funny little creatures with odd manners and voices. They were often most amusing, and one liked to hear them chatter and see the airy lightness with which they took superfluous, and sometimes unsuperfluous, conventions, as a hunter takes a five-barred gate. But it never occurred to us to marry them. We did not take them seriously enough. But we began to marry them--we began to marry them, my good fellow!" The final words broke forth with such a suggestion of sudden anxiety that, in spite of himself, Westholt laughed involuntarily, and his father, turning to look at him, laughed also. But he recovered his seriousness. "It was all rather a muddle at first," he went on. "Things were not fairly done, and certain bad lots looked on it as a paying scheme on the one side, while it was a matter of silly, little ambitions on the other. But that it is an extraordinary country there is no sane denying--huge, fabulously resourceful in every way--area, variety of climate, wealth of minerals, products of all sorts, soil to grow anything, and sun and rain enough to give each thing what it needs; last, or rather first, a people who, considered as a nation, are in the riot of youth, and who began by being English--which we Englishmen have an innocent belief is the one method of 'owning the earth.' That figure of speech is an Americanism I carefully committed to memory. Well, after all, look at the map--look at the map! There we are." They had frequently discussed together the question of the development of international relations. Lord Dunholm, a man of far-reaching and clear logic, had realised that the oddly unaccentuated growth of intercourse between the two countries might be a subject to be reflected on without lightness. "The habit we have of regarding America and Americans as rather a joke," he had once said, "has a sort of parallel in the condescendingly amiable amusement of a parent at the precocity or whimsicalness of a child. But the child is shooting up amazingly--amazingly. In a way which suggests divers possibilities." The exchange of visits between Dunholm and Stornham had been rare and formal. From the call made upon the younger Lady Anstruthers on her marriage, the Dunholms had returned with a sense of puzzled pity for the little American bride, with her wonderful frock and her uneasy, childish eyes. For some years Lady Anstruthers had been too delicate to make or return calls. One heard painful accounts of her apparent wretched ill-health and of the condition of her husband's estate. "As the relations between the two families have evidently been strained for years," Lord Dunholm said, "it is interesting to hear of the sudden advent of the sister. It seems to point to reconciliation. And you say the girl is an unusual person. "From what one hears, she would be unusual if she were an English girl who had spent her life on an English estate. That an American who is making her first visit to England should seem to see at once the practical needs of a neglected place is a thing to wonder at. What can she know about it, one

drop

How many times the word 'drop' appears in the text?

Anstruther's sister." Mr. Penzance, replacing his own hat, looked after her with surprised pleasure. "Really," he exclaimed, "Miss Vanderpoel! What a fine girl! How unusually handsome!" Selden turned with a gasp of delighted, amazed recognition. "Miss Vanderpoel," he burst forth, "Reuben Vanderpoel's daughter! The one that's over here visiting her sister. Is it that one--sure?" "Yes," from Mount Dunstan without fervour. "Lady Anstruthers lives at Stornham, about six miles from here." "Gee," with feverish regret. "If her father was there, and I could get next to him, my fortune would be made." "Should you," ventured Penzance politely, "endeavour to sell him a typewriter?" "A typewriter! Holy smoke! I'd try to sell him ten thousand. A fellow like that syndicates the world. If I could get next to him----" and he mounted his bicycle with a laugh. "Get next," murmured Penzance. "Get on the good side of him," Mount Dunstan murmured in reply. "So long, gentlemen, good-bye, and thank you again," called G. Selden as he wheeled off, and was carried soundlessly down the golden road. CHAPTER XXIV THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF STORNHAM The satin-skinned chestnut was one of the new horses now standing in the Stornham stables. There were several of them--a pair for the landau, saddle horses, smart young cobs for phaeton or dog cart, a pony for Ughtred--the animals necessary at such a place at Stornham. The stables themselves had been quickly put in order, grooms and stable boys kept them as they had not been kept for years. The men learned in a week's time that their work could not be done too well. There were new carriages as well as horses. They had come from London after Lady Anstruthers and her sister returned from town. The horses had been brought down by their grooms--immensely looked after, blanketed, hooded, and altogether cared for as if they were visiting dukes and duchesses. They were all fine, handsome, carefully chosen creatures. When they danced and sidled through the village on their way to the Court, they created a sensation. Whosoever had chosen them had known his business. The older vehicles had been repaired in the village by Tread, and did him credit. Fox had also done his work well. Plenty more of it had come into their work-shops. Tools to be used on the estate, garden implements, wheelbarrows, lawn rollers, things needed about the house, stables, and cottages, were to be attended to. The church roof was being repaired. Taking all these things and the "doing up" of the Court itself, there was more work than the village could manage, and carpenters, bricklayers, and decorators were necessarily brought from other places. Still Joe Buttle and Sim Soames were allowed to lead in all such things as lay within their capabilities. It was they who made such a splendid job of the entrance gates and the lodges. It was astonishing how much was done, and how the sense of life in the air--the work of resulting prosperity, made men begin to tread with less listless steps as they went to and from their labour. In the cottages things were being done which made downcast women bestir themselves and look less slatternly. Leaks mended here, windows there, the hopeless copper in the tiny washhouse replaced by a new one, chimneys cured of the habit of smoking, a clean, flowered paper put on a wall, a coat of whitewash--they were small matters, but produced great effect. Betty had begun to drop into the cottages, and make the acquaintance of their owners. Her first visits, she observed, created great consternation. Women looked frightened or sullen, children stared and refused to speak, clinging to skirts and aprons. She found the atmosphere clear after her second visit. The women began to talk, and the children collected in groups and listened with cheerful grins. She could pick up little Jane's kitten, or give a pat to small Thomas' mongrel dog, in a manner which threw down barriers. "Don't put out your pipe," she said to old Grandfather Doby, rising totteringly respectful from his chimney-side chair. "You have only just lighted it. You mustn't waste a whole pipeful of tobacco because I have come in." The old man, grown childish with age, tittered and shuffled and giggled. Such a joke as the grand young lady was having with him. She saw he had only just lighted his pipe. The gentry joked a bit sometimes. But he was afraid of his grandson's wife, who was frowning and shaking her head. Betty went to him, and put her hand on his arm. "Sit down," she said, "and I will sit by you." And she sat down and showed him that she had brought a package of tobacco with her, and actually a wonder of a red and yellow jar to hold it, at the sight of which unheard-of joys his rapture was so great that his trembling hands could scarcely clasp his treasures. "Tee-hee! Tee-hee-ee! Deary me! Thankee--thankee, my lady," he tittered, and he gazed and blinked at her beauty through heavenly tears. "Nearly a hundred years old, and he has lived on sixteen shillings a week all his life, and earned it by working every hour between sunrise and sunset," Betty said to her sister, when she went home. "A man has one life, and his has passed like that. It is done now, and all the years and work have left nothing in his old hands but his pipe. That's all. I should not like to put it out for him. Who am I that I can buy him a new one, and keep it filled for him until the end? How did it happen? No," suddenly, "I must not lose time in asking myself that. I must get the new pipe." She did it--a pipe of great magnificence--such as drew to the Doby cottage as many callers as the village could provide, each coming with fevered interest, to look at it--to be allowed to hold and examine it for a few moments, guessing at its probable enormous cost, and returning it reverently, to gaze at Doby with respect--the increase of which can be imagined when it was known that he was not only possessor of the pipe, but of an assurance that he would be supplied with as much tobacco as he could use, to the end of his days. From the time of the advent of the pipe, Grandfather Doby became a man of mark, and his life in the chimney corner a changed thing. A man who owns splendours and unlimited, excellent shag may like friends to drop in and crack jokes--and even smoke a pipe with him--a common pipe, which, however, is not amiss when excellent shag comes free. "He lives in a wild whirl of gaiety--a social vortex," said Betty to Lady Anstruthers, after one of her visits. "He is actually rejuvenated. I must order some new white smocks for him to receive his visitors in. Someone brought him an old copy of the Illustrated London News last night. We will send him illustrated papers every week." In the dull old brain, God knows what spark of life had been relighted. Young Mrs. Doby related with chuckles that granddad had begged that his chair might be dragged to the window, that he might sit and watch the village street. Sitting there, day after day, he smoked and looked at his pictures, and dozed and dreamed, his pipe and tobacco jar beside him on the window ledge. At any sound of wheels or footsteps his face lighted, and if, by chance, he caught a glimpse of Betty, he tottered to his feet, and stood hurriedly touching his bald forehead with a reverent, palsied hand. "'Tis 'urr," he would say, enrapt. "I seen 'urr--I did." And young Mrs. Doby knew that this was his joy, and what he waited for as one waits for the coming of the sun. "'Tis 'urr! 'Tis 'urr!" The vicar's wife, Mrs. Brent, who since the affair of John Wilson's fire had dropped into the background and felt it indiscreet to present tales of distress at the Court, began to recover her courage. Her perfunctory visits assumed a new character. The vicarage had, of course, called promptly upon Miss Vanderpoel, after her arrival. Mrs. Brent admired Miss Vanderpoel hugely. "You seem so unlike an American," she said once in her most tactful, ingratiating manner--which was very ingratiating indeed. "Do I? What is one like when one is like an American? I am one, you know." "I can scarcely believe it," with sweet ardour. "Pray try," said Betty with simple brevity, and Mrs. Brent felt that perhaps Miss Vanderpoel was not really very easy to get on with. "She meant to imply that I did not speak through my nose, and talk too much, and too vivaciously, in a shrill voice," Betty said afterwards, in talking the interview over with Rosy. "I like to convince myself that is not one's sole national characteristic. Also it was not exactly Mrs. Brent's place to kindly encourage me with the information that I do not seem to belong to my own country." Lady Anstruthers laughed, and Betty looked at her inquiringly. "You said that just like--just like an Englishwoman." "Did I?" said Betty. Mrs. Brent had come to talk to her because she did not wish to trouble dear Lady Anstruthers. Lady Anstruthers already looked much stronger, but she had been delicate so long that one hesitated to distress her with village matters. She did not add that she realised that she was coming to headquarters. The vicar and herself were much disturbed about a rather tiresome old woman--old Mrs. Welden--who lived in a tiny cottage in the village. She was eighty-three years old, and a respectable old person--a widow, who had reared ten children. The children had all grown up, and scattered, and old Mrs. Welden had nothing whatever to live on. No one knew how she lived, and really she would be better off in the workhouse. She could be sent to Brexley Union, and comfortably taken care of, but she had that singular, obstinate dislike to going, which it was so difficult to manage. She had asked for a shilling a week from the parish, but that could not be allowed her, as it would merely uphold her in her obstinate intention of remaining in her cottage, and taking care of herself--which she could not do. Betty gathered that the shilling a week would be a drain on the parish funds, and would so raise the old creature to affluence that she would feel she could defy fate. And the contumacity of old men and women should not be strengthened by the reckless bestowal of shillings. Knowing that Miss Vanderpoel had already gained influence among the village people, Mrs. Brent said, she had come to ask her if she would see old Mrs. Welden and argue with her in such a manner as would convince her that the workhouse was the best place for her. It was, of course, so much pleasanter if these old people could be induced to go to Brexley willingly. "Shall I be undermining the whole Political Economy of Stornham if I take care of her myself?" suggested Betty. "You--you will lead others to expect the same thing will be done for them." "When one has resources to draw on," Miss Vanderpoel commented, "in the case of a woman who has lived eighty-three years and brought up ten children until they were old and strong enough to leave her to take care of herself, it is difficult for the weak of mind to apply the laws of Political Economics. I will go and see old Mrs. Welden." If the Vanderpoels would provide for all the obstinate old men and women in the parish, the Political Economics of Stornham would proffer no marked objections. "A good many Americans," Mrs. Brent reflected, "seemed to have those odd, lavish ways," as witness Lady Anstruthers herself, on her first introduction to village life. Miss Vanderpoel was evidently a much stronger character, and extremely clever, and somehow the stream of the American fortune was at last being directed towards Stornham--which, of course, should have happened long ago. A good deal was "being done," and the whole situation looked more promising. So was the matter discussed and summed up, the same evening after dinner, at the vicarage. Betty found old Mrs. Welden's cottage. It was in a green lane, turning from the village street--which was almost a green lane itself. A tiny hedged-in front garden was before the cottage door. A crazy-looking wicket gate was in the hedge, and a fuschia bush and a few old roses were in the few yards of garden. There were actually two or three geraniums in the window, showing cheerful scarlet between the short, white dimity curtains. "A house this size and of this poverty in an American village," was Betty's thought, "would be a bare and straggling hideousness, with old tomato cans in the front yard. Here is one of the things we have to learn from them." When she knocked at the door an old woman opened it. She was a well-preserved and markedly respectable old person, in a decent print frock and a cap. At the sight of her visitor she beamed and made a suggestion of curtsey. "How do you do, Mrs. Welden?" said Betty. "I am Lady Anstruthers' sister, Miss Vanderpoel. I thought I would like to come and see you." "Thank you, miss, I am obliged for the kindness, miss. Won't you come in and have a chair?" There were no signs of decrepitude about her, and she had a cheery old eye. The tiny front room was neat, though there was scarcely space enough in it to contain the table covered with its blue-checked cotton cloth, the narrow sofa, and two or three chairs. There were a few small coloured prints, and a framed photograph or so on the walls, and on the table was a Bible, and a brown earthenware teapot, and a plate. "Tom Wood's wife, that's neighbour next door to me," she said, "gave me a pinch o' tea--an' I've just been 'avin it. Tom Woods, miss, 'as just been took on by Muster Kedgers as one of the new under gardeners at the Court." Betty found her delightful. She made no complaints, and was evidently pleased with the excitement of receiving a visitor. The truth was, that in common with every other old woman, she had secretly aspired to being visited some day by the amazing young lady from "Meriker." Betty had yet to learn of the heartburnings which may be occasioned by an unconscious favouritism. She was not aware that when she dropped in to talk to old Doby, his neighbour, old Megworth, peered from behind his curtains, with the dew of envy in his rheumy eyes. "S'ems," he mumbled, "as if they wasn't nobody now in Stornham village but Gaarge Doby--s'ems not." They were very fierce in their jealousy of attention, and one must beware of rousing evil passions in the octogenarian breast. The young lady from "Meriker" had not so far had time to make a call at any cottage in old Mrs. Welden's lane--and she had knocked just at old Mrs. Welden's door. This was enough to put in good spirits even a less cheery old person. At first Betty wondered how she could with delicacy ask personal questions. A few minutes' conversation, however, showed her that the personal affairs of Sir Nigel's tenants were also the affairs of not only himself, but of such of his relatives as attended to their natural duty. Her presence in the cottage, and her interest in Mrs. Welden's ready flow of simple talk, were desirable and proper compliments to the old woman herself. She was a decent and self-respecting old person, but in her mind there was no faintest glimmer of resentment of questions concerning rent and food and the needs of her simple, hard-driven existence. She had answered such questions on many occasions, when they had not been asked in the manner in which her ladyship's sister asked them. Mrs. Brent had scolded her and "poked about" her cottage, going into her tiny "wash 'us," and up into her infinitesimal bedroom under the slanting roof, to see that they were kept clean. Miss Vanderpoel showed no disposition to "poke." She sat and listened, and made an inquiry here and there, in a nice voice and with a smile in her eyes. There was some pleasure in relating the whole history of your eighty-three years to a young lady who listened as if she wanted to hear it. So old Mrs. Welden prattled on. About her good days, when she was young, and was kitchenmaid at the parsonage in a village twenty miles away; about her marriage with a young farm labourer; about his "steady" habits, and the comfort they had together, in spite of the yearly arrival of a new baby, and the crowding of the bit of a cottage his master allowed them. Ten of 'em, and it had been "up before sunrise, and a good bit of hard work to keep them all fed and clean." But she had not minded that until Jack died quite sudden after a sunstroke. It was odd how much colour her rustic phraseology held. She made Betty see it all. The apparent natural inevitableness of their being turned out of the cottage, because another man must have it; the years during which she worked her way while the ten were growing up, having measles, and chicken pox, and scarlet fever, one dying here and there, dropping out quite in the natural order of things, and being buried by the parish in corners of the ancient church yard. Three of them "was took" by scarlet fever, then one of a "decline," then one or two by other illnesses. Only four reached man and womanhood. One had gone to Australia, but he never was one to write, and after a year or two, Betty gathered, he had seemed to melt away into the great distance. Two girls had married, and Mrs. Welden could not say they had been "comf'able." They could barely feed themselves and their swarms of children. The other son had never been steady like his father. He had at last gone to London, and London had swallowed him up. Betty was struck by the fact that she did not seem to feel that the mother of ten might have expected some return for her labours, at eighty-three. Her unresentful acceptance of things was at once significant and moving. Betty found her amazing. What she lived on it was not easy to understand. She seemed rather like a cheerful old bird, getting up each unprovided-for morning, and picking up her sustenance where she found it. "There's more in the sayin' 'the Lord pervides' than a good many thinks," she said with a small chuckle, marked more by a genial and comfortable sense of humour than by an air of meritoriously quoting the vicar. "He DO." She paid one and threepence a week in rent for her cottage, and this was the most serious drain upon her resources. She apparently could live without food or fire, but the rent must be paid. "An' I do get a bit be'ind sometimes," she confessed apologetically, "an' then it's a trouble to get straight." Her cottage was one of a short row, and she did odd jobs for the women who were her neighbours. There were always babies to be looked after, and "bits of 'elp" needed, sometimes there were "movings" from one cottage to another, and "confinements" were plainly at once exhilarating and enriching. Her temperamental good cheer, combined with her experience, made her a desirable companion and assistant. She was engagingly frank. "When they're new to it, an' a bit frightened, I just give 'em a cup of 'ot tea, an' joke with 'em to cheer 'em up," she said. "I says to Charles Jenkins' wife, as lives next door, 'come now, me girl, it's been goin' on since Adam an' Eve, an' there's a good many of us left, isn't there?' An' a fine boy it was, too, miss, an' 'er up an' about before 'er month." She was paid in sixpences and spare shillings, and in cups of tea, or a fresh-baked loaf, or screws of sugar, or even in a garment not yet worn beyond repair. And she was free to run in and out, and grow a flower or so in her garden, and talk with a neighbour over the low dividing hedge. "They want me to go into the 'Ouse,'" reaching the dangerous subject at last. "They say I'll be took care of an' looked after. But I don't want to do it, miss. I want to keep my bit of a 'ome if I can, an' be free to come an' go. I'm eighty-three, an' it won't be long. I 'ad a shilling a week from the parish, but they stopped it because they said I ought to go into the 'Ouse.'" She looked at Betty with a momentarily anxious smile. "P'raps you don't quite understand, miss," she said. "It'll seem like nothin' to you--a place like this." "It doesn't," Betty answered, smiling bravely back into the old eyes, though she felt a slight fulness of the throat. "I understand all about it." It is possible that old Mrs. Welden was a little taken aback by an attitude which, satisfactory to her own prejudices though it might be, was, taken in connection with fixed customs, a trifle unnatural. "You don't mind me not wantin' to go?" she said. "No," was the answer, "not at all." Betty began to ask questions. How much tea, sugar, soap, candles, bread, butter, bacon, could Mrs. Welden use in a week? It was not very easy to find out the exact quantities, as Mrs. Welden's estimates of such things had been based, during her entire existence, upon calculation as to how little, not how much she could use. When Betty suggested a pound of tea, a half pound--the old woman smiled at the innocent ignorance the suggestion of such reckless profusion implied. "Oh, no! Bless you, miss, no! I couldn't never do away with it. A quarter, miss--that'd be plenty--a quarter." Mrs. Welden's idea of "the best," was that at two shillings a pound. Quarter of a pound would cost sixpence (twelve cents, thought Betty). A pound of sugar would be twopence, Mrs. Welden would use half a pound (the riotous extravagance of two cents). Half a pound of butter, "Good tub butter, miss," would be ten pence three farthings a pound. Soap, candles, bacon, bread, coal, wood, in the quantities required by Mrs. Welden, might, with the addition of rent, amount to the dizzying height of eight or ten shillings. "With careful extravagance," Betty mentally summed up, "I might spend almost two dollars a week in surrounding her with a riot of luxury." She made a list of the things, and added some extras as an idea of her own. Life had not afforded her this kind of thing before, she realised. She felt for the first time the joy of reckless extravagance, and thrilled with the excitement of it. "You need not think of Brexley Union any more," she said, when she, having risen to go, stood at the cottage door with old Mrs. Welden. "The things I have written down here shall be sent to you every Saturday night. I will pay your rent." "Miss--miss!" Mrs. Welden looked affrighted. "It's too much, miss. An' coals eighteen pence a hundred!" "Never mind," said her ladyship's sister, and the old woman, looking up into her eyes, found there the colour Mount Dunstan had thought of as being that of bluebells under water. "I think we can manage it, Mrs. Welden. Keep yourself as warm as you like, and sometime I will come and have a cup of tea with you and see if the tea is good." "Oh! Deary me!" said Mrs. Welden. "I can't think what to say, miss. It lifts everythin'--everythin'. It's not to be believed. It's like bein' left a fortune." When the wicket gate swung to and the young lady went up the lane, the old woman stood staring after her. And here was a piece of news to run into Charley Jenkins' cottage and tell--and what woman or man in the row would quite believe it? CHAPTER XXV "WE BEGAN TO MARRY THEM, MY GOOD FELLOW!" Lord Dunholm and his eldest son, Lord Westholt, sauntered together smoking their after-dinner cigars on the broad-turfed terrace overlooking park and gardens which seemed to sweep without boundary line into the purplish land beyond. The grey mass of the castle stood clear-cut against the blue of a sky whose twilight was still almost daylight, though in the purity of its evening stillness a star already hung, here and there, and a young moon swung low. The great spaces about them held a silence whose exquisite entirety was marked at intervals by the distant bark of a shepherd dog driving his master's sheep to the fold, their soft, intermittent plaints--the mother ewes' mellow answering to the tender, fretful lambs--floated on the air, a lovely part of the ending day's repose. Where two who are friends stroll together at such hours, the great beauty makes for silence or for thoughtful talk. These two men--father and son--were friends and intimates, and had been so from Westholt's first memory of the time when his childish individuality began to detach itself from the background of misty and indistinct things. They had liked each other, and their liking and intimacy had increased with the onward moving and change of years. After sixty sane and decently spent active years of life, Lord Dunholm, in either country tweed or evening dress, was a well-built and handsome man; at thirty-three his son was still like him. "Have you seen her?" he was saying. "Only at a distance. She was driving Lady Anstruthers across the marshes in a cart. She drove well and----" he laughed as he flicked the ash from his cigar--"the back of her head and shoulders looked handsome." "The American young woman is at present a factor which is without doubt to be counted with," Lord Dunholm put the matter without lightness. "Any young woman is a factor, but the American young woman just now--just now----" He paused a moment as though considering. "It did not seem at all necessary to count with them at first, when they began to appear among us. They were generally curiously exotic, funny little creatures with odd manners and voices. They were often most amusing, and one liked to hear them chatter and see the airy lightness with which they took superfluous, and sometimes unsuperfluous, conventions, as a hunter takes a five-barred gate. But it never occurred to us to marry them. We did not take them seriously enough. But we began to marry them--we began to marry them, my good fellow!" The final words broke forth with such a suggestion of sudden anxiety that, in spite of himself, Westholt laughed involuntarily, and his father, turning to look at him, laughed also. But he recovered his seriousness. "It was all rather a muddle at first," he went on. "Things were not fairly done, and certain bad lots looked on it as a paying scheme on the one side, while it was a matter of silly, little ambitions on the other. But that it is an extraordinary country there is no sane denying--huge, fabulously resourceful in every way--area, variety of climate, wealth of minerals, products of all sorts, soil to grow anything, and sun and rain enough to give each thing what it needs; last, or rather first, a people who, considered as a nation, are in the riot of youth, and who began by being English--which we Englishmen have an innocent belief is the one method of 'owning the earth.' That figure of speech is an Americanism I carefully committed to memory. Well, after all, look at the map--look at the map! There we are." They had frequently discussed together the question of the development of international relations. Lord Dunholm, a man of far-reaching and clear logic, had realised that the oddly unaccentuated growth of intercourse between the two countries might be a subject to be reflected on without lightness. "The habit we have of regarding America and Americans as rather a joke," he had once said, "has a sort of parallel in the condescendingly amiable amusement of a parent at the precocity or whimsicalness of a child. But the child is shooting up amazingly--amazingly. In a way which suggests divers possibilities." The exchange of visits between Dunholm and Stornham had been rare and formal. From the call made upon the younger Lady Anstruthers on her marriage, the Dunholms had returned with a sense of puzzled pity for the little American bride, with her wonderful frock and her uneasy, childish eyes. For some years Lady Anstruthers had been too delicate to make or return calls. One heard painful accounts of her apparent wretched ill-health and of the condition of her husband's estate. "As the relations between the two families have evidently been strained for years," Lord Dunholm said, "it is interesting to hear of the sudden advent of the sister. It seems to point to reconciliation. And you say the girl is an unusual person. "From what one hears, she would be unusual if she were an English girl who had spent her life on an English estate. That an American who is making her first visit to England should seem to see at once the practical needs of a neglected place is a thing to wonder at. What can she know about it, one

smoke

How many times the word 'smoke' appears in the text?

Anstruther's sister." Mr. Penzance, replacing his own hat, looked after her with surprised pleasure. "Really," he exclaimed, "Miss Vanderpoel! What a fine girl! How unusually handsome!" Selden turned with a gasp of delighted, amazed recognition. "Miss Vanderpoel," he burst forth, "Reuben Vanderpoel's daughter! The one that's over here visiting her sister. Is it that one--sure?" "Yes," from Mount Dunstan without fervour. "Lady Anstruthers lives at Stornham, about six miles from here." "Gee," with feverish regret. "If her father was there, and I could get next to him, my fortune would be made." "Should you," ventured Penzance politely, "endeavour to sell him a typewriter?" "A typewriter! Holy smoke! I'd try to sell him ten thousand. A fellow like that syndicates the world. If I could get next to him----" and he mounted his bicycle with a laugh. "Get next," murmured Penzance. "Get on the good side of him," Mount Dunstan murmured in reply. "So long, gentlemen, good-bye, and thank you again," called G. Selden as he wheeled off, and was carried soundlessly down the golden road. CHAPTER XXIV THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF STORNHAM The satin-skinned chestnut was one of the new horses now standing in the Stornham stables. There were several of them--a pair for the landau, saddle horses, smart young cobs for phaeton or dog cart, a pony for Ughtred--the animals necessary at such a place at Stornham. The stables themselves had been quickly put in order, grooms and stable boys kept them as they had not been kept for years. The men learned in a week's time that their work could not be done too well. There were new carriages as well as horses. They had come from London after Lady Anstruthers and her sister returned from town. The horses had been brought down by their grooms--immensely looked after, blanketed, hooded, and altogether cared for as if they were visiting dukes and duchesses. They were all fine, handsome, carefully chosen creatures. When they danced and sidled through the village on their way to the Court, they created a sensation. Whosoever had chosen them had known his business. The older vehicles had been repaired in the village by Tread, and did him credit. Fox had also done his work well. Plenty more of it had come into their work-shops. Tools to be used on the estate, garden implements, wheelbarrows, lawn rollers, things needed about the house, stables, and cottages, were to be attended to. The church roof was being repaired. Taking all these things and the "doing up" of the Court itself, there was more work than the village could manage, and carpenters, bricklayers, and decorators were necessarily brought from other places. Still Joe Buttle and Sim Soames were allowed to lead in all such things as lay within their capabilities. It was they who made such a splendid job of the entrance gates and the lodges. It was astonishing how much was done, and how the sense of life in the air--the work of resulting prosperity, made men begin to tread with less listless steps as they went to and from their labour. In the cottages things were being done which made downcast women bestir themselves and look less slatternly. Leaks mended here, windows there, the hopeless copper in the tiny washhouse replaced by a new one, chimneys cured of the habit of smoking, a clean, flowered paper put on a wall, a coat of whitewash--they were small matters, but produced great effect. Betty had begun to drop into the cottages, and make the acquaintance of their owners. Her first visits, she observed, created great consternation. Women looked frightened or sullen, children stared and refused to speak, clinging to skirts and aprons. She found the atmosphere clear after her second visit. The women began to talk, and the children collected in groups and listened with cheerful grins. She could pick up little Jane's kitten, or give a pat to small Thomas' mongrel dog, in a manner which threw down barriers. "Don't put out your pipe," she said to old Grandfather Doby, rising totteringly respectful from his chimney-side chair. "You have only just lighted it. You mustn't waste a whole pipeful of tobacco because I have come in." The old man, grown childish with age, tittered and shuffled and giggled. Such a joke as the grand young lady was having with him. She saw he had only just lighted his pipe. The gentry joked a bit sometimes. But he was afraid of his grandson's wife, who was frowning and shaking her head. Betty went to him, and put her hand on his arm. "Sit down," she said, "and I will sit by you." And she sat down and showed him that she had brought a package of tobacco with her, and actually a wonder of a red and yellow jar to hold it, at the sight of which unheard-of joys his rapture was so great that his trembling hands could scarcely clasp his treasures. "Tee-hee! Tee-hee-ee! Deary me! Thankee--thankee, my lady," he tittered, and he gazed and blinked at her beauty through heavenly tears. "Nearly a hundred years old, and he has lived on sixteen shillings a week all his life, and earned it by working every hour between sunrise and sunset," Betty said to her sister, when she went home. "A man has one life, and his has passed like that. It is done now, and all the years and work have left nothing in his old hands but his pipe. That's all. I should not like to put it out for him. Who am I that I can buy him a new one, and keep it filled for him until the end? How did it happen? No," suddenly, "I must not lose time in asking myself that. I must get the new pipe." She did it--a pipe of great magnificence--such as drew to the Doby cottage as many callers as the village could provide, each coming with fevered interest, to look at it--to be allowed to hold and examine it for a few moments, guessing at its probable enormous cost, and returning it reverently, to gaze at Doby with respect--the increase of which can be imagined when it was known that he was not only possessor of the pipe, but of an assurance that he would be supplied with as much tobacco as he could use, to the end of his days. From the time of the advent of the pipe, Grandfather Doby became a man of mark, and his life in the chimney corner a changed thing. A man who owns splendours and unlimited, excellent shag may like friends to drop in and crack jokes--and even smoke a pipe with him--a common pipe, which, however, is not amiss when excellent shag comes free. "He lives in a wild whirl of gaiety--a social vortex," said Betty to Lady Anstruthers, after one of her visits. "He is actually rejuvenated. I must order some new white smocks for him to receive his visitors in. Someone brought him an old copy of the Illustrated London News last night. We will send him illustrated papers every week." In the dull old brain, God knows what spark of life had been relighted. Young Mrs. Doby related with chuckles that granddad had begged that his chair might be dragged to the window, that he might sit and watch the village street. Sitting there, day after day, he smoked and looked at his pictures, and dozed and dreamed, his pipe and tobacco jar beside him on the window ledge. At any sound of wheels or footsteps his face lighted, and if, by chance, he caught a glimpse of Betty, he tottered to his feet, and stood hurriedly touching his bald forehead with a reverent, palsied hand. "'Tis 'urr," he would say, enrapt. "I seen 'urr--I did." And young Mrs. Doby knew that this was his joy, and what he waited for as one waits for the coming of the sun. "'Tis 'urr! 'Tis 'urr!" The vicar's wife, Mrs. Brent, who since the affair of John Wilson's fire had dropped into the background and felt it indiscreet to present tales of distress at the Court, began to recover her courage. Her perfunctory visits assumed a new character. The vicarage had, of course, called promptly upon Miss Vanderpoel, after her arrival. Mrs. Brent admired Miss Vanderpoel hugely. "You seem so unlike an American," she said once in her most tactful, ingratiating manner--which was very ingratiating indeed. "Do I? What is one like when one is like an American? I am one, you know." "I can scarcely believe it," with sweet ardour. "Pray try," said Betty with simple brevity, and Mrs. Brent felt that perhaps Miss Vanderpoel was not really very easy to get on with. "She meant to imply that I did not speak through my nose, and talk too much, and too vivaciously, in a shrill voice," Betty said afterwards, in talking the interview over with Rosy. "I like to convince myself that is not one's sole national characteristic. Also it was not exactly Mrs. Brent's place to kindly encourage me with the information that I do not seem to belong to my own country." Lady Anstruthers laughed, and Betty looked at her inquiringly. "You said that just like--just like an Englishwoman." "Did I?" said Betty. Mrs. Brent had come to talk to her because she did not wish to trouble dear Lady Anstruthers. Lady Anstruthers already looked much stronger, but she had been delicate so long that one hesitated to distress her with village matters. She did not add that she realised that she was coming to headquarters. The vicar and herself were much disturbed about a rather tiresome old woman--old Mrs. Welden--who lived in a tiny cottage in the village. She was eighty-three years old, and a respectable old person--a widow, who had reared ten children. The children had all grown up, and scattered, and old Mrs. Welden had nothing whatever to live on. No one knew how she lived, and really she would be better off in the workhouse. She could be sent to Brexley Union, and comfortably taken care of, but she had that singular, obstinate dislike to going, which it was so difficult to manage. She had asked for a shilling a week from the parish, but that could not be allowed her, as it would merely uphold her in her obstinate intention of remaining in her cottage, and taking care of herself--which she could not do. Betty gathered that the shilling a week would be a drain on the parish funds, and would so raise the old creature to affluence that she would feel she could defy fate. And the contumacity of old men and women should not be strengthened by the reckless bestowal of shillings. Knowing that Miss Vanderpoel had already gained influence among the village people, Mrs. Brent said, she had come to ask her if she would see old Mrs. Welden and argue with her in such a manner as would convince her that the workhouse was the best place for her. It was, of course, so much pleasanter if these old people could be induced to go to Brexley willingly. "Shall I be undermining the whole Political Economy of Stornham if I take care of her myself?" suggested Betty. "You--you will lead others to expect the same thing will be done for them." "When one has resources to draw on," Miss Vanderpoel commented, "in the case of a woman who has lived eighty-three years and brought up ten children until they were old and strong enough to leave her to take care of herself, it is difficult for the weak of mind to apply the laws of Political Economics. I will go and see old Mrs. Welden." If the Vanderpoels would provide for all the obstinate old men and women in the parish, the Political Economics of Stornham would proffer no marked objections. "A good many Americans," Mrs. Brent reflected, "seemed to have those odd, lavish ways," as witness Lady Anstruthers herself, on her first introduction to village life. Miss Vanderpoel was evidently a much stronger character, and extremely clever, and somehow the stream of the American fortune was at last being directed towards Stornham--which, of course, should have happened long ago. A good deal was "being done," and the whole situation looked more promising. So was the matter discussed and summed up, the same evening after dinner, at the vicarage. Betty found old Mrs. Welden's cottage. It was in a green lane, turning from the village street--which was almost a green lane itself. A tiny hedged-in front garden was before the cottage door. A crazy-looking wicket gate was in the hedge, and a fuschia bush and a few old roses were in the few yards of garden. There were actually two or three geraniums in the window, showing cheerful scarlet between the short, white dimity curtains. "A house this size and of this poverty in an American village," was Betty's thought, "would be a bare and straggling hideousness, with old tomato cans in the front yard. Here is one of the things we have to learn from them." When she knocked at the door an old woman opened it. She was a well-preserved and markedly respectable old person, in a decent print frock and a cap. At the sight of her visitor she beamed and made a suggestion of curtsey. "How do you do, Mrs. Welden?" said Betty. "I am Lady Anstruthers' sister, Miss Vanderpoel. I thought I would like to come and see you." "Thank you, miss, I am obliged for the kindness, miss. Won't you come in and have a chair?" There were no signs of decrepitude about her, and she had a cheery old eye. The tiny front room was neat, though there was scarcely space enough in it to contain the table covered with its blue-checked cotton cloth, the narrow sofa, and two or three chairs. There were a few small coloured prints, and a framed photograph or so on the walls, and on the table was a Bible, and a brown earthenware teapot, and a plate. "Tom Wood's wife, that's neighbour next door to me," she said, "gave me a pinch o' tea--an' I've just been 'avin it. Tom Woods, miss, 'as just been took on by Muster Kedgers as one of the new under gardeners at the Court." Betty found her delightful. She made no complaints, and was evidently pleased with the excitement of receiving a visitor. The truth was, that in common with every other old woman, she had secretly aspired to being visited some day by the amazing young lady from "Meriker." Betty had yet to learn of the heartburnings which may be occasioned by an unconscious favouritism. She was not aware that when she dropped in to talk to old Doby, his neighbour, old Megworth, peered from behind his curtains, with the dew of envy in his rheumy eyes. "S'ems," he mumbled, "as if they wasn't nobody now in Stornham village but Gaarge Doby--s'ems not." They were very fierce in their jealousy of attention, and one must beware of rousing evil passions in the octogenarian breast. The young lady from "Meriker" had not so far had time to make a call at any cottage in old Mrs. Welden's lane--and she had knocked just at old Mrs. Welden's door. This was enough to put in good spirits even a less cheery old person. At first Betty wondered how she could with delicacy ask personal questions. A few minutes' conversation, however, showed her that the personal affairs of Sir Nigel's tenants were also the affairs of not only himself, but of such of his relatives as attended to their natural duty. Her presence in the cottage, and her interest in Mrs. Welden's ready flow of simple talk, were desirable and proper compliments to the old woman herself. She was a decent and self-respecting old person, but in her mind there was no faintest glimmer of resentment of questions concerning rent and food and the needs of her simple, hard-driven existence. She had answered such questions on many occasions, when they had not been asked in the manner in which her ladyship's sister asked them. Mrs. Brent had scolded her and "poked about" her cottage, going into her tiny "wash 'us," and up into her infinitesimal bedroom under the slanting roof, to see that they were kept clean. Miss Vanderpoel showed no disposition to "poke." She sat and listened, and made an inquiry here and there, in a nice voice and with a smile in her eyes. There was some pleasure in relating the whole history of your eighty-three years to a young lady who listened as if she wanted to hear it. So old Mrs. Welden prattled on. About her good days, when she was young, and was kitchenmaid at the parsonage in a village twenty miles away; about her marriage with a young farm labourer; about his "steady" habits, and the comfort they had together, in spite of the yearly arrival of a new baby, and the crowding of the bit of a cottage his master allowed them. Ten of 'em, and it had been "up before sunrise, and a good bit of hard work to keep them all fed and clean." But she had not minded that until Jack died quite sudden after a sunstroke. It was odd how much colour her rustic phraseology held. She made Betty see it all. The apparent natural inevitableness of their being turned out of the cottage, because another man must have it; the years during which she worked her way while the ten were growing up, having measles, and chicken pox, and scarlet fever, one dying here and there, dropping out quite in the natural order of things, and being buried by the parish in corners of the ancient church yard. Three of them "was took" by scarlet fever, then one of a "decline," then one or two by other illnesses. Only four reached man and womanhood. One had gone to Australia, but he never was one to write, and after a year or two, Betty gathered, he had seemed to melt away into the great distance. Two girls had married, and Mrs. Welden could not say they had been "comf'able." They could barely feed themselves and their swarms of children. The other son had never been steady like his father. He had at last gone to London, and London had swallowed him up. Betty was struck by the fact that she did not seem to feel that the mother of ten might have expected some return for her labours, at eighty-three. Her unresentful acceptance of things was at once significant and moving. Betty found her amazing. What she lived on it was not easy to understand. She seemed rather like a cheerful old bird, getting up each unprovided-for morning, and picking up her sustenance where she found it. "There's more in the sayin' 'the Lord pervides' than a good many thinks," she said with a small chuckle, marked more by a genial and comfortable sense of humour than by an air of meritoriously quoting the vicar. "He DO." She paid one and threepence a week in rent for her cottage, and this was the most serious drain upon her resources. She apparently could live without food or fire, but the rent must be paid. "An' I do get a bit be'ind sometimes," she confessed apologetically, "an' then it's a trouble to get straight." Her cottage was one of a short row, and she did odd jobs for the women who were her neighbours. There were always babies to be looked after, and "bits of 'elp" needed, sometimes there were "movings" from one cottage to another, and "confinements" were plainly at once exhilarating and enriching. Her temperamental good cheer, combined with her experience, made her a desirable companion and assistant. She was engagingly frank. "When they're new to it, an' a bit frightened, I just give 'em a cup of 'ot tea, an' joke with 'em to cheer 'em up," she said. "I says to Charles Jenkins' wife, as lives next door, 'come now, me girl, it's been goin' on since Adam an' Eve, an' there's a good many of us left, isn't there?' An' a fine boy it was, too, miss, an' 'er up an' about before 'er month." She was paid in sixpences and spare shillings, and in cups of tea, or a fresh-baked loaf, or screws of sugar, or even in a garment not yet worn beyond repair. And she was free to run in and out, and grow a flower or so in her garden, and talk with a neighbour over the low dividing hedge. "They want me to go into the 'Ouse,'" reaching the dangerous subject at last. "They say I'll be took care of an' looked after. But I don't want to do it, miss. I want to keep my bit of a 'ome if I can, an' be free to come an' go. I'm eighty-three, an' it won't be long. I 'ad a shilling a week from the parish, but they stopped it because they said I ought to go into the 'Ouse.'" She looked at Betty with a momentarily anxious smile. "P'raps you don't quite understand, miss," she said. "It'll seem like nothin' to you--a place like this." "It doesn't," Betty answered, smiling bravely back into the old eyes, though she felt a slight fulness of the throat. "I understand all about it." It is possible that old Mrs. Welden was a little taken aback by an attitude which, satisfactory to her own prejudices though it might be, was, taken in connection with fixed customs, a trifle unnatural. "You don't mind me not wantin' to go?" she said. "No," was the answer, "not at all." Betty began to ask questions. How much tea, sugar, soap, candles, bread, butter, bacon, could Mrs. Welden use in a week? It was not very easy to find out the exact quantities, as Mrs. Welden's estimates of such things had been based, during her entire existence, upon calculation as to how little, not how much she could use. When Betty suggested a pound of tea, a half pound--the old woman smiled at the innocent ignorance the suggestion of such reckless profusion implied. "Oh, no! Bless you, miss, no! I couldn't never do away with it. A quarter, miss--that'd be plenty--a quarter." Mrs. Welden's idea of "the best," was that at two shillings a pound. Quarter of a pound would cost sixpence (twelve cents, thought Betty). A pound of sugar would be twopence, Mrs. Welden would use half a pound (the riotous extravagance of two cents). Half a pound of butter, "Good tub butter, miss," would be ten pence three farthings a pound. Soap, candles, bacon, bread, coal, wood, in the quantities required by Mrs. Welden, might, with the addition of rent, amount to the dizzying height of eight or ten shillings. "With careful extravagance," Betty mentally summed up, "I might spend almost two dollars a week in surrounding her with a riot of luxury." She made a list of the things, and added some extras as an idea of her own. Life had not afforded her this kind of thing before, she realised. She felt for the first time the joy of reckless extravagance, and thrilled with the excitement of it. "You need not think of Brexley Union any more," she said, when she, having risen to go, stood at the cottage door with old Mrs. Welden. "The things I have written down here shall be sent to you every Saturday night. I will pay your rent." "Miss--miss!" Mrs. Welden looked affrighted. "It's too much, miss. An' coals eighteen pence a hundred!" "Never mind," said her ladyship's sister, and the old woman, looking up into her eyes, found there the colour Mount Dunstan had thought of as being that of bluebells under water. "I think we can manage it, Mrs. Welden. Keep yourself as warm as you like, and sometime I will come and have a cup of tea with you and see if the tea is good." "Oh! Deary me!" said Mrs. Welden. "I can't think what to say, miss. It lifts everythin'--everythin'. It's not to be believed. It's like bein' left a fortune." When the wicket gate swung to and the young lady went up the lane, the old woman stood staring after her. And here was a piece of news to run into Charley Jenkins' cottage and tell--and what woman or man in the row would quite believe it? CHAPTER XXV "WE BEGAN TO MARRY THEM, MY GOOD FELLOW!" Lord Dunholm and his eldest son, Lord Westholt, sauntered together smoking their after-dinner cigars on the broad-turfed terrace overlooking park and gardens which seemed to sweep without boundary line into the purplish land beyond. The grey mass of the castle stood clear-cut against the blue of a sky whose twilight was still almost daylight, though in the purity of its evening stillness a star already hung, here and there, and a young moon swung low. The great spaces about them held a silence whose exquisite entirety was marked at intervals by the distant bark of a shepherd dog driving his master's sheep to the fold, their soft, intermittent plaints--the mother ewes' mellow answering to the tender, fretful lambs--floated on the air, a lovely part of the ending day's repose. Where two who are friends stroll together at such hours, the great beauty makes for silence or for thoughtful talk. These two men--father and son--were friends and intimates, and had been so from Westholt's first memory of the time when his childish individuality began to detach itself from the background of misty and indistinct things. They had liked each other, and their liking and intimacy had increased with the onward moving and change of years. After sixty sane and decently spent active years of life, Lord Dunholm, in either country tweed or evening dress, was a well-built and handsome man; at thirty-three his son was still like him. "Have you seen her?" he was saying. "Only at a distance. She was driving Lady Anstruthers across the marshes in a cart. She drove well and----" he laughed as he flicked the ash from his cigar--"the back of her head and shoulders looked handsome." "The American young woman is at present a factor which is without doubt to be counted with," Lord Dunholm put the matter without lightness. "Any young woman is a factor, but the American young woman just now--just now----" He paused a moment as though considering. "It did not seem at all necessary to count with them at first, when they began to appear among us. They were generally curiously exotic, funny little creatures with odd manners and voices. They were often most amusing, and one liked to hear them chatter and see the airy lightness with which they took superfluous, and sometimes unsuperfluous, conventions, as a hunter takes a five-barred gate. But it never occurred to us to marry them. We did not take them seriously enough. But we began to marry them--we began to marry them, my good fellow!" The final words broke forth with such a suggestion of sudden anxiety that, in spite of himself, Westholt laughed involuntarily, and his father, turning to look at him, laughed also. But he recovered his seriousness. "It was all rather a muddle at first," he went on. "Things were not fairly done, and certain bad lots looked on it as a paying scheme on the one side, while it was a matter of silly, little ambitions on the other. But that it is an extraordinary country there is no sane denying--huge, fabulously resourceful in every way--area, variety of climate, wealth of minerals, products of all sorts, soil to grow anything, and sun and rain enough to give each thing what it needs; last, or rather first, a people who, considered as a nation, are in the riot of youth, and who began by being English--which we Englishmen have an innocent belief is the one method of 'owning the earth.' That figure of speech is an Americanism I carefully committed to memory. Well, after all, look at the map--look at the map! There we are." They had frequently discussed together the question of the development of international relations. Lord Dunholm, a man of far-reaching and clear logic, had realised that the oddly unaccentuated growth of intercourse between the two countries might be a subject to be reflected on without lightness. "The habit we have of regarding America and Americans as rather a joke," he had once said, "has a sort of parallel in the condescendingly amiable amusement of a parent at the precocity or whimsicalness of a child. But the child is shooting up amazingly--amazingly. In a way which suggests divers possibilities." The exchange of visits between Dunholm and Stornham had been rare and formal. From the call made upon the younger Lady Anstruthers on her marriage, the Dunholms had returned with a sense of puzzled pity for the little American bride, with her wonderful frock and her uneasy, childish eyes. For some years Lady Anstruthers had been too delicate to make or return calls. One heard painful accounts of her apparent wretched ill-health and of the condition of her husband's estate. "As the relations between the two families have evidently been strained for years," Lord Dunholm said, "it is interesting to hear of the sudden advent of the sister. It seems to point to reconciliation. And you say the girl is an unusual person. "From what one hears, she would be unusual if she were an English girl who had spent her life on an English estate. That an American who is making her first visit to England should seem to see at once the practical needs of a neglected place is a thing to wonder at. What can she know about it, one

tread

How many times the word 'tread' appears in the text?

Anstruther's sister." Mr. Penzance, replacing his own hat, looked after her with surprised pleasure. "Really," he exclaimed, "Miss Vanderpoel! What a fine girl! How unusually handsome!" Selden turned with a gasp of delighted, amazed recognition. "Miss Vanderpoel," he burst forth, "Reuben Vanderpoel's daughter! The one that's over here visiting her sister. Is it that one--sure?" "Yes," from Mount Dunstan without fervour. "Lady Anstruthers lives at Stornham, about six miles from here." "Gee," with feverish regret. "If her father was there, and I could get next to him, my fortune would be made." "Should you," ventured Penzance politely, "endeavour to sell him a typewriter?" "A typewriter! Holy smoke! I'd try to sell him ten thousand. A fellow like that syndicates the world. If I could get next to him----" and he mounted his bicycle with a laugh. "Get next," murmured Penzance. "Get on the good side of him," Mount Dunstan murmured in reply. "So long, gentlemen, good-bye, and thank you again," called G. Selden as he wheeled off, and was carried soundlessly down the golden road. CHAPTER XXIV THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF STORNHAM The satin-skinned chestnut was one of the new horses now standing in the Stornham stables. There were several of them--a pair for the landau, saddle horses, smart young cobs for phaeton or dog cart, a pony for Ughtred--the animals necessary at such a place at Stornham. The stables themselves had been quickly put in order, grooms and stable boys kept them as they had not been kept for years. The men learned in a week's time that their work could not be done too well. There were new carriages as well as horses. They had come from London after Lady Anstruthers and her sister returned from town. The horses had been brought down by their grooms--immensely looked after, blanketed, hooded, and altogether cared for as if they were visiting dukes and duchesses. They were all fine, handsome, carefully chosen creatures. When they danced and sidled through the village on their way to the Court, they created a sensation. Whosoever had chosen them had known his business. The older vehicles had been repaired in the village by Tread, and did him credit. Fox had also done his work well. Plenty more of it had come into their work-shops. Tools to be used on the estate, garden implements, wheelbarrows, lawn rollers, things needed about the house, stables, and cottages, were to be attended to. The church roof was being repaired. Taking all these things and the "doing up" of the Court itself, there was more work than the village could manage, and carpenters, bricklayers, and decorators were necessarily brought from other places. Still Joe Buttle and Sim Soames were allowed to lead in all such things as lay within their capabilities. It was they who made such a splendid job of the entrance gates and the lodges. It was astonishing how much was done, and how the sense of life in the air--the work of resulting prosperity, made men begin to tread with less listless steps as they went to and from their labour. In the cottages things were being done which made downcast women bestir themselves and look less slatternly. Leaks mended here, windows there, the hopeless copper in the tiny washhouse replaced by a new one, chimneys cured of the habit of smoking, a clean, flowered paper put on a wall, a coat of whitewash--they were small matters, but produced great effect. Betty had begun to drop into the cottages, and make the acquaintance of their owners. Her first visits, she observed, created great consternation. Women looked frightened or sullen, children stared and refused to speak, clinging to skirts and aprons. She found the atmosphere clear after her second visit. The women began to talk, and the children collected in groups and listened with cheerful grins. She could pick up little Jane's kitten, or give a pat to small Thomas' mongrel dog, in a manner which threw down barriers. "Don't put out your pipe," she said to old Grandfather Doby, rising totteringly respectful from his chimney-side chair. "You have only just lighted it. You mustn't waste a whole pipeful of tobacco because I have come in." The old man, grown childish with age, tittered and shuffled and giggled. Such a joke as the grand young lady was having with him. She saw he had only just lighted his pipe. The gentry joked a bit sometimes. But he was afraid of his grandson's wife, who was frowning and shaking her head. Betty went to him, and put her hand on his arm. "Sit down," she said, "and I will sit by you." And she sat down and showed him that she had brought a package of tobacco with her, and actually a wonder of a red and yellow jar to hold it, at the sight of which unheard-of joys his rapture was so great that his trembling hands could scarcely clasp his treasures. "Tee-hee! Tee-hee-ee! Deary me! Thankee--thankee, my lady," he tittered, and he gazed and blinked at her beauty through heavenly tears. "Nearly a hundred years old, and he has lived on sixteen shillings a week all his life, and earned it by working every hour between sunrise and sunset," Betty said to her sister, when she went home. "A man has one life, and his has passed like that. It is done now, and all the years and work have left nothing in his old hands but his pipe. That's all. I should not like to put it out for him. Who am I that I can buy him a new one, and keep it filled for him until the end? How did it happen? No," suddenly, "I must not lose time in asking myself that. I must get the new pipe." She did it--a pipe of great magnificence--such as drew to the Doby cottage as many callers as the village could provide, each coming with fevered interest, to look at it--to be allowed to hold and examine it for a few moments, guessing at its probable enormous cost, and returning it reverently, to gaze at Doby with respect--the increase of which can be imagined when it was known that he was not only possessor of the pipe, but of an assurance that he would be supplied with as much tobacco as he could use, to the end of his days. From the time of the advent of the pipe, Grandfather Doby became a man of mark, and his life in the chimney corner a changed thing. A man who owns splendours and unlimited, excellent shag may like friends to drop in and crack jokes--and even smoke a pipe with him--a common pipe, which, however, is not amiss when excellent shag comes free. "He lives in a wild whirl of gaiety--a social vortex," said Betty to Lady Anstruthers, after one of her visits. "He is actually rejuvenated. I must order some new white smocks for him to receive his visitors in. Someone brought him an old copy of the Illustrated London News last night. We will send him illustrated papers every week." In the dull old brain, God knows what spark of life had been relighted. Young Mrs. Doby related with chuckles that granddad had begged that his chair might be dragged to the window, that he might sit and watch the village street. Sitting there, day after day, he smoked and looked at his pictures, and dozed and dreamed, his pipe and tobacco jar beside him on the window ledge. At any sound of wheels or footsteps his face lighted, and if, by chance, he caught a glimpse of Betty, he tottered to his feet, and stood hurriedly touching his bald forehead with a reverent, palsied hand. "'Tis 'urr," he would say, enrapt. "I seen 'urr--I did." And young Mrs. Doby knew that this was his joy, and what he waited for as one waits for the coming of the sun. "'Tis 'urr! 'Tis 'urr!" The vicar's wife, Mrs. Brent, who since the affair of John Wilson's fire had dropped into the background and felt it indiscreet to present tales of distress at the Court, began to recover her courage. Her perfunctory visits assumed a new character. The vicarage had, of course, called promptly upon Miss Vanderpoel, after her arrival. Mrs. Brent admired Miss Vanderpoel hugely. "You seem so unlike an American," she said once in her most tactful, ingratiating manner--which was very ingratiating indeed. "Do I? What is one like when one is like an American? I am one, you know." "I can scarcely believe it," with sweet ardour. "Pray try," said Betty with simple brevity, and Mrs. Brent felt that perhaps Miss Vanderpoel was not really very easy to get on with. "She meant to imply that I did not speak through my nose, and talk too much, and too vivaciously, in a shrill voice," Betty said afterwards, in talking the interview over with Rosy. "I like to convince myself that is not one's sole national characteristic. Also it was not exactly Mrs. Brent's place to kindly encourage me with the information that I do not seem to belong to my own country." Lady Anstruthers laughed, and Betty looked at her inquiringly. "You said that just like--just like an Englishwoman." "Did I?" said Betty. Mrs. Brent had come to talk to her because she did not wish to trouble dear Lady Anstruthers. Lady Anstruthers already looked much stronger, but she had been delicate so long that one hesitated to distress her with village matters. She did not add that she realised that she was coming to headquarters. The vicar and herself were much disturbed about a rather tiresome old woman--old Mrs. Welden--who lived in a tiny cottage in the village. She was eighty-three years old, and a respectable old person--a widow, who had reared ten children. The children had all grown up, and scattered, and old Mrs. Welden had nothing whatever to live on. No one knew how she lived, and really she would be better off in the workhouse. She could be sent to Brexley Union, and comfortably taken care of, but she had that singular, obstinate dislike to going, which it was so difficult to manage. She had asked for a shilling a week from the parish, but that could not be allowed her, as it would merely uphold her in her obstinate intention of remaining in her cottage, and taking care of herself--which she could not do. Betty gathered that the shilling a week would be a drain on the parish funds, and would so raise the old creature to affluence that she would feel she could defy fate. And the contumacity of old men and women should not be strengthened by the reckless bestowal of shillings. Knowing that Miss Vanderpoel had already gained influence among the village people, Mrs. Brent said, she had come to ask her if she would see old Mrs. Welden and argue with her in such a manner as would convince her that the workhouse was the best place for her. It was, of course, so much pleasanter if these old people could be induced to go to Brexley willingly. "Shall I be undermining the whole Political Economy of Stornham if I take care of her myself?" suggested Betty. "You--you will lead others to expect the same thing will be done for them." "When one has resources to draw on," Miss Vanderpoel commented, "in the case of a woman who has lived eighty-three years and brought up ten children until they were old and strong enough to leave her to take care of herself, it is difficult for the weak of mind to apply the laws of Political Economics. I will go and see old Mrs. Welden." If the Vanderpoels would provide for all the obstinate old men and women in the parish, the Political Economics of Stornham would proffer no marked objections. "A good many Americans," Mrs. Brent reflected, "seemed to have those odd, lavish ways," as witness Lady Anstruthers herself, on her first introduction to village life. Miss Vanderpoel was evidently a much stronger character, and extremely clever, and somehow the stream of the American fortune was at last being directed towards Stornham--which, of course, should have happened long ago. A good deal was "being done," and the whole situation looked more promising. So was the matter discussed and summed up, the same evening after dinner, at the vicarage. Betty found old Mrs. Welden's cottage. It was in a green lane, turning from the village street--which was almost a green lane itself. A tiny hedged-in front garden was before the cottage door. A crazy-looking wicket gate was in the hedge, and a fuschia bush and a few old roses were in the few yards of garden. There were actually two or three geraniums in the window, showing cheerful scarlet between the short, white dimity curtains. "A house this size and of this poverty in an American village," was Betty's thought, "would be a bare and straggling hideousness, with old tomato cans in the front yard. Here is one of the things we have to learn from them." When she knocked at the door an old woman opened it. She was a well-preserved and markedly respectable old person, in a decent print frock and a cap. At the sight of her visitor she beamed and made a suggestion of curtsey. "How do you do, Mrs. Welden?" said Betty. "I am Lady Anstruthers' sister, Miss Vanderpoel. I thought I would like to come and see you." "Thank you, miss, I am obliged for the kindness, miss. Won't you come in and have a chair?" There were no signs of decrepitude about her, and she had a cheery old eye. The tiny front room was neat, though there was scarcely space enough in it to contain the table covered with its blue-checked cotton cloth, the narrow sofa, and two or three chairs. There were a few small coloured prints, and a framed photograph or so on the walls, and on the table was a Bible, and a brown earthenware teapot, and a plate. "Tom Wood's wife, that's neighbour next door to me," she said, "gave me a pinch o' tea--an' I've just been 'avin it. Tom Woods, miss, 'as just been took on by Muster Kedgers as one of the new under gardeners at the Court." Betty found her delightful. She made no complaints, and was evidently pleased with the excitement of receiving a visitor. The truth was, that in common with every other old woman, she had secretly aspired to being visited some day by the amazing young lady from "Meriker." Betty had yet to learn of the heartburnings which may be occasioned by an unconscious favouritism. She was not aware that when she dropped in to talk to old Doby, his neighbour, old Megworth, peered from behind his curtains, with the dew of envy in his rheumy eyes. "S'ems," he mumbled, "as if they wasn't nobody now in Stornham village but Gaarge Doby--s'ems not." They were very fierce in their jealousy of attention, and one must beware of rousing evil passions in the octogenarian breast. The young lady from "Meriker" had not so far had time to make a call at any cottage in old Mrs. Welden's lane--and she had knocked just at old Mrs. Welden's door. This was enough to put in good spirits even a less cheery old person. At first Betty wondered how she could with delicacy ask personal questions. A few minutes' conversation, however, showed her that the personal affairs of Sir Nigel's tenants were also the affairs of not only himself, but of such of his relatives as attended to their natural duty. Her presence in the cottage, and her interest in Mrs. Welden's ready flow of simple talk, were desirable and proper compliments to the old woman herself. She was a decent and self-respecting old person, but in her mind there was no faintest glimmer of resentment of questions concerning rent and food and the needs of her simple, hard-driven existence. She had answered such questions on many occasions, when they had not been asked in the manner in which her ladyship's sister asked them. Mrs. Brent had scolded her and "poked about" her cottage, going into her tiny "wash 'us," and up into her infinitesimal bedroom under the slanting roof, to see that they were kept clean. Miss Vanderpoel showed no disposition to "poke." She sat and listened, and made an inquiry here and there, in a nice voice and with a smile in her eyes. There was some pleasure in relating the whole history of your eighty-three years to a young lady who listened as if she wanted to hear it. So old Mrs. Welden prattled on. About her good days, when she was young, and was kitchenmaid at the parsonage in a village twenty miles away; about her marriage with a young farm labourer; about his "steady" habits, and the comfort they had together, in spite of the yearly arrival of a new baby, and the crowding of the bit of a cottage his master allowed them. Ten of 'em, and it had been "up before sunrise, and a good bit of hard work to keep them all fed and clean." But she had not minded that until Jack died quite sudden after a sunstroke. It was odd how much colour her rustic phraseology held. She made Betty see it all. The apparent natural inevitableness of their being turned out of the cottage, because another man must have it; the years during which she worked her way while the ten were growing up, having measles, and chicken pox, and scarlet fever, one dying here and there, dropping out quite in the natural order of things, and being buried by the parish in corners of the ancient church yard. Three of them "was took" by scarlet fever, then one of a "decline," then one or two by other illnesses. Only four reached man and womanhood. One had gone to Australia, but he never was one to write, and after a year or two, Betty gathered, he had seemed to melt away into the great distance. Two girls had married, and Mrs. Welden could not say they had been "comf'able." They could barely feed themselves and their swarms of children. The other son had never been steady like his father. He had at last gone to London, and London had swallowed him up. Betty was struck by the fact that she did not seem to feel that the mother of ten might have expected some return for her labours, at eighty-three. Her unresentful acceptance of things was at once significant and moving. Betty found her amazing. What she lived on it was not easy to understand. She seemed rather like a cheerful old bird, getting up each unprovided-for morning, and picking up her sustenance where she found it. "There's more in the sayin' 'the Lord pervides' than a good many thinks," she said with a small chuckle, marked more by a genial and comfortable sense of humour than by an air of meritoriously quoting the vicar. "He DO." She paid one and threepence a week in rent for her cottage, and this was the most serious drain upon her resources. She apparently could live without food or fire, but the rent must be paid. "An' I do get a bit be'ind sometimes," she confessed apologetically, "an' then it's a trouble to get straight." Her cottage was one of a short row, and she did odd jobs for the women who were her neighbours. There were always babies to be looked after, and "bits of 'elp" needed, sometimes there were "movings" from one cottage to another, and "confinements" were plainly at once exhilarating and enriching. Her temperamental good cheer, combined with her experience, made her a desirable companion and assistant. She was engagingly frank. "When they're new to it, an' a bit frightened, I just give 'em a cup of 'ot tea, an' joke with 'em to cheer 'em up," she said. "I says to Charles Jenkins' wife, as lives next door, 'come now, me girl, it's been goin' on since Adam an' Eve, an' there's a good many of us left, isn't there?' An' a fine boy it was, too, miss, an' 'er up an' about before 'er month." She was paid in sixpences and spare shillings, and in cups of tea, or a fresh-baked loaf, or screws of sugar, or even in a garment not yet worn beyond repair. And she was free to run in and out, and grow a flower or so in her garden, and talk with a neighbour over the low dividing hedge. "They want me to go into the 'Ouse,'" reaching the dangerous subject at last. "They say I'll be took care of an' looked after. But I don't want to do it, miss. I want to keep my bit of a 'ome if I can, an' be free to come an' go. I'm eighty-three, an' it won't be long. I 'ad a shilling a week from the parish, but they stopped it because they said I ought to go into the 'Ouse.'" She looked at Betty with a momentarily anxious smile. "P'raps you don't quite understand, miss," she said. "It'll seem like nothin' to you--a place like this." "It doesn't," Betty answered, smiling bravely back into the old eyes, though she felt a slight fulness of the throat. "I understand all about it." It is possible that old Mrs. Welden was a little taken aback by an attitude which, satisfactory to her own prejudices though it might be, was, taken in connection with fixed customs, a trifle unnatural. "You don't mind me not wantin' to go?" she said. "No," was the answer, "not at all." Betty began to ask questions. How much tea, sugar, soap, candles, bread, butter, bacon, could Mrs. Welden use in a week? It was not very easy to find out the exact quantities, as Mrs. Welden's estimates of such things had been based, during her entire existence, upon calculation as to how little, not how much she could use. When Betty suggested a pound of tea, a half pound--the old woman smiled at the innocent ignorance the suggestion of such reckless profusion implied. "Oh, no! Bless you, miss, no! I couldn't never do away with it. A quarter, miss--that'd be plenty--a quarter." Mrs. Welden's idea of "the best," was that at two shillings a pound. Quarter of a pound would cost sixpence (twelve cents, thought Betty). A pound of sugar would be twopence, Mrs. Welden would use half a pound (the riotous extravagance of two cents). Half a pound of butter, "Good tub butter, miss," would be ten pence three farthings a pound. Soap, candles, bacon, bread, coal, wood, in the quantities required by Mrs. Welden, might, with the addition of rent, amount to the dizzying height of eight or ten shillings. "With careful extravagance," Betty mentally summed up, "I might spend almost two dollars a week in surrounding her with a riot of luxury." She made a list of the things, and added some extras as an idea of her own. Life had not afforded her this kind of thing before, she realised. She felt for the first time the joy of reckless extravagance, and thrilled with the excitement of it. "You need not think of Brexley Union any more," she said, when she, having risen to go, stood at the cottage door with old Mrs. Welden. "The things I have written down here shall be sent to you every Saturday night. I will pay your rent." "Miss--miss!" Mrs. Welden looked affrighted. "It's too much, miss. An' coals eighteen pence a hundred!" "Never mind," said her ladyship's sister, and the old woman, looking up into her eyes, found there the colour Mount Dunstan had thought of as being that of bluebells under water. "I think we can manage it, Mrs. Welden. Keep yourself as warm as you like, and sometime I will come and have a cup of tea with you and see if the tea is good." "Oh! Deary me!" said Mrs. Welden. "I can't think what to say, miss. It lifts everythin'--everythin'. It's not to be believed. It's like bein' left a fortune." When the wicket gate swung to and the young lady went up the lane, the old woman stood staring after her. And here was a piece of news to run into Charley Jenkins' cottage and tell--and what woman or man in the row would quite believe it? CHAPTER XXV "WE BEGAN TO MARRY THEM, MY GOOD FELLOW!" Lord Dunholm and his eldest son, Lord Westholt, sauntered together smoking their after-dinner cigars on the broad-turfed terrace overlooking park and gardens which seemed to sweep without boundary line into the purplish land beyond. The grey mass of the castle stood clear-cut against the blue of a sky whose twilight was still almost daylight, though in the purity of its evening stillness a star already hung, here and there, and a young moon swung low. The great spaces about them held a silence whose exquisite entirety was marked at intervals by the distant bark of a shepherd dog driving his master's sheep to the fold, their soft, intermittent plaints--the mother ewes' mellow answering to the tender, fretful lambs--floated on the air, a lovely part of the ending day's repose. Where two who are friends stroll together at such hours, the great beauty makes for silence or for thoughtful talk. These two men--father and son--were friends and intimates, and had been so from Westholt's first memory of the time when his childish individuality began to detach itself from the background of misty and indistinct things. They had liked each other, and their liking and intimacy had increased with the onward moving and change of years. After sixty sane and decently spent active years of life, Lord Dunholm, in either country tweed or evening dress, was a well-built and handsome man; at thirty-three his son was still like him. "Have you seen her?" he was saying. "Only at a distance. She was driving Lady Anstruthers across the marshes in a cart. She drove well and----" he laughed as he flicked the ash from his cigar--"the back of her head and shoulders looked handsome." "The American young woman is at present a factor which is without doubt to be counted with," Lord Dunholm put the matter without lightness. "Any young woman is a factor, but the American young woman just now--just now----" He paused a moment as though considering. "It did not seem at all necessary to count with them at first, when they began to appear among us. They were generally curiously exotic, funny little creatures with odd manners and voices. They were often most amusing, and one liked to hear them chatter and see the airy lightness with which they took superfluous, and sometimes unsuperfluous, conventions, as a hunter takes a five-barred gate. But it never occurred to us to marry them. We did not take them seriously enough. But we began to marry them--we began to marry them, my good fellow!" The final words broke forth with such a suggestion of sudden anxiety that, in spite of himself, Westholt laughed involuntarily, and his father, turning to look at him, laughed also. But he recovered his seriousness. "It was all rather a muddle at first," he went on. "Things were not fairly done, and certain bad lots looked on it as a paying scheme on the one side, while it was a matter of silly, little ambitions on the other. But that it is an extraordinary country there is no sane denying--huge, fabulously resourceful in every way--area, variety of climate, wealth of minerals, products of all sorts, soil to grow anything, and sun and rain enough to give each thing what it needs; last, or rather first, a people who, considered as a nation, are in the riot of youth, and who began by being English--which we Englishmen have an innocent belief is the one method of 'owning the earth.' That figure of speech is an Americanism I carefully committed to memory. Well, after all, look at the map--look at the map! There we are." They had frequently discussed together the question of the development of international relations. Lord Dunholm, a man of far-reaching and clear logic, had realised that the oddly unaccentuated growth of intercourse between the two countries might be a subject to be reflected on without lightness. "The habit we have of regarding America and Americans as rather a joke," he had once said, "has a sort of parallel in the condescendingly amiable amusement of a parent at the precocity or whimsicalness of a child. But the child is shooting up amazingly--amazingly. In a way which suggests divers possibilities." The exchange of visits between Dunholm and Stornham had been rare and formal. From the call made upon the younger Lady Anstruthers on her marriage, the Dunholms had returned with a sense of puzzled pity for the little American bride, with her wonderful frock and her uneasy, childish eyes. For some years Lady Anstruthers had been too delicate to make or return calls. One heard painful accounts of her apparent wretched ill-health and of the condition of her husband's estate. "As the relations between the two families have evidently been strained for years," Lord Dunholm said, "it is interesting to hear of the sudden advent of the sister. It seems to point to reconciliation. And you say the girl is an unusual person. "From what one hears, she would be unusual if she were an English girl who had spent her life on an English estate. That an American who is making her first visit to England should seem to see at once the practical needs of a neglected place is a thing to wonder at. What can she know about it, one

corner

How many times the word 'corner' appears in the text?

Anstruther's sister." Mr. Penzance, replacing his own hat, looked after her with surprised pleasure. "Really," he exclaimed, "Miss Vanderpoel! What a fine girl! How unusually handsome!" Selden turned with a gasp of delighted, amazed recognition. "Miss Vanderpoel," he burst forth, "Reuben Vanderpoel's daughter! The one that's over here visiting her sister. Is it that one--sure?" "Yes," from Mount Dunstan without fervour. "Lady Anstruthers lives at Stornham, about six miles from here." "Gee," with feverish regret. "If her father was there, and I could get next to him, my fortune would be made." "Should you," ventured Penzance politely, "endeavour to sell him a typewriter?" "A typewriter! Holy smoke! I'd try to sell him ten thousand. A fellow like that syndicates the world. If I could get next to him----" and he mounted his bicycle with a laugh. "Get next," murmured Penzance. "Get on the good side of him," Mount Dunstan murmured in reply. "So long, gentlemen, good-bye, and thank you again," called G. Selden as he wheeled off, and was carried soundlessly down the golden road. CHAPTER XXIV THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF STORNHAM The satin-skinned chestnut was one of the new horses now standing in the Stornham stables. There were several of them--a pair for the landau, saddle horses, smart young cobs for phaeton or dog cart, a pony for Ughtred--the animals necessary at such a place at Stornham. The stables themselves had been quickly put in order, grooms and stable boys kept them as they had not been kept for years. The men learned in a week's time that their work could not be done too well. There were new carriages as well as horses. They had come from London after Lady Anstruthers and her sister returned from town. The horses had been brought down by their grooms--immensely looked after, blanketed, hooded, and altogether cared for as if they were visiting dukes and duchesses. They were all fine, handsome, carefully chosen creatures. When they danced and sidled through the village on their way to the Court, they created a sensation. Whosoever had chosen them had known his business. The older vehicles had been repaired in the village by Tread, and did him credit. Fox had also done his work well. Plenty more of it had come into their work-shops. Tools to be used on the estate, garden implements, wheelbarrows, lawn rollers, things needed about the house, stables, and cottages, were to be attended to. The church roof was being repaired. Taking all these things and the "doing up" of the Court itself, there was more work than the village could manage, and carpenters, bricklayers, and decorators were necessarily brought from other places. Still Joe Buttle and Sim Soames were allowed to lead in all such things as lay within their capabilities. It was they who made such a splendid job of the entrance gates and the lodges. It was astonishing how much was done, and how the sense of life in the air--the work of resulting prosperity, made men begin to tread with less listless steps as they went to and from their labour. In the cottages things were being done which made downcast women bestir themselves and look less slatternly. Leaks mended here, windows there, the hopeless copper in the tiny washhouse replaced by a new one, chimneys cured of the habit of smoking, a clean, flowered paper put on a wall, a coat of whitewash--they were small matters, but produced great effect. Betty had begun to drop into the cottages, and make the acquaintance of their owners. Her first visits, she observed, created great consternation. Women looked frightened or sullen, children stared and refused to speak, clinging to skirts and aprons. She found the atmosphere clear after her second visit. The women began to talk, and the children collected in groups and listened with cheerful grins. She could pick up little Jane's kitten, or give a pat to small Thomas' mongrel dog, in a manner which threw down barriers. "Don't put out your pipe," she said to old Grandfather Doby, rising totteringly respectful from his chimney-side chair. "You have only just lighted it. You mustn't waste a whole pipeful of tobacco because I have come in." The old man, grown childish with age, tittered and shuffled and giggled. Such a joke as the grand young lady was having with him. She saw he had only just lighted his pipe. The gentry joked a bit sometimes. But he was afraid of his grandson's wife, who was frowning and shaking her head. Betty went to him, and put her hand on his arm. "Sit down," she said, "and I will sit by you." And she sat down and showed him that she had brought a package of tobacco with her, and actually a wonder of a red and yellow jar to hold it, at the sight of which unheard-of joys his rapture was so great that his trembling hands could scarcely clasp his treasures. "Tee-hee! Tee-hee-ee! Deary me! Thankee--thankee, my lady," he tittered, and he gazed and blinked at her beauty through heavenly tears. "Nearly a hundred years old, and he has lived on sixteen shillings a week all his life, and earned it by working every hour between sunrise and sunset," Betty said to her sister, when she went home. "A man has one life, and his has passed like that. It is done now, and all the years and work have left nothing in his old hands but his pipe. That's all. I should not like to put it out for him. Who am I that I can buy him a new one, and keep it filled for him until the end? How did it happen? No," suddenly, "I must not lose time in asking myself that. I must get the new pipe." She did it--a pipe of great magnificence--such as drew to the Doby cottage as many callers as the village could provide, each coming with fevered interest, to look at it--to be allowed to hold and examine it for a few moments, guessing at its probable enormous cost, and returning it reverently, to gaze at Doby with respect--the increase of which can be imagined when it was known that he was not only possessor of the pipe, but of an assurance that he would be supplied with as much tobacco as he could use, to the end of his days. From the time of the advent of the pipe, Grandfather Doby became a man of mark, and his life in the chimney corner a changed thing. A man who owns splendours and unlimited, excellent shag may like friends to drop in and crack jokes--and even smoke a pipe with him--a common pipe, which, however, is not amiss when excellent shag comes free. "He lives in a wild whirl of gaiety--a social vortex," said Betty to Lady Anstruthers, after one of her visits. "He is actually rejuvenated. I must order some new white smocks for him to receive his visitors in. Someone brought him an old copy of the Illustrated London News last night. We will send him illustrated papers every week." In the dull old brain, God knows what spark of life had been relighted. Young Mrs. Doby related with chuckles that granddad had begged that his chair might be dragged to the window, that he might sit and watch the village street. Sitting there, day after day, he smoked and looked at his pictures, and dozed and dreamed, his pipe and tobacco jar beside him on the window ledge. At any sound of wheels or footsteps his face lighted, and if, by chance, he caught a glimpse of Betty, he tottered to his feet, and stood hurriedly touching his bald forehead with a reverent, palsied hand. "'Tis 'urr," he would say, enrapt. "I seen 'urr--I did." And young Mrs. Doby knew that this was his joy, and what he waited for as one waits for the coming of the sun. "'Tis 'urr! 'Tis 'urr!" The vicar's wife, Mrs. Brent, who since the affair of John Wilson's fire had dropped into the background and felt it indiscreet to present tales of distress at the Court, began to recover her courage. Her perfunctory visits assumed a new character. The vicarage had, of course, called promptly upon Miss Vanderpoel, after her arrival. Mrs. Brent admired Miss Vanderpoel hugely. "You seem so unlike an American," she said once in her most tactful, ingratiating manner--which was very ingratiating indeed. "Do I? What is one like when one is like an American? I am one, you know." "I can scarcely believe it," with sweet ardour. "Pray try," said Betty with simple brevity, and Mrs. Brent felt that perhaps Miss Vanderpoel was not really very easy to get on with. "She meant to imply that I did not speak through my nose, and talk too much, and too vivaciously, in a shrill voice," Betty said afterwards, in talking the interview over with Rosy. "I like to convince myself that is not one's sole national characteristic. Also it was not exactly Mrs. Brent's place to kindly encourage me with the information that I do not seem to belong to my own country." Lady Anstruthers laughed, and Betty looked at her inquiringly. "You said that just like--just like an Englishwoman." "Did I?" said Betty. Mrs. Brent had come to talk to her because she did not wish to trouble dear Lady Anstruthers. Lady Anstruthers already looked much stronger, but she had been delicate so long that one hesitated to distress her with village matters. She did not add that she realised that she was coming to headquarters. The vicar and herself were much disturbed about a rather tiresome old woman--old Mrs. Welden--who lived in a tiny cottage in the village. She was eighty-three years old, and a respectable old person--a widow, who had reared ten children. The children had all grown up, and scattered, and old Mrs. Welden had nothing whatever to live on. No one knew how she lived, and really she would be better off in the workhouse. She could be sent to Brexley Union, and comfortably taken care of, but she had that singular, obstinate dislike to going, which it was so difficult to manage. She had asked for a shilling a week from the parish, but that could not be allowed her, as it would merely uphold her in her obstinate intention of remaining in her cottage, and taking care of herself--which she could not do. Betty gathered that the shilling a week would be a drain on the parish funds, and would so raise the old creature to affluence that she would feel she could defy fate. And the contumacity of old men and women should not be strengthened by the reckless bestowal of shillings. Knowing that Miss Vanderpoel had already gained influence among the village people, Mrs. Brent said, she had come to ask her if she would see old Mrs. Welden and argue with her in such a manner as would convince her that the workhouse was the best place for her. It was, of course, so much pleasanter if these old people could be induced to go to Brexley willingly. "Shall I be undermining the whole Political Economy of Stornham if I take care of her myself?" suggested Betty. "You--you will lead others to expect the same thing will be done for them." "When one has resources to draw on," Miss Vanderpoel commented, "in the case of a woman who has lived eighty-three years and brought up ten children until they were old and strong enough to leave her to take care of herself, it is difficult for the weak of mind to apply the laws of Political Economics. I will go and see old Mrs. Welden." If the Vanderpoels would provide for all the obstinate old men and women in the parish, the Political Economics of Stornham would proffer no marked objections. "A good many Americans," Mrs. Brent reflected, "seemed to have those odd, lavish ways," as witness Lady Anstruthers herself, on her first introduction to village life. Miss Vanderpoel was evidently a much stronger character, and extremely clever, and somehow the stream of the American fortune was at last being directed towards Stornham--which, of course, should have happened long ago. A good deal was "being done," and the whole situation looked more promising. So was the matter discussed and summed up, the same evening after dinner, at the vicarage. Betty found old Mrs. Welden's cottage. It was in a green lane, turning from the village street--which was almost a green lane itself. A tiny hedged-in front garden was before the cottage door. A crazy-looking wicket gate was in the hedge, and a fuschia bush and a few old roses were in the few yards of garden. There were actually two or three geraniums in the window, showing cheerful scarlet between the short, white dimity curtains. "A house this size and of this poverty in an American village," was Betty's thought, "would be a bare and straggling hideousness, with old tomato cans in the front yard. Here is one of the things we have to learn from them." When she knocked at the door an old woman opened it. She was a well-preserved and markedly respectable old person, in a decent print frock and a cap. At the sight of her visitor she beamed and made a suggestion of curtsey. "How do you do, Mrs. Welden?" said Betty. "I am Lady Anstruthers' sister, Miss Vanderpoel. I thought I would like to come and see you." "Thank you, miss, I am obliged for the kindness, miss. Won't you come in and have a chair?" There were no signs of decrepitude about her, and she had a cheery old eye. The tiny front room was neat, though there was scarcely space enough in it to contain the table covered with its blue-checked cotton cloth, the narrow sofa, and two or three chairs. There were a few small coloured prints, and a framed photograph or so on the walls, and on the table was a Bible, and a brown earthenware teapot, and a plate. "Tom Wood's wife, that's neighbour next door to me," she said, "gave me a pinch o' tea--an' I've just been 'avin it. Tom Woods, miss, 'as just been took on by Muster Kedgers as one of the new under gardeners at the Court." Betty found her delightful. She made no complaints, and was evidently pleased with the excitement of receiving a visitor. The truth was, that in common with every other old woman, she had secretly aspired to being visited some day by the amazing young lady from "Meriker." Betty had yet to learn of the heartburnings which may be occasioned by an unconscious favouritism. She was not aware that when she dropped in to talk to old Doby, his neighbour, old Megworth, peered from behind his curtains, with the dew of envy in his rheumy eyes. "S'ems," he mumbled, "as if they wasn't nobody now in Stornham village but Gaarge Doby--s'ems not." They were very fierce in their jealousy of attention, and one must beware of rousing evil passions in the octogenarian breast. The young lady from "Meriker" had not so far had time to make a call at any cottage in old Mrs. Welden's lane--and she had knocked just at old Mrs. Welden's door. This was enough to put in good spirits even a less cheery old person. At first Betty wondered how she could with delicacy ask personal questions. A few minutes' conversation, however, showed her that the personal affairs of Sir Nigel's tenants were also the affairs of not only himself, but of such of his relatives as attended to their natural duty. Her presence in the cottage, and her interest in Mrs. Welden's ready flow of simple talk, were desirable and proper compliments to the old woman herself. She was a decent and self-respecting old person, but in her mind there was no faintest glimmer of resentment of questions concerning rent and food and the needs of her simple, hard-driven existence. She had answered such questions on many occasions, when they had not been asked in the manner in which her ladyship's sister asked them. Mrs. Brent had scolded her and "poked about" her cottage, going into her tiny "wash 'us," and up into her infinitesimal bedroom under the slanting roof, to see that they were kept clean. Miss Vanderpoel showed no disposition to "poke." She sat and listened, and made an inquiry here and there, in a nice voice and with a smile in her eyes. There was some pleasure in relating the whole history of your eighty-three years to a young lady who listened as if she wanted to hear it. So old Mrs. Welden prattled on. About her good days, when she was young, and was kitchenmaid at the parsonage in a village twenty miles away; about her marriage with a young farm labourer; about his "steady" habits, and the comfort they had together, in spite of the yearly arrival of a new baby, and the crowding of the bit of a cottage his master allowed them. Ten of 'em, and it had been "up before sunrise, and a good bit of hard work to keep them all fed and clean." But she had not minded that until Jack died quite sudden after a sunstroke. It was odd how much colour her rustic phraseology held. She made Betty see it all. The apparent natural inevitableness of their being turned out of the cottage, because another man must have it; the years during which she worked her way while the ten were growing up, having measles, and chicken pox, and scarlet fever, one dying here and there, dropping out quite in the natural order of things, and being buried by the parish in corners of the ancient church yard. Three of them "was took" by scarlet fever, then one of a "decline," then one or two by other illnesses. Only four reached man and womanhood. One had gone to Australia, but he never was one to write, and after a year or two, Betty gathered, he had seemed to melt away into the great distance. Two girls had married, and Mrs. Welden could not say they had been "comf'able." They could barely feed themselves and their swarms of children. The other son had never been steady like his father. He had at last gone to London, and London had swallowed him up. Betty was struck by the fact that she did not seem to feel that the mother of ten might have expected some return for her labours, at eighty-three. Her unresentful acceptance of things was at once significant and moving. Betty found her amazing. What she lived on it was not easy to understand. She seemed rather like a cheerful old bird, getting up each unprovided-for morning, and picking up her sustenance where she found it. "There's more in the sayin' 'the Lord pervides' than a good many thinks," she said with a small chuckle, marked more by a genial and comfortable sense of humour than by an air of meritoriously quoting the vicar. "He DO." She paid one and threepence a week in rent for her cottage, and this was the most serious drain upon her resources. She apparently could live without food or fire, but the rent must be paid. "An' I do get a bit be'ind sometimes," she confessed apologetically, "an' then it's a trouble to get straight." Her cottage was one of a short row, and she did odd jobs for the women who were her neighbours. There were always babies to be looked after, and "bits of 'elp" needed, sometimes there were "movings" from one cottage to another, and "confinements" were plainly at once exhilarating and enriching. Her temperamental good cheer, combined with her experience, made her a desirable companion and assistant. She was engagingly frank. "When they're new to it, an' a bit frightened, I just give 'em a cup of 'ot tea, an' joke with 'em to cheer 'em up," she said. "I says to Charles Jenkins' wife, as lives next door, 'come now, me girl, it's been goin' on since Adam an' Eve, an' there's a good many of us left, isn't there?' An' a fine boy it was, too, miss, an' 'er up an' about before 'er month." She was paid in sixpences and spare shillings, and in cups of tea, or a fresh-baked loaf, or screws of sugar, or even in a garment not yet worn beyond repair. And she was free to run in and out, and grow a flower or so in her garden, and talk with a neighbour over the low dividing hedge. "They want me to go into the 'Ouse,'" reaching the dangerous subject at last. "They say I'll be took care of an' looked after. But I don't want to do it, miss. I want to keep my bit of a 'ome if I can, an' be free to come an' go. I'm eighty-three, an' it won't be long. I 'ad a shilling a week from the parish, but they stopped it because they said I ought to go into the 'Ouse.'" She looked at Betty with a momentarily anxious smile. "P'raps you don't quite understand, miss," she said. "It'll seem like nothin' to you--a place like this." "It doesn't," Betty answered, smiling bravely back into the old eyes, though she felt a slight fulness of the throat. "I understand all about it." It is possible that old Mrs. Welden was a little taken aback by an attitude which, satisfactory to her own prejudices though it might be, was, taken in connection with fixed customs, a trifle unnatural. "You don't mind me not wantin' to go?" she said. "No," was the answer, "not at all." Betty began to ask questions. How much tea, sugar, soap, candles, bread, butter, bacon, could Mrs. Welden use in a week? It was not very easy to find out the exact quantities, as Mrs. Welden's estimates of such things had been based, during her entire existence, upon calculation as to how little, not how much she could use. When Betty suggested a pound of tea, a half pound--the old woman smiled at the innocent ignorance the suggestion of such reckless profusion implied. "Oh, no! Bless you, miss, no! I couldn't never do away with it. A quarter, miss--that'd be plenty--a quarter." Mrs. Welden's idea of "the best," was that at two shillings a pound. Quarter of a pound would cost sixpence (twelve cents, thought Betty). A pound of sugar would be twopence, Mrs. Welden would use half a pound (the riotous extravagance of two cents). Half a pound of butter, "Good tub butter, miss," would be ten pence three farthings a pound. Soap, candles, bacon, bread, coal, wood, in the quantities required by Mrs. Welden, might, with the addition of rent, amount to the dizzying height of eight or ten shillings. "With careful extravagance," Betty mentally summed up, "I might spend almost two dollars a week in surrounding her with a riot of luxury." She made a list of the things, and added some extras as an idea of her own. Life had not afforded her this kind of thing before, she realised. She felt for the first time the joy of reckless extravagance, and thrilled with the excitement of it. "You need not think of Brexley Union any more," she said, when she, having risen to go, stood at the cottage door with old Mrs. Welden. "The things I have written down here shall be sent to you every Saturday night. I will pay your rent." "Miss--miss!" Mrs. Welden looked affrighted. "It's too much, miss. An' coals eighteen pence a hundred!" "Never mind," said her ladyship's sister, and the old woman, looking up into her eyes, found there the colour Mount Dunstan had thought of as being that of bluebells under water. "I think we can manage it, Mrs. Welden. Keep yourself as warm as you like, and sometime I will come and have a cup of tea with you and see if the tea is good." "Oh! Deary me!" said Mrs. Welden. "I can't think what to say, miss. It lifts everythin'--everythin'. It's not to be believed. It's like bein' left a fortune." When the wicket gate swung to and the young lady went up the lane, the old woman stood staring after her. And here was a piece of news to run into Charley Jenkins' cottage and tell--and what woman or man in the row would quite believe it? CHAPTER XXV "WE BEGAN TO MARRY THEM, MY GOOD FELLOW!" Lord Dunholm and his eldest son, Lord Westholt, sauntered together smoking their after-dinner cigars on the broad-turfed terrace overlooking park and gardens which seemed to sweep without boundary line into the purplish land beyond. The grey mass of the castle stood clear-cut against the blue of a sky whose twilight was still almost daylight, though in the purity of its evening stillness a star already hung, here and there, and a young moon swung low. The great spaces about them held a silence whose exquisite entirety was marked at intervals by the distant bark of a shepherd dog driving his master's sheep to the fold, their soft, intermittent plaints--the mother ewes' mellow answering to the tender, fretful lambs--floated on the air, a lovely part of the ending day's repose. Where two who are friends stroll together at such hours, the great beauty makes for silence or for thoughtful talk. These two men--father and son--were friends and intimates, and had been so from Westholt's first memory of the time when his childish individuality began to detach itself from the background of misty and indistinct things. They had liked each other, and their liking and intimacy had increased with the onward moving and change of years. After sixty sane and decently spent active years of life, Lord Dunholm, in either country tweed or evening dress, was a well-built and handsome man; at thirty-three his son was still like him. "Have you seen her?" he was saying. "Only at a distance. She was driving Lady Anstruthers across the marshes in a cart. She drove well and----" he laughed as he flicked the ash from his cigar--"the back of her head and shoulders looked handsome." "The American young woman is at present a factor which is without doubt to be counted with," Lord Dunholm put the matter without lightness. "Any young woman is a factor, but the American young woman just now--just now----" He paused a moment as though considering. "It did not seem at all necessary to count with them at first, when they began to appear among us. They were generally curiously exotic, funny little creatures with odd manners and voices. They were often most amusing, and one liked to hear them chatter and see the airy lightness with which they took superfluous, and sometimes unsuperfluous, conventions, as a hunter takes a five-barred gate. But it never occurred to us to marry them. We did not take them seriously enough. But we began to marry them--we began to marry them, my good fellow!" The final words broke forth with such a suggestion of sudden anxiety that, in spite of himself, Westholt laughed involuntarily, and his father, turning to look at him, laughed also. But he recovered his seriousness. "It was all rather a muddle at first," he went on. "Things were not fairly done, and certain bad lots looked on it as a paying scheme on the one side, while it was a matter of silly, little ambitions on the other. But that it is an extraordinary country there is no sane denying--huge, fabulously resourceful in every way--area, variety of climate, wealth of minerals, products of all sorts, soil to grow anything, and sun and rain enough to give each thing what it needs; last, or rather first, a people who, considered as a nation, are in the riot of youth, and who began by being English--which we Englishmen have an innocent belief is the one method of 'owning the earth.' That figure of speech is an Americanism I carefully committed to memory. Well, after all, look at the map--look at the map! There we are." They had frequently discussed together the question of the development of international relations. Lord Dunholm, a man of far-reaching and clear logic, had realised that the oddly unaccentuated growth of intercourse between the two countries might be a subject to be reflected on without lightness. "The habit we have of regarding America and Americans as rather a joke," he had once said, "has a sort of parallel in the condescendingly amiable amusement of a parent at the precocity or whimsicalness of a child. But the child is shooting up amazingly--amazingly. In a way which suggests divers possibilities." The exchange of visits between Dunholm and Stornham had been rare and formal. From the call made upon the younger Lady Anstruthers on her marriage, the Dunholms had returned with a sense of puzzled pity for the little American bride, with her wonderful frock and her uneasy, childish eyes. For some years Lady Anstruthers had been too delicate to make or return calls. One heard painful accounts of her apparent wretched ill-health and of the condition of her husband's estate. "As the relations between the two families have evidently been strained for years," Lord Dunholm said, "it is interesting to hear of the sudden advent of the sister. It seems to point to reconciliation. And you say the girl is an unusual person. "From what one hears, she would be unusual if she were an English girl who had spent her life on an English estate. That an American who is making her first visit to England should seem to see at once the practical needs of a neglected place is a thing to wonder at. What can she know about it, one

fil

How many times the word 'fil' appears in the text?

Antz Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS "Antz", unknown draft A N T Z CHARACTERS VOICES "Z"...............................................WOODY ALLEN "WASP #1".........................................DAN AYKROYD "WASP #2".........................................JANE CURTIN "GEN. FORMICA"...................................DANNY GLOVER "MANDIBLE".......................................GENE HACKMAN "AZTECA".......................................JENNIFER LOPEZ "DRUNK SCOUT"....................................JOHN MAHONEY "WEAVER"...................................SYLVESTER STALLONE "PRINCESS BALA"..................................SHARON STONE "QUEEN"..........................................MERYL STREEP "CARPENTER"................................CHRISTOPHER WALKEN Z (O.S.) (over a dark screen) All my life, I've lived and worked in the big city... We see: EXT. AN ANT MOUND - DAY The camera swoops towards the entrance, then dives inside, past a couple of tough-looking soldier ants who stand at the gates of the ant colony like insect bouncers...into an access tunnel that snakes this way and that, past a row of ants plodding along... ...and into the MAIN CHAMBER of the colony, a huge, teeming vista that seems to stretch away forever, filled with ants rushing here and there on their business. We see -- a "traffic cop" directing foot traffic, waving his arms like crazy so both sides move at once -- a column of soldier ants marching along in formation -- a chain of ants letting down a matchbox elevator filled with workers. Z (V.O.) ...which is kind of a problem, since I've always felt uncomfortably in crowds. INT. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR'S OFFICE - DAY We join Z, a worker ant with issues. He's lying on a couch, recounting his woes. Z I feel...isolated. Different. I've got abandonment issues. My father flew away when I was just a larva. My mother didn't have much time for me...when you have five million siblings, it's difficult to get attention. (pause) I feel physically inadequate -- I've never been able to lift more than ten times my own weight. Sometimes I think I'm just not cut out to be a worker. But I don't have any other options. I was assigned to trade school when I was just a grub. The whole system just...makes me feel...insignificant. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (enthusiastic) Terrific! You should feel insignificant! For the first time, we see the ant MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR. He's a mixture of Tony Robbins and Ron Popiel (the hyperactive late-night TV huckster, and founder of "Ronco"). Z ...I should? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (hopping around enthusiastically) YES!!! You know, people ask me, "Doctor, why are you always happy?" And I tell them it's mind over matter. I don't mind that I don't matter! Do you get it? Do you get it? Z gives a fake smile. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (incredibly "up") Z, we're part of the fastest growing species in the whole world! The counsellor rolls down a chart from the wall. An arrow shows ant population going up, up, up. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Ask me why we're so successful. Z Why are we so successful? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR I'm glad you asked me that question! The motivational counsellor opens some blinds...and we see a vista of the ant-filled chamber below. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR What do you see out there? Z ...Ants... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Right! Ants! Millions of creatures, each with his assigned task, all pulling together! Down below, we see a group of ants carrying a boulder up an incline. One worker ants slips, and the boulder rolls down, crushing his leg. The other ants rush over -- it looks like they're going to help their fallen comrade, but instead, they climb right over him, and pick up the boulder, continuing with their task. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR You see? Being an ant is being able to say, "Hey -- I'm meaningless, you're meaningless." Z But -- but I've always felt life was about finding meaning...and then sharing it with someone special, someone you love. The motivational counsellor puts his arm on Z's shoulder...he seems to understand... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Z...you need help. (looking at a clock) Whoops! We're gonna have to stop there. Your minute is up! The counsellor ushers Z out of his seat and towards the door. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Now back to work! We've made real progress! Remember -- let's be best superorganism we can be! INT. EARLY MEGA-TUNNEL - DAY A gigantic tunnel, with the size and scale of the "Chunnel". A banner strung overhead reads: "The Mega-Tunnel -- Tunneling Our Way to a Bright Future!" Along the walls hang 50's work- incentive style posters with messages like, "You asked for it, you got it -- more work!" and "TWO MEALS A WEEK IS ENOUGH!!!" Line after line of ants is working on the tunnel, digging, passing clumps of dirt from ant to ant, everyone synchronized. CLOSE on a clump of DIRT being passed from hand to hand. PULL OUT TO REVEAL AZTECA, a feisty, cynical, female worker ant, who stands there, waiting to pass the dirt on. Z is daydreaming behind her, with clumps of dirt starting to pile up in front of him. AZTECA Hello?! Earth to Z! You better snap out of it, or there's gonna be a lot of pissed off ants! Z looks back, and sees the ants behind staring at him angrily. Z (snapping out of it) Sorry Azteca. Here you go, fellas! Fresh dirt! Alley oop! (looking at the dirt) Shouldn't we be wearing gloves? I mean this dirt is very...dirty. Doesn't anyone think of hygiene? (Z's stomach growls) Boy am I hungry. I'm so hungry I'm seeing double. It looks like there's two million ants in here. When's lunch? Tomorrow, or the day after? AZTECA (sweetly) Z, old pal... (shouts) SHUT UP!!! It's bad enough there's a food shortage without you complaining about it every day. Z The squeaky wheel gets the oil. AZTECA No, Z. The squeaky wheel gets thrown away, alright? You're a good ant, Z, even though you are a pain in my rear- segment. I don't wanna see anything happen to you. So quit mouthing off, before you get in trouble. A WHISTLE BLOWS. Z Thank goodness. Breaktime. All the ants put down their tools. A beat. Then the WHISTLE BLOWS AGAIN. All the ants pick up their tools again. AZTECA (resigned) Break's over. Z (getting back to work) This colony needs another tunnel like a hole in the ground. Why are we even digging this thing? AZTECA Who cares, Z. All I know is, we gotta dig. We're not the ones in charge. INT. TOWN CENTER - DAY The huge, spacious main chamber of the colony. Looming over the scene is the royal palace, which seems to be inaccessible, perched on top of a hill-like pedestal. Around the base of the pedestal, a crew of workers loiters, seemingly aimlessly...can these be the only unemployed ants in the place? GENERAL FORMICA STAIRS! The workers look up and GROAN. Then they start forming a stairway with their own bodies, linking arms, stepping on each other's shoulders. It's extremely unpleasant work. One ant is a little tardy, and just manages to get in place before... GENERAL FORMICA, the Pattonesque military leader of the colony, STEPS ON HIS HEAD, using it as the first step as he ascends to the palace, his aide-de-camp Carpenter in tow. As Formica mounts the "stairs" we can hear the workers going, "OUCH! OOF! YIKES!" etc. GENERAL FORMICA Cut the chit-chat down there! (turning to Carpenter) We've spoiled these workers, Carpenter. They've never had it so good, and listen to them -- always grumbling and complaining... Formica steps on the foot of one of the "stairway" ants, who muffles a yelp. CARPENTER ...Yes, sir. GENERAL FORMICA What have they got to complain about? Three square meals a day... CARPENTER Actually, sir, we've cut them down to three roughly rectangular meals a week. FORMICA Don't give me statistics, Carpenter. I know what I'm talking about. DOORS! Formica and Carpenter have reached the top of the staircase. There, the two guard ants on either side of the massive throne room doors pull them open -- and one door hinge SQUEAKS. FORMICA (to guard ant, while passing) Oil that, soldier. INT. THRONE ROOM - DAY The QUEEN is on her throne, her huge abdomen sprawled behind her. QUEEN Ah! General Formica. Formica salutes and marches to her, Carpenter behind him. Note: Throughout this scene, the Queen is giving birth repeatedly. Each birth is accompanied by a herald playing a short "Happy Birthday" fanfare on his trumpet. Mid-wife ants bring each baby to the Queen for inspection, who COOS a few words. The midwives put the babies on a moving bassinet- line, powered by ants on a treadmill. QUEEN General, the severe food shortage that faces the colony...pains me. The thought of any of my children going hungry... (she shudders; then, to baby) Who's the cutest widdle worker? You are! Yes, you! Don't forget to brush your teeth! (to mid-wife) Ship 'er out. (back to Formica) What steps are you taking to remedy the situation? FORMICA We are launching a major offensive to expand our foraging territory... QUEEN Yes, what else? FORMICA Please don't worry, your majesty. Leave the worrying to me. As you know, I'm not an ant of half- measures. I don't pussyfoot around. This crisis is my number one priority, and I promise you it's being dealt with swiftly, and decisively. The Queen's attention is interrupted by another baby being put in her arms. QUEEN (to baby) No snacking between meals! Off you go! (to Formica) Now -- what were we saying? FORMICA (Oliver North-style) I do not recollect, your majesty. Will that be all? QUEEN Yes, General Formica. Carry on, my good man! I don't know what we would do without you. Formica clicks his heels and bows his head. Carpenter bows low. Formica smartly about faces -- BALA (O.S.) General Formica! PRINCESS BALA hurries through a second doorway, carrying a swatch book. Something about her sets her apart from the HANDMAIDEN ANTS with her. Her tiara, probably. Formica tilts his head quizzically to Carpenter behind him. CARPENTER (sotto) Princess Bala, sir. Your fiancee. FORMICA Princess! You look -- outstanding. Is there anything I can do for you? BALA Well -- I thought -- since we're getting married...it might be nice if we...got to know one another. Formica looks confused. QUEEN Bala has always been a hopeless romantic, General. BALA It's just that -- well, I'm honored that you selected me, and everything, I just thought the marriage might go a little more smoothly if -- we had a conversation? FORMICA (uncomfortable) Conversation...yes...well... (to Carpenter) Wasn't she briefed? QUEEN (holding up a baby) Look, General! A darling baby soldier! (emotionally, to baby) Don't try to be a hero! Just make sure you come back in one piece! (handing it off) Next! FORMICA (using the interruption) I'll take your suggestion under advisement, Princess. In the meanwhile -- Formica turns to go. BALA General -- we have to talk sometime! FORMICA Very well. Carpenter, is there a convenient time to talk vis-a-vis: relationship? CARPENTER Actually, sir, we're ahead of schedule. We have thirty-six seconds available right now. FORMICA Outstanding. Princess...? Bala's a little fazed...but grabs her chance. BALA So, um...how was your day? What did you do? FORMICA (scouring his mind) Well... (that's it!) I declared war! BALA (sadly) Oh...and I was afraid we had nothing in common... CARPENTER (under his breath) Fourteen-fifty hours, sir. FORMICA Duty calls! He strides across the floor. Bala watches him go, her antennae drooping unhappily. FORMICA No squeak. Outstanding! We see through the now-open doors into the throne-room as Formica and Carpenter double-time out of the frame. The Queen sees that Bala is unhappy. QUEEN (sympathetically) I felt the same way before I got married. Confused. Scared. BALA (hopefully) You did? QUEEN Yes -- but I did my duty and sorted out all those messy feelings. The wonderful thing about ant life is that everything is arranged. Even marriage. You're lucky -- General Formica is a paragon of anthood. BALA (unconvinced) Yes...he's wonderful... The doors swing shut on them -- revealing the two guard ants who were CRUSHED in the wake of Formica's exit. INT. BALA'S QUARTERS - DAY Bala enters, followed by her handmaidens, who are in a state of giggling infatuation over Formica. Bala is scowling as she leafs through a wedding catalogue. HANDMAIDEN #1 (swooning over General Formica) The General's body segments are so...symmetrical. HANDMAIDEN #2 (giggling) I'd let him order me into battle anyday. Bala hurls the swatch book against the wall. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess? What's wrong? BALA Wrong? How could anything be wrong? I'm going to marry General Formica and be a queen and have millions of babies, just like my mom. (concerned) Do I look fat to you? HANDMAIDEN #2 (knowingly, to Handmaiden #2) Pre-wedding jitters. HANDMAIDEN #1 You just need to blow off some steam. Let's go to the bar at the Royal Club! BALA The Club's so stuffy. I want to try someplace different. HANDMAIDEN #2 There isn't anyplace else -- (making a joke) Except the worker bar. BALA The worker bar! Yes! That's where I want to go! The handmaidens look shocked. HANDMAIDEN #1 But -- we can't -- there'll be workers there. INT. ANT BAR - NIGHT A long bar filled with ants. The bar itself seems to stretch for miles, and there are hundreds of ants trying to get a drink...unfortunately, there's only one bartender. Z is at the bar with WEAVER, a burly ant soldier. Z We declared war again? (off Weaver's nod) Are you scared? WEAVER (shrugs) I'll be back. The BARTENDER, a grizzled veteran, slaps down what looks like a couple of large green beer mugs. Actually, they're aphids, little green critters he fills up from a number of kegs hanging from the ceiling. The kegs are specialized ants with hugely distended stomachs, which spray liquid into the aphids. APHIDS (as they're slapped on bar) Ouch! Ouch! BARTENDER Two aphid beers. Z (as Bartender leaves) Did you see that? How he gave you the beers, not me? I'm telling you, he's got something against workers. WEAVER I don't know what you're talking about, Z. Z Come on -- everybody dumps on us workers. You soldiers get all the glory. Plus you get to go out into the world, meet interesting insects, and kill them. WEAVER Yeah, but you get to spend all day with those fabulous worker babes. We can see that Weaver is eyeing a nearby table of "Worker Babes", including Z's friend Azteca. Z Weaver, they're career girls. They're obsessed with digging. (sighs) No, I'll probably never meet the girl for me. WEAVER Who said there was a girl for you? I was talking about a girl for me. (quaffing his aphid beer) Don't you want your aphid beer? Z I can't help it. I have a thing about drinking from the anus of another creature. Call me crazy. WEAVER Z, we've known each other a long time, right? Z Of course. You were born two seconds after me. WEAVER And all the time I've known you, you've been grumping and groaning. You should quit making waves. Go with the flow. Z Weaver, I'm an insect, not a liquid. Down the bar, there's a commotion. A grizzled old SCOUT ant has had too much to drink. DRUNK SCOUT Have you been to Insectopia? Have you? No, ya goddam larvas! But I have... (becoming emotional) ...Mosquitos n' caterpillars n' beetles -- all livin' in peace, stuffin their guts with food...No rules, no regulations...you can be your own ant there... (howling drunkenly) It's Insectopia! Insectopia! Z Hey, Weaver, listen! DRUNK SCOUT I was cut off from my unit -- found it by mistake -- (slurring) It changed my life! (spraying another soldier with saliva) You see -- ya follow the great yellow egg, and you come to the land of red and white -- SOLDIERS You've had enough for one night! Come on, Gramps, before you get in trouble. The soldiers pull him from the bar, carrying him out. Z (excited) Hey, did you hear what he said?! WEAVER Poor guy's had one too many scouting missions. MUSIC STARTS UP. INT. ANT BAR ENTRANCE - NIGHT Princess Bala is peering in at the entrance to the ant bar, accompanied by her worried-looking handmaidens. HANDMAIDEN #2 We shouldn't be doing this -- it isn't proper! BALA I'm the Princess, aren't I? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course -- BALA And do Princesses do improper things? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course not -- BALA Then if I go to the worker bar, it isn't improper. Anyway, don't worry. No one will recognize us in our disguises. She adjusts her "disguise", a hardhat, tied down Jackie O.- style with an ant's version of a Chanel scarf. BALA I'm just a common worker, cooling off after a rough day! Music starts. An ant BARKER takes the mic at one end of the dance floor. BARKER (on loudspeaker) Okay, folks. It's six-fifteen, and that means it's time to dance. Every ant gets up to dance. Weaver turns to Z. WEAVER (draining his beer) Time to cut a rug, Z! Z I'm not in the mood. (disgusted) Even when they're off work, they follow orders. WEAVER Well, you just sit here and be a party-pooper. Weaver joins the rest of the ants who are lining up for the dance. The Barker calls out the steps in a bored monotone -- all the ants already know the steps. Everyone dances in perfect synch. BARKER (southern twang) And a left-right-quarterstep-back step-halfstep -- a left-right- quarterstep-backstep-halfstep -- a left-right-quarterstep-backstep halfstep -- AT THE ENTRANCE, Bala smiles mischievously at her handmaidens. BALA I'm going to ask one of these mindless, primitive worker-types to dance with me! HANDMAIDEN #1 But General Formica would be furious! BALA (enjoying the idea) I know. The handmaidens are appalled. Bala whirls away from them, sets her sights and searches the crowd -- zeroing in on -- Z, who's watching the other ants dance. Z What a bunch of losers. Mindless zombies capitulating to an oppressive system -- BALA Wanna dance? Bala's standing right there. Z is instantly smitten. Z Me?! Yes!!! I mean -- (regaining suavosity) Just let me finish my beer. Not breaking eye contact with Bala, Z smiles suavely. Reaches suavely for a beer. Suavely grabs the candle in a glass jar off the bar. Suavely singes his face. He plays it off with a rakish little laugh. A bit apprehensive, Bala heads onto the floor. Z follows her. Z So uh -- how come I haven't seen you around here before? BALA (covering up) I work in the palace, I don't get out much. Z The palace, hunh? I bet those royals really live it up. Of course they're all a little, you know, from inbreeding -- BALA (shocked) What? Z and Bala step onto the dance floor with the rest of the ants, but Z can't do any of the steps. Z Now, let's see, I -- it's been a while since I -- I think you -- Bala watches Z, trying to follow along. It's the blind leading the blind, as Z tries in vain to follow the barker's rapid instructions. Z Here, I'll lead. Z starts doing his own, individual dance. With a suave expression on his face, he leads Bala in a helter-skelter mixture-of Tango, Charleston, and hand-jive. BALA Are you sure this is a real dance? Z Well, actually, uh -- I'm sort of making it up -- BALA (surprised) Really? Z Why should everyone dance the same way? It's as exciting as watching fungus grow. BALA You're right! Z (surprised) You -- you think I'm right? BALA Why can't I just do whatever I want to do? Why can't I just go wild?! Yahoo! Bala starts to get into it, making up her own steps in reply to Z's, loosening up, having fun. For a moment, the two of them are actually sexy together. Then they get a little too wild -- and the other ants, who are still doing their intricate dance, start to collide with Bala and Z. Z almost knocks over a big soldier ant. We can only see the ant's back at the moment. SOLDIER Hey! Watch your step, worker. Z has turned around to see the soldier ant, MAJOR MANDIBLE, glaring at him. Mandible is about twice Z's size. He's got one eye missing, and half of his left antenna his been chewed off. BALA You watch yours, soldier, or my worker friend will beat you up! Z (terrified) Oh, that's okay, I'll let him off this time. (whispering to Bala) Are you crazy? This guy's built like a pebble! (ineptly trying to placate the soldier) You know they do great prosthetic antennas nowadays -- BALA Aren't you gonna stand up for yourself? Z's caught between a rock and a hard place. He doesn't want to get beaten up, but on the other hand, he doesn't want to lose face in front of Bala. More soldiers have gathered around, looking hostile. SOLDIER How come you don't dance like the rest of us? Z glances over at Bala. Then, shaking with nervousness, he says defiantly... Z Because -- because I'm an individual! SOLDIER #2 An individual? Never heard of it. MANDIBLE You look like a worker to me. WEAVER Hey, lay off my little buddy! Z, meanwhile, looks far away, ecstatic, as if he's just realized something very important. Unfortunately, just at this moment, A soldier pushes Weaver...Weaver pushes him back...somebody makes a dive for Z -- and before you know it, there's a regular bar brawl going on, with Weaver in the middle of it, cracking heads together, punching ants in the face, having a great time. Just then, the Princess' handmaidens hurries over. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess Bala! Princess Bala! Z, who's scrabbling around on the floor, overhears. Z Princess? You're a Princess? HANDMAIDEN #2 The police are coming! BALA Uh oh. (to Z) Goodbye! Gotta run! Z Wait! When can I see you again? BALA Let me think. Hmmnn... (thinks) Never. Bye! Bala rushes off with her handmaiden, just before a squad of whistle-blowing POLICE wade into the crowd. Z Wait! Princess! Wait! But she's already gone, leaving Z holding her scarf. CUT TO: INT. DORMITORY - THE NEXT DAY Z is talking to Weaver, who's getting ready to go off to war. Nearby, columns of ant soldiers march by. WEAVER Get real, Z! She just dropped the scarf by accident! Z Are you kidding? There were sparks between us! This scarf is a sign! WEAVER It's a sign that you're crazy! Do you know what the penalty for impersonating a soldier is? Z What's gonna go wrong?! I take your place for the royal inspection. Bala comes strolling down the line, she sees me -- bingo! Love is rekindled, and she takes me up to the palace for a little... (wags his eyebrows suggestively) tea and crumpets... and you take your place again, and go march around to your heart's content! Weaver looks unconvinced. Z You have to help me. Please, Weaver. Think of all the things I've done for you! WEAVER (thinks) I can't think of any. Z (pause) Well I'm gonna start doing things for you... WEAVER Will you introduce me to some worker girls? Z You bet! They'll really go for a sensitive guy like you! WEAVER Maybe I'll get lucky. (Weaver thinks about it) You know, Z, I wouldn't do this for anyone but you... Weaver hands Z has helmet. WEAVER Wear this. Z (overjoyed) You're a real buddy. WEAVER (sourly) Yeah, I know. Z What do I do? WEAVER Don't tell anyone you're a worker. Follow that column over there. And come right back after the inspection! Weaver points to a bunch of soldiers hurrying by in formation. Z (overjoyed) Thanks! I owe you! Z skips off and joins the column, marching in time with the soldiers but too excited to keep from jazzing it up a little. INT. TOWN CENTER - NIGHT The ant army has gathered in a huge HALL in front of a reviewing stand. We can hear the murmuring of thousands of soldiers -- but all we can see is a HUGE POSTER of an ant General pointing right at the camera. The poster reads, "GENERAL FORMICA WANTS YOU -- to obey". Z turns to some of the soldiers near him. Z Any of you guys know when the Princess will show up? She's kind of a personal friend. The soldiers look at Z like he's nuts. LOUD VOICE ATTEN-SHUN! MARTIAL MUSIC sounds, and we hear thousands of ant feet as they snap to attention. Z imitates the soldiers awkwardly. GENERAL FORMICA struts to the middle 6f the screen, slapping his thigh with a swagger stick (the antenna of some unfortunate insect) FORMICA First of all, let me make one thing clear. Nobody ever won a battle by thinking for himself. All this "thinking" stuff is a load of crap. If the almighty had wanted you boys to think, he wouldn't have given you huge mandibles and a brain so small you'd misplace it if it wasn't trapped inside your head. In the audience, Z starts laughing -- he thinks Formica's just made a joke. Z (slapping his thigh) "Trapped inside your head" -- that's a good one -- Z notices nobody else is laughing. He stops. Z Geez -- tough room. From the stage, Formica is squinting at the audience, trying to make out who was laughing, but there are just too many ants. He continues. FORMICA (striding back and forth) We ants survive as a species because we do what we're told. We survive because we work together, as one, we get the job done, we do whatever it takes to persevere! (dramatic pause) Hell, we're not an army of ants...we're one giant ant, with giant fists, and giant jaws! The soldiers CHEER! Z CHEERS along with the rest of them. Z (to the soldier ant next to him) Lays it on a little thick, doesn't he? If you ask me, he's one giant bore. FORMICA Now I've heard a lot of scuttlebutt about a food shortage. Well you boys are gonna be taken care of. But in the meantime we're gonna eat the enemy for breakfast, we are gonna eat the enemy for lunch, and we are gonna eat the enemy for dinner! Z Geez, and I forgot my toothbrush. FORMICA (reflective moment) Dammit, I'm proud to be an ant. (he looks out at his army) And I know each and every one of you boys will do your duty. Dismissed. Z applauds and whistles as the other ants look at him in confusion. Z (clapping) Bravo! Bring on the Princess! COLONEL Stow the gab there, soldier! Let's move 'em out! The soldiers turn to the right and start to march out past the reviewing stand. A COLONEL marches at the head of Z's column as Z looks around for the Princess. COLONEL Eyes...left! Finally, as Z's part of the army marches past the end of the reviewing stand, he sees her, looking bored, standing next to the Queen, who is giving the royal wave. Z (waving) Princess! Princess Bala! Hey! It's me! Z! I've got your scarf! ON THE REVIEWING STAND, Bala sees Z -- that is to say, she sees one of the thousands upon thousands of ants marching by... BALA (peering out) Who is that idiot? QUEEN Darling, you must encourage the troops -- wave! Bala waves unenthusiastically, little more than flopping her hand back and forth on her wrist. Down below, Z takes this as a sign that Bala has seen him. Z (excited) Excuse me, guys -- That's my date. Well, it's been fun. Have a great war! Z tries to squeeze his way back towards the royals, but he's surrounded by a solid wall of soldiers -- and they're carrying him along with them. Z Hey! Wait! Z loses sight of the Princess as he's carried away. BARBATUS, a hard-as-nails "grunt" soldier ant, taps Z on the shoulder. BARBATUS You new, kid? Z I just joined up. But I'm quitting! I got a trial membership! BARBATUS Trial membership? Kid, when you join this ant's army, you're in for the full hitch. At that moment, Z is swept out of the cramped corridor they've been marching along, as the army emerges into the OPEN AIR outside of the colony. EXT. ANT MOUND - NIGHT It's a starry, moonlit night. The shadows crowd around the panicked Z, who looks up at the sky as we see the army on the march... Z Wait a minute, there's been a mistake! I've got to get back to the colony! Z starts to fall out of line, but Barbatus, looking concerned, stops him. BARBATUS Are you crazy, kid? They shoot deserters! Z swallows hard. BARBATUS You just stick by old Barbatus. He'll watch out for you. (off Z's look) Whatsamatter, kid? Leave a girl behind? Z Yeah. Well -- no. She's kind of playing hard to get. As a matter of fact, she's playing completely unattainable. (nervously) So, what's on the schedule? A brisk walk? a foraging expedition? BARBATUS No -- we're going to attack the termites! Z (alarmed) Attack? But -- I hate attacking! It's so hostile! Around Z and Barbatus, the ants start up a marching song, which we intersperse with dialogue between

dix

How many times the word 'dix' appears in the text?

Antz Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS "Antz", unknown draft A N T Z CHARACTERS VOICES "Z"...............................................WOODY ALLEN "WASP #1".........................................DAN AYKROYD "WASP #2".........................................JANE CURTIN "GEN. FORMICA"...................................DANNY GLOVER "MANDIBLE".......................................GENE HACKMAN "AZTECA".......................................JENNIFER LOPEZ "DRUNK SCOUT"....................................JOHN MAHONEY "WEAVER"...................................SYLVESTER STALLONE "PRINCESS BALA"..................................SHARON STONE "QUEEN"..........................................MERYL STREEP "CARPENTER"................................CHRISTOPHER WALKEN Z (O.S.) (over a dark screen) All my life, I've lived and worked in the big city... We see: EXT. AN ANT MOUND - DAY The camera swoops towards the entrance, then dives inside, past a couple of tough-looking soldier ants who stand at the gates of the ant colony like insect bouncers...into an access tunnel that snakes this way and that, past a row of ants plodding along... ...and into the MAIN CHAMBER of the colony, a huge, teeming vista that seems to stretch away forever, filled with ants rushing here and there on their business. We see -- a "traffic cop" directing foot traffic, waving his arms like crazy so both sides move at once -- a column of soldier ants marching along in formation -- a chain of ants letting down a matchbox elevator filled with workers. Z (V.O.) ...which is kind of a problem, since I've always felt uncomfortably in crowds. INT. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR'S OFFICE - DAY We join Z, a worker ant with issues. He's lying on a couch, recounting his woes. Z I feel...isolated. Different. I've got abandonment issues. My father flew away when I was just a larva. My mother didn't have much time for me...when you have five million siblings, it's difficult to get attention. (pause) I feel physically inadequate -- I've never been able to lift more than ten times my own weight. Sometimes I think I'm just not cut out to be a worker. But I don't have any other options. I was assigned to trade school when I was just a grub. The whole system just...makes me feel...insignificant. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (enthusiastic) Terrific! You should feel insignificant! For the first time, we see the ant MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR. He's a mixture of Tony Robbins and Ron Popiel (the hyperactive late-night TV huckster, and founder of "Ronco"). Z ...I should? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (hopping around enthusiastically) YES!!! You know, people ask me, "Doctor, why are you always happy?" And I tell them it's mind over matter. I don't mind that I don't matter! Do you get it? Do you get it? Z gives a fake smile. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (incredibly "up") Z, we're part of the fastest growing species in the whole world! The counsellor rolls down a chart from the wall. An arrow shows ant population going up, up, up. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Ask me why we're so successful. Z Why are we so successful? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR I'm glad you asked me that question! The motivational counsellor opens some blinds...and we see a vista of the ant-filled chamber below. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR What do you see out there? Z ...Ants... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Right! Ants! Millions of creatures, each with his assigned task, all pulling together! Down below, we see a group of ants carrying a boulder up an incline. One worker ants slips, and the boulder rolls down, crushing his leg. The other ants rush over -- it looks like they're going to help their fallen comrade, but instead, they climb right over him, and pick up the boulder, continuing with their task. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR You see? Being an ant is being able to say, "Hey -- I'm meaningless, you're meaningless." Z But -- but I've always felt life was about finding meaning...and then sharing it with someone special, someone you love. The motivational counsellor puts his arm on Z's shoulder...he seems to understand... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Z...you need help. (looking at a clock) Whoops! We're gonna have to stop there. Your minute is up! The counsellor ushers Z out of his seat and towards the door. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Now back to work! We've made real progress! Remember -- let's be best superorganism we can be! INT. EARLY MEGA-TUNNEL - DAY A gigantic tunnel, with the size and scale of the "Chunnel". A banner strung overhead reads: "The Mega-Tunnel -- Tunneling Our Way to a Bright Future!" Along the walls hang 50's work- incentive style posters with messages like, "You asked for it, you got it -- more work!" and "TWO MEALS A WEEK IS ENOUGH!!!" Line after line of ants is working on the tunnel, digging, passing clumps of dirt from ant to ant, everyone synchronized. CLOSE on a clump of DIRT being passed from hand to hand. PULL OUT TO REVEAL AZTECA, a feisty, cynical, female worker ant, who stands there, waiting to pass the dirt on. Z is daydreaming behind her, with clumps of dirt starting to pile up in front of him. AZTECA Hello?! Earth to Z! You better snap out of it, or there's gonna be a lot of pissed off ants! Z looks back, and sees the ants behind staring at him angrily. Z (snapping out of it) Sorry Azteca. Here you go, fellas! Fresh dirt! Alley oop! (looking at the dirt) Shouldn't we be wearing gloves? I mean this dirt is very...dirty. Doesn't anyone think of hygiene? (Z's stomach growls) Boy am I hungry. I'm so hungry I'm seeing double. It looks like there's two million ants in here. When's lunch? Tomorrow, or the day after? AZTECA (sweetly) Z, old pal... (shouts) SHUT UP!!! It's bad enough there's a food shortage without you complaining about it every day. Z The squeaky wheel gets the oil. AZTECA No, Z. The squeaky wheel gets thrown away, alright? You're a good ant, Z, even though you are a pain in my rear- segment. I don't wanna see anything happen to you. So quit mouthing off, before you get in trouble. A WHISTLE BLOWS. Z Thank goodness. Breaktime. All the ants put down their tools. A beat. Then the WHISTLE BLOWS AGAIN. All the ants pick up their tools again. AZTECA (resigned) Break's over. Z (getting back to work) This colony needs another tunnel like a hole in the ground. Why are we even digging this thing? AZTECA Who cares, Z. All I know is, we gotta dig. We're not the ones in charge. INT. TOWN CENTER - DAY The huge, spacious main chamber of the colony. Looming over the scene is the royal palace, which seems to be inaccessible, perched on top of a hill-like pedestal. Around the base of the pedestal, a crew of workers loiters, seemingly aimlessly...can these be the only unemployed ants in the place? GENERAL FORMICA STAIRS! The workers look up and GROAN. Then they start forming a stairway with their own bodies, linking arms, stepping on each other's shoulders. It's extremely unpleasant work. One ant is a little tardy, and just manages to get in place before... GENERAL FORMICA, the Pattonesque military leader of the colony, STEPS ON HIS HEAD, using it as the first step as he ascends to the palace, his aide-de-camp Carpenter in tow. As Formica mounts the "stairs" we can hear the workers going, "OUCH! OOF! YIKES!" etc. GENERAL FORMICA Cut the chit-chat down there! (turning to Carpenter) We've spoiled these workers, Carpenter. They've never had it so good, and listen to them -- always grumbling and complaining... Formica steps on the foot of one of the "stairway" ants, who muffles a yelp. CARPENTER ...Yes, sir. GENERAL FORMICA What have they got to complain about? Three square meals a day... CARPENTER Actually, sir, we've cut them down to three roughly rectangular meals a week. FORMICA Don't give me statistics, Carpenter. I know what I'm talking about. DOORS! Formica and Carpenter have reached the top of the staircase. There, the two guard ants on either side of the massive throne room doors pull them open -- and one door hinge SQUEAKS. FORMICA (to guard ant, while passing) Oil that, soldier. INT. THRONE ROOM - DAY The QUEEN is on her throne, her huge abdomen sprawled behind her. QUEEN Ah! General Formica. Formica salutes and marches to her, Carpenter behind him. Note: Throughout this scene, the Queen is giving birth repeatedly. Each birth is accompanied by a herald playing a short "Happy Birthday" fanfare on his trumpet. Mid-wife ants bring each baby to the Queen for inspection, who COOS a few words. The midwives put the babies on a moving bassinet- line, powered by ants on a treadmill. QUEEN General, the severe food shortage that faces the colony...pains me. The thought of any of my children going hungry... (she shudders; then, to baby) Who's the cutest widdle worker? You are! Yes, you! Don't forget to brush your teeth! (to mid-wife) Ship 'er out. (back to Formica) What steps are you taking to remedy the situation? FORMICA We are launching a major offensive to expand our foraging territory... QUEEN Yes, what else? FORMICA Please don't worry, your majesty. Leave the worrying to me. As you know, I'm not an ant of half- measures. I don't pussyfoot around. This crisis is my number one priority, and I promise you it's being dealt with swiftly, and decisively. The Queen's attention is interrupted by another baby being put in her arms. QUEEN (to baby) No snacking between meals! Off you go! (to Formica) Now -- what were we saying? FORMICA (Oliver North-style) I do not recollect, your majesty. Will that be all? QUEEN Yes, General Formica. Carry on, my good man! I don't know what we would do without you. Formica clicks his heels and bows his head. Carpenter bows low. Formica smartly about faces -- BALA (O.S.) General Formica! PRINCESS BALA hurries through a second doorway, carrying a swatch book. Something about her sets her apart from the HANDMAIDEN ANTS with her. Her tiara, probably. Formica tilts his head quizzically to Carpenter behind him. CARPENTER (sotto) Princess Bala, sir. Your fiancee. FORMICA Princess! You look -- outstanding. Is there anything I can do for you? BALA Well -- I thought -- since we're getting married...it might be nice if we...got to know one another. Formica looks confused. QUEEN Bala has always been a hopeless romantic, General. BALA It's just that -- well, I'm honored that you selected me, and everything, I just thought the marriage might go a little more smoothly if -- we had a conversation? FORMICA (uncomfortable) Conversation...yes...well... (to Carpenter) Wasn't she briefed? QUEEN (holding up a baby) Look, General! A darling baby soldier! (emotionally, to baby) Don't try to be a hero! Just make sure you come back in one piece! (handing it off) Next! FORMICA (using the interruption) I'll take your suggestion under advisement, Princess. In the meanwhile -- Formica turns to go. BALA General -- we have to talk sometime! FORMICA Very well. Carpenter, is there a convenient time to talk vis-a-vis: relationship? CARPENTER Actually, sir, we're ahead of schedule. We have thirty-six seconds available right now. FORMICA Outstanding. Princess...? Bala's a little fazed...but grabs her chance. BALA So, um...how was your day? What did you do? FORMICA (scouring his mind) Well... (that's it!) I declared war! BALA (sadly) Oh...and I was afraid we had nothing in common... CARPENTER (under his breath) Fourteen-fifty hours, sir. FORMICA Duty calls! He strides across the floor. Bala watches him go, her antennae drooping unhappily. FORMICA No squeak. Outstanding! We see through the now-open doors into the throne-room as Formica and Carpenter double-time out of the frame. The Queen sees that Bala is unhappy. QUEEN (sympathetically) I felt the same way before I got married. Confused. Scared. BALA (hopefully) You did? QUEEN Yes -- but I did my duty and sorted out all those messy feelings. The wonderful thing about ant life is that everything is arranged. Even marriage. You're lucky -- General Formica is a paragon of anthood. BALA (unconvinced) Yes...he's wonderful... The doors swing shut on them -- revealing the two guard ants who were CRUSHED in the wake of Formica's exit. INT. BALA'S QUARTERS - DAY Bala enters, followed by her handmaidens, who are in a state of giggling infatuation over Formica. Bala is scowling as she leafs through a wedding catalogue. HANDMAIDEN #1 (swooning over General Formica) The General's body segments are so...symmetrical. HANDMAIDEN #2 (giggling) I'd let him order me into battle anyday. Bala hurls the swatch book against the wall. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess? What's wrong? BALA Wrong? How could anything be wrong? I'm going to marry General Formica and be a queen and have millions of babies, just like my mom. (concerned) Do I look fat to you? HANDMAIDEN #2 (knowingly, to Handmaiden #2) Pre-wedding jitters. HANDMAIDEN #1 You just need to blow off some steam. Let's go to the bar at the Royal Club! BALA The Club's so stuffy. I want to try someplace different. HANDMAIDEN #2 There isn't anyplace else -- (making a joke) Except the worker bar. BALA The worker bar! Yes! That's where I want to go! The handmaidens look shocked. HANDMAIDEN #1 But -- we can't -- there'll be workers there. INT. ANT BAR - NIGHT A long bar filled with ants. The bar itself seems to stretch for miles, and there are hundreds of ants trying to get a drink...unfortunately, there's only one bartender. Z is at the bar with WEAVER, a burly ant soldier. Z We declared war again? (off Weaver's nod) Are you scared? WEAVER (shrugs) I'll be back. The BARTENDER, a grizzled veteran, slaps down what looks like a couple of large green beer mugs. Actually, they're aphids, little green critters he fills up from a number of kegs hanging from the ceiling. The kegs are specialized ants with hugely distended stomachs, which spray liquid into the aphids. APHIDS (as they're slapped on bar) Ouch! Ouch! BARTENDER Two aphid beers. Z (as Bartender leaves) Did you see that? How he gave you the beers, not me? I'm telling you, he's got something against workers. WEAVER I don't know what you're talking about, Z. Z Come on -- everybody dumps on us workers. You soldiers get all the glory. Plus you get to go out into the world, meet interesting insects, and kill them. WEAVER Yeah, but you get to spend all day with those fabulous worker babes. We can see that Weaver is eyeing a nearby table of "Worker Babes", including Z's friend Azteca. Z Weaver, they're career girls. They're obsessed with digging. (sighs) No, I'll probably never meet the girl for me. WEAVER Who said there was a girl for you? I was talking about a girl for me. (quaffing his aphid beer) Don't you want your aphid beer? Z I can't help it. I have a thing about drinking from the anus of another creature. Call me crazy. WEAVER Z, we've known each other a long time, right? Z Of course. You were born two seconds after me. WEAVER And all the time I've known you, you've been grumping and groaning. You should quit making waves. Go with the flow. Z Weaver, I'm an insect, not a liquid. Down the bar, there's a commotion. A grizzled old SCOUT ant has had too much to drink. DRUNK SCOUT Have you been to Insectopia? Have you? No, ya goddam larvas! But I have... (becoming emotional) ...Mosquitos n' caterpillars n' beetles -- all livin' in peace, stuffin their guts with food...No rules, no regulations...you can be your own ant there... (howling drunkenly) It's Insectopia! Insectopia! Z Hey, Weaver, listen! DRUNK SCOUT I was cut off from my unit -- found it by mistake -- (slurring) It changed my life! (spraying another soldier with saliva) You see -- ya follow the great yellow egg, and you come to the land of red and white -- SOLDIERS You've had enough for one night! Come on, Gramps, before you get in trouble. The soldiers pull him from the bar, carrying him out. Z (excited) Hey, did you hear what he said?! WEAVER Poor guy's had one too many scouting missions. MUSIC STARTS UP. INT. ANT BAR ENTRANCE - NIGHT Princess Bala is peering in at the entrance to the ant bar, accompanied by her worried-looking handmaidens. HANDMAIDEN #2 We shouldn't be doing this -- it isn't proper! BALA I'm the Princess, aren't I? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course -- BALA And do Princesses do improper things? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course not -- BALA Then if I go to the worker bar, it isn't improper. Anyway, don't worry. No one will recognize us in our disguises. She adjusts her "disguise", a hardhat, tied down Jackie O.- style with an ant's version of a Chanel scarf. BALA I'm just a common worker, cooling off after a rough day! Music starts. An ant BARKER takes the mic at one end of the dance floor. BARKER (on loudspeaker) Okay, folks. It's six-fifteen, and that means it's time to dance. Every ant gets up to dance. Weaver turns to Z. WEAVER (draining his beer) Time to cut a rug, Z! Z I'm not in the mood. (disgusted) Even when they're off work, they follow orders. WEAVER Well, you just sit here and be a party-pooper. Weaver joins the rest of the ants who are lining up for the dance. The Barker calls out the steps in a bored monotone -- all the ants already know the steps. Everyone dances in perfect synch. BARKER (southern twang) And a left-right-quarterstep-back step-halfstep -- a left-right- quarterstep-backstep-halfstep -- a left-right-quarterstep-backstep halfstep -- AT THE ENTRANCE, Bala smiles mischievously at her handmaidens. BALA I'm going to ask one of these mindless, primitive worker-types to dance with me! HANDMAIDEN #1 But General Formica would be furious! BALA (enjoying the idea) I know. The handmaidens are appalled. Bala whirls away from them, sets her sights and searches the crowd -- zeroing in on -- Z, who's watching the other ants dance. Z What a bunch of losers. Mindless zombies capitulating to an oppressive system -- BALA Wanna dance? Bala's standing right there. Z is instantly smitten. Z Me?! Yes!!! I mean -- (regaining suavosity) Just let me finish my beer. Not breaking eye contact with Bala, Z smiles suavely. Reaches suavely for a beer. Suavely grabs the candle in a glass jar off the bar. Suavely singes his face. He plays it off with a rakish little laugh. A bit apprehensive, Bala heads onto the floor. Z follows her. Z So uh -- how come I haven't seen you around here before? BALA (covering up) I work in the palace, I don't get out much. Z The palace, hunh? I bet those royals really live it up. Of course they're all a little, you know, from inbreeding -- BALA (shocked) What? Z and Bala step onto the dance floor with the rest of the ants, but Z can't do any of the steps. Z Now, let's see, I -- it's been a while since I -- I think you -- Bala watches Z, trying to follow along. It's the blind leading the blind, as Z tries in vain to follow the barker's rapid instructions. Z Here, I'll lead. Z starts doing his own, individual dance. With a suave expression on his face, he leads Bala in a helter-skelter mixture-of Tango, Charleston, and hand-jive. BALA Are you sure this is a real dance? Z Well, actually, uh -- I'm sort of making it up -- BALA (surprised) Really? Z Why should everyone dance the same way? It's as exciting as watching fungus grow. BALA You're right! Z (surprised) You -- you think I'm right? BALA Why can't I just do whatever I want to do? Why can't I just go wild?! Yahoo! Bala starts to get into it, making up her own steps in reply to Z's, loosening up, having fun. For a moment, the two of them are actually sexy together. Then they get a little too wild -- and the other ants, who are still doing their intricate dance, start to collide with Bala and Z. Z almost knocks over a big soldier ant. We can only see the ant's back at the moment. SOLDIER Hey! Watch your step, worker. Z has turned around to see the soldier ant, MAJOR MANDIBLE, glaring at him. Mandible is about twice Z's size. He's got one eye missing, and half of his left antenna his been chewed off. BALA You watch yours, soldier, or my worker friend will beat you up! Z (terrified) Oh, that's okay, I'll let him off this time. (whispering to Bala) Are you crazy? This guy's built like a pebble! (ineptly trying to placate the soldier) You know they do great prosthetic antennas nowadays -- BALA Aren't you gonna stand up for yourself? Z's caught between a rock and a hard place. He doesn't want to get beaten up, but on the other hand, he doesn't want to lose face in front of Bala. More soldiers have gathered around, looking hostile. SOLDIER How come you don't dance like the rest of us? Z glances over at Bala. Then, shaking with nervousness, he says defiantly... Z Because -- because I'm an individual! SOLDIER #2 An individual? Never heard of it. MANDIBLE You look like a worker to me. WEAVER Hey, lay off my little buddy! Z, meanwhile, looks far away, ecstatic, as if he's just realized something very important. Unfortunately, just at this moment, A soldier pushes Weaver...Weaver pushes him back...somebody makes a dive for Z -- and before you know it, there's a regular bar brawl going on, with Weaver in the middle of it, cracking heads together, punching ants in the face, having a great time. Just then, the Princess' handmaidens hurries over. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess Bala! Princess Bala! Z, who's scrabbling around on the floor, overhears. Z Princess? You're a Princess? HANDMAIDEN #2 The police are coming! BALA Uh oh. (to Z) Goodbye! Gotta run! Z Wait! When can I see you again? BALA Let me think. Hmmnn... (thinks) Never. Bye! Bala rushes off with her handmaiden, just before a squad of whistle-blowing POLICE wade into the crowd. Z Wait! Princess! Wait! But she's already gone, leaving Z holding her scarf. CUT TO: INT. DORMITORY - THE NEXT DAY Z is talking to Weaver, who's getting ready to go off to war. Nearby, columns of ant soldiers march by. WEAVER Get real, Z! She just dropped the scarf by accident! Z Are you kidding? There were sparks between us! This scarf is a sign! WEAVER It's a sign that you're crazy! Do you know what the penalty for impersonating a soldier is? Z What's gonna go wrong?! I take your place for the royal inspection. Bala comes strolling down the line, she sees me -- bingo! Love is rekindled, and she takes me up to the palace for a little... (wags his eyebrows suggestively) tea and crumpets... and you take your place again, and go march around to your heart's content! Weaver looks unconvinced. Z You have to help me. Please, Weaver. Think of all the things I've done for you! WEAVER (thinks) I can't think of any. Z (pause) Well I'm gonna start doing things for you... WEAVER Will you introduce me to some worker girls? Z You bet! They'll really go for a sensitive guy like you! WEAVER Maybe I'll get lucky. (Weaver thinks about it) You know, Z, I wouldn't do this for anyone but you... Weaver hands Z has helmet. WEAVER Wear this. Z (overjoyed) You're a real buddy. WEAVER (sourly) Yeah, I know. Z What do I do? WEAVER Don't tell anyone you're a worker. Follow that column over there. And come right back after the inspection! Weaver points to a bunch of soldiers hurrying by in formation. Z (overjoyed) Thanks! I owe you! Z skips off and joins the column, marching in time with the soldiers but too excited to keep from jazzing it up a little. INT. TOWN CENTER - NIGHT The ant army has gathered in a huge HALL in front of a reviewing stand. We can hear the murmuring of thousands of soldiers -- but all we can see is a HUGE POSTER of an ant General pointing right at the camera. The poster reads, "GENERAL FORMICA WANTS YOU -- to obey". Z turns to some of the soldiers near him. Z Any of you guys know when the Princess will show up? She's kind of a personal friend. The soldiers look at Z like he's nuts. LOUD VOICE ATTEN-SHUN! MARTIAL MUSIC sounds, and we hear thousands of ant feet as they snap to attention. Z imitates the soldiers awkwardly. GENERAL FORMICA struts to the middle 6f the screen, slapping his thigh with a swagger stick (the antenna of some unfortunate insect) FORMICA First of all, let me make one thing clear. Nobody ever won a battle by thinking for himself. All this "thinking" stuff is a load of crap. If the almighty had wanted you boys to think, he wouldn't have given you huge mandibles and a brain so small you'd misplace it if it wasn't trapped inside your head. In the audience, Z starts laughing -- he thinks Formica's just made a joke. Z (slapping his thigh) "Trapped inside your head" -- that's a good one -- Z notices nobody else is laughing. He stops. Z Geez -- tough room. From the stage, Formica is squinting at the audience, trying to make out who was laughing, but there are just too many ants. He continues. FORMICA (striding back and forth) We ants survive as a species because we do what we're told. We survive because we work together, as one, we get the job done, we do whatever it takes to persevere! (dramatic pause) Hell, we're not an army of ants...we're one giant ant, with giant fists, and giant jaws! The soldiers CHEER! Z CHEERS along with the rest of them. Z (to the soldier ant next to him) Lays it on a little thick, doesn't he? If you ask me, he's one giant bore. FORMICA Now I've heard a lot of scuttlebutt about a food shortage. Well you boys are gonna be taken care of. But in the meantime we're gonna eat the enemy for breakfast, we are gonna eat the enemy for lunch, and we are gonna eat the enemy for dinner! Z Geez, and I forgot my toothbrush. FORMICA (reflective moment) Dammit, I'm proud to be an ant. (he looks out at his army) And I know each and every one of you boys will do your duty. Dismissed. Z applauds and whistles as the other ants look at him in confusion. Z (clapping) Bravo! Bring on the Princess! COLONEL Stow the gab there, soldier! Let's move 'em out! The soldiers turn to the right and start to march out past the reviewing stand. A COLONEL marches at the head of Z's column as Z looks around for the Princess. COLONEL Eyes...left! Finally, as Z's part of the army marches past the end of the reviewing stand, he sees her, looking bored, standing next to the Queen, who is giving the royal wave. Z (waving) Princess! Princess Bala! Hey! It's me! Z! I've got your scarf! ON THE REVIEWING STAND, Bala sees Z -- that is to say, she sees one of the thousands upon thousands of ants marching by... BALA (peering out) Who is that idiot? QUEEN Darling, you must encourage the troops -- wave! Bala waves unenthusiastically, little more than flopping her hand back and forth on her wrist. Down below, Z takes this as a sign that Bala has seen him. Z (excited) Excuse me, guys -- That's my date. Well, it's been fun. Have a great war! Z tries to squeeze his way back towards the royals, but he's surrounded by a solid wall of soldiers -- and they're carrying him along with them. Z Hey! Wait! Z loses sight of the Princess as he's carried away. BARBATUS, a hard-as-nails "grunt" soldier ant, taps Z on the shoulder. BARBATUS You new, kid? Z I just joined up. But I'm quitting! I got a trial membership! BARBATUS Trial membership? Kid, when you join this ant's army, you're in for the full hitch. At that moment, Z is swept out of the cramped corridor they've been marching along, as the army emerges into the OPEN AIR outside of the colony. EXT. ANT MOUND - NIGHT It's a starry, moonlit night. The shadows crowd around the panicked Z, who looks up at the sky as we see the army on the march... Z Wait a minute, there's been a mistake! I've got to get back to the colony! Z starts to fall out of line, but Barbatus, looking concerned, stops him. BARBATUS Are you crazy, kid? They shoot deserters! Z swallows hard. BARBATUS You just stick by old Barbatus. He'll watch out for you. (off Z's look) Whatsamatter, kid? Leave a girl behind? Z Yeah. Well -- no. She's kind of playing hard to get. As a matter of fact, she's playing completely unattainable. (nervously) So, what's on the schedule? A brisk walk? a foraging expedition? BARBATUS No -- we're going to attack the termites! Z (alarmed) Attack? But -- I hate attacking! It's so hostile! Around Z and Barbatus, the ants start up a marching song, which we intersperse with dialogue between

scripts

How many times the word 'scripts' appears in the text?

Antz Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS "Antz", unknown draft A N T Z CHARACTERS VOICES "Z"...............................................WOODY ALLEN "WASP #1".........................................DAN AYKROYD "WASP #2".........................................JANE CURTIN "GEN. FORMICA"...................................DANNY GLOVER "MANDIBLE".......................................GENE HACKMAN "AZTECA".......................................JENNIFER LOPEZ "DRUNK SCOUT"....................................JOHN MAHONEY "WEAVER"...................................SYLVESTER STALLONE "PRINCESS BALA"..................................SHARON STONE "QUEEN"..........................................MERYL STREEP "CARPENTER"................................CHRISTOPHER WALKEN Z (O.S.) (over a dark screen) All my life, I've lived and worked in the big city... We see: EXT. AN ANT MOUND - DAY The camera swoops towards the entrance, then dives inside, past a couple of tough-looking soldier ants who stand at the gates of the ant colony like insect bouncers...into an access tunnel that snakes this way and that, past a row of ants plodding along... ...and into the MAIN CHAMBER of the colony, a huge, teeming vista that seems to stretch away forever, filled with ants rushing here and there on their business. We see -- a "traffic cop" directing foot traffic, waving his arms like crazy so both sides move at once -- a column of soldier ants marching along in formation -- a chain of ants letting down a matchbox elevator filled with workers. Z (V.O.) ...which is kind of a problem, since I've always felt uncomfortably in crowds. INT. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR'S OFFICE - DAY We join Z, a worker ant with issues. He's lying on a couch, recounting his woes. Z I feel...isolated. Different. I've got abandonment issues. My father flew away when I was just a larva. My mother didn't have much time for me...when you have five million siblings, it's difficult to get attention. (pause) I feel physically inadequate -- I've never been able to lift more than ten times my own weight. Sometimes I think I'm just not cut out to be a worker. But I don't have any other options. I was assigned to trade school when I was just a grub. The whole system just...makes me feel...insignificant. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (enthusiastic) Terrific! You should feel insignificant! For the first time, we see the ant MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR. He's a mixture of Tony Robbins and Ron Popiel (the hyperactive late-night TV huckster, and founder of "Ronco"). Z ...I should? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (hopping around enthusiastically) YES!!! You know, people ask me, "Doctor, why are you always happy?" And I tell them it's mind over matter. I don't mind that I don't matter! Do you get it? Do you get it? Z gives a fake smile. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (incredibly "up") Z, we're part of the fastest growing species in the whole world! The counsellor rolls down a chart from the wall. An arrow shows ant population going up, up, up. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Ask me why we're so successful. Z Why are we so successful? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR I'm glad you asked me that question! The motivational counsellor opens some blinds...and we see a vista of the ant-filled chamber below. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR What do you see out there? Z ...Ants... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Right! Ants! Millions of creatures, each with his assigned task, all pulling together! Down below, we see a group of ants carrying a boulder up an incline. One worker ants slips, and the boulder rolls down, crushing his leg. The other ants rush over -- it looks like they're going to help their fallen comrade, but instead, they climb right over him, and pick up the boulder, continuing with their task. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR You see? Being an ant is being able to say, "Hey -- I'm meaningless, you're meaningless." Z But -- but I've always felt life was about finding meaning...and then sharing it with someone special, someone you love. The motivational counsellor puts his arm on Z's shoulder...he seems to understand... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Z...you need help. (looking at a clock) Whoops! We're gonna have to stop there. Your minute is up! The counsellor ushers Z out of his seat and towards the door. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Now back to work! We've made real progress! Remember -- let's be best superorganism we can be! INT. EARLY MEGA-TUNNEL - DAY A gigantic tunnel, with the size and scale of the "Chunnel". A banner strung overhead reads: "The Mega-Tunnel -- Tunneling Our Way to a Bright Future!" Along the walls hang 50's work- incentive style posters with messages like, "You asked for it, you got it -- more work!" and "TWO MEALS A WEEK IS ENOUGH!!!" Line after line of ants is working on the tunnel, digging, passing clumps of dirt from ant to ant, everyone synchronized. CLOSE on a clump of DIRT being passed from hand to hand. PULL OUT TO REVEAL AZTECA, a feisty, cynical, female worker ant, who stands there, waiting to pass the dirt on. Z is daydreaming behind her, with clumps of dirt starting to pile up in front of him. AZTECA Hello?! Earth to Z! You better snap out of it, or there's gonna be a lot of pissed off ants! Z looks back, and sees the ants behind staring at him angrily. Z (snapping out of it) Sorry Azteca. Here you go, fellas! Fresh dirt! Alley oop! (looking at the dirt) Shouldn't we be wearing gloves? I mean this dirt is very...dirty. Doesn't anyone think of hygiene? (Z's stomach growls) Boy am I hungry. I'm so hungry I'm seeing double. It looks like there's two million ants in here. When's lunch? Tomorrow, or the day after? AZTECA (sweetly) Z, old pal... (shouts) SHUT UP!!! It's bad enough there's a food shortage without you complaining about it every day. Z The squeaky wheel gets the oil. AZTECA No, Z. The squeaky wheel gets thrown away, alright? You're a good ant, Z, even though you are a pain in my rear- segment. I don't wanna see anything happen to you. So quit mouthing off, before you get in trouble. A WHISTLE BLOWS. Z Thank goodness. Breaktime. All the ants put down their tools. A beat. Then the WHISTLE BLOWS AGAIN. All the ants pick up their tools again. AZTECA (resigned) Break's over. Z (getting back to work) This colony needs another tunnel like a hole in the ground. Why are we even digging this thing? AZTECA Who cares, Z. All I know is, we gotta dig. We're not the ones in charge. INT. TOWN CENTER - DAY The huge, spacious main chamber of the colony. Looming over the scene is the royal palace, which seems to be inaccessible, perched on top of a hill-like pedestal. Around the base of the pedestal, a crew of workers loiters, seemingly aimlessly...can these be the only unemployed ants in the place? GENERAL FORMICA STAIRS! The workers look up and GROAN. Then they start forming a stairway with their own bodies, linking arms, stepping on each other's shoulders. It's extremely unpleasant work. One ant is a little tardy, and just manages to get in place before... GENERAL FORMICA, the Pattonesque military leader of the colony, STEPS ON HIS HEAD, using it as the first step as he ascends to the palace, his aide-de-camp Carpenter in tow. As Formica mounts the "stairs" we can hear the workers going, "OUCH! OOF! YIKES!" etc. GENERAL FORMICA Cut the chit-chat down there! (turning to Carpenter) We've spoiled these workers, Carpenter. They've never had it so good, and listen to them -- always grumbling and complaining... Formica steps on the foot of one of the "stairway" ants, who muffles a yelp. CARPENTER ...Yes, sir. GENERAL FORMICA What have they got to complain about? Three square meals a day... CARPENTER Actually, sir, we've cut them down to three roughly rectangular meals a week. FORMICA Don't give me statistics, Carpenter. I know what I'm talking about. DOORS! Formica and Carpenter have reached the top of the staircase. There, the two guard ants on either side of the massive throne room doors pull them open -- and one door hinge SQUEAKS. FORMICA (to guard ant, while passing) Oil that, soldier. INT. THRONE ROOM - DAY The QUEEN is on her throne, her huge abdomen sprawled behind her. QUEEN Ah! General Formica. Formica salutes and marches to her, Carpenter behind him. Note: Throughout this scene, the Queen is giving birth repeatedly. Each birth is accompanied by a herald playing a short "Happy Birthday" fanfare on his trumpet. Mid-wife ants bring each baby to the Queen for inspection, who COOS a few words. The midwives put the babies on a moving bassinet- line, powered by ants on a treadmill. QUEEN General, the severe food shortage that faces the colony...pains me. The thought of any of my children going hungry... (she shudders; then, to baby) Who's the cutest widdle worker? You are! Yes, you! Don't forget to brush your teeth! (to mid-wife) Ship 'er out. (back to Formica) What steps are you taking to remedy the situation? FORMICA We are launching a major offensive to expand our foraging territory... QUEEN Yes, what else? FORMICA Please don't worry, your majesty. Leave the worrying to me. As you know, I'm not an ant of half- measures. I don't pussyfoot around. This crisis is my number one priority, and I promise you it's being dealt with swiftly, and decisively. The Queen's attention is interrupted by another baby being put in her arms. QUEEN (to baby) No snacking between meals! Off you go! (to Formica) Now -- what were we saying? FORMICA (Oliver North-style) I do not recollect, your majesty. Will that be all? QUEEN Yes, General Formica. Carry on, my good man! I don't know what we would do without you. Formica clicks his heels and bows his head. Carpenter bows low. Formica smartly about faces -- BALA (O.S.) General Formica! PRINCESS BALA hurries through a second doorway, carrying a swatch book. Something about her sets her apart from the HANDMAIDEN ANTS with her. Her tiara, probably. Formica tilts his head quizzically to Carpenter behind him. CARPENTER (sotto) Princess Bala, sir. Your fiancee. FORMICA Princess! You look -- outstanding. Is there anything I can do for you? BALA Well -- I thought -- since we're getting married...it might be nice if we...got to know one another. Formica looks confused. QUEEN Bala has always been a hopeless romantic, General. BALA It's just that -- well, I'm honored that you selected me, and everything, I just thought the marriage might go a little more smoothly if -- we had a conversation? FORMICA (uncomfortable) Conversation...yes...well... (to Carpenter) Wasn't she briefed? QUEEN (holding up a baby) Look, General! A darling baby soldier! (emotionally, to baby) Don't try to be a hero! Just make sure you come back in one piece! (handing it off) Next! FORMICA (using the interruption) I'll take your suggestion under advisement, Princess. In the meanwhile -- Formica turns to go. BALA General -- we have to talk sometime! FORMICA Very well. Carpenter, is there a convenient time to talk vis-a-vis: relationship? CARPENTER Actually, sir, we're ahead of schedule. We have thirty-six seconds available right now. FORMICA Outstanding. Princess...? Bala's a little fazed...but grabs her chance. BALA So, um...how was your day? What did you do? FORMICA (scouring his mind) Well... (that's it!) I declared war! BALA (sadly) Oh...and I was afraid we had nothing in common... CARPENTER (under his breath) Fourteen-fifty hours, sir. FORMICA Duty calls! He strides across the floor. Bala watches him go, her antennae drooping unhappily. FORMICA No squeak. Outstanding! We see through the now-open doors into the throne-room as Formica and Carpenter double-time out of the frame. The Queen sees that Bala is unhappy. QUEEN (sympathetically) I felt the same way before I got married. Confused. Scared. BALA (hopefully) You did? QUEEN Yes -- but I did my duty and sorted out all those messy feelings. The wonderful thing about ant life is that everything is arranged. Even marriage. You're lucky -- General Formica is a paragon of anthood. BALA (unconvinced) Yes...he's wonderful... The doors swing shut on them -- revealing the two guard ants who were CRUSHED in the wake of Formica's exit. INT. BALA'S QUARTERS - DAY Bala enters, followed by her handmaidens, who are in a state of giggling infatuation over Formica. Bala is scowling as she leafs through a wedding catalogue. HANDMAIDEN #1 (swooning over General Formica) The General's body segments are so...symmetrical. HANDMAIDEN #2 (giggling) I'd let him order me into battle anyday. Bala hurls the swatch book against the wall. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess? What's wrong? BALA Wrong? How could anything be wrong? I'm going to marry General Formica and be a queen and have millions of babies, just like my mom. (concerned) Do I look fat to you? HANDMAIDEN #2 (knowingly, to Handmaiden #2) Pre-wedding jitters. HANDMAIDEN #1 You just need to blow off some steam. Let's go to the bar at the Royal Club! BALA The Club's so stuffy. I want to try someplace different. HANDMAIDEN #2 There isn't anyplace else -- (making a joke) Except the worker bar. BALA The worker bar! Yes! That's where I want to go! The handmaidens look shocked. HANDMAIDEN #1 But -- we can't -- there'll be workers there. INT. ANT BAR - NIGHT A long bar filled with ants. The bar itself seems to stretch for miles, and there are hundreds of ants trying to get a drink...unfortunately, there's only one bartender. Z is at the bar with WEAVER, a burly ant soldier. Z We declared war again? (off Weaver's nod) Are you scared? WEAVER (shrugs) I'll be back. The BARTENDER, a grizzled veteran, slaps down what looks like a couple of large green beer mugs. Actually, they're aphids, little green critters he fills up from a number of kegs hanging from the ceiling. The kegs are specialized ants with hugely distended stomachs, which spray liquid into the aphids. APHIDS (as they're slapped on bar) Ouch! Ouch! BARTENDER Two aphid beers. Z (as Bartender leaves) Did you see that? How he gave you the beers, not me? I'm telling you, he's got something against workers. WEAVER I don't know what you're talking about, Z. Z Come on -- everybody dumps on us workers. You soldiers get all the glory. Plus you get to go out into the world, meet interesting insects, and kill them. WEAVER Yeah, but you get to spend all day with those fabulous worker babes. We can see that Weaver is eyeing a nearby table of "Worker Babes", including Z's friend Azteca. Z Weaver, they're career girls. They're obsessed with digging. (sighs) No, I'll probably never meet the girl for me. WEAVER Who said there was a girl for you? I was talking about a girl for me. (quaffing his aphid beer) Don't you want your aphid beer? Z I can't help it. I have a thing about drinking from the anus of another creature. Call me crazy. WEAVER Z, we've known each other a long time, right? Z Of course. You were born two seconds after me. WEAVER And all the time I've known you, you've been grumping and groaning. You should quit making waves. Go with the flow. Z Weaver, I'm an insect, not a liquid. Down the bar, there's a commotion. A grizzled old SCOUT ant has had too much to drink. DRUNK SCOUT Have you been to Insectopia? Have you? No, ya goddam larvas! But I have... (becoming emotional) ...Mosquitos n' caterpillars n' beetles -- all livin' in peace, stuffin their guts with food...No rules, no regulations...you can be your own ant there... (howling drunkenly) It's Insectopia! Insectopia! Z Hey, Weaver, listen! DRUNK SCOUT I was cut off from my unit -- found it by mistake -- (slurring) It changed my life! (spraying another soldier with saliva) You see -- ya follow the great yellow egg, and you come to the land of red and white -- SOLDIERS You've had enough for one night! Come on, Gramps, before you get in trouble. The soldiers pull him from the bar, carrying him out. Z (excited) Hey, did you hear what he said?! WEAVER Poor guy's had one too many scouting missions. MUSIC STARTS UP. INT. ANT BAR ENTRANCE - NIGHT Princess Bala is peering in at the entrance to the ant bar, accompanied by her worried-looking handmaidens. HANDMAIDEN #2 We shouldn't be doing this -- it isn't proper! BALA I'm the Princess, aren't I? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course -- BALA And do Princesses do improper things? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course not -- BALA Then if I go to the worker bar, it isn't improper. Anyway, don't worry. No one will recognize us in our disguises. She adjusts her "disguise", a hardhat, tied down Jackie O.- style with an ant's version of a Chanel scarf. BALA I'm just a common worker, cooling off after a rough day! Music starts. An ant BARKER takes the mic at one end of the dance floor. BARKER (on loudspeaker) Okay, folks. It's six-fifteen, and that means it's time to dance. Every ant gets up to dance. Weaver turns to Z. WEAVER (draining his beer) Time to cut a rug, Z! Z I'm not in the mood. (disgusted) Even when they're off work, they follow orders. WEAVER Well, you just sit here and be a party-pooper. Weaver joins the rest of the ants who are lining up for the dance. The Barker calls out the steps in a bored monotone -- all the ants already know the steps. Everyone dances in perfect synch. BARKER (southern twang) And a left-right-quarterstep-back step-halfstep -- a left-right- quarterstep-backstep-halfstep -- a left-right-quarterstep-backstep halfstep -- AT THE ENTRANCE, Bala smiles mischievously at her handmaidens. BALA I'm going to ask one of these mindless, primitive worker-types to dance with me! HANDMAIDEN #1 But General Formica would be furious! BALA (enjoying the idea) I know. The handmaidens are appalled. Bala whirls away from them, sets her sights and searches the crowd -- zeroing in on -- Z, who's watching the other ants dance. Z What a bunch of losers. Mindless zombies capitulating to an oppressive system -- BALA Wanna dance? Bala's standing right there. Z is instantly smitten. Z Me?! Yes!!! I mean -- (regaining suavosity) Just let me finish my beer. Not breaking eye contact with Bala, Z smiles suavely. Reaches suavely for a beer. Suavely grabs the candle in a glass jar off the bar. Suavely singes his face. He plays it off with a rakish little laugh. A bit apprehensive, Bala heads onto the floor. Z follows her. Z So uh -- how come I haven't seen you around here before? BALA (covering up) I work in the palace, I don't get out much. Z The palace, hunh? I bet those royals really live it up. Of course they're all a little, you know, from inbreeding -- BALA (shocked) What? Z and Bala step onto the dance floor with the rest of the ants, but Z can't do any of the steps. Z Now, let's see, I -- it's been a while since I -- I think you -- Bala watches Z, trying to follow along. It's the blind leading the blind, as Z tries in vain to follow the barker's rapid instructions. Z Here, I'll lead. Z starts doing his own, individual dance. With a suave expression on his face, he leads Bala in a helter-skelter mixture-of Tango, Charleston, and hand-jive. BALA Are you sure this is a real dance? Z Well, actually, uh -- I'm sort of making it up -- BALA (surprised) Really? Z Why should everyone dance the same way? It's as exciting as watching fungus grow. BALA You're right! Z (surprised) You -- you think I'm right? BALA Why can't I just do whatever I want to do? Why can't I just go wild?! Yahoo! Bala starts to get into it, making up her own steps in reply to Z's, loosening up, having fun. For a moment, the two of them are actually sexy together. Then they get a little too wild -- and the other ants, who are still doing their intricate dance, start to collide with Bala and Z. Z almost knocks over a big soldier ant. We can only see the ant's back at the moment. SOLDIER Hey! Watch your step, worker. Z has turned around to see the soldier ant, MAJOR MANDIBLE, glaring at him. Mandible is about twice Z's size. He's got one eye missing, and half of his left antenna his been chewed off. BALA You watch yours, soldier, or my worker friend will beat you up! Z (terrified) Oh, that's okay, I'll let him off this time. (whispering to Bala) Are you crazy? This guy's built like a pebble! (ineptly trying to placate the soldier) You know they do great prosthetic antennas nowadays -- BALA Aren't you gonna stand up for yourself? Z's caught between a rock and a hard place. He doesn't want to get beaten up, but on the other hand, he doesn't want to lose face in front of Bala. More soldiers have gathered around, looking hostile. SOLDIER How come you don't dance like the rest of us? Z glances over at Bala. Then, shaking with nervousness, he says defiantly... Z Because -- because I'm an individual! SOLDIER #2 An individual? Never heard of it. MANDIBLE You look like a worker to me. WEAVER Hey, lay off my little buddy! Z, meanwhile, looks far away, ecstatic, as if he's just realized something very important. Unfortunately, just at this moment, A soldier pushes Weaver...Weaver pushes him back...somebody makes a dive for Z -- and before you know it, there's a regular bar brawl going on, with Weaver in the middle of it, cracking heads together, punching ants in the face, having a great time. Just then, the Princess' handmaidens hurries over. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess Bala! Princess Bala! Z, who's scrabbling around on the floor, overhears. Z Princess? You're a Princess? HANDMAIDEN #2 The police are coming! BALA Uh oh. (to Z) Goodbye! Gotta run! Z Wait! When can I see you again? BALA Let me think. Hmmnn... (thinks) Never. Bye! Bala rushes off with her handmaiden, just before a squad of whistle-blowing POLICE wade into the crowd. Z Wait! Princess! Wait! But she's already gone, leaving Z holding her scarf. CUT TO: INT. DORMITORY - THE NEXT DAY Z is talking to Weaver, who's getting ready to go off to war. Nearby, columns of ant soldiers march by. WEAVER Get real, Z! She just dropped the scarf by accident! Z Are you kidding? There were sparks between us! This scarf is a sign! WEAVER It's a sign that you're crazy! Do you know what the penalty for impersonating a soldier is? Z What's gonna go wrong?! I take your place for the royal inspection. Bala comes strolling down the line, she sees me -- bingo! Love is rekindled, and she takes me up to the palace for a little... (wags his eyebrows suggestively) tea and crumpets... and you take your place again, and go march around to your heart's content! Weaver looks unconvinced. Z You have to help me. Please, Weaver. Think of all the things I've done for you! WEAVER (thinks) I can't think of any. Z (pause) Well I'm gonna start doing things for you... WEAVER Will you introduce me to some worker girls? Z You bet! They'll really go for a sensitive guy like you! WEAVER Maybe I'll get lucky. (Weaver thinks about it) You know, Z, I wouldn't do this for anyone but you... Weaver hands Z has helmet. WEAVER Wear this. Z (overjoyed) You're a real buddy. WEAVER (sourly) Yeah, I know. Z What do I do? WEAVER Don't tell anyone you're a worker. Follow that column over there. And come right back after the inspection! Weaver points to a bunch of soldiers hurrying by in formation. Z (overjoyed) Thanks! I owe you! Z skips off and joins the column, marching in time with the soldiers but too excited to keep from jazzing it up a little. INT. TOWN CENTER - NIGHT The ant army has gathered in a huge HALL in front of a reviewing stand. We can hear the murmuring of thousands of soldiers -- but all we can see is a HUGE POSTER of an ant General pointing right at the camera. The poster reads, "GENERAL FORMICA WANTS YOU -- to obey". Z turns to some of the soldiers near him. Z Any of you guys know when the Princess will show up? She's kind of a personal friend. The soldiers look at Z like he's nuts. LOUD VOICE ATTEN-SHUN! MARTIAL MUSIC sounds, and we hear thousands of ant feet as they snap to attention. Z imitates the soldiers awkwardly. GENERAL FORMICA struts to the middle 6f the screen, slapping his thigh with a swagger stick (the antenna of some unfortunate insect) FORMICA First of all, let me make one thing clear. Nobody ever won a battle by thinking for himself. All this "thinking" stuff is a load of crap. If the almighty had wanted you boys to think, he wouldn't have given you huge mandibles and a brain so small you'd misplace it if it wasn't trapped inside your head. In the audience, Z starts laughing -- he thinks Formica's just made a joke. Z (slapping his thigh) "Trapped inside your head" -- that's a good one -- Z notices nobody else is laughing. He stops. Z Geez -- tough room. From the stage, Formica is squinting at the audience, trying to make out who was laughing, but there are just too many ants. He continues. FORMICA (striding back and forth) We ants survive as a species because we do what we're told. We survive because we work together, as one, we get the job done, we do whatever it takes to persevere! (dramatic pause) Hell, we're not an army of ants...we're one giant ant, with giant fists, and giant jaws! The soldiers CHEER! Z CHEERS along with the rest of them. Z (to the soldier ant next to him) Lays it on a little thick, doesn't he? If you ask me, he's one giant bore. FORMICA Now I've heard a lot of scuttlebutt about a food shortage. Well you boys are gonna be taken care of. But in the meantime we're gonna eat the enemy for breakfast, we are gonna eat the enemy for lunch, and we are gonna eat the enemy for dinner! Z Geez, and I forgot my toothbrush. FORMICA (reflective moment) Dammit, I'm proud to be an ant. (he looks out at his army) And I know each and every one of you boys will do your duty. Dismissed. Z applauds and whistles as the other ants look at him in confusion. Z (clapping) Bravo! Bring on the Princess! COLONEL Stow the gab there, soldier! Let's move 'em out! The soldiers turn to the right and start to march out past the reviewing stand. A COLONEL marches at the head of Z's column as Z looks around for the Princess. COLONEL Eyes...left! Finally, as Z's part of the army marches past the end of the reviewing stand, he sees her, looking bored, standing next to the Queen, who is giving the royal wave. Z (waving) Princess! Princess Bala! Hey! It's me! Z! I've got your scarf! ON THE REVIEWING STAND, Bala sees Z -- that is to say, she sees one of the thousands upon thousands of ants marching by... BALA (peering out) Who is that idiot? QUEEN Darling, you must encourage the troops -- wave! Bala waves unenthusiastically, little more than flopping her hand back and forth on her wrist. Down below, Z takes this as a sign that Bala has seen him. Z (excited) Excuse me, guys -- That's my date. Well, it's been fun. Have a great war! Z tries to squeeze his way back towards the royals, but he's surrounded by a solid wall of soldiers -- and they're carrying him along with them. Z Hey! Wait! Z loses sight of the Princess as he's carried away. BARBATUS, a hard-as-nails "grunt" soldier ant, taps Z on the shoulder. BARBATUS You new, kid? Z I just joined up. But I'm quitting! I got a trial membership! BARBATUS Trial membership? Kid, when you join this ant's army, you're in for the full hitch. At that moment, Z is swept out of the cramped corridor they've been marching along, as the army emerges into the OPEN AIR outside of the colony. EXT. ANT MOUND - NIGHT It's a starry, moonlit night. The shadows crowd around the panicked Z, who looks up at the sky as we see the army on the march... Z Wait a minute, there's been a mistake! I've got to get back to the colony! Z starts to fall out of line, but Barbatus, looking concerned, stops him. BARBATUS Are you crazy, kid? They shoot deserters! Z swallows hard. BARBATUS You just stick by old Barbatus. He'll watch out for you. (off Z's look) Whatsamatter, kid? Leave a girl behind? Z Yeah. Well -- no. She's kind of playing hard to get. As a matter of fact, she's playing completely unattainable. (nervously) So, what's on the schedule? A brisk walk? a foraging expedition? BARBATUS No -- we're going to attack the termites! Z (alarmed) Attack? But -- I hate attacking! It's so hostile! Around Z and Barbatus, the ants start up a marching song, which we intersperse with dialogue between

gaq

How many times the word 'gaq' appears in the text?

Antz Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS "Antz", unknown draft A N T Z CHARACTERS VOICES "Z"...............................................WOODY ALLEN "WASP #1".........................................DAN AYKROYD "WASP #2".........................................JANE CURTIN "GEN. FORMICA"...................................DANNY GLOVER "MANDIBLE".......................................GENE HACKMAN "AZTECA".......................................JENNIFER LOPEZ "DRUNK SCOUT"....................................JOHN MAHONEY "WEAVER"...................................SYLVESTER STALLONE "PRINCESS BALA"..................................SHARON STONE "QUEEN"..........................................MERYL STREEP "CARPENTER"................................CHRISTOPHER WALKEN Z (O.S.) (over a dark screen) All my life, I've lived and worked in the big city... We see: EXT. AN ANT MOUND - DAY The camera swoops towards the entrance, then dives inside, past a couple of tough-looking soldier ants who stand at the gates of the ant colony like insect bouncers...into an access tunnel that snakes this way and that, past a row of ants plodding along... ...and into the MAIN CHAMBER of the colony, a huge, teeming vista that seems to stretch away forever, filled with ants rushing here and there on their business. We see -- a "traffic cop" directing foot traffic, waving his arms like crazy so both sides move at once -- a column of soldier ants marching along in formation -- a chain of ants letting down a matchbox elevator filled with workers. Z (V.O.) ...which is kind of a problem, since I've always felt uncomfortably in crowds. INT. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR'S OFFICE - DAY We join Z, a worker ant with issues. He's lying on a couch, recounting his woes. Z I feel...isolated. Different. I've got abandonment issues. My father flew away when I was just a larva. My mother didn't have much time for me...when you have five million siblings, it's difficult to get attention. (pause) I feel physically inadequate -- I've never been able to lift more than ten times my own weight. Sometimes I think I'm just not cut out to be a worker. But I don't have any other options. I was assigned to trade school when I was just a grub. The whole system just...makes me feel...insignificant. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (enthusiastic) Terrific! You should feel insignificant! For the first time, we see the ant MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR. He's a mixture of Tony Robbins and Ron Popiel (the hyperactive late-night TV huckster, and founder of "Ronco"). Z ...I should? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (hopping around enthusiastically) YES!!! You know, people ask me, "Doctor, why are you always happy?" And I tell them it's mind over matter. I don't mind that I don't matter! Do you get it? Do you get it? Z gives a fake smile. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (incredibly "up") Z, we're part of the fastest growing species in the whole world! The counsellor rolls down a chart from the wall. An arrow shows ant population going up, up, up. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Ask me why we're so successful. Z Why are we so successful? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR I'm glad you asked me that question! The motivational counsellor opens some blinds...and we see a vista of the ant-filled chamber below. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR What do you see out there? Z ...Ants... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Right! Ants! Millions of creatures, each with his assigned task, all pulling together! Down below, we see a group of ants carrying a boulder up an incline. One worker ants slips, and the boulder rolls down, crushing his leg. The other ants rush over -- it looks like they're going to help their fallen comrade, but instead, they climb right over him, and pick up the boulder, continuing with their task. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR You see? Being an ant is being able to say, "Hey -- I'm meaningless, you're meaningless." Z But -- but I've always felt life was about finding meaning...and then sharing it with someone special, someone you love. The motivational counsellor puts his arm on Z's shoulder...he seems to understand... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Z...you need help. (looking at a clock) Whoops! We're gonna have to stop there. Your minute is up! The counsellor ushers Z out of his seat and towards the door. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Now back to work! We've made real progress! Remember -- let's be best superorganism we can be! INT. EARLY MEGA-TUNNEL - DAY A gigantic tunnel, with the size and scale of the "Chunnel". A banner strung overhead reads: "The Mega-Tunnel -- Tunneling Our Way to a Bright Future!" Along the walls hang 50's work- incentive style posters with messages like, "You asked for it, you got it -- more work!" and "TWO MEALS A WEEK IS ENOUGH!!!" Line after line of ants is working on the tunnel, digging, passing clumps of dirt from ant to ant, everyone synchronized. CLOSE on a clump of DIRT being passed from hand to hand. PULL OUT TO REVEAL AZTECA, a feisty, cynical, female worker ant, who stands there, waiting to pass the dirt on. Z is daydreaming behind her, with clumps of dirt starting to pile up in front of him. AZTECA Hello?! Earth to Z! You better snap out of it, or there's gonna be a lot of pissed off ants! Z looks back, and sees the ants behind staring at him angrily. Z (snapping out of it) Sorry Azteca. Here you go, fellas! Fresh dirt! Alley oop! (looking at the dirt) Shouldn't we be wearing gloves? I mean this dirt is very...dirty. Doesn't anyone think of hygiene? (Z's stomach growls) Boy am I hungry. I'm so hungry I'm seeing double. It looks like there's two million ants in here. When's lunch? Tomorrow, or the day after? AZTECA (sweetly) Z, old pal... (shouts) SHUT UP!!! It's bad enough there's a food shortage without you complaining about it every day. Z The squeaky wheel gets the oil. AZTECA No, Z. The squeaky wheel gets thrown away, alright? You're a good ant, Z, even though you are a pain in my rear- segment. I don't wanna see anything happen to you. So quit mouthing off, before you get in trouble. A WHISTLE BLOWS. Z Thank goodness. Breaktime. All the ants put down their tools. A beat. Then the WHISTLE BLOWS AGAIN. All the ants pick up their tools again. AZTECA (resigned) Break's over. Z (getting back to work) This colony needs another tunnel like a hole in the ground. Why are we even digging this thing? AZTECA Who cares, Z. All I know is, we gotta dig. We're not the ones in charge. INT. TOWN CENTER - DAY The huge, spacious main chamber of the colony. Looming over the scene is the royal palace, which seems to be inaccessible, perched on top of a hill-like pedestal. Around the base of the pedestal, a crew of workers loiters, seemingly aimlessly...can these be the only unemployed ants in the place? GENERAL FORMICA STAIRS! The workers look up and GROAN. Then they start forming a stairway with their own bodies, linking arms, stepping on each other's shoulders. It's extremely unpleasant work. One ant is a little tardy, and just manages to get in place before... GENERAL FORMICA, the Pattonesque military leader of the colony, STEPS ON HIS HEAD, using it as the first step as he ascends to the palace, his aide-de-camp Carpenter in tow. As Formica mounts the "stairs" we can hear the workers going, "OUCH! OOF! YIKES!" etc. GENERAL FORMICA Cut the chit-chat down there! (turning to Carpenter) We've spoiled these workers, Carpenter. They've never had it so good, and listen to them -- always grumbling and complaining... Formica steps on the foot of one of the "stairway" ants, who muffles a yelp. CARPENTER ...Yes, sir. GENERAL FORMICA What have they got to complain about? Three square meals a day... CARPENTER Actually, sir, we've cut them down to three roughly rectangular meals a week. FORMICA Don't give me statistics, Carpenter. I know what I'm talking about. DOORS! Formica and Carpenter have reached the top of the staircase. There, the two guard ants on either side of the massive throne room doors pull them open -- and one door hinge SQUEAKS. FORMICA (to guard ant, while passing) Oil that, soldier. INT. THRONE ROOM - DAY The QUEEN is on her throne, her huge abdomen sprawled behind her. QUEEN Ah! General Formica. Formica salutes and marches to her, Carpenter behind him. Note: Throughout this scene, the Queen is giving birth repeatedly. Each birth is accompanied by a herald playing a short "Happy Birthday" fanfare on his trumpet. Mid-wife ants bring each baby to the Queen for inspection, who COOS a few words. The midwives put the babies on a moving bassinet- line, powered by ants on a treadmill. QUEEN General, the severe food shortage that faces the colony...pains me. The thought of any of my children going hungry... (she shudders; then, to baby) Who's the cutest widdle worker? You are! Yes, you! Don't forget to brush your teeth! (to mid-wife) Ship 'er out. (back to Formica) What steps are you taking to remedy the situation? FORMICA We are launching a major offensive to expand our foraging territory... QUEEN Yes, what else? FORMICA Please don't worry, your majesty. Leave the worrying to me. As you know, I'm not an ant of half- measures. I don't pussyfoot around. This crisis is my number one priority, and I promise you it's being dealt with swiftly, and decisively. The Queen's attention is interrupted by another baby being put in her arms. QUEEN (to baby) No snacking between meals! Off you go! (to Formica) Now -- what were we saying? FORMICA (Oliver North-style) I do not recollect, your majesty. Will that be all? QUEEN Yes, General Formica. Carry on, my good man! I don't know what we would do without you. Formica clicks his heels and bows his head. Carpenter bows low. Formica smartly about faces -- BALA (O.S.) General Formica! PRINCESS BALA hurries through a second doorway, carrying a swatch book. Something about her sets her apart from the HANDMAIDEN ANTS with her. Her tiara, probably. Formica tilts his head quizzically to Carpenter behind him. CARPENTER (sotto) Princess Bala, sir. Your fiancee. FORMICA Princess! You look -- outstanding. Is there anything I can do for you? BALA Well -- I thought -- since we're getting married...it might be nice if we...got to know one another. Formica looks confused. QUEEN Bala has always been a hopeless romantic, General. BALA It's just that -- well, I'm honored that you selected me, and everything, I just thought the marriage might go a little more smoothly if -- we had a conversation? FORMICA (uncomfortable) Conversation...yes...well... (to Carpenter) Wasn't she briefed? QUEEN (holding up a baby) Look, General! A darling baby soldier! (emotionally, to baby) Don't try to be a hero! Just make sure you come back in one piece! (handing it off) Next! FORMICA (using the interruption) I'll take your suggestion under advisement, Princess. In the meanwhile -- Formica turns to go. BALA General -- we have to talk sometime! FORMICA Very well. Carpenter, is there a convenient time to talk vis-a-vis: relationship? CARPENTER Actually, sir, we're ahead of schedule. We have thirty-six seconds available right now. FORMICA Outstanding. Princess...? Bala's a little fazed...but grabs her chance. BALA So, um...how was your day? What did you do? FORMICA (scouring his mind) Well... (that's it!) I declared war! BALA (sadly) Oh...and I was afraid we had nothing in common... CARPENTER (under his breath) Fourteen-fifty hours, sir. FORMICA Duty calls! He strides across the floor. Bala watches him go, her antennae drooping unhappily. FORMICA No squeak. Outstanding! We see through the now-open doors into the throne-room as Formica and Carpenter double-time out of the frame. The Queen sees that Bala is unhappy. QUEEN (sympathetically) I felt the same way before I got married. Confused. Scared. BALA (hopefully) You did? QUEEN Yes -- but I did my duty and sorted out all those messy feelings. The wonderful thing about ant life is that everything is arranged. Even marriage. You're lucky -- General Formica is a paragon of anthood. BALA (unconvinced) Yes...he's wonderful... The doors swing shut on them -- revealing the two guard ants who were CRUSHED in the wake of Formica's exit. INT. BALA'S QUARTERS - DAY Bala enters, followed by her handmaidens, who are in a state of giggling infatuation over Formica. Bala is scowling as she leafs through a wedding catalogue. HANDMAIDEN #1 (swooning over General Formica) The General's body segments are so...symmetrical. HANDMAIDEN #2 (giggling) I'd let him order me into battle anyday. Bala hurls the swatch book against the wall. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess? What's wrong? BALA Wrong? How could anything be wrong? I'm going to marry General Formica and be a queen and have millions of babies, just like my mom. (concerned) Do I look fat to you? HANDMAIDEN #2 (knowingly, to Handmaiden #2) Pre-wedding jitters. HANDMAIDEN #1 You just need to blow off some steam. Let's go to the bar at the Royal Club! BALA The Club's so stuffy. I want to try someplace different. HANDMAIDEN #2 There isn't anyplace else -- (making a joke) Except the worker bar. BALA The worker bar! Yes! That's where I want to go! The handmaidens look shocked. HANDMAIDEN #1 But -- we can't -- there'll be workers there. INT. ANT BAR - NIGHT A long bar filled with ants. The bar itself seems to stretch for miles, and there are hundreds of ants trying to get a drink...unfortunately, there's only one bartender. Z is at the bar with WEAVER, a burly ant soldier. Z We declared war again? (off Weaver's nod) Are you scared? WEAVER (shrugs) I'll be back. The BARTENDER, a grizzled veteran, slaps down what looks like a couple of large green beer mugs. Actually, they're aphids, little green critters he fills up from a number of kegs hanging from the ceiling. The kegs are specialized ants with hugely distended stomachs, which spray liquid into the aphids. APHIDS (as they're slapped on bar) Ouch! Ouch! BARTENDER Two aphid beers. Z (as Bartender leaves) Did you see that? How he gave you the beers, not me? I'm telling you, he's got something against workers. WEAVER I don't know what you're talking about, Z. Z Come on -- everybody dumps on us workers. You soldiers get all the glory. Plus you get to go out into the world, meet interesting insects, and kill them. WEAVER Yeah, but you get to spend all day with those fabulous worker babes. We can see that Weaver is eyeing a nearby table of "Worker Babes", including Z's friend Azteca. Z Weaver, they're career girls. They're obsessed with digging. (sighs) No, I'll probably never meet the girl for me. WEAVER Who said there was a girl for you? I was talking about a girl for me. (quaffing his aphid beer) Don't you want your aphid beer? Z I can't help it. I have a thing about drinking from the anus of another creature. Call me crazy. WEAVER Z, we've known each other a long time, right? Z Of course. You were born two seconds after me. WEAVER And all the time I've known you, you've been grumping and groaning. You should quit making waves. Go with the flow. Z Weaver, I'm an insect, not a liquid. Down the bar, there's a commotion. A grizzled old SCOUT ant has had too much to drink. DRUNK SCOUT Have you been to Insectopia? Have you? No, ya goddam larvas! But I have... (becoming emotional) ...Mosquitos n' caterpillars n' beetles -- all livin' in peace, stuffin their guts with food...No rules, no regulations...you can be your own ant there... (howling drunkenly) It's Insectopia! Insectopia! Z Hey, Weaver, listen! DRUNK SCOUT I was cut off from my unit -- found it by mistake -- (slurring) It changed my life! (spraying another soldier with saliva) You see -- ya follow the great yellow egg, and you come to the land of red and white -- SOLDIERS You've had enough for one night! Come on, Gramps, before you get in trouble. The soldiers pull him from the bar, carrying him out. Z (excited) Hey, did you hear what he said?! WEAVER Poor guy's had one too many scouting missions. MUSIC STARTS UP. INT. ANT BAR ENTRANCE - NIGHT Princess Bala is peering in at the entrance to the ant bar, accompanied by her worried-looking handmaidens. HANDMAIDEN #2 We shouldn't be doing this -- it isn't proper! BALA I'm the Princess, aren't I? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course -- BALA And do Princesses do improper things? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course not -- BALA Then if I go to the worker bar, it isn't improper. Anyway, don't worry. No one will recognize us in our disguises. She adjusts her "disguise", a hardhat, tied down Jackie O.- style with an ant's version of a Chanel scarf. BALA I'm just a common worker, cooling off after a rough day! Music starts. An ant BARKER takes the mic at one end of the dance floor. BARKER (on loudspeaker) Okay, folks. It's six-fifteen, and that means it's time to dance. Every ant gets up to dance. Weaver turns to Z. WEAVER (draining his beer) Time to cut a rug, Z! Z I'm not in the mood. (disgusted) Even when they're off work, they follow orders. WEAVER Well, you just sit here and be a party-pooper. Weaver joins the rest of the ants who are lining up for the dance. The Barker calls out the steps in a bored monotone -- all the ants already know the steps. Everyone dances in perfect synch. BARKER (southern twang) And a left-right-quarterstep-back step-halfstep -- a left-right- quarterstep-backstep-halfstep -- a left-right-quarterstep-backstep halfstep -- AT THE ENTRANCE, Bala smiles mischievously at her handmaidens. BALA I'm going to ask one of these mindless, primitive worker-types to dance with me! HANDMAIDEN #1 But General Formica would be furious! BALA (enjoying the idea) I know. The handmaidens are appalled. Bala whirls away from them, sets her sights and searches the crowd -- zeroing in on -- Z, who's watching the other ants dance. Z What a bunch of losers. Mindless zombies capitulating to an oppressive system -- BALA Wanna dance? Bala's standing right there. Z is instantly smitten. Z Me?! Yes!!! I mean -- (regaining suavosity) Just let me finish my beer. Not breaking eye contact with Bala, Z smiles suavely. Reaches suavely for a beer. Suavely grabs the candle in a glass jar off the bar. Suavely singes his face. He plays it off with a rakish little laugh. A bit apprehensive, Bala heads onto the floor. Z follows her. Z So uh -- how come I haven't seen you around here before? BALA (covering up) I work in the palace, I don't get out much. Z The palace, hunh? I bet those royals really live it up. Of course they're all a little, you know, from inbreeding -- BALA (shocked) What? Z and Bala step onto the dance floor with the rest of the ants, but Z can't do any of the steps. Z Now, let's see, I -- it's been a while since I -- I think you -- Bala watches Z, trying to follow along. It's the blind leading the blind, as Z tries in vain to follow the barker's rapid instructions. Z Here, I'll lead. Z starts doing his own, individual dance. With a suave expression on his face, he leads Bala in a helter-skelter mixture-of Tango, Charleston, and hand-jive. BALA Are you sure this is a real dance? Z Well, actually, uh -- I'm sort of making it up -- BALA (surprised) Really? Z Why should everyone dance the same way? It's as exciting as watching fungus grow. BALA You're right! Z (surprised) You -- you think I'm right? BALA Why can't I just do whatever I want to do? Why can't I just go wild?! Yahoo! Bala starts to get into it, making up her own steps in reply to Z's, loosening up, having fun. For a moment, the two of them are actually sexy together. Then they get a little too wild -- and the other ants, who are still doing their intricate dance, start to collide with Bala and Z. Z almost knocks over a big soldier ant. We can only see the ant's back at the moment. SOLDIER Hey! Watch your step, worker. Z has turned around to see the soldier ant, MAJOR MANDIBLE, glaring at him. Mandible is about twice Z's size. He's got one eye missing, and half of his left antenna his been chewed off. BALA You watch yours, soldier, or my worker friend will beat you up! Z (terrified) Oh, that's okay, I'll let him off this time. (whispering to Bala) Are you crazy? This guy's built like a pebble! (ineptly trying to placate the soldier) You know they do great prosthetic antennas nowadays -- BALA Aren't you gonna stand up for yourself? Z's caught between a rock and a hard place. He doesn't want to get beaten up, but on the other hand, he doesn't want to lose face in front of Bala. More soldiers have gathered around, looking hostile. SOLDIER How come you don't dance like the rest of us? Z glances over at Bala. Then, shaking with nervousness, he says defiantly... Z Because -- because I'm an individual! SOLDIER #2 An individual? Never heard of it. MANDIBLE You look like a worker to me. WEAVER Hey, lay off my little buddy! Z, meanwhile, looks far away, ecstatic, as if he's just realized something very important. Unfortunately, just at this moment, A soldier pushes Weaver...Weaver pushes him back...somebody makes a dive for Z -- and before you know it, there's a regular bar brawl going on, with Weaver in the middle of it, cracking heads together, punching ants in the face, having a great time. Just then, the Princess' handmaidens hurries over. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess Bala! Princess Bala! Z, who's scrabbling around on the floor, overhears. Z Princess? You're a Princess? HANDMAIDEN #2 The police are coming! BALA Uh oh. (to Z) Goodbye! Gotta run! Z Wait! When can I see you again? BALA Let me think. Hmmnn... (thinks) Never. Bye! Bala rushes off with her handmaiden, just before a squad of whistle-blowing POLICE wade into the crowd. Z Wait! Princess! Wait! But she's already gone, leaving Z holding her scarf. CUT TO: INT. DORMITORY - THE NEXT DAY Z is talking to Weaver, who's getting ready to go off to war. Nearby, columns of ant soldiers march by. WEAVER Get real, Z! She just dropped the scarf by accident! Z Are you kidding? There were sparks between us! This scarf is a sign! WEAVER It's a sign that you're crazy! Do you know what the penalty for impersonating a soldier is? Z What's gonna go wrong?! I take your place for the royal inspection. Bala comes strolling down the line, she sees me -- bingo! Love is rekindled, and she takes me up to the palace for a little... (wags his eyebrows suggestively) tea and crumpets... and you take your place again, and go march around to your heart's content! Weaver looks unconvinced. Z You have to help me. Please, Weaver. Think of all the things I've done for you! WEAVER (thinks) I can't think of any. Z (pause) Well I'm gonna start doing things for you... WEAVER Will you introduce me to some worker girls? Z You bet! They'll really go for a sensitive guy like you! WEAVER Maybe I'll get lucky. (Weaver thinks about it) You know, Z, I wouldn't do this for anyone but you... Weaver hands Z has helmet. WEAVER Wear this. Z (overjoyed) You're a real buddy. WEAVER (sourly) Yeah, I know. Z What do I do? WEAVER Don't tell anyone you're a worker. Follow that column over there. And come right back after the inspection! Weaver points to a bunch of soldiers hurrying by in formation. Z (overjoyed) Thanks! I owe you! Z skips off and joins the column, marching in time with the soldiers but too excited to keep from jazzing it up a little. INT. TOWN CENTER - NIGHT The ant army has gathered in a huge HALL in front of a reviewing stand. We can hear the murmuring of thousands of soldiers -- but all we can see is a HUGE POSTER of an ant General pointing right at the camera. The poster reads, "GENERAL FORMICA WANTS YOU -- to obey". Z turns to some of the soldiers near him. Z Any of you guys know when the Princess will show up? She's kind of a personal friend. The soldiers look at Z like he's nuts. LOUD VOICE ATTEN-SHUN! MARTIAL MUSIC sounds, and we hear thousands of ant feet as they snap to attention. Z imitates the soldiers awkwardly. GENERAL FORMICA struts to the middle 6f the screen, slapping his thigh with a swagger stick (the antenna of some unfortunate insect) FORMICA First of all, let me make one thing clear. Nobody ever won a battle by thinking for himself. All this "thinking" stuff is a load of crap. If the almighty had wanted you boys to think, he wouldn't have given you huge mandibles and a brain so small you'd misplace it if it wasn't trapped inside your head. In the audience, Z starts laughing -- he thinks Formica's just made a joke. Z (slapping his thigh) "Trapped inside your head" -- that's a good one -- Z notices nobody else is laughing. He stops. Z Geez -- tough room. From the stage, Formica is squinting at the audience, trying to make out who was laughing, but there are just too many ants. He continues. FORMICA (striding back and forth) We ants survive as a species because we do what we're told. We survive because we work together, as one, we get the job done, we do whatever it takes to persevere! (dramatic pause) Hell, we're not an army of ants...we're one giant ant, with giant fists, and giant jaws! The soldiers CHEER! Z CHEERS along with the rest of them. Z (to the soldier ant next to him) Lays it on a little thick, doesn't he? If you ask me, he's one giant bore. FORMICA Now I've heard a lot of scuttlebutt about a food shortage. Well you boys are gonna be taken care of. But in the meantime we're gonna eat the enemy for breakfast, we are gonna eat the enemy for lunch, and we are gonna eat the enemy for dinner! Z Geez, and I forgot my toothbrush. FORMICA (reflective moment) Dammit, I'm proud to be an ant. (he looks out at his army) And I know each and every one of you boys will do your duty. Dismissed. Z applauds and whistles as the other ants look at him in confusion. Z (clapping) Bravo! Bring on the Princess! COLONEL Stow the gab there, soldier! Let's move 'em out! The soldiers turn to the right and start to march out past the reviewing stand. A COLONEL marches at the head of Z's column as Z looks around for the Princess. COLONEL Eyes...left! Finally, as Z's part of the army marches past the end of the reviewing stand, he sees her, looking bored, standing next to the Queen, who is giving the royal wave. Z (waving) Princess! Princess Bala! Hey! It's me! Z! I've got your scarf! ON THE REVIEWING STAND, Bala sees Z -- that is to say, she sees one of the thousands upon thousands of ants marching by... BALA (peering out) Who is that idiot? QUEEN Darling, you must encourage the troops -- wave! Bala waves unenthusiastically, little more than flopping her hand back and forth on her wrist. Down below, Z takes this as a sign that Bala has seen him. Z (excited) Excuse me, guys -- That's my date. Well, it's been fun. Have a great war! Z tries to squeeze his way back towards the royals, but he's surrounded by a solid wall of soldiers -- and they're carrying him along with them. Z Hey! Wait! Z loses sight of the Princess as he's carried away. BARBATUS, a hard-as-nails "grunt" soldier ant, taps Z on the shoulder. BARBATUS You new, kid? Z I just joined up. But I'm quitting! I got a trial membership! BARBATUS Trial membership? Kid, when you join this ant's army, you're in for the full hitch. At that moment, Z is swept out of the cramped corridor they've been marching along, as the army emerges into the OPEN AIR outside of the colony. EXT. ANT MOUND - NIGHT It's a starry, moonlit night. The shadows crowd around the panicked Z, who looks up at the sky as we see the army on the march... Z Wait a minute, there's been a mistake! I've got to get back to the colony! Z starts to fall out of line, but Barbatus, looking concerned, stops him. BARBATUS Are you crazy, kid? They shoot deserters! Z swallows hard. BARBATUS You just stick by old Barbatus. He'll watch out for you. (off Z's look) Whatsamatter, kid? Leave a girl behind? Z Yeah. Well -- no. She's kind of playing hard to get. As a matter of fact, she's playing completely unattainable. (nervously) So, what's on the schedule? A brisk walk? a foraging expedition? BARBATUS No -- we're going to attack the termites! Z (alarmed) Attack? But -- I hate attacking! It's so hostile! Around Z and Barbatus, the ants start up a marching song, which we intersperse with dialogue between

access

How many times the word 'access' appears in the text?

Antz Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS "Antz", unknown draft A N T Z CHARACTERS VOICES "Z"...............................................WOODY ALLEN "WASP #1".........................................DAN AYKROYD "WASP #2".........................................JANE CURTIN "GEN. FORMICA"...................................DANNY GLOVER "MANDIBLE".......................................GENE HACKMAN "AZTECA".......................................JENNIFER LOPEZ "DRUNK SCOUT"....................................JOHN MAHONEY "WEAVER"...................................SYLVESTER STALLONE "PRINCESS BALA"..................................SHARON STONE "QUEEN"..........................................MERYL STREEP "CARPENTER"................................CHRISTOPHER WALKEN Z (O.S.) (over a dark screen) All my life, I've lived and worked in the big city... We see: EXT. AN ANT MOUND - DAY The camera swoops towards the entrance, then dives inside, past a couple of tough-looking soldier ants who stand at the gates of the ant colony like insect bouncers...into an access tunnel that snakes this way and that, past a row of ants plodding along... ...and into the MAIN CHAMBER of the colony, a huge, teeming vista that seems to stretch away forever, filled with ants rushing here and there on their business. We see -- a "traffic cop" directing foot traffic, waving his arms like crazy so both sides move at once -- a column of soldier ants marching along in formation -- a chain of ants letting down a matchbox elevator filled with workers. Z (V.O.) ...which is kind of a problem, since I've always felt uncomfortably in crowds. INT. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR'S OFFICE - DAY We join Z, a worker ant with issues. He's lying on a couch, recounting his woes. Z I feel...isolated. Different. I've got abandonment issues. My father flew away when I was just a larva. My mother didn't have much time for me...when you have five million siblings, it's difficult to get attention. (pause) I feel physically inadequate -- I've never been able to lift more than ten times my own weight. Sometimes I think I'm just not cut out to be a worker. But I don't have any other options. I was assigned to trade school when I was just a grub. The whole system just...makes me feel...insignificant. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (enthusiastic) Terrific! You should feel insignificant! For the first time, we see the ant MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR. He's a mixture of Tony Robbins and Ron Popiel (the hyperactive late-night TV huckster, and founder of "Ronco"). Z ...I should? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (hopping around enthusiastically) YES!!! You know, people ask me, "Doctor, why are you always happy?" And I tell them it's mind over matter. I don't mind that I don't matter! Do you get it? Do you get it? Z gives a fake smile. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (incredibly "up") Z, we're part of the fastest growing species in the whole world! The counsellor rolls down a chart from the wall. An arrow shows ant population going up, up, up. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Ask me why we're so successful. Z Why are we so successful? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR I'm glad you asked me that question! The motivational counsellor opens some blinds...and we see a vista of the ant-filled chamber below. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR What do you see out there? Z ...Ants... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Right! Ants! Millions of creatures, each with his assigned task, all pulling together! Down below, we see a group of ants carrying a boulder up an incline. One worker ants slips, and the boulder rolls down, crushing his leg. The other ants rush over -- it looks like they're going to help their fallen comrade, but instead, they climb right over him, and pick up the boulder, continuing with their task. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR You see? Being an ant is being able to say, "Hey -- I'm meaningless, you're meaningless." Z But -- but I've always felt life was about finding meaning...and then sharing it with someone special, someone you love. The motivational counsellor puts his arm on Z's shoulder...he seems to understand... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Z...you need help. (looking at a clock) Whoops! We're gonna have to stop there. Your minute is up! The counsellor ushers Z out of his seat and towards the door. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Now back to work! We've made real progress! Remember -- let's be best superorganism we can be! INT. EARLY MEGA-TUNNEL - DAY A gigantic tunnel, with the size and scale of the "Chunnel". A banner strung overhead reads: "The Mega-Tunnel -- Tunneling Our Way to a Bright Future!" Along the walls hang 50's work- incentive style posters with messages like, "You asked for it, you got it -- more work!" and "TWO MEALS A WEEK IS ENOUGH!!!" Line after line of ants is working on the tunnel, digging, passing clumps of dirt from ant to ant, everyone synchronized. CLOSE on a clump of DIRT being passed from hand to hand. PULL OUT TO REVEAL AZTECA, a feisty, cynical, female worker ant, who stands there, waiting to pass the dirt on. Z is daydreaming behind her, with clumps of dirt starting to pile up in front of him. AZTECA Hello?! Earth to Z! You better snap out of it, or there's gonna be a lot of pissed off ants! Z looks back, and sees the ants behind staring at him angrily. Z (snapping out of it) Sorry Azteca. Here you go, fellas! Fresh dirt! Alley oop! (looking at the dirt) Shouldn't we be wearing gloves? I mean this dirt is very...dirty. Doesn't anyone think of hygiene? (Z's stomach growls) Boy am I hungry. I'm so hungry I'm seeing double. It looks like there's two million ants in here. When's lunch? Tomorrow, or the day after? AZTECA (sweetly) Z, old pal... (shouts) SHUT UP!!! It's bad enough there's a food shortage without you complaining about it every day. Z The squeaky wheel gets the oil. AZTECA No, Z. The squeaky wheel gets thrown away, alright? You're a good ant, Z, even though you are a pain in my rear- segment. I don't wanna see anything happen to you. So quit mouthing off, before you get in trouble. A WHISTLE BLOWS. Z Thank goodness. Breaktime. All the ants put down their tools. A beat. Then the WHISTLE BLOWS AGAIN. All the ants pick up their tools again. AZTECA (resigned) Break's over. Z (getting back to work) This colony needs another tunnel like a hole in the ground. Why are we even digging this thing? AZTECA Who cares, Z. All I know is, we gotta dig. We're not the ones in charge. INT. TOWN CENTER - DAY The huge, spacious main chamber of the colony. Looming over the scene is the royal palace, which seems to be inaccessible, perched on top of a hill-like pedestal. Around the base of the pedestal, a crew of workers loiters, seemingly aimlessly...can these be the only unemployed ants in the place? GENERAL FORMICA STAIRS! The workers look up and GROAN. Then they start forming a stairway with their own bodies, linking arms, stepping on each other's shoulders. It's extremely unpleasant work. One ant is a little tardy, and just manages to get in place before... GENERAL FORMICA, the Pattonesque military leader of the colony, STEPS ON HIS HEAD, using it as the first step as he ascends to the palace, his aide-de-camp Carpenter in tow. As Formica mounts the "stairs" we can hear the workers going, "OUCH! OOF! YIKES!" etc. GENERAL FORMICA Cut the chit-chat down there! (turning to Carpenter) We've spoiled these workers, Carpenter. They've never had it so good, and listen to them -- always grumbling and complaining... Formica steps on the foot of one of the "stairway" ants, who muffles a yelp. CARPENTER ...Yes, sir. GENERAL FORMICA What have they got to complain about? Three square meals a day... CARPENTER Actually, sir, we've cut them down to three roughly rectangular meals a week. FORMICA Don't give me statistics, Carpenter. I know what I'm talking about. DOORS! Formica and Carpenter have reached the top of the staircase. There, the two guard ants on either side of the massive throne room doors pull them open -- and one door hinge SQUEAKS. FORMICA (to guard ant, while passing) Oil that, soldier. INT. THRONE ROOM - DAY The QUEEN is on her throne, her huge abdomen sprawled behind her. QUEEN Ah! General Formica. Formica salutes and marches to her, Carpenter behind him. Note: Throughout this scene, the Queen is giving birth repeatedly. Each birth is accompanied by a herald playing a short "Happy Birthday" fanfare on his trumpet. Mid-wife ants bring each baby to the Queen for inspection, who COOS a few words. The midwives put the babies on a moving bassinet- line, powered by ants on a treadmill. QUEEN General, the severe food shortage that faces the colony...pains me. The thought of any of my children going hungry... (she shudders; then, to baby) Who's the cutest widdle worker? You are! Yes, you! Don't forget to brush your teeth! (to mid-wife) Ship 'er out. (back to Formica) What steps are you taking to remedy the situation? FORMICA We are launching a major offensive to expand our foraging territory... QUEEN Yes, what else? FORMICA Please don't worry, your majesty. Leave the worrying to me. As you know, I'm not an ant of half- measures. I don't pussyfoot around. This crisis is my number one priority, and I promise you it's being dealt with swiftly, and decisively. The Queen's attention is interrupted by another baby being put in her arms. QUEEN (to baby) No snacking between meals! Off you go! (to Formica) Now -- what were we saying? FORMICA (Oliver North-style) I do not recollect, your majesty. Will that be all? QUEEN Yes, General Formica. Carry on, my good man! I don't know what we would do without you. Formica clicks his heels and bows his head. Carpenter bows low. Formica smartly about faces -- BALA (O.S.) General Formica! PRINCESS BALA hurries through a second doorway, carrying a swatch book. Something about her sets her apart from the HANDMAIDEN ANTS with her. Her tiara, probably. Formica tilts his head quizzically to Carpenter behind him. CARPENTER (sotto) Princess Bala, sir. Your fiancee. FORMICA Princess! You look -- outstanding. Is there anything I can do for you? BALA Well -- I thought -- since we're getting married...it might be nice if we...got to know one another. Formica looks confused. QUEEN Bala has always been a hopeless romantic, General. BALA It's just that -- well, I'm honored that you selected me, and everything, I just thought the marriage might go a little more smoothly if -- we had a conversation? FORMICA (uncomfortable) Conversation...yes...well... (to Carpenter) Wasn't she briefed? QUEEN (holding up a baby) Look, General! A darling baby soldier! (emotionally, to baby) Don't try to be a hero! Just make sure you come back in one piece! (handing it off) Next! FORMICA (using the interruption) I'll take your suggestion under advisement, Princess. In the meanwhile -- Formica turns to go. BALA General -- we have to talk sometime! FORMICA Very well. Carpenter, is there a convenient time to talk vis-a-vis: relationship? CARPENTER Actually, sir, we're ahead of schedule. We have thirty-six seconds available right now. FORMICA Outstanding. Princess...? Bala's a little fazed...but grabs her chance. BALA So, um...how was your day? What did you do? FORMICA (scouring his mind) Well... (that's it!) I declared war! BALA (sadly) Oh...and I was afraid we had nothing in common... CARPENTER (under his breath) Fourteen-fifty hours, sir. FORMICA Duty calls! He strides across the floor. Bala watches him go, her antennae drooping unhappily. FORMICA No squeak. Outstanding! We see through the now-open doors into the throne-room as Formica and Carpenter double-time out of the frame. The Queen sees that Bala is unhappy. QUEEN (sympathetically) I felt the same way before I got married. Confused. Scared. BALA (hopefully) You did? QUEEN Yes -- but I did my duty and sorted out all those messy feelings. The wonderful thing about ant life is that everything is arranged. Even marriage. You're lucky -- General Formica is a paragon of anthood. BALA (unconvinced) Yes...he's wonderful... The doors swing shut on them -- revealing the two guard ants who were CRUSHED in the wake of Formica's exit. INT. BALA'S QUARTERS - DAY Bala enters, followed by her handmaidens, who are in a state of giggling infatuation over Formica. Bala is scowling as she leafs through a wedding catalogue. HANDMAIDEN #1 (swooning over General Formica) The General's body segments are so...symmetrical. HANDMAIDEN #2 (giggling) I'd let him order me into battle anyday. Bala hurls the swatch book against the wall. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess? What's wrong? BALA Wrong? How could anything be wrong? I'm going to marry General Formica and be a queen and have millions of babies, just like my mom. (concerned) Do I look fat to you? HANDMAIDEN #2 (knowingly, to Handmaiden #2) Pre-wedding jitters. HANDMAIDEN #1 You just need to blow off some steam. Let's go to the bar at the Royal Club! BALA The Club's so stuffy. I want to try someplace different. HANDMAIDEN #2 There isn't anyplace else -- (making a joke) Except the worker bar. BALA The worker bar! Yes! That's where I want to go! The handmaidens look shocked. HANDMAIDEN #1 But -- we can't -- there'll be workers there. INT. ANT BAR - NIGHT A long bar filled with ants. The bar itself seems to stretch for miles, and there are hundreds of ants trying to get a drink...unfortunately, there's only one bartender. Z is at the bar with WEAVER, a burly ant soldier. Z We declared war again? (off Weaver's nod) Are you scared? WEAVER (shrugs) I'll be back. The BARTENDER, a grizzled veteran, slaps down what looks like a couple of large green beer mugs. Actually, they're aphids, little green critters he fills up from a number of kegs hanging from the ceiling. The kegs are specialized ants with hugely distended stomachs, which spray liquid into the aphids. APHIDS (as they're slapped on bar) Ouch! Ouch! BARTENDER Two aphid beers. Z (as Bartender leaves) Did you see that? How he gave you the beers, not me? I'm telling you, he's got something against workers. WEAVER I don't know what you're talking about, Z. Z Come on -- everybody dumps on us workers. You soldiers get all the glory. Plus you get to go out into the world, meet interesting insects, and kill them. WEAVER Yeah, but you get to spend all day with those fabulous worker babes. We can see that Weaver is eyeing a nearby table of "Worker Babes", including Z's friend Azteca. Z Weaver, they're career girls. They're obsessed with digging. (sighs) No, I'll probably never meet the girl for me. WEAVER Who said there was a girl for you? I was talking about a girl for me. (quaffing his aphid beer) Don't you want your aphid beer? Z I can't help it. I have a thing about drinking from the anus of another creature. Call me crazy. WEAVER Z, we've known each other a long time, right? Z Of course. You were born two seconds after me. WEAVER And all the time I've known you, you've been grumping and groaning. You should quit making waves. Go with the flow. Z Weaver, I'm an insect, not a liquid. Down the bar, there's a commotion. A grizzled old SCOUT ant has had too much to drink. DRUNK SCOUT Have you been to Insectopia? Have you? No, ya goddam larvas! But I have... (becoming emotional) ...Mosquitos n' caterpillars n' beetles -- all livin' in peace, stuffin their guts with food...No rules, no regulations...you can be your own ant there... (howling drunkenly) It's Insectopia! Insectopia! Z Hey, Weaver, listen! DRUNK SCOUT I was cut off from my unit -- found it by mistake -- (slurring) It changed my life! (spraying another soldier with saliva) You see -- ya follow the great yellow egg, and you come to the land of red and white -- SOLDIERS You've had enough for one night! Come on, Gramps, before you get in trouble. The soldiers pull him from the bar, carrying him out. Z (excited) Hey, did you hear what he said?! WEAVER Poor guy's had one too many scouting missions. MUSIC STARTS UP. INT. ANT BAR ENTRANCE - NIGHT Princess Bala is peering in at the entrance to the ant bar, accompanied by her worried-looking handmaidens. HANDMAIDEN #2 We shouldn't be doing this -- it isn't proper! BALA I'm the Princess, aren't I? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course -- BALA And do Princesses do improper things? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course not -- BALA Then if I go to the worker bar, it isn't improper. Anyway, don't worry. No one will recognize us in our disguises. She adjusts her "disguise", a hardhat, tied down Jackie O.- style with an ant's version of a Chanel scarf. BALA I'm just a common worker, cooling off after a rough day! Music starts. An ant BARKER takes the mic at one end of the dance floor. BARKER (on loudspeaker) Okay, folks. It's six-fifteen, and that means it's time to dance. Every ant gets up to dance. Weaver turns to Z. WEAVER (draining his beer) Time to cut a rug, Z! Z I'm not in the mood. (disgusted) Even when they're off work, they follow orders. WEAVER Well, you just sit here and be a party-pooper. Weaver joins the rest of the ants who are lining up for the dance. The Barker calls out the steps in a bored monotone -- all the ants already know the steps. Everyone dances in perfect synch. BARKER (southern twang) And a left-right-quarterstep-back step-halfstep -- a left-right- quarterstep-backstep-halfstep -- a left-right-quarterstep-backstep halfstep -- AT THE ENTRANCE, Bala smiles mischievously at her handmaidens. BALA I'm going to ask one of these mindless, primitive worker-types to dance with me! HANDMAIDEN #1 But General Formica would be furious! BALA (enjoying the idea) I know. The handmaidens are appalled. Bala whirls away from them, sets her sights and searches the crowd -- zeroing in on -- Z, who's watching the other ants dance. Z What a bunch of losers. Mindless zombies capitulating to an oppressive system -- BALA Wanna dance? Bala's standing right there. Z is instantly smitten. Z Me?! Yes!!! I mean -- (regaining suavosity) Just let me finish my beer. Not breaking eye contact with Bala, Z smiles suavely. Reaches suavely for a beer. Suavely grabs the candle in a glass jar off the bar. Suavely singes his face. He plays it off with a rakish little laugh. A bit apprehensive, Bala heads onto the floor. Z follows her. Z So uh -- how come I haven't seen you around here before? BALA (covering up) I work in the palace, I don't get out much. Z The palace, hunh? I bet those royals really live it up. Of course they're all a little, you know, from inbreeding -- BALA (shocked) What? Z and Bala step onto the dance floor with the rest of the ants, but Z can't do any of the steps. Z Now, let's see, I -- it's been a while since I -- I think you -- Bala watches Z, trying to follow along. It's the blind leading the blind, as Z tries in vain to follow the barker's rapid instructions. Z Here, I'll lead. Z starts doing his own, individual dance. With a suave expression on his face, he leads Bala in a helter-skelter mixture-of Tango, Charleston, and hand-jive. BALA Are you sure this is a real dance? Z Well, actually, uh -- I'm sort of making it up -- BALA (surprised) Really? Z Why should everyone dance the same way? It's as exciting as watching fungus grow. BALA You're right! Z (surprised) You -- you think I'm right? BALA Why can't I just do whatever I want to do? Why can't I just go wild?! Yahoo! Bala starts to get into it, making up her own steps in reply to Z's, loosening up, having fun. For a moment, the two of them are actually sexy together. Then they get a little too wild -- and the other ants, who are still doing their intricate dance, start to collide with Bala and Z. Z almost knocks over a big soldier ant. We can only see the ant's back at the moment. SOLDIER Hey! Watch your step, worker. Z has turned around to see the soldier ant, MAJOR MANDIBLE, glaring at him. Mandible is about twice Z's size. He's got one eye missing, and half of his left antenna his been chewed off. BALA You watch yours, soldier, or my worker friend will beat you up! Z (terrified) Oh, that's okay, I'll let him off this time. (whispering to Bala) Are you crazy? This guy's built like a pebble! (ineptly trying to placate the soldier) You know they do great prosthetic antennas nowadays -- BALA Aren't you gonna stand up for yourself? Z's caught between a rock and a hard place. He doesn't want to get beaten up, but on the other hand, he doesn't want to lose face in front of Bala. More soldiers have gathered around, looking hostile. SOLDIER How come you don't dance like the rest of us? Z glances over at Bala. Then, shaking with nervousness, he says defiantly... Z Because -- because I'm an individual! SOLDIER #2 An individual? Never heard of it. MANDIBLE You look like a worker to me. WEAVER Hey, lay off my little buddy! Z, meanwhile, looks far away, ecstatic, as if he's just realized something very important. Unfortunately, just at this moment, A soldier pushes Weaver...Weaver pushes him back...somebody makes a dive for Z -- and before you know it, there's a regular bar brawl going on, with Weaver in the middle of it, cracking heads together, punching ants in the face, having a great time. Just then, the Princess' handmaidens hurries over. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess Bala! Princess Bala! Z, who's scrabbling around on the floor, overhears. Z Princess? You're a Princess? HANDMAIDEN #2 The police are coming! BALA Uh oh. (to Z) Goodbye! Gotta run! Z Wait! When can I see you again? BALA Let me think. Hmmnn... (thinks) Never. Bye! Bala rushes off with her handmaiden, just before a squad of whistle-blowing POLICE wade into the crowd. Z Wait! Princess! Wait! But she's already gone, leaving Z holding her scarf. CUT TO: INT. DORMITORY - THE NEXT DAY Z is talking to Weaver, who's getting ready to go off to war. Nearby, columns of ant soldiers march by. WEAVER Get real, Z! She just dropped the scarf by accident! Z Are you kidding? There were sparks between us! This scarf is a sign! WEAVER It's a sign that you're crazy! Do you know what the penalty for impersonating a soldier is? Z What's gonna go wrong?! I take your place for the royal inspection. Bala comes strolling down the line, she sees me -- bingo! Love is rekindled, and she takes me up to the palace for a little... (wags his eyebrows suggestively) tea and crumpets... and you take your place again, and go march around to your heart's content! Weaver looks unconvinced. Z You have to help me. Please, Weaver. Think of all the things I've done for you! WEAVER (thinks) I can't think of any. Z (pause) Well I'm gonna start doing things for you... WEAVER Will you introduce me to some worker girls? Z You bet! They'll really go for a sensitive guy like you! WEAVER Maybe I'll get lucky. (Weaver thinks about it) You know, Z, I wouldn't do this for anyone but you... Weaver hands Z has helmet. WEAVER Wear this. Z (overjoyed) You're a real buddy. WEAVER (sourly) Yeah, I know. Z What do I do? WEAVER Don't tell anyone you're a worker. Follow that column over there. And come right back after the inspection! Weaver points to a bunch of soldiers hurrying by in formation. Z (overjoyed) Thanks! I owe you! Z skips off and joins the column, marching in time with the soldiers but too excited to keep from jazzing it up a little. INT. TOWN CENTER - NIGHT The ant army has gathered in a huge HALL in front of a reviewing stand. We can hear the murmuring of thousands of soldiers -- but all we can see is a HUGE POSTER of an ant General pointing right at the camera. The poster reads, "GENERAL FORMICA WANTS YOU -- to obey". Z turns to some of the soldiers near him. Z Any of you guys know when the Princess will show up? She's kind of a personal friend. The soldiers look at Z like he's nuts. LOUD VOICE ATTEN-SHUN! MARTIAL MUSIC sounds, and we hear thousands of ant feet as they snap to attention. Z imitates the soldiers awkwardly. GENERAL FORMICA struts to the middle 6f the screen, slapping his thigh with a swagger stick (the antenna of some unfortunate insect) FORMICA First of all, let me make one thing clear. Nobody ever won a battle by thinking for himself. All this "thinking" stuff is a load of crap. If the almighty had wanted you boys to think, he wouldn't have given you huge mandibles and a brain so small you'd misplace it if it wasn't trapped inside your head. In the audience, Z starts laughing -- he thinks Formica's just made a joke. Z (slapping his thigh) "Trapped inside your head" -- that's a good one -- Z notices nobody else is laughing. He stops. Z Geez -- tough room. From the stage, Formica is squinting at the audience, trying to make out who was laughing, but there are just too many ants. He continues. FORMICA (striding back and forth) We ants survive as a species because we do what we're told. We survive because we work together, as one, we get the job done, we do whatever it takes to persevere! (dramatic pause) Hell, we're not an army of ants...we're one giant ant, with giant fists, and giant jaws! The soldiers CHEER! Z CHEERS along with the rest of them. Z (to the soldier ant next to him) Lays it on a little thick, doesn't he? If you ask me, he's one giant bore. FORMICA Now I've heard a lot of scuttlebutt about a food shortage. Well you boys are gonna be taken care of. But in the meantime we're gonna eat the enemy for breakfast, we are gonna eat the enemy for lunch, and we are gonna eat the enemy for dinner! Z Geez, and I forgot my toothbrush. FORMICA (reflective moment) Dammit, I'm proud to be an ant. (he looks out at his army) And I know each and every one of you boys will do your duty. Dismissed. Z applauds and whistles as the other ants look at him in confusion. Z (clapping) Bravo! Bring on the Princess! COLONEL Stow the gab there, soldier! Let's move 'em out! The soldiers turn to the right and start to march out past the reviewing stand. A COLONEL marches at the head of Z's column as Z looks around for the Princess. COLONEL Eyes...left! Finally, as Z's part of the army marches past the end of the reviewing stand, he sees her, looking bored, standing next to the Queen, who is giving the royal wave. Z (waving) Princess! Princess Bala! Hey! It's me! Z! I've got your scarf! ON THE REVIEWING STAND, Bala sees Z -- that is to say, she sees one of the thousands upon thousands of ants marching by... BALA (peering out) Who is that idiot? QUEEN Darling, you must encourage the troops -- wave! Bala waves unenthusiastically, little more than flopping her hand back and forth on her wrist. Down below, Z takes this as a sign that Bala has seen him. Z (excited) Excuse me, guys -- That's my date. Well, it's been fun. Have a great war! Z tries to squeeze his way back towards the royals, but he's surrounded by a solid wall of soldiers -- and they're carrying him along with them. Z Hey! Wait! Z loses sight of the Princess as he's carried away. BARBATUS, a hard-as-nails "grunt" soldier ant, taps Z on the shoulder. BARBATUS You new, kid? Z I just joined up. But I'm quitting! I got a trial membership! BARBATUS Trial membership? Kid, when you join this ant's army, you're in for the full hitch. At that moment, Z is swept out of the cramped corridor they've been marching along, as the army emerges into the OPEN AIR outside of the colony. EXT. ANT MOUND - NIGHT It's a starry, moonlit night. The shadows crowd around the panicked Z, who looks up at the sky as we see the army on the march... Z Wait a minute, there's been a mistake! I've got to get back to the colony! Z starts to fall out of line, but Barbatus, looking concerned, stops him. BARBATUS Are you crazy, kid? They shoot deserters! Z swallows hard. BARBATUS You just stick by old Barbatus. He'll watch out for you. (off Z's look) Whatsamatter, kid? Leave a girl behind? Z Yeah. Well -- no. She's kind of playing hard to get. As a matter of fact, she's playing completely unattainable. (nervously) So, what's on the schedule? A brisk walk? a foraging expedition? BARBATUS No -- we're going to attack the termites! Z (alarmed) Attack? But -- I hate attacking! It's so hostile! Around Z and Barbatus, the ants start up a marching song, which we intersperse with dialogue between

stop

How many times the word 'stop' appears in the text?

Antz Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS "Antz", unknown draft A N T Z CHARACTERS VOICES "Z"...............................................WOODY ALLEN "WASP #1".........................................DAN AYKROYD "WASP #2".........................................JANE CURTIN "GEN. FORMICA"...................................DANNY GLOVER "MANDIBLE".......................................GENE HACKMAN "AZTECA".......................................JENNIFER LOPEZ "DRUNK SCOUT"....................................JOHN MAHONEY "WEAVER"...................................SYLVESTER STALLONE "PRINCESS BALA"..................................SHARON STONE "QUEEN"..........................................MERYL STREEP "CARPENTER"................................CHRISTOPHER WALKEN Z (O.S.) (over a dark screen) All my life, I've lived and worked in the big city... We see: EXT. AN ANT MOUND - DAY The camera swoops towards the entrance, then dives inside, past a couple of tough-looking soldier ants who stand at the gates of the ant colony like insect bouncers...into an access tunnel that snakes this way and that, past a row of ants plodding along... ...and into the MAIN CHAMBER of the colony, a huge, teeming vista that seems to stretch away forever, filled with ants rushing here and there on their business. We see -- a "traffic cop" directing foot traffic, waving his arms like crazy so both sides move at once -- a column of soldier ants marching along in formation -- a chain of ants letting down a matchbox elevator filled with workers. Z (V.O.) ...which is kind of a problem, since I've always felt uncomfortably in crowds. INT. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR'S OFFICE - DAY We join Z, a worker ant with issues. He's lying on a couch, recounting his woes. Z I feel...isolated. Different. I've got abandonment issues. My father flew away when I was just a larva. My mother didn't have much time for me...when you have five million siblings, it's difficult to get attention. (pause) I feel physically inadequate -- I've never been able to lift more than ten times my own weight. Sometimes I think I'm just not cut out to be a worker. But I don't have any other options. I was assigned to trade school when I was just a grub. The whole system just...makes me feel...insignificant. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (enthusiastic) Terrific! You should feel insignificant! For the first time, we see the ant MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR. He's a mixture of Tony Robbins and Ron Popiel (the hyperactive late-night TV huckster, and founder of "Ronco"). Z ...I should? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (hopping around enthusiastically) YES!!! You know, people ask me, "Doctor, why are you always happy?" And I tell them it's mind over matter. I don't mind that I don't matter! Do you get it? Do you get it? Z gives a fake smile. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (incredibly "up") Z, we're part of the fastest growing species in the whole world! The counsellor rolls down a chart from the wall. An arrow shows ant population going up, up, up. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Ask me why we're so successful. Z Why are we so successful? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR I'm glad you asked me that question! The motivational counsellor opens some blinds...and we see a vista of the ant-filled chamber below. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR What do you see out there? Z ...Ants... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Right! Ants! Millions of creatures, each with his assigned task, all pulling together! Down below, we see a group of ants carrying a boulder up an incline. One worker ants slips, and the boulder rolls down, crushing his leg. The other ants rush over -- it looks like they're going to help their fallen comrade, but instead, they climb right over him, and pick up the boulder, continuing with their task. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR You see? Being an ant is being able to say, "Hey -- I'm meaningless, you're meaningless." Z But -- but I've always felt life was about finding meaning...and then sharing it with someone special, someone you love. The motivational counsellor puts his arm on Z's shoulder...he seems to understand... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Z...you need help. (looking at a clock) Whoops! We're gonna have to stop there. Your minute is up! The counsellor ushers Z out of his seat and towards the door. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Now back to work! We've made real progress! Remember -- let's be best superorganism we can be! INT. EARLY MEGA-TUNNEL - DAY A gigantic tunnel, with the size and scale of the "Chunnel". A banner strung overhead reads: "The Mega-Tunnel -- Tunneling Our Way to a Bright Future!" Along the walls hang 50's work- incentive style posters with messages like, "You asked for it, you got it -- more work!" and "TWO MEALS A WEEK IS ENOUGH!!!" Line after line of ants is working on the tunnel, digging, passing clumps of dirt from ant to ant, everyone synchronized. CLOSE on a clump of DIRT being passed from hand to hand. PULL OUT TO REVEAL AZTECA, a feisty, cynical, female worker ant, who stands there, waiting to pass the dirt on. Z is daydreaming behind her, with clumps of dirt starting to pile up in front of him. AZTECA Hello?! Earth to Z! You better snap out of it, or there's gonna be a lot of pissed off ants! Z looks back, and sees the ants behind staring at him angrily. Z (snapping out of it) Sorry Azteca. Here you go, fellas! Fresh dirt! Alley oop! (looking at the dirt) Shouldn't we be wearing gloves? I mean this dirt is very...dirty. Doesn't anyone think of hygiene? (Z's stomach growls) Boy am I hungry. I'm so hungry I'm seeing double. It looks like there's two million ants in here. When's lunch? Tomorrow, or the day after? AZTECA (sweetly) Z, old pal... (shouts) SHUT UP!!! It's bad enough there's a food shortage without you complaining about it every day. Z The squeaky wheel gets the oil. AZTECA No, Z. The squeaky wheel gets thrown away, alright? You're a good ant, Z, even though you are a pain in my rear- segment. I don't wanna see anything happen to you. So quit mouthing off, before you get in trouble. A WHISTLE BLOWS. Z Thank goodness. Breaktime. All the ants put down their tools. A beat. Then the WHISTLE BLOWS AGAIN. All the ants pick up their tools again. AZTECA (resigned) Break's over. Z (getting back to work) This colony needs another tunnel like a hole in the ground. Why are we even digging this thing? AZTECA Who cares, Z. All I know is, we gotta dig. We're not the ones in charge. INT. TOWN CENTER - DAY The huge, spacious main chamber of the colony. Looming over the scene is the royal palace, which seems to be inaccessible, perched on top of a hill-like pedestal. Around the base of the pedestal, a crew of workers loiters, seemingly aimlessly...can these be the only unemployed ants in the place? GENERAL FORMICA STAIRS! The workers look up and GROAN. Then they start forming a stairway with their own bodies, linking arms, stepping on each other's shoulders. It's extremely unpleasant work. One ant is a little tardy, and just manages to get in place before... GENERAL FORMICA, the Pattonesque military leader of the colony, STEPS ON HIS HEAD, using it as the first step as he ascends to the palace, his aide-de-camp Carpenter in tow. As Formica mounts the "stairs" we can hear the workers going, "OUCH! OOF! YIKES!" etc. GENERAL FORMICA Cut the chit-chat down there! (turning to Carpenter) We've spoiled these workers, Carpenter. They've never had it so good, and listen to them -- always grumbling and complaining... Formica steps on the foot of one of the "stairway" ants, who muffles a yelp. CARPENTER ...Yes, sir. GENERAL FORMICA What have they got to complain about? Three square meals a day... CARPENTER Actually, sir, we've cut them down to three roughly rectangular meals a week. FORMICA Don't give me statistics, Carpenter. I know what I'm talking about. DOORS! Formica and Carpenter have reached the top of the staircase. There, the two guard ants on either side of the massive throne room doors pull them open -- and one door hinge SQUEAKS. FORMICA (to guard ant, while passing) Oil that, soldier. INT. THRONE ROOM - DAY The QUEEN is on her throne, her huge abdomen sprawled behind her. QUEEN Ah! General Formica. Formica salutes and marches to her, Carpenter behind him. Note: Throughout this scene, the Queen is giving birth repeatedly. Each birth is accompanied by a herald playing a short "Happy Birthday" fanfare on his trumpet. Mid-wife ants bring each baby to the Queen for inspection, who COOS a few words. The midwives put the babies on a moving bassinet- line, powered by ants on a treadmill. QUEEN General, the severe food shortage that faces the colony...pains me. The thought of any of my children going hungry... (she shudders; then, to baby) Who's the cutest widdle worker? You are! Yes, you! Don't forget to brush your teeth! (to mid-wife) Ship 'er out. (back to Formica) What steps are you taking to remedy the situation? FORMICA We are launching a major offensive to expand our foraging territory... QUEEN Yes, what else? FORMICA Please don't worry, your majesty. Leave the worrying to me. As you know, I'm not an ant of half- measures. I don't pussyfoot around. This crisis is my number one priority, and I promise you it's being dealt with swiftly, and decisively. The Queen's attention is interrupted by another baby being put in her arms. QUEEN (to baby) No snacking between meals! Off you go! (to Formica) Now -- what were we saying? FORMICA (Oliver North-style) I do not recollect, your majesty. Will that be all? QUEEN Yes, General Formica. Carry on, my good man! I don't know what we would do without you. Formica clicks his heels and bows his head. Carpenter bows low. Formica smartly about faces -- BALA (O.S.) General Formica! PRINCESS BALA hurries through a second doorway, carrying a swatch book. Something about her sets her apart from the HANDMAIDEN ANTS with her. Her tiara, probably. Formica tilts his head quizzically to Carpenter behind him. CARPENTER (sotto) Princess Bala, sir. Your fiancee. FORMICA Princess! You look -- outstanding. Is there anything I can do for you? BALA Well -- I thought -- since we're getting married...it might be nice if we...got to know one another. Formica looks confused. QUEEN Bala has always been a hopeless romantic, General. BALA It's just that -- well, I'm honored that you selected me, and everything, I just thought the marriage might go a little more smoothly if -- we had a conversation? FORMICA (uncomfortable) Conversation...yes...well... (to Carpenter) Wasn't she briefed? QUEEN (holding up a baby) Look, General! A darling baby soldier! (emotionally, to baby) Don't try to be a hero! Just make sure you come back in one piece! (handing it off) Next! FORMICA (using the interruption) I'll take your suggestion under advisement, Princess. In the meanwhile -- Formica turns to go. BALA General -- we have to talk sometime! FORMICA Very well. Carpenter, is there a convenient time to talk vis-a-vis: relationship? CARPENTER Actually, sir, we're ahead of schedule. We have thirty-six seconds available right now. FORMICA Outstanding. Princess...? Bala's a little fazed...but grabs her chance. BALA So, um...how was your day? What did you do? FORMICA (scouring his mind) Well... (that's it!) I declared war! BALA (sadly) Oh...and I was afraid we had nothing in common... CARPENTER (under his breath) Fourteen-fifty hours, sir. FORMICA Duty calls! He strides across the floor. Bala watches him go, her antennae drooping unhappily. FORMICA No squeak. Outstanding! We see through the now-open doors into the throne-room as Formica and Carpenter double-time out of the frame. The Queen sees that Bala is unhappy. QUEEN (sympathetically) I felt the same way before I got married. Confused. Scared. BALA (hopefully) You did? QUEEN Yes -- but I did my duty and sorted out all those messy feelings. The wonderful thing about ant life is that everything is arranged. Even marriage. You're lucky -- General Formica is a paragon of anthood. BALA (unconvinced) Yes...he's wonderful... The doors swing shut on them -- revealing the two guard ants who were CRUSHED in the wake of Formica's exit. INT. BALA'S QUARTERS - DAY Bala enters, followed by her handmaidens, who are in a state of giggling infatuation over Formica. Bala is scowling as she leafs through a wedding catalogue. HANDMAIDEN #1 (swooning over General Formica) The General's body segments are so...symmetrical. HANDMAIDEN #2 (giggling) I'd let him order me into battle anyday. Bala hurls the swatch book against the wall. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess? What's wrong? BALA Wrong? How could anything be wrong? I'm going to marry General Formica and be a queen and have millions of babies, just like my mom. (concerned) Do I look fat to you? HANDMAIDEN #2 (knowingly, to Handmaiden #2) Pre-wedding jitters. HANDMAIDEN #1 You just need to blow off some steam. Let's go to the bar at the Royal Club! BALA The Club's so stuffy. I want to try someplace different. HANDMAIDEN #2 There isn't anyplace else -- (making a joke) Except the worker bar. BALA The worker bar! Yes! That's where I want to go! The handmaidens look shocked. HANDMAIDEN #1 But -- we can't -- there'll be workers there. INT. ANT BAR - NIGHT A long bar filled with ants. The bar itself seems to stretch for miles, and there are hundreds of ants trying to get a drink...unfortunately, there's only one bartender. Z is at the bar with WEAVER, a burly ant soldier. Z We declared war again? (off Weaver's nod) Are you scared? WEAVER (shrugs) I'll be back. The BARTENDER, a grizzled veteran, slaps down what looks like a couple of large green beer mugs. Actually, they're aphids, little green critters he fills up from a number of kegs hanging from the ceiling. The kegs are specialized ants with hugely distended stomachs, which spray liquid into the aphids. APHIDS (as they're slapped on bar) Ouch! Ouch! BARTENDER Two aphid beers. Z (as Bartender leaves) Did you see that? How he gave you the beers, not me? I'm telling you, he's got something against workers. WEAVER I don't know what you're talking about, Z. Z Come on -- everybody dumps on us workers. You soldiers get all the glory. Plus you get to go out into the world, meet interesting insects, and kill them. WEAVER Yeah, but you get to spend all day with those fabulous worker babes. We can see that Weaver is eyeing a nearby table of "Worker Babes", including Z's friend Azteca. Z Weaver, they're career girls. They're obsessed with digging. (sighs) No, I'll probably never meet the girl for me. WEAVER Who said there was a girl for you? I was talking about a girl for me. (quaffing his aphid beer) Don't you want your aphid beer? Z I can't help it. I have a thing about drinking from the anus of another creature. Call me crazy. WEAVER Z, we've known each other a long time, right? Z Of course. You were born two seconds after me. WEAVER And all the time I've known you, you've been grumping and groaning. You should quit making waves. Go with the flow. Z Weaver, I'm an insect, not a liquid. Down the bar, there's a commotion. A grizzled old SCOUT ant has had too much to drink. DRUNK SCOUT Have you been to Insectopia? Have you? No, ya goddam larvas! But I have... (becoming emotional) ...Mosquitos n' caterpillars n' beetles -- all livin' in peace, stuffin their guts with food...No rules, no regulations...you can be your own ant there... (howling drunkenly) It's Insectopia! Insectopia! Z Hey, Weaver, listen! DRUNK SCOUT I was cut off from my unit -- found it by mistake -- (slurring) It changed my life! (spraying another soldier with saliva) You see -- ya follow the great yellow egg, and you come to the land of red and white -- SOLDIERS You've had enough for one night! Come on, Gramps, before you get in trouble. The soldiers pull him from the bar, carrying him out. Z (excited) Hey, did you hear what he said?! WEAVER Poor guy's had one too many scouting missions. MUSIC STARTS UP. INT. ANT BAR ENTRANCE - NIGHT Princess Bala is peering in at the entrance to the ant bar, accompanied by her worried-looking handmaidens. HANDMAIDEN #2 We shouldn't be doing this -- it isn't proper! BALA I'm the Princess, aren't I? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course -- BALA And do Princesses do improper things? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course not -- BALA Then if I go to the worker bar, it isn't improper. Anyway, don't worry. No one will recognize us in our disguises. She adjusts her "disguise", a hardhat, tied down Jackie O.- style with an ant's version of a Chanel scarf. BALA I'm just a common worker, cooling off after a rough day! Music starts. An ant BARKER takes the mic at one end of the dance floor. BARKER (on loudspeaker) Okay, folks. It's six-fifteen, and that means it's time to dance. Every ant gets up to dance. Weaver turns to Z. WEAVER (draining his beer) Time to cut a rug, Z! Z I'm not in the mood. (disgusted) Even when they're off work, they follow orders. WEAVER Well, you just sit here and be a party-pooper. Weaver joins the rest of the ants who are lining up for the dance. The Barker calls out the steps in a bored monotone -- all the ants already know the steps. Everyone dances in perfect synch. BARKER (southern twang) And a left-right-quarterstep-back step-halfstep -- a left-right- quarterstep-backstep-halfstep -- a left-right-quarterstep-backstep halfstep -- AT THE ENTRANCE, Bala smiles mischievously at her handmaidens. BALA I'm going to ask one of these mindless, primitive worker-types to dance with me! HANDMAIDEN #1 But General Formica would be furious! BALA (enjoying the idea) I know. The handmaidens are appalled. Bala whirls away from them, sets her sights and searches the crowd -- zeroing in on -- Z, who's watching the other ants dance. Z What a bunch of losers. Mindless zombies capitulating to an oppressive system -- BALA Wanna dance? Bala's standing right there. Z is instantly smitten. Z Me?! Yes!!! I mean -- (regaining suavosity) Just let me finish my beer. Not breaking eye contact with Bala, Z smiles suavely. Reaches suavely for a beer. Suavely grabs the candle in a glass jar off the bar. Suavely singes his face. He plays it off with a rakish little laugh. A bit apprehensive, Bala heads onto the floor. Z follows her. Z So uh -- how come I haven't seen you around here before? BALA (covering up) I work in the palace, I don't get out much. Z The palace, hunh? I bet those royals really live it up. Of course they're all a little, you know, from inbreeding -- BALA (shocked) What? Z and Bala step onto the dance floor with the rest of the ants, but Z can't do any of the steps. Z Now, let's see, I -- it's been a while since I -- I think you -- Bala watches Z, trying to follow along. It's the blind leading the blind, as Z tries in vain to follow the barker's rapid instructions. Z Here, I'll lead. Z starts doing his own, individual dance. With a suave expression on his face, he leads Bala in a helter-skelter mixture-of Tango, Charleston, and hand-jive. BALA Are you sure this is a real dance? Z Well, actually, uh -- I'm sort of making it up -- BALA (surprised) Really? Z Why should everyone dance the same way? It's as exciting as watching fungus grow. BALA You're right! Z (surprised) You -- you think I'm right? BALA Why can't I just do whatever I want to do? Why can't I just go wild?! Yahoo! Bala starts to get into it, making up her own steps in reply to Z's, loosening up, having fun. For a moment, the two of them are actually sexy together. Then they get a little too wild -- and the other ants, who are still doing their intricate dance, start to collide with Bala and Z. Z almost knocks over a big soldier ant. We can only see the ant's back at the moment. SOLDIER Hey! Watch your step, worker. Z has turned around to see the soldier ant, MAJOR MANDIBLE, glaring at him. Mandible is about twice Z's size. He's got one eye missing, and half of his left antenna his been chewed off. BALA You watch yours, soldier, or my worker friend will beat you up! Z (terrified) Oh, that's okay, I'll let him off this time. (whispering to Bala) Are you crazy? This guy's built like a pebble! (ineptly trying to placate the soldier) You know they do great prosthetic antennas nowadays -- BALA Aren't you gonna stand up for yourself? Z's caught between a rock and a hard place. He doesn't want to get beaten up, but on the other hand, he doesn't want to lose face in front of Bala. More soldiers have gathered around, looking hostile. SOLDIER How come you don't dance like the rest of us? Z glances over at Bala. Then, shaking with nervousness, he says defiantly... Z Because -- because I'm an individual! SOLDIER #2 An individual? Never heard of it. MANDIBLE You look like a worker to me. WEAVER Hey, lay off my little buddy! Z, meanwhile, looks far away, ecstatic, as if he's just realized something very important. Unfortunately, just at this moment, A soldier pushes Weaver...Weaver pushes him back...somebody makes a dive for Z -- and before you know it, there's a regular bar brawl going on, with Weaver in the middle of it, cracking heads together, punching ants in the face, having a great time. Just then, the Princess' handmaidens hurries over. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess Bala! Princess Bala! Z, who's scrabbling around on the floor, overhears. Z Princess? You're a Princess? HANDMAIDEN #2 The police are coming! BALA Uh oh. (to Z) Goodbye! Gotta run! Z Wait! When can I see you again? BALA Let me think. Hmmnn... (thinks) Never. Bye! Bala rushes off with her handmaiden, just before a squad of whistle-blowing POLICE wade into the crowd. Z Wait! Princess! Wait! But she's already gone, leaving Z holding her scarf. CUT TO: INT. DORMITORY - THE NEXT DAY Z is talking to Weaver, who's getting ready to go off to war. Nearby, columns of ant soldiers march by. WEAVER Get real, Z! She just dropped the scarf by accident! Z Are you kidding? There were sparks between us! This scarf is a sign! WEAVER It's a sign that you're crazy! Do you know what the penalty for impersonating a soldier is? Z What's gonna go wrong?! I take your place for the royal inspection. Bala comes strolling down the line, she sees me -- bingo! Love is rekindled, and she takes me up to the palace for a little... (wags his eyebrows suggestively) tea and crumpets... and you take your place again, and go march around to your heart's content! Weaver looks unconvinced. Z You have to help me. Please, Weaver. Think of all the things I've done for you! WEAVER (thinks) I can't think of any. Z (pause) Well I'm gonna start doing things for you... WEAVER Will you introduce me to some worker girls? Z You bet! They'll really go for a sensitive guy like you! WEAVER Maybe I'll get lucky. (Weaver thinks about it) You know, Z, I wouldn't do this for anyone but you... Weaver hands Z has helmet. WEAVER Wear this. Z (overjoyed) You're a real buddy. WEAVER (sourly) Yeah, I know. Z What do I do? WEAVER Don't tell anyone you're a worker. Follow that column over there. And come right back after the inspection! Weaver points to a bunch of soldiers hurrying by in formation. Z (overjoyed) Thanks! I owe you! Z skips off and joins the column, marching in time with the soldiers but too excited to keep from jazzing it up a little. INT. TOWN CENTER - NIGHT The ant army has gathered in a huge HALL in front of a reviewing stand. We can hear the murmuring of thousands of soldiers -- but all we can see is a HUGE POSTER of an ant General pointing right at the camera. The poster reads, "GENERAL FORMICA WANTS YOU -- to obey". Z turns to some of the soldiers near him. Z Any of you guys know when the Princess will show up? She's kind of a personal friend. The soldiers look at Z like he's nuts. LOUD VOICE ATTEN-SHUN! MARTIAL MUSIC sounds, and we hear thousands of ant feet as they snap to attention. Z imitates the soldiers awkwardly. GENERAL FORMICA struts to the middle 6f the screen, slapping his thigh with a swagger stick (the antenna of some unfortunate insect) FORMICA First of all, let me make one thing clear. Nobody ever won a battle by thinking for himself. All this "thinking" stuff is a load of crap. If the almighty had wanted you boys to think, he wouldn't have given you huge mandibles and a brain so small you'd misplace it if it wasn't trapped inside your head. In the audience, Z starts laughing -- he thinks Formica's just made a joke. Z (slapping his thigh) "Trapped inside your head" -- that's a good one -- Z notices nobody else is laughing. He stops. Z Geez -- tough room. From the stage, Formica is squinting at the audience, trying to make out who was laughing, but there are just too many ants. He continues. FORMICA (striding back and forth) We ants survive as a species because we do what we're told. We survive because we work together, as one, we get the job done, we do whatever it takes to persevere! (dramatic pause) Hell, we're not an army of ants...we're one giant ant, with giant fists, and giant jaws! The soldiers CHEER! Z CHEERS along with the rest of them. Z (to the soldier ant next to him) Lays it on a little thick, doesn't he? If you ask me, he's one giant bore. FORMICA Now I've heard a lot of scuttlebutt about a food shortage. Well you boys are gonna be taken care of. But in the meantime we're gonna eat the enemy for breakfast, we are gonna eat the enemy for lunch, and we are gonna eat the enemy for dinner! Z Geez, and I forgot my toothbrush. FORMICA (reflective moment) Dammit, I'm proud to be an ant. (he looks out at his army) And I know each and every one of you boys will do your duty. Dismissed. Z applauds and whistles as the other ants look at him in confusion. Z (clapping) Bravo! Bring on the Princess! COLONEL Stow the gab there, soldier! Let's move 'em out! The soldiers turn to the right and start to march out past the reviewing stand. A COLONEL marches at the head of Z's column as Z looks around for the Princess. COLONEL Eyes...left! Finally, as Z's part of the army marches past the end of the reviewing stand, he sees her, looking bored, standing next to the Queen, who is giving the royal wave. Z (waving) Princess! Princess Bala! Hey! It's me! Z! I've got your scarf! ON THE REVIEWING STAND, Bala sees Z -- that is to say, she sees one of the thousands upon thousands of ants marching by... BALA (peering out) Who is that idiot? QUEEN Darling, you must encourage the troops -- wave! Bala waves unenthusiastically, little more than flopping her hand back and forth on her wrist. Down below, Z takes this as a sign that Bala has seen him. Z (excited) Excuse me, guys -- That's my date. Well, it's been fun. Have a great war! Z tries to squeeze his way back towards the royals, but he's surrounded by a solid wall of soldiers -- and they're carrying him along with them. Z Hey! Wait! Z loses sight of the Princess as he's carried away. BARBATUS, a hard-as-nails "grunt" soldier ant, taps Z on the shoulder. BARBATUS You new, kid? Z I just joined up. But I'm quitting! I got a trial membership! BARBATUS Trial membership? Kid, when you join this ant's army, you're in for the full hitch. At that moment, Z is swept out of the cramped corridor they've been marching along, as the army emerges into the OPEN AIR outside of the colony. EXT. ANT MOUND - NIGHT It's a starry, moonlit night. The shadows crowd around the panicked Z, who looks up at the sky as we see the army on the march... Z Wait a minute, there's been a mistake! I've got to get back to the colony! Z starts to fall out of line, but Barbatus, looking concerned, stops him. BARBATUS Are you crazy, kid? They shoot deserters! Z swallows hard. BARBATUS You just stick by old Barbatus. He'll watch out for you. (off Z's look) Whatsamatter, kid? Leave a girl behind? Z Yeah. Well -- no. She's kind of playing hard to get. As a matter of fact, she's playing completely unattainable. (nervously) So, what's on the schedule? A brisk walk? a foraging expedition? BARBATUS No -- we're going to attack the termites! Z (alarmed) Attack? But -- I hate attacking! It's so hostile! Around Z and Barbatus, the ants start up a marching song, which we intersperse with dialogue between

park

How many times the word 'park' appears in the text?

Antz Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS "Antz", unknown draft A N T Z CHARACTERS VOICES "Z"...............................................WOODY ALLEN "WASP #1".........................................DAN AYKROYD "WASP #2".........................................JANE CURTIN "GEN. FORMICA"...................................DANNY GLOVER "MANDIBLE".......................................GENE HACKMAN "AZTECA".......................................JENNIFER LOPEZ "DRUNK SCOUT"....................................JOHN MAHONEY "WEAVER"...................................SYLVESTER STALLONE "PRINCESS BALA"..................................SHARON STONE "QUEEN"..........................................MERYL STREEP "CARPENTER"................................CHRISTOPHER WALKEN Z (O.S.) (over a dark screen) All my life, I've lived and worked in the big city... We see: EXT. AN ANT MOUND - DAY The camera swoops towards the entrance, then dives inside, past a couple of tough-looking soldier ants who stand at the gates of the ant colony like insect bouncers...into an access tunnel that snakes this way and that, past a row of ants plodding along... ...and into the MAIN CHAMBER of the colony, a huge, teeming vista that seems to stretch away forever, filled with ants rushing here and there on their business. We see -- a "traffic cop" directing foot traffic, waving his arms like crazy so both sides move at once -- a column of soldier ants marching along in formation -- a chain of ants letting down a matchbox elevator filled with workers. Z (V.O.) ...which is kind of a problem, since I've always felt uncomfortably in crowds. INT. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR'S OFFICE - DAY We join Z, a worker ant with issues. He's lying on a couch, recounting his woes. Z I feel...isolated. Different. I've got abandonment issues. My father flew away when I was just a larva. My mother didn't have much time for me...when you have five million siblings, it's difficult to get attention. (pause) I feel physically inadequate -- I've never been able to lift more than ten times my own weight. Sometimes I think I'm just not cut out to be a worker. But I don't have any other options. I was assigned to trade school when I was just a grub. The whole system just...makes me feel...insignificant. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (enthusiastic) Terrific! You should feel insignificant! For the first time, we see the ant MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR. He's a mixture of Tony Robbins and Ron Popiel (the hyperactive late-night TV huckster, and founder of "Ronco"). Z ...I should? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (hopping around enthusiastically) YES!!! You know, people ask me, "Doctor, why are you always happy?" And I tell them it's mind over matter. I don't mind that I don't matter! Do you get it? Do you get it? Z gives a fake smile. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (incredibly "up") Z, we're part of the fastest growing species in the whole world! The counsellor rolls down a chart from the wall. An arrow shows ant population going up, up, up. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Ask me why we're so successful. Z Why are we so successful? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR I'm glad you asked me that question! The motivational counsellor opens some blinds...and we see a vista of the ant-filled chamber below. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR What do you see out there? Z ...Ants... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Right! Ants! Millions of creatures, each with his assigned task, all pulling together! Down below, we see a group of ants carrying a boulder up an incline. One worker ants slips, and the boulder rolls down, crushing his leg. The other ants rush over -- it looks like they're going to help their fallen comrade, but instead, they climb right over him, and pick up the boulder, continuing with their task. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR You see? Being an ant is being able to say, "Hey -- I'm meaningless, you're meaningless." Z But -- but I've always felt life was about finding meaning...and then sharing it with someone special, someone you love. The motivational counsellor puts his arm on Z's shoulder...he seems to understand... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Z...you need help. (looking at a clock) Whoops! We're gonna have to stop there. Your minute is up! The counsellor ushers Z out of his seat and towards the door. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Now back to work! We've made real progress! Remember -- let's be best superorganism we can be! INT. EARLY MEGA-TUNNEL - DAY A gigantic tunnel, with the size and scale of the "Chunnel". A banner strung overhead reads: "The Mega-Tunnel -- Tunneling Our Way to a Bright Future!" Along the walls hang 50's work- incentive style posters with messages like, "You asked for it, you got it -- more work!" and "TWO MEALS A WEEK IS ENOUGH!!!" Line after line of ants is working on the tunnel, digging, passing clumps of dirt from ant to ant, everyone synchronized. CLOSE on a clump of DIRT being passed from hand to hand. PULL OUT TO REVEAL AZTECA, a feisty, cynical, female worker ant, who stands there, waiting to pass the dirt on. Z is daydreaming behind her, with clumps of dirt starting to pile up in front of him. AZTECA Hello?! Earth to Z! You better snap out of it, or there's gonna be a lot of pissed off ants! Z looks back, and sees the ants behind staring at him angrily. Z (snapping out of it) Sorry Azteca. Here you go, fellas! Fresh dirt! Alley oop! (looking at the dirt) Shouldn't we be wearing gloves? I mean this dirt is very...dirty. Doesn't anyone think of hygiene? (Z's stomach growls) Boy am I hungry. I'm so hungry I'm seeing double. It looks like there's two million ants in here. When's lunch? Tomorrow, or the day after? AZTECA (sweetly) Z, old pal... (shouts) SHUT UP!!! It's bad enough there's a food shortage without you complaining about it every day. Z The squeaky wheel gets the oil. AZTECA No, Z. The squeaky wheel gets thrown away, alright? You're a good ant, Z, even though you are a pain in my rear- segment. I don't wanna see anything happen to you. So quit mouthing off, before you get in trouble. A WHISTLE BLOWS. Z Thank goodness. Breaktime. All the ants put down their tools. A beat. Then the WHISTLE BLOWS AGAIN. All the ants pick up their tools again. AZTECA (resigned) Break's over. Z (getting back to work) This colony needs another tunnel like a hole in the ground. Why are we even digging this thing? AZTECA Who cares, Z. All I know is, we gotta dig. We're not the ones in charge. INT. TOWN CENTER - DAY The huge, spacious main chamber of the colony. Looming over the scene is the royal palace, which seems to be inaccessible, perched on top of a hill-like pedestal. Around the base of the pedestal, a crew of workers loiters, seemingly aimlessly...can these be the only unemployed ants in the place? GENERAL FORMICA STAIRS! The workers look up and GROAN. Then they start forming a stairway with their own bodies, linking arms, stepping on each other's shoulders. It's extremely unpleasant work. One ant is a little tardy, and just manages to get in place before... GENERAL FORMICA, the Pattonesque military leader of the colony, STEPS ON HIS HEAD, using it as the first step as he ascends to the palace, his aide-de-camp Carpenter in tow. As Formica mounts the "stairs" we can hear the workers going, "OUCH! OOF! YIKES!" etc. GENERAL FORMICA Cut the chit-chat down there! (turning to Carpenter) We've spoiled these workers, Carpenter. They've never had it so good, and listen to them -- always grumbling and complaining... Formica steps on the foot of one of the "stairway" ants, who muffles a yelp. CARPENTER ...Yes, sir. GENERAL FORMICA What have they got to complain about? Three square meals a day... CARPENTER Actually, sir, we've cut them down to three roughly rectangular meals a week. FORMICA Don't give me statistics, Carpenter. I know what I'm talking about. DOORS! Formica and Carpenter have reached the top of the staircase. There, the two guard ants on either side of the massive throne room doors pull them open -- and one door hinge SQUEAKS. FORMICA (to guard ant, while passing) Oil that, soldier. INT. THRONE ROOM - DAY The QUEEN is on her throne, her huge abdomen sprawled behind her. QUEEN Ah! General Formica. Formica salutes and marches to her, Carpenter behind him. Note: Throughout this scene, the Queen is giving birth repeatedly. Each birth is accompanied by a herald playing a short "Happy Birthday" fanfare on his trumpet. Mid-wife ants bring each baby to the Queen for inspection, who COOS a few words. The midwives put the babies on a moving bassinet- line, powered by ants on a treadmill. QUEEN General, the severe food shortage that faces the colony...pains me. The thought of any of my children going hungry... (she shudders; then, to baby) Who's the cutest widdle worker? You are! Yes, you! Don't forget to brush your teeth! (to mid-wife) Ship 'er out. (back to Formica) What steps are you taking to remedy the situation? FORMICA We are launching a major offensive to expand our foraging territory... QUEEN Yes, what else? FORMICA Please don't worry, your majesty. Leave the worrying to me. As you know, I'm not an ant of half- measures. I don't pussyfoot around. This crisis is my number one priority, and I promise you it's being dealt with swiftly, and decisively. The Queen's attention is interrupted by another baby being put in her arms. QUEEN (to baby) No snacking between meals! Off you go! (to Formica) Now -- what were we saying? FORMICA (Oliver North-style) I do not recollect, your majesty. Will that be all? QUEEN Yes, General Formica. Carry on, my good man! I don't know what we would do without you. Formica clicks his heels and bows his head. Carpenter bows low. Formica smartly about faces -- BALA (O.S.) General Formica! PRINCESS BALA hurries through a second doorway, carrying a swatch book. Something about her sets her apart from the HANDMAIDEN ANTS with her. Her tiara, probably. Formica tilts his head quizzically to Carpenter behind him. CARPENTER (sotto) Princess Bala, sir. Your fiancee. FORMICA Princess! You look -- outstanding. Is there anything I can do for you? BALA Well -- I thought -- since we're getting married...it might be nice if we...got to know one another. Formica looks confused. QUEEN Bala has always been a hopeless romantic, General. BALA It's just that -- well, I'm honored that you selected me, and everything, I just thought the marriage might go a little more smoothly if -- we had a conversation? FORMICA (uncomfortable) Conversation...yes...well... (to Carpenter) Wasn't she briefed? QUEEN (holding up a baby) Look, General! A darling baby soldier! (emotionally, to baby) Don't try to be a hero! Just make sure you come back in one piece! (handing it off) Next! FORMICA (using the interruption) I'll take your suggestion under advisement, Princess. In the meanwhile -- Formica turns to go. BALA General -- we have to talk sometime! FORMICA Very well. Carpenter, is there a convenient time to talk vis-a-vis: relationship? CARPENTER Actually, sir, we're ahead of schedule. We have thirty-six seconds available right now. FORMICA Outstanding. Princess...? Bala's a little fazed...but grabs her chance. BALA So, um...how was your day? What did you do? FORMICA (scouring his mind) Well... (that's it!) I declared war! BALA (sadly) Oh...and I was afraid we had nothing in common... CARPENTER (under his breath) Fourteen-fifty hours, sir. FORMICA Duty calls! He strides across the floor. Bala watches him go, her antennae drooping unhappily. FORMICA No squeak. Outstanding! We see through the now-open doors into the throne-room as Formica and Carpenter double-time out of the frame. The Queen sees that Bala is unhappy. QUEEN (sympathetically) I felt the same way before I got married. Confused. Scared. BALA (hopefully) You did? QUEEN Yes -- but I did my duty and sorted out all those messy feelings. The wonderful thing about ant life is that everything is arranged. Even marriage. You're lucky -- General Formica is a paragon of anthood. BALA (unconvinced) Yes...he's wonderful... The doors swing shut on them -- revealing the two guard ants who were CRUSHED in the wake of Formica's exit. INT. BALA'S QUARTERS - DAY Bala enters, followed by her handmaidens, who are in a state of giggling infatuation over Formica. Bala is scowling as she leafs through a wedding catalogue. HANDMAIDEN #1 (swooning over General Formica) The General's body segments are so...symmetrical. HANDMAIDEN #2 (giggling) I'd let him order me into battle anyday. Bala hurls the swatch book against the wall. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess? What's wrong? BALA Wrong? How could anything be wrong? I'm going to marry General Formica and be a queen and have millions of babies, just like my mom. (concerned) Do I look fat to you? HANDMAIDEN #2 (knowingly, to Handmaiden #2) Pre-wedding jitters. HANDMAIDEN #1 You just need to blow off some steam. Let's go to the bar at the Royal Club! BALA The Club's so stuffy. I want to try someplace different. HANDMAIDEN #2 There isn't anyplace else -- (making a joke) Except the worker bar. BALA The worker bar! Yes! That's where I want to go! The handmaidens look shocked. HANDMAIDEN #1 But -- we can't -- there'll be workers there. INT. ANT BAR - NIGHT A long bar filled with ants. The bar itself seems to stretch for miles, and there are hundreds of ants trying to get a drink...unfortunately, there's only one bartender. Z is at the bar with WEAVER, a burly ant soldier. Z We declared war again? (off Weaver's nod) Are you scared? WEAVER (shrugs) I'll be back. The BARTENDER, a grizzled veteran, slaps down what looks like a couple of large green beer mugs. Actually, they're aphids, little green critters he fills up from a number of kegs hanging from the ceiling. The kegs are specialized ants with hugely distended stomachs, which spray liquid into the aphids. APHIDS (as they're slapped on bar) Ouch! Ouch! BARTENDER Two aphid beers. Z (as Bartender leaves) Did you see that? How he gave you the beers, not me? I'm telling you, he's got something against workers. WEAVER I don't know what you're talking about, Z. Z Come on -- everybody dumps on us workers. You soldiers get all the glory. Plus you get to go out into the world, meet interesting insects, and kill them. WEAVER Yeah, but you get to spend all day with those fabulous worker babes. We can see that Weaver is eyeing a nearby table of "Worker Babes", including Z's friend Azteca. Z Weaver, they're career girls. They're obsessed with digging. (sighs) No, I'll probably never meet the girl for me. WEAVER Who said there was a girl for you? I was talking about a girl for me. (quaffing his aphid beer) Don't you want your aphid beer? Z I can't help it. I have a thing about drinking from the anus of another creature. Call me crazy. WEAVER Z, we've known each other a long time, right? Z Of course. You were born two seconds after me. WEAVER And all the time I've known you, you've been grumping and groaning. You should quit making waves. Go with the flow. Z Weaver, I'm an insect, not a liquid. Down the bar, there's a commotion. A grizzled old SCOUT ant has had too much to drink. DRUNK SCOUT Have you been to Insectopia? Have you? No, ya goddam larvas! But I have... (becoming emotional) ...Mosquitos n' caterpillars n' beetles -- all livin' in peace, stuffin their guts with food...No rules, no regulations...you can be your own ant there... (howling drunkenly) It's Insectopia! Insectopia! Z Hey, Weaver, listen! DRUNK SCOUT I was cut off from my unit -- found it by mistake -- (slurring) It changed my life! (spraying another soldier with saliva) You see -- ya follow the great yellow egg, and you come to the land of red and white -- SOLDIERS You've had enough for one night! Come on, Gramps, before you get in trouble. The soldiers pull him from the bar, carrying him out. Z (excited) Hey, did you hear what he said?! WEAVER Poor guy's had one too many scouting missions. MUSIC STARTS UP. INT. ANT BAR ENTRANCE - NIGHT Princess Bala is peering in at the entrance to the ant bar, accompanied by her worried-looking handmaidens. HANDMAIDEN #2 We shouldn't be doing this -- it isn't proper! BALA I'm the Princess, aren't I? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course -- BALA And do Princesses do improper things? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course not -- BALA Then if I go to the worker bar, it isn't improper. Anyway, don't worry. No one will recognize us in our disguises. She adjusts her "disguise", a hardhat, tied down Jackie O.- style with an ant's version of a Chanel scarf. BALA I'm just a common worker, cooling off after a rough day! Music starts. An ant BARKER takes the mic at one end of the dance floor. BARKER (on loudspeaker) Okay, folks. It's six-fifteen, and that means it's time to dance. Every ant gets up to dance. Weaver turns to Z. WEAVER (draining his beer) Time to cut a rug, Z! Z I'm not in the mood. (disgusted) Even when they're off work, they follow orders. WEAVER Well, you just sit here and be a party-pooper. Weaver joins the rest of the ants who are lining up for the dance. The Barker calls out the steps in a bored monotone -- all the ants already know the steps. Everyone dances in perfect synch. BARKER (southern twang) And a left-right-quarterstep-back step-halfstep -- a left-right- quarterstep-backstep-halfstep -- a left-right-quarterstep-backstep halfstep -- AT THE ENTRANCE, Bala smiles mischievously at her handmaidens. BALA I'm going to ask one of these mindless, primitive worker-types to dance with me! HANDMAIDEN #1 But General Formica would be furious! BALA (enjoying the idea) I know. The handmaidens are appalled. Bala whirls away from them, sets her sights and searches the crowd -- zeroing in on -- Z, who's watching the other ants dance. Z What a bunch of losers. Mindless zombies capitulating to an oppressive system -- BALA Wanna dance? Bala's standing right there. Z is instantly smitten. Z Me?! Yes!!! I mean -- (regaining suavosity) Just let me finish my beer. Not breaking eye contact with Bala, Z smiles suavely. Reaches suavely for a beer. Suavely grabs the candle in a glass jar off the bar. Suavely singes his face. He plays it off with a rakish little laugh. A bit apprehensive, Bala heads onto the floor. Z follows her. Z So uh -- how come I haven't seen you around here before? BALA (covering up) I work in the palace, I don't get out much. Z The palace, hunh? I bet those royals really live it up. Of course they're all a little, you know, from inbreeding -- BALA (shocked) What? Z and Bala step onto the dance floor with the rest of the ants, but Z can't do any of the steps. Z Now, let's see, I -- it's been a while since I -- I think you -- Bala watches Z, trying to follow along. It's the blind leading the blind, as Z tries in vain to follow the barker's rapid instructions. Z Here, I'll lead. Z starts doing his own, individual dance. With a suave expression on his face, he leads Bala in a helter-skelter mixture-of Tango, Charleston, and hand-jive. BALA Are you sure this is a real dance? Z Well, actually, uh -- I'm sort of making it up -- BALA (surprised) Really? Z Why should everyone dance the same way? It's as exciting as watching fungus grow. BALA You're right! Z (surprised) You -- you think I'm right? BALA Why can't I just do whatever I want to do? Why can't I just go wild?! Yahoo! Bala starts to get into it, making up her own steps in reply to Z's, loosening up, having fun. For a moment, the two of them are actually sexy together. Then they get a little too wild -- and the other ants, who are still doing their intricate dance, start to collide with Bala and Z. Z almost knocks over a big soldier ant. We can only see the ant's back at the moment. SOLDIER Hey! Watch your step, worker. Z has turned around to see the soldier ant, MAJOR MANDIBLE, glaring at him. Mandible is about twice Z's size. He's got one eye missing, and half of his left antenna his been chewed off. BALA You watch yours, soldier, or my worker friend will beat you up! Z (terrified) Oh, that's okay, I'll let him off this time. (whispering to Bala) Are you crazy? This guy's built like a pebble! (ineptly trying to placate the soldier) You know they do great prosthetic antennas nowadays -- BALA Aren't you gonna stand up for yourself? Z's caught between a rock and a hard place. He doesn't want to get beaten up, but on the other hand, he doesn't want to lose face in front of Bala. More soldiers have gathered around, looking hostile. SOLDIER How come you don't dance like the rest of us? Z glances over at Bala. Then, shaking with nervousness, he says defiantly... Z Because -- because I'm an individual! SOLDIER #2 An individual? Never heard of it. MANDIBLE You look like a worker to me. WEAVER Hey, lay off my little buddy! Z, meanwhile, looks far away, ecstatic, as if he's just realized something very important. Unfortunately, just at this moment, A soldier pushes Weaver...Weaver pushes him back...somebody makes a dive for Z -- and before you know it, there's a regular bar brawl going on, with Weaver in the middle of it, cracking heads together, punching ants in the face, having a great time. Just then, the Princess' handmaidens hurries over. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess Bala! Princess Bala! Z, who's scrabbling around on the floor, overhears. Z Princess? You're a Princess? HANDMAIDEN #2 The police are coming! BALA Uh oh. (to Z) Goodbye! Gotta run! Z Wait! When can I see you again? BALA Let me think. Hmmnn... (thinks) Never. Bye! Bala rushes off with her handmaiden, just before a squad of whistle-blowing POLICE wade into the crowd. Z Wait! Princess! Wait! But she's already gone, leaving Z holding her scarf. CUT TO: INT. DORMITORY - THE NEXT DAY Z is talking to Weaver, who's getting ready to go off to war. Nearby, columns of ant soldiers march by. WEAVER Get real, Z! She just dropped the scarf by accident! Z Are you kidding? There were sparks between us! This scarf is a sign! WEAVER It's a sign that you're crazy! Do you know what the penalty for impersonating a soldier is? Z What's gonna go wrong?! I take your place for the royal inspection. Bala comes strolling down the line, she sees me -- bingo! Love is rekindled, and she takes me up to the palace for a little... (wags his eyebrows suggestively) tea and crumpets... and you take your place again, and go march around to your heart's content! Weaver looks unconvinced. Z You have to help me. Please, Weaver. Think of all the things I've done for you! WEAVER (thinks) I can't think of any. Z (pause) Well I'm gonna start doing things for you... WEAVER Will you introduce me to some worker girls? Z You bet! They'll really go for a sensitive guy like you! WEAVER Maybe I'll get lucky. (Weaver thinks about it) You know, Z, I wouldn't do this for anyone but you... Weaver hands Z has helmet. WEAVER Wear this. Z (overjoyed) You're a real buddy. WEAVER (sourly) Yeah, I know. Z What do I do? WEAVER Don't tell anyone you're a worker. Follow that column over there. And come right back after the inspection! Weaver points to a bunch of soldiers hurrying by in formation. Z (overjoyed) Thanks! I owe you! Z skips off and joins the column, marching in time with the soldiers but too excited to keep from jazzing it up a little. INT. TOWN CENTER - NIGHT The ant army has gathered in a huge HALL in front of a reviewing stand. We can hear the murmuring of thousands of soldiers -- but all we can see is a HUGE POSTER of an ant General pointing right at the camera. The poster reads, "GENERAL FORMICA WANTS YOU -- to obey". Z turns to some of the soldiers near him. Z Any of you guys know when the Princess will show up? She's kind of a personal friend. The soldiers look at Z like he's nuts. LOUD VOICE ATTEN-SHUN! MARTIAL MUSIC sounds, and we hear thousands of ant feet as they snap to attention. Z imitates the soldiers awkwardly. GENERAL FORMICA struts to the middle 6f the screen, slapping his thigh with a swagger stick (the antenna of some unfortunate insect) FORMICA First of all, let me make one thing clear. Nobody ever won a battle by thinking for himself. All this "thinking" stuff is a load of crap. If the almighty had wanted you boys to think, he wouldn't have given you huge mandibles and a brain so small you'd misplace it if it wasn't trapped inside your head. In the audience, Z starts laughing -- he thinks Formica's just made a joke. Z (slapping his thigh) "Trapped inside your head" -- that's a good one -- Z notices nobody else is laughing. He stops. Z Geez -- tough room. From the stage, Formica is squinting at the audience, trying to make out who was laughing, but there are just too many ants. He continues. FORMICA (striding back and forth) We ants survive as a species because we do what we're told. We survive because we work together, as one, we get the job done, we do whatever it takes to persevere! (dramatic pause) Hell, we're not an army of ants...we're one giant ant, with giant fists, and giant jaws! The soldiers CHEER! Z CHEERS along with the rest of them. Z (to the soldier ant next to him) Lays it on a little thick, doesn't he? If you ask me, he's one giant bore. FORMICA Now I've heard a lot of scuttlebutt about a food shortage. Well you boys are gonna be taken care of. But in the meantime we're gonna eat the enemy for breakfast, we are gonna eat the enemy for lunch, and we are gonna eat the enemy for dinner! Z Geez, and I forgot my toothbrush. FORMICA (reflective moment) Dammit, I'm proud to be an ant. (he looks out at his army) And I know each and every one of you boys will do your duty. Dismissed. Z applauds and whistles as the other ants look at him in confusion. Z (clapping) Bravo! Bring on the Princess! COLONEL Stow the gab there, soldier! Let's move 'em out! The soldiers turn to the right and start to march out past the reviewing stand. A COLONEL marches at the head of Z's column as Z looks around for the Princess. COLONEL Eyes...left! Finally, as Z's part of the army marches past the end of the reviewing stand, he sees her, looking bored, standing next to the Queen, who is giving the royal wave. Z (waving) Princess! Princess Bala! Hey! It's me! Z! I've got your scarf! ON THE REVIEWING STAND, Bala sees Z -- that is to say, she sees one of the thousands upon thousands of ants marching by... BALA (peering out) Who is that idiot? QUEEN Darling, you must encourage the troops -- wave! Bala waves unenthusiastically, little more than flopping her hand back and forth on her wrist. Down below, Z takes this as a sign that Bala has seen him. Z (excited) Excuse me, guys -- That's my date. Well, it's been fun. Have a great war! Z tries to squeeze his way back towards the royals, but he's surrounded by a solid wall of soldiers -- and they're carrying him along with them. Z Hey! Wait! Z loses sight of the Princess as he's carried away. BARBATUS, a hard-as-nails "grunt" soldier ant, taps Z on the shoulder. BARBATUS You new, kid? Z I just joined up. But I'm quitting! I got a trial membership! BARBATUS Trial membership? Kid, when you join this ant's army, you're in for the full hitch. At that moment, Z is swept out of the cramped corridor they've been marching along, as the army emerges into the OPEN AIR outside of the colony. EXT. ANT MOUND - NIGHT It's a starry, moonlit night. The shadows crowd around the panicked Z, who looks up at the sky as we see the army on the march... Z Wait a minute, there's been a mistake! I've got to get back to the colony! Z starts to fall out of line, but Barbatus, looking concerned, stops him. BARBATUS Are you crazy, kid? They shoot deserters! Z swallows hard. BARBATUS You just stick by old Barbatus. He'll watch out for you. (off Z's look) Whatsamatter, kid? Leave a girl behind? Z Yeah. Well -- no. She's kind of playing hard to get. As a matter of fact, she's playing completely unattainable. (nervously) So, what's on the schedule? A brisk walk? a foraging expedition? BARBATUS No -- we're going to attack the termites! Z (alarmed) Attack? But -- I hate attacking! It's so hostile! Around Z and Barbatus, the ants start up a marching song, which we intersperse with dialogue between

goodwill

How many times the word 'goodwill' appears in the text?

Antz Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS "Antz", unknown draft A N T Z CHARACTERS VOICES "Z"...............................................WOODY ALLEN "WASP #1".........................................DAN AYKROYD "WASP #2".........................................JANE CURTIN "GEN. FORMICA"...................................DANNY GLOVER "MANDIBLE".......................................GENE HACKMAN "AZTECA".......................................JENNIFER LOPEZ "DRUNK SCOUT"....................................JOHN MAHONEY "WEAVER"...................................SYLVESTER STALLONE "PRINCESS BALA"..................................SHARON STONE "QUEEN"..........................................MERYL STREEP "CARPENTER"................................CHRISTOPHER WALKEN Z (O.S.) (over a dark screen) All my life, I've lived and worked in the big city... We see: EXT. AN ANT MOUND - DAY The camera swoops towards the entrance, then dives inside, past a couple of tough-looking soldier ants who stand at the gates of the ant colony like insect bouncers...into an access tunnel that snakes this way and that, past a row of ants plodding along... ...and into the MAIN CHAMBER of the colony, a huge, teeming vista that seems to stretch away forever, filled with ants rushing here and there on their business. We see -- a "traffic cop" directing foot traffic, waving his arms like crazy so both sides move at once -- a column of soldier ants marching along in formation -- a chain of ants letting down a matchbox elevator filled with workers. Z (V.O.) ...which is kind of a problem, since I've always felt uncomfortably in crowds. INT. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR'S OFFICE - DAY We join Z, a worker ant with issues. He's lying on a couch, recounting his woes. Z I feel...isolated. Different. I've got abandonment issues. My father flew away when I was just a larva. My mother didn't have much time for me...when you have five million siblings, it's difficult to get attention. (pause) I feel physically inadequate -- I've never been able to lift more than ten times my own weight. Sometimes I think I'm just not cut out to be a worker. But I don't have any other options. I was assigned to trade school when I was just a grub. The whole system just...makes me feel...insignificant. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (enthusiastic) Terrific! You should feel insignificant! For the first time, we see the ant MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR. He's a mixture of Tony Robbins and Ron Popiel (the hyperactive late-night TV huckster, and founder of "Ronco"). Z ...I should? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (hopping around enthusiastically) YES!!! You know, people ask me, "Doctor, why are you always happy?" And I tell them it's mind over matter. I don't mind that I don't matter! Do you get it? Do you get it? Z gives a fake smile. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (incredibly "up") Z, we're part of the fastest growing species in the whole world! The counsellor rolls down a chart from the wall. An arrow shows ant population going up, up, up. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Ask me why we're so successful. Z Why are we so successful? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR I'm glad you asked me that question! The motivational counsellor opens some blinds...and we see a vista of the ant-filled chamber below. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR What do you see out there? Z ...Ants... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Right! Ants! Millions of creatures, each with his assigned task, all pulling together! Down below, we see a group of ants carrying a boulder up an incline. One worker ants slips, and the boulder rolls down, crushing his leg. The other ants rush over -- it looks like they're going to help their fallen comrade, but instead, they climb right over him, and pick up the boulder, continuing with their task. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR You see? Being an ant is being able to say, "Hey -- I'm meaningless, you're meaningless." Z But -- but I've always felt life was about finding meaning...and then sharing it with someone special, someone you love. The motivational counsellor puts his arm on Z's shoulder...he seems to understand... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Z...you need help. (looking at a clock) Whoops! We're gonna have to stop there. Your minute is up! The counsellor ushers Z out of his seat and towards the door. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Now back to work! We've made real progress! Remember -- let's be best superorganism we can be! INT. EARLY MEGA-TUNNEL - DAY A gigantic tunnel, with the size and scale of the "Chunnel". A banner strung overhead reads: "The Mega-Tunnel -- Tunneling Our Way to a Bright Future!" Along the walls hang 50's work- incentive style posters with messages like, "You asked for it, you got it -- more work!" and "TWO MEALS A WEEK IS ENOUGH!!!" Line after line of ants is working on the tunnel, digging, passing clumps of dirt from ant to ant, everyone synchronized. CLOSE on a clump of DIRT being passed from hand to hand. PULL OUT TO REVEAL AZTECA, a feisty, cynical, female worker ant, who stands there, waiting to pass the dirt on. Z is daydreaming behind her, with clumps of dirt starting to pile up in front of him. AZTECA Hello?! Earth to Z! You better snap out of it, or there's gonna be a lot of pissed off ants! Z looks back, and sees the ants behind staring at him angrily. Z (snapping out of it) Sorry Azteca. Here you go, fellas! Fresh dirt! Alley oop! (looking at the dirt) Shouldn't we be wearing gloves? I mean this dirt is very...dirty. Doesn't anyone think of hygiene? (Z's stomach growls) Boy am I hungry. I'm so hungry I'm seeing double. It looks like there's two million ants in here. When's lunch? Tomorrow, or the day after? AZTECA (sweetly) Z, old pal... (shouts) SHUT UP!!! It's bad enough there's a food shortage without you complaining about it every day. Z The squeaky wheel gets the oil. AZTECA No, Z. The squeaky wheel gets thrown away, alright? You're a good ant, Z, even though you are a pain in my rear- segment. I don't wanna see anything happen to you. So quit mouthing off, before you get in trouble. A WHISTLE BLOWS. Z Thank goodness. Breaktime. All the ants put down their tools. A beat. Then the WHISTLE BLOWS AGAIN. All the ants pick up their tools again. AZTECA (resigned) Break's over. Z (getting back to work) This colony needs another tunnel like a hole in the ground. Why are we even digging this thing? AZTECA Who cares, Z. All I know is, we gotta dig. We're not the ones in charge. INT. TOWN CENTER - DAY The huge, spacious main chamber of the colony. Looming over the scene is the royal palace, which seems to be inaccessible, perched on top of a hill-like pedestal. Around the base of the pedestal, a crew of workers loiters, seemingly aimlessly...can these be the only unemployed ants in the place? GENERAL FORMICA STAIRS! The workers look up and GROAN. Then they start forming a stairway with their own bodies, linking arms, stepping on each other's shoulders. It's extremely unpleasant work. One ant is a little tardy, and just manages to get in place before... GENERAL FORMICA, the Pattonesque military leader of the colony, STEPS ON HIS HEAD, using it as the first step as he ascends to the palace, his aide-de-camp Carpenter in tow. As Formica mounts the "stairs" we can hear the workers going, "OUCH! OOF! YIKES!" etc. GENERAL FORMICA Cut the chit-chat down there! (turning to Carpenter) We've spoiled these workers, Carpenter. They've never had it so good, and listen to them -- always grumbling and complaining... Formica steps on the foot of one of the "stairway" ants, who muffles a yelp. CARPENTER ...Yes, sir. GENERAL FORMICA What have they got to complain about? Three square meals a day... CARPENTER Actually, sir, we've cut them down to three roughly rectangular meals a week. FORMICA Don't give me statistics, Carpenter. I know what I'm talking about. DOORS! Formica and Carpenter have reached the top of the staircase. There, the two guard ants on either side of the massive throne room doors pull them open -- and one door hinge SQUEAKS. FORMICA (to guard ant, while passing) Oil that, soldier. INT. THRONE ROOM - DAY The QUEEN is on her throne, her huge abdomen sprawled behind her. QUEEN Ah! General Formica. Formica salutes and marches to her, Carpenter behind him. Note: Throughout this scene, the Queen is giving birth repeatedly. Each birth is accompanied by a herald playing a short "Happy Birthday" fanfare on his trumpet. Mid-wife ants bring each baby to the Queen for inspection, who COOS a few words. The midwives put the babies on a moving bassinet- line, powered by ants on a treadmill. QUEEN General, the severe food shortage that faces the colony...pains me. The thought of any of my children going hungry... (she shudders; then, to baby) Who's the cutest widdle worker? You are! Yes, you! Don't forget to brush your teeth! (to mid-wife) Ship 'er out. (back to Formica) What steps are you taking to remedy the situation? FORMICA We are launching a major offensive to expand our foraging territory... QUEEN Yes, what else? FORMICA Please don't worry, your majesty. Leave the worrying to me. As you know, I'm not an ant of half- measures. I don't pussyfoot around. This crisis is my number one priority, and I promise you it's being dealt with swiftly, and decisively. The Queen's attention is interrupted by another baby being put in her arms. QUEEN (to baby) No snacking between meals! Off you go! (to Formica) Now -- what were we saying? FORMICA (Oliver North-style) I do not recollect, your majesty. Will that be all? QUEEN Yes, General Formica. Carry on, my good man! I don't know what we would do without you. Formica clicks his heels and bows his head. Carpenter bows low. Formica smartly about faces -- BALA (O.S.) General Formica! PRINCESS BALA hurries through a second doorway, carrying a swatch book. Something about her sets her apart from the HANDMAIDEN ANTS with her. Her tiara, probably. Formica tilts his head quizzically to Carpenter behind him. CARPENTER (sotto) Princess Bala, sir. Your fiancee. FORMICA Princess! You look -- outstanding. Is there anything I can do for you? BALA Well -- I thought -- since we're getting married...it might be nice if we...got to know one another. Formica looks confused. QUEEN Bala has always been a hopeless romantic, General. BALA It's just that -- well, I'm honored that you selected me, and everything, I just thought the marriage might go a little more smoothly if -- we had a conversation? FORMICA (uncomfortable) Conversation...yes...well... (to Carpenter) Wasn't she briefed? QUEEN (holding up a baby) Look, General! A darling baby soldier! (emotionally, to baby) Don't try to be a hero! Just make sure you come back in one piece! (handing it off) Next! FORMICA (using the interruption) I'll take your suggestion under advisement, Princess. In the meanwhile -- Formica turns to go. BALA General -- we have to talk sometime! FORMICA Very well. Carpenter, is there a convenient time to talk vis-a-vis: relationship? CARPENTER Actually, sir, we're ahead of schedule. We have thirty-six seconds available right now. FORMICA Outstanding. Princess...? Bala's a little fazed...but grabs her chance. BALA So, um...how was your day? What did you do? FORMICA (scouring his mind) Well... (that's it!) I declared war! BALA (sadly) Oh...and I was afraid we had nothing in common... CARPENTER (under his breath) Fourteen-fifty hours, sir. FORMICA Duty calls! He strides across the floor. Bala watches him go, her antennae drooping unhappily. FORMICA No squeak. Outstanding! We see through the now-open doors into the throne-room as Formica and Carpenter double-time out of the frame. The Queen sees that Bala is unhappy. QUEEN (sympathetically) I felt the same way before I got married. Confused. Scared. BALA (hopefully) You did? QUEEN Yes -- but I did my duty and sorted out all those messy feelings. The wonderful thing about ant life is that everything is arranged. Even marriage. You're lucky -- General Formica is a paragon of anthood. BALA (unconvinced) Yes...he's wonderful... The doors swing shut on them -- revealing the two guard ants who were CRUSHED in the wake of Formica's exit. INT. BALA'S QUARTERS - DAY Bala enters, followed by her handmaidens, who are in a state of giggling infatuation over Formica. Bala is scowling as she leafs through a wedding catalogue. HANDMAIDEN #1 (swooning over General Formica) The General's body segments are so...symmetrical. HANDMAIDEN #2 (giggling) I'd let him order me into battle anyday. Bala hurls the swatch book against the wall. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess? What's wrong? BALA Wrong? How could anything be wrong? I'm going to marry General Formica and be a queen and have millions of babies, just like my mom. (concerned) Do I look fat to you? HANDMAIDEN #2 (knowingly, to Handmaiden #2) Pre-wedding jitters. HANDMAIDEN #1 You just need to blow off some steam. Let's go to the bar at the Royal Club! BALA The Club's so stuffy. I want to try someplace different. HANDMAIDEN #2 There isn't anyplace else -- (making a joke) Except the worker bar. BALA The worker bar! Yes! That's where I want to go! The handmaidens look shocked. HANDMAIDEN #1 But -- we can't -- there'll be workers there. INT. ANT BAR - NIGHT A long bar filled with ants. The bar itself seems to stretch for miles, and there are hundreds of ants trying to get a drink...unfortunately, there's only one bartender. Z is at the bar with WEAVER, a burly ant soldier. Z We declared war again? (off Weaver's nod) Are you scared? WEAVER (shrugs) I'll be back. The BARTENDER, a grizzled veteran, slaps down what looks like a couple of large green beer mugs. Actually, they're aphids, little green critters he fills up from a number of kegs hanging from the ceiling. The kegs are specialized ants with hugely distended stomachs, which spray liquid into the aphids. APHIDS (as they're slapped on bar) Ouch! Ouch! BARTENDER Two aphid beers. Z (as Bartender leaves) Did you see that? How he gave you the beers, not me? I'm telling you, he's got something against workers. WEAVER I don't know what you're talking about, Z. Z Come on -- everybody dumps on us workers. You soldiers get all the glory. Plus you get to go out into the world, meet interesting insects, and kill them. WEAVER Yeah, but you get to spend all day with those fabulous worker babes. We can see that Weaver is eyeing a nearby table of "Worker Babes", including Z's friend Azteca. Z Weaver, they're career girls. They're obsessed with digging. (sighs) No, I'll probably never meet the girl for me. WEAVER Who said there was a girl for you? I was talking about a girl for me. (quaffing his aphid beer) Don't you want your aphid beer? Z I can't help it. I have a thing about drinking from the anus of another creature. Call me crazy. WEAVER Z, we've known each other a long time, right? Z Of course. You were born two seconds after me. WEAVER And all the time I've known you, you've been grumping and groaning. You should quit making waves. Go with the flow. Z Weaver, I'm an insect, not a liquid. Down the bar, there's a commotion. A grizzled old SCOUT ant has had too much to drink. DRUNK SCOUT Have you been to Insectopia? Have you? No, ya goddam larvas! But I have... (becoming emotional) ...Mosquitos n' caterpillars n' beetles -- all livin' in peace, stuffin their guts with food...No rules, no regulations...you can be your own ant there... (howling drunkenly) It's Insectopia! Insectopia! Z Hey, Weaver, listen! DRUNK SCOUT I was cut off from my unit -- found it by mistake -- (slurring) It changed my life! (spraying another soldier with saliva) You see -- ya follow the great yellow egg, and you come to the land of red and white -- SOLDIERS You've had enough for one night! Come on, Gramps, before you get in trouble. The soldiers pull him from the bar, carrying him out. Z (excited) Hey, did you hear what he said?! WEAVER Poor guy's had one too many scouting missions. MUSIC STARTS UP. INT. ANT BAR ENTRANCE - NIGHT Princess Bala is peering in at the entrance to the ant bar, accompanied by her worried-looking handmaidens. HANDMAIDEN #2 We shouldn't be doing this -- it isn't proper! BALA I'm the Princess, aren't I? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course -- BALA And do Princesses do improper things? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course not -- BALA Then if I go to the worker bar, it isn't improper. Anyway, don't worry. No one will recognize us in our disguises. She adjusts her "disguise", a hardhat, tied down Jackie O.- style with an ant's version of a Chanel scarf. BALA I'm just a common worker, cooling off after a rough day! Music starts. An ant BARKER takes the mic at one end of the dance floor. BARKER (on loudspeaker) Okay, folks. It's six-fifteen, and that means it's time to dance. Every ant gets up to dance. Weaver turns to Z. WEAVER (draining his beer) Time to cut a rug, Z! Z I'm not in the mood. (disgusted) Even when they're off work, they follow orders. WEAVER Well, you just sit here and be a party-pooper. Weaver joins the rest of the ants who are lining up for the dance. The Barker calls out the steps in a bored monotone -- all the ants already know the steps. Everyone dances in perfect synch. BARKER (southern twang) And a left-right-quarterstep-back step-halfstep -- a left-right- quarterstep-backstep-halfstep -- a left-right-quarterstep-backstep halfstep -- AT THE ENTRANCE, Bala smiles mischievously at her handmaidens. BALA I'm going to ask one of these mindless, primitive worker-types to dance with me! HANDMAIDEN #1 But General Formica would be furious! BALA (enjoying the idea) I know. The handmaidens are appalled. Bala whirls away from them, sets her sights and searches the crowd -- zeroing in on -- Z, who's watching the other ants dance. Z What a bunch of losers. Mindless zombies capitulating to an oppressive system -- BALA Wanna dance? Bala's standing right there. Z is instantly smitten. Z Me?! Yes!!! I mean -- (regaining suavosity) Just let me finish my beer. Not breaking eye contact with Bala, Z smiles suavely. Reaches suavely for a beer. Suavely grabs the candle in a glass jar off the bar. Suavely singes his face. He plays it off with a rakish little laugh. A bit apprehensive, Bala heads onto the floor. Z follows her. Z So uh -- how come I haven't seen you around here before? BALA (covering up) I work in the palace, I don't get out much. Z The palace, hunh? I bet those royals really live it up. Of course they're all a little, you know, from inbreeding -- BALA (shocked) What? Z and Bala step onto the dance floor with the rest of the ants, but Z can't do any of the steps. Z Now, let's see, I -- it's been a while since I -- I think you -- Bala watches Z, trying to follow along. It's the blind leading the blind, as Z tries in vain to follow the barker's rapid instructions. Z Here, I'll lead. Z starts doing his own, individual dance. With a suave expression on his face, he leads Bala in a helter-skelter mixture-of Tango, Charleston, and hand-jive. BALA Are you sure this is a real dance? Z Well, actually, uh -- I'm sort of making it up -- BALA (surprised) Really? Z Why should everyone dance the same way? It's as exciting as watching fungus grow. BALA You're right! Z (surprised) You -- you think I'm right? BALA Why can't I just do whatever I want to do? Why can't I just go wild?! Yahoo! Bala starts to get into it, making up her own steps in reply to Z's, loosening up, having fun. For a moment, the two of them are actually sexy together. Then they get a little too wild -- and the other ants, who are still doing their intricate dance, start to collide with Bala and Z. Z almost knocks over a big soldier ant. We can only see the ant's back at the moment. SOLDIER Hey! Watch your step, worker. Z has turned around to see the soldier ant, MAJOR MANDIBLE, glaring at him. Mandible is about twice Z's size. He's got one eye missing, and half of his left antenna his been chewed off. BALA You watch yours, soldier, or my worker friend will beat you up! Z (terrified) Oh, that's okay, I'll let him off this time. (whispering to Bala) Are you crazy? This guy's built like a pebble! (ineptly trying to placate the soldier) You know they do great prosthetic antennas nowadays -- BALA Aren't you gonna stand up for yourself? Z's caught between a rock and a hard place. He doesn't want to get beaten up, but on the other hand, he doesn't want to lose face in front of Bala. More soldiers have gathered around, looking hostile. SOLDIER How come you don't dance like the rest of us? Z glances over at Bala. Then, shaking with nervousness, he says defiantly... Z Because -- because I'm an individual! SOLDIER #2 An individual? Never heard of it. MANDIBLE You look like a worker to me. WEAVER Hey, lay off my little buddy! Z, meanwhile, looks far away, ecstatic, as if he's just realized something very important. Unfortunately, just at this moment, A soldier pushes Weaver...Weaver pushes him back...somebody makes a dive for Z -- and before you know it, there's a regular bar brawl going on, with Weaver in the middle of it, cracking heads together, punching ants in the face, having a great time. Just then, the Princess' handmaidens hurries over. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess Bala! Princess Bala! Z, who's scrabbling around on the floor, overhears. Z Princess? You're a Princess? HANDMAIDEN #2 The police are coming! BALA Uh oh. (to Z) Goodbye! Gotta run! Z Wait! When can I see you again? BALA Let me think. Hmmnn... (thinks) Never. Bye! Bala rushes off with her handmaiden, just before a squad of whistle-blowing POLICE wade into the crowd. Z Wait! Princess! Wait! But she's already gone, leaving Z holding her scarf. CUT TO: INT. DORMITORY - THE NEXT DAY Z is talking to Weaver, who's getting ready to go off to war. Nearby, columns of ant soldiers march by. WEAVER Get real, Z! She just dropped the scarf by accident! Z Are you kidding? There were sparks between us! This scarf is a sign! WEAVER It's a sign that you're crazy! Do you know what the penalty for impersonating a soldier is? Z What's gonna go wrong?! I take your place for the royal inspection. Bala comes strolling down the line, she sees me -- bingo! Love is rekindled, and she takes me up to the palace for a little... (wags his eyebrows suggestively) tea and crumpets... and you take your place again, and go march around to your heart's content! Weaver looks unconvinced. Z You have to help me. Please, Weaver. Think of all the things I've done for you! WEAVER (thinks) I can't think of any. Z (pause) Well I'm gonna start doing things for you... WEAVER Will you introduce me to some worker girls? Z You bet! They'll really go for a sensitive guy like you! WEAVER Maybe I'll get lucky. (Weaver thinks about it) You know, Z, I wouldn't do this for anyone but you... Weaver hands Z has helmet. WEAVER Wear this. Z (overjoyed) You're a real buddy. WEAVER (sourly) Yeah, I know. Z What do I do? WEAVER Don't tell anyone you're a worker. Follow that column over there. And come right back after the inspection! Weaver points to a bunch of soldiers hurrying by in formation. Z (overjoyed) Thanks! I owe you! Z skips off and joins the column, marching in time with the soldiers but too excited to keep from jazzing it up a little. INT. TOWN CENTER - NIGHT The ant army has gathered in a huge HALL in front of a reviewing stand. We can hear the murmuring of thousands of soldiers -- but all we can see is a HUGE POSTER of an ant General pointing right at the camera. The poster reads, "GENERAL FORMICA WANTS YOU -- to obey". Z turns to some of the soldiers near him. Z Any of you guys know when the Princess will show up? She's kind of a personal friend. The soldiers look at Z like he's nuts. LOUD VOICE ATTEN-SHUN! MARTIAL MUSIC sounds, and we hear thousands of ant feet as they snap to attention. Z imitates the soldiers awkwardly. GENERAL FORMICA struts to the middle 6f the screen, slapping his thigh with a swagger stick (the antenna of some unfortunate insect) FORMICA First of all, let me make one thing clear. Nobody ever won a battle by thinking for himself. All this "thinking" stuff is a load of crap. If the almighty had wanted you boys to think, he wouldn't have given you huge mandibles and a brain so small you'd misplace it if it wasn't trapped inside your head. In the audience, Z starts laughing -- he thinks Formica's just made a joke. Z (slapping his thigh) "Trapped inside your head" -- that's a good one -- Z notices nobody else is laughing. He stops. Z Geez -- tough room. From the stage, Formica is squinting at the audience, trying to make out who was laughing, but there are just too many ants. He continues. FORMICA (striding back and forth) We ants survive as a species because we do what we're told. We survive because we work together, as one, we get the job done, we do whatever it takes to persevere! (dramatic pause) Hell, we're not an army of ants...we're one giant ant, with giant fists, and giant jaws! The soldiers CHEER! Z CHEERS along with the rest of them. Z (to the soldier ant next to him) Lays it on a little thick, doesn't he? If you ask me, he's one giant bore. FORMICA Now I've heard a lot of scuttlebutt about a food shortage. Well you boys are gonna be taken care of. But in the meantime we're gonna eat the enemy for breakfast, we are gonna eat the enemy for lunch, and we are gonna eat the enemy for dinner! Z Geez, and I forgot my toothbrush. FORMICA (reflective moment) Dammit, I'm proud to be an ant. (he looks out at his army) And I know each and every one of you boys will do your duty. Dismissed. Z applauds and whistles as the other ants look at him in confusion. Z (clapping) Bravo! Bring on the Princess! COLONEL Stow the gab there, soldier! Let's move 'em out! The soldiers turn to the right and start to march out past the reviewing stand. A COLONEL marches at the head of Z's column as Z looks around for the Princess. COLONEL Eyes...left! Finally, as Z's part of the army marches past the end of the reviewing stand, he sees her, looking bored, standing next to the Queen, who is giving the royal wave. Z (waving) Princess! Princess Bala! Hey! It's me! Z! I've got your scarf! ON THE REVIEWING STAND, Bala sees Z -- that is to say, she sees one of the thousands upon thousands of ants marching by... BALA (peering out) Who is that idiot? QUEEN Darling, you must encourage the troops -- wave! Bala waves unenthusiastically, little more than flopping her hand back and forth on her wrist. Down below, Z takes this as a sign that Bala has seen him. Z (excited) Excuse me, guys -- That's my date. Well, it's been fun. Have a great war! Z tries to squeeze his way back towards the royals, but he's surrounded by a solid wall of soldiers -- and they're carrying him along with them. Z Hey! Wait! Z loses sight of the Princess as he's carried away. BARBATUS, a hard-as-nails "grunt" soldier ant, taps Z on the shoulder. BARBATUS You new, kid? Z I just joined up. But I'm quitting! I got a trial membership! BARBATUS Trial membership? Kid, when you join this ant's army, you're in for the full hitch. At that moment, Z is swept out of the cramped corridor they've been marching along, as the army emerges into the OPEN AIR outside of the colony. EXT. ANT MOUND - NIGHT It's a starry, moonlit night. The shadows crowd around the panicked Z, who looks up at the sky as we see the army on the march... Z Wait a minute, there's been a mistake! I've got to get back to the colony! Z starts to fall out of line, but Barbatus, looking concerned, stops him. BARBATUS Are you crazy, kid? They shoot deserters! Z swallows hard. BARBATUS You just stick by old Barbatus. He'll watch out for you. (off Z's look) Whatsamatter, kid? Leave a girl behind? Z Yeah. Well -- no. She's kind of playing hard to get. As a matter of fact, she's playing completely unattainable. (nervously) So, what's on the schedule? A brisk walk? a foraging expedition? BARBATUS No -- we're going to attack the termites! Z (alarmed) Attack? But -- I hate attacking! It's so hostile! Around Z and Barbatus, the ants start up a marching song, which we intersperse with dialogue between

hot

How many times the word 'hot' appears in the text?

Antz Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS "Antz", unknown draft A N T Z CHARACTERS VOICES "Z"...............................................WOODY ALLEN "WASP #1".........................................DAN AYKROYD "WASP #2".........................................JANE CURTIN "GEN. FORMICA"...................................DANNY GLOVER "MANDIBLE".......................................GENE HACKMAN "AZTECA".......................................JENNIFER LOPEZ "DRUNK SCOUT"....................................JOHN MAHONEY "WEAVER"...................................SYLVESTER STALLONE "PRINCESS BALA"..................................SHARON STONE "QUEEN"..........................................MERYL STREEP "CARPENTER"................................CHRISTOPHER WALKEN Z (O.S.) (over a dark screen) All my life, I've lived and worked in the big city... We see: EXT. AN ANT MOUND - DAY The camera swoops towards the entrance, then dives inside, past a couple of tough-looking soldier ants who stand at the gates of the ant colony like insect bouncers...into an access tunnel that snakes this way and that, past a row of ants plodding along... ...and into the MAIN CHAMBER of the colony, a huge, teeming vista that seems to stretch away forever, filled with ants rushing here and there on their business. We see -- a "traffic cop" directing foot traffic, waving his arms like crazy so both sides move at once -- a column of soldier ants marching along in formation -- a chain of ants letting down a matchbox elevator filled with workers. Z (V.O.) ...which is kind of a problem, since I've always felt uncomfortably in crowds. INT. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR'S OFFICE - DAY We join Z, a worker ant with issues. He's lying on a couch, recounting his woes. Z I feel...isolated. Different. I've got abandonment issues. My father flew away when I was just a larva. My mother didn't have much time for me...when you have five million siblings, it's difficult to get attention. (pause) I feel physically inadequate -- I've never been able to lift more than ten times my own weight. Sometimes I think I'm just not cut out to be a worker. But I don't have any other options. I was assigned to trade school when I was just a grub. The whole system just...makes me feel...insignificant. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (enthusiastic) Terrific! You should feel insignificant! For the first time, we see the ant MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR. He's a mixture of Tony Robbins and Ron Popiel (the hyperactive late-night TV huckster, and founder of "Ronco"). Z ...I should? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (hopping around enthusiastically) YES!!! You know, people ask me, "Doctor, why are you always happy?" And I tell them it's mind over matter. I don't mind that I don't matter! Do you get it? Do you get it? Z gives a fake smile. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (incredibly "up") Z, we're part of the fastest growing species in the whole world! The counsellor rolls down a chart from the wall. An arrow shows ant population going up, up, up. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Ask me why we're so successful. Z Why are we so successful? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR I'm glad you asked me that question! The motivational counsellor opens some blinds...and we see a vista of the ant-filled chamber below. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR What do you see out there? Z ...Ants... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Right! Ants! Millions of creatures, each with his assigned task, all pulling together! Down below, we see a group of ants carrying a boulder up an incline. One worker ants slips, and the boulder rolls down, crushing his leg. The other ants rush over -- it looks like they're going to help their fallen comrade, but instead, they climb right over him, and pick up the boulder, continuing with their task. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR You see? Being an ant is being able to say, "Hey -- I'm meaningless, you're meaningless." Z But -- but I've always felt life was about finding meaning...and then sharing it with someone special, someone you love. The motivational counsellor puts his arm on Z's shoulder...he seems to understand... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Z...you need help. (looking at a clock) Whoops! We're gonna have to stop there. Your minute is up! The counsellor ushers Z out of his seat and towards the door. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Now back to work! We've made real progress! Remember -- let's be best superorganism we can be! INT. EARLY MEGA-TUNNEL - DAY A gigantic tunnel, with the size and scale of the "Chunnel". A banner strung overhead reads: "The Mega-Tunnel -- Tunneling Our Way to a Bright Future!" Along the walls hang 50's work- incentive style posters with messages like, "You asked for it, you got it -- more work!" and "TWO MEALS A WEEK IS ENOUGH!!!" Line after line of ants is working on the tunnel, digging, passing clumps of dirt from ant to ant, everyone synchronized. CLOSE on a clump of DIRT being passed from hand to hand. PULL OUT TO REVEAL AZTECA, a feisty, cynical, female worker ant, who stands there, waiting to pass the dirt on. Z is daydreaming behind her, with clumps of dirt starting to pile up in front of him. AZTECA Hello?! Earth to Z! You better snap out of it, or there's gonna be a lot of pissed off ants! Z looks back, and sees the ants behind staring at him angrily. Z (snapping out of it) Sorry Azteca. Here you go, fellas! Fresh dirt! Alley oop! (looking at the dirt) Shouldn't we be wearing gloves? I mean this dirt is very...dirty. Doesn't anyone think of hygiene? (Z's stomach growls) Boy am I hungry. I'm so hungry I'm seeing double. It looks like there's two million ants in here. When's lunch? Tomorrow, or the day after? AZTECA (sweetly) Z, old pal... (shouts) SHUT UP!!! It's bad enough there's a food shortage without you complaining about it every day. Z The squeaky wheel gets the oil. AZTECA No, Z. The squeaky wheel gets thrown away, alright? You're a good ant, Z, even though you are a pain in my rear- segment. I don't wanna see anything happen to you. So quit mouthing off, before you get in trouble. A WHISTLE BLOWS. Z Thank goodness. Breaktime. All the ants put down their tools. A beat. Then the WHISTLE BLOWS AGAIN. All the ants pick up their tools again. AZTECA (resigned) Break's over. Z (getting back to work) This colony needs another tunnel like a hole in the ground. Why are we even digging this thing? AZTECA Who cares, Z. All I know is, we gotta dig. We're not the ones in charge. INT. TOWN CENTER - DAY The huge, spacious main chamber of the colony. Looming over the scene is the royal palace, which seems to be inaccessible, perched on top of a hill-like pedestal. Around the base of the pedestal, a crew of workers loiters, seemingly aimlessly...can these be the only unemployed ants in the place? GENERAL FORMICA STAIRS! The workers look up and GROAN. Then they start forming a stairway with their own bodies, linking arms, stepping on each other's shoulders. It's extremely unpleasant work. One ant is a little tardy, and just manages to get in place before... GENERAL FORMICA, the Pattonesque military leader of the colony, STEPS ON HIS HEAD, using it as the first step as he ascends to the palace, his aide-de-camp Carpenter in tow. As Formica mounts the "stairs" we can hear the workers going, "OUCH! OOF! YIKES!" etc. GENERAL FORMICA Cut the chit-chat down there! (turning to Carpenter) We've spoiled these workers, Carpenter. They've never had it so good, and listen to them -- always grumbling and complaining... Formica steps on the foot of one of the "stairway" ants, who muffles a yelp. CARPENTER ...Yes, sir. GENERAL FORMICA What have they got to complain about? Three square meals a day... CARPENTER Actually, sir, we've cut them down to three roughly rectangular meals a week. FORMICA Don't give me statistics, Carpenter. I know what I'm talking about. DOORS! Formica and Carpenter have reached the top of the staircase. There, the two guard ants on either side of the massive throne room doors pull them open -- and one door hinge SQUEAKS. FORMICA (to guard ant, while passing) Oil that, soldier. INT. THRONE ROOM - DAY The QUEEN is on her throne, her huge abdomen sprawled behind her. QUEEN Ah! General Formica. Formica salutes and marches to her, Carpenter behind him. Note: Throughout this scene, the Queen is giving birth repeatedly. Each birth is accompanied by a herald playing a short "Happy Birthday" fanfare on his trumpet. Mid-wife ants bring each baby to the Queen for inspection, who COOS a few words. The midwives put the babies on a moving bassinet- line, powered by ants on a treadmill. QUEEN General, the severe food shortage that faces the colony...pains me. The thought of any of my children going hungry... (she shudders; then, to baby) Who's the cutest widdle worker? You are! Yes, you! Don't forget to brush your teeth! (to mid-wife) Ship 'er out. (back to Formica) What steps are you taking to remedy the situation? FORMICA We are launching a major offensive to expand our foraging territory... QUEEN Yes, what else? FORMICA Please don't worry, your majesty. Leave the worrying to me. As you know, I'm not an ant of half- measures. I don't pussyfoot around. This crisis is my number one priority, and I promise you it's being dealt with swiftly, and decisively. The Queen's attention is interrupted by another baby being put in her arms. QUEEN (to baby) No snacking between meals! Off you go! (to Formica) Now -- what were we saying? FORMICA (Oliver North-style) I do not recollect, your majesty. Will that be all? QUEEN Yes, General Formica. Carry on, my good man! I don't know what we would do without you. Formica clicks his heels and bows his head. Carpenter bows low. Formica smartly about faces -- BALA (O.S.) General Formica! PRINCESS BALA hurries through a second doorway, carrying a swatch book. Something about her sets her apart from the HANDMAIDEN ANTS with her. Her tiara, probably. Formica tilts his head quizzically to Carpenter behind him. CARPENTER (sotto) Princess Bala, sir. Your fiancee. FORMICA Princess! You look -- outstanding. Is there anything I can do for you? BALA Well -- I thought -- since we're getting married...it might be nice if we...got to know one another. Formica looks confused. QUEEN Bala has always been a hopeless romantic, General. BALA It's just that -- well, I'm honored that you selected me, and everything, I just thought the marriage might go a little more smoothly if -- we had a conversation? FORMICA (uncomfortable) Conversation...yes...well... (to Carpenter) Wasn't she briefed? QUEEN (holding up a baby) Look, General! A darling baby soldier! (emotionally, to baby) Don't try to be a hero! Just make sure you come back in one piece! (handing it off) Next! FORMICA (using the interruption) I'll take your suggestion under advisement, Princess. In the meanwhile -- Formica turns to go. BALA General -- we have to talk sometime! FORMICA Very well. Carpenter, is there a convenient time to talk vis-a-vis: relationship? CARPENTER Actually, sir, we're ahead of schedule. We have thirty-six seconds available right now. FORMICA Outstanding. Princess...? Bala's a little fazed...but grabs her chance. BALA So, um...how was your day? What did you do? FORMICA (scouring his mind) Well... (that's it!) I declared war! BALA (sadly) Oh...and I was afraid we had nothing in common... CARPENTER (under his breath) Fourteen-fifty hours, sir. FORMICA Duty calls! He strides across the floor. Bala watches him go, her antennae drooping unhappily. FORMICA No squeak. Outstanding! We see through the now-open doors into the throne-room as Formica and Carpenter double-time out of the frame. The Queen sees that Bala is unhappy. QUEEN (sympathetically) I felt the same way before I got married. Confused. Scared. BALA (hopefully) You did? QUEEN Yes -- but I did my duty and sorted out all those messy feelings. The wonderful thing about ant life is that everything is arranged. Even marriage. You're lucky -- General Formica is a paragon of anthood. BALA (unconvinced) Yes...he's wonderful... The doors swing shut on them -- revealing the two guard ants who were CRUSHED in the wake of Formica's exit. INT. BALA'S QUARTERS - DAY Bala enters, followed by her handmaidens, who are in a state of giggling infatuation over Formica. Bala is scowling as she leafs through a wedding catalogue. HANDMAIDEN #1 (swooning over General Formica) The General's body segments are so...symmetrical. HANDMAIDEN #2 (giggling) I'd let him order me into battle anyday. Bala hurls the swatch book against the wall. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess? What's wrong? BALA Wrong? How could anything be wrong? I'm going to marry General Formica and be a queen and have millions of babies, just like my mom. (concerned) Do I look fat to you? HANDMAIDEN #2 (knowingly, to Handmaiden #2) Pre-wedding jitters. HANDMAIDEN #1 You just need to blow off some steam. Let's go to the bar at the Royal Club! BALA The Club's so stuffy. I want to try someplace different. HANDMAIDEN #2 There isn't anyplace else -- (making a joke) Except the worker bar. BALA The worker bar! Yes! That's where I want to go! The handmaidens look shocked. HANDMAIDEN #1 But -- we can't -- there'll be workers there. INT. ANT BAR - NIGHT A long bar filled with ants. The bar itself seems to stretch for miles, and there are hundreds of ants trying to get a drink...unfortunately, there's only one bartender. Z is at the bar with WEAVER, a burly ant soldier. Z We declared war again? (off Weaver's nod) Are you scared? WEAVER (shrugs) I'll be back. The BARTENDER, a grizzled veteran, slaps down what looks like a couple of large green beer mugs. Actually, they're aphids, little green critters he fills up from a number of kegs hanging from the ceiling. The kegs are specialized ants with hugely distended stomachs, which spray liquid into the aphids. APHIDS (as they're slapped on bar) Ouch! Ouch! BARTENDER Two aphid beers. Z (as Bartender leaves) Did you see that? How he gave you the beers, not me? I'm telling you, he's got something against workers. WEAVER I don't know what you're talking about, Z. Z Come on -- everybody dumps on us workers. You soldiers get all the glory. Plus you get to go out into the world, meet interesting insects, and kill them. WEAVER Yeah, but you get to spend all day with those fabulous worker babes. We can see that Weaver is eyeing a nearby table of "Worker Babes", including Z's friend Azteca. Z Weaver, they're career girls. They're obsessed with digging. (sighs) No, I'll probably never meet the girl for me. WEAVER Who said there was a girl for you? I was talking about a girl for me. (quaffing his aphid beer) Don't you want your aphid beer? Z I can't help it. I have a thing about drinking from the anus of another creature. Call me crazy. WEAVER Z, we've known each other a long time, right? Z Of course. You were born two seconds after me. WEAVER And all the time I've known you, you've been grumping and groaning. You should quit making waves. Go with the flow. Z Weaver, I'm an insect, not a liquid. Down the bar, there's a commotion. A grizzled old SCOUT ant has had too much to drink. DRUNK SCOUT Have you been to Insectopia? Have you? No, ya goddam larvas! But I have... (becoming emotional) ...Mosquitos n' caterpillars n' beetles -- all livin' in peace, stuffin their guts with food...No rules, no regulations...you can be your own ant there... (howling drunkenly) It's Insectopia! Insectopia! Z Hey, Weaver, listen! DRUNK SCOUT I was cut off from my unit -- found it by mistake -- (slurring) It changed my life! (spraying another soldier with saliva) You see -- ya follow the great yellow egg, and you come to the land of red and white -- SOLDIERS You've had enough for one night! Come on, Gramps, before you get in trouble. The soldiers pull him from the bar, carrying him out. Z (excited) Hey, did you hear what he said?! WEAVER Poor guy's had one too many scouting missions. MUSIC STARTS UP. INT. ANT BAR ENTRANCE - NIGHT Princess Bala is peering in at the entrance to the ant bar, accompanied by her worried-looking handmaidens. HANDMAIDEN #2 We shouldn't be doing this -- it isn't proper! BALA I'm the Princess, aren't I? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course -- BALA And do Princesses do improper things? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course not -- BALA Then if I go to the worker bar, it isn't improper. Anyway, don't worry. No one will recognize us in our disguises. She adjusts her "disguise", a hardhat, tied down Jackie O.- style with an ant's version of a Chanel scarf. BALA I'm just a common worker, cooling off after a rough day! Music starts. An ant BARKER takes the mic at one end of the dance floor. BARKER (on loudspeaker) Okay, folks. It's six-fifteen, and that means it's time to dance. Every ant gets up to dance. Weaver turns to Z. WEAVER (draining his beer) Time to cut a rug, Z! Z I'm not in the mood. (disgusted) Even when they're off work, they follow orders. WEAVER Well, you just sit here and be a party-pooper. Weaver joins the rest of the ants who are lining up for the dance. The Barker calls out the steps in a bored monotone -- all the ants already know the steps. Everyone dances in perfect synch. BARKER (southern twang) And a left-right-quarterstep-back step-halfstep -- a left-right- quarterstep-backstep-halfstep -- a left-right-quarterstep-backstep halfstep -- AT THE ENTRANCE, Bala smiles mischievously at her handmaidens. BALA I'm going to ask one of these mindless, primitive worker-types to dance with me! HANDMAIDEN #1 But General Formica would be furious! BALA (enjoying the idea) I know. The handmaidens are appalled. Bala whirls away from them, sets her sights and searches the crowd -- zeroing in on -- Z, who's watching the other ants dance. Z What a bunch of losers. Mindless zombies capitulating to an oppressive system -- BALA Wanna dance? Bala's standing right there. Z is instantly smitten. Z Me?! Yes!!! I mean -- (regaining suavosity) Just let me finish my beer. Not breaking eye contact with Bala, Z smiles suavely. Reaches suavely for a beer. Suavely grabs the candle in a glass jar off the bar. Suavely singes his face. He plays it off with a rakish little laugh. A bit apprehensive, Bala heads onto the floor. Z follows her. Z So uh -- how come I haven't seen you around here before? BALA (covering up) I work in the palace, I don't get out much. Z The palace, hunh? I bet those royals really live it up. Of course they're all a little, you know, from inbreeding -- BALA (shocked) What? Z and Bala step onto the dance floor with the rest of the ants, but Z can't do any of the steps. Z Now, let's see, I -- it's been a while since I -- I think you -- Bala watches Z, trying to follow along. It's the blind leading the blind, as Z tries in vain to follow the barker's rapid instructions. Z Here, I'll lead. Z starts doing his own, individual dance. With a suave expression on his face, he leads Bala in a helter-skelter mixture-of Tango, Charleston, and hand-jive. BALA Are you sure this is a real dance? Z Well, actually, uh -- I'm sort of making it up -- BALA (surprised) Really? Z Why should everyone dance the same way? It's as exciting as watching fungus grow. BALA You're right! Z (surprised) You -- you think I'm right? BALA Why can't I just do whatever I want to do? Why can't I just go wild?! Yahoo! Bala starts to get into it, making up her own steps in reply to Z's, loosening up, having fun. For a moment, the two of them are actually sexy together. Then they get a little too wild -- and the other ants, who are still doing their intricate dance, start to collide with Bala and Z. Z almost knocks over a big soldier ant. We can only see the ant's back at the moment. SOLDIER Hey! Watch your step, worker. Z has turned around to see the soldier ant, MAJOR MANDIBLE, glaring at him. Mandible is about twice Z's size. He's got one eye missing, and half of his left antenna his been chewed off. BALA You watch yours, soldier, or my worker friend will beat you up! Z (terrified) Oh, that's okay, I'll let him off this time. (whispering to Bala) Are you crazy? This guy's built like a pebble! (ineptly trying to placate the soldier) You know they do great prosthetic antennas nowadays -- BALA Aren't you gonna stand up for yourself? Z's caught between a rock and a hard place. He doesn't want to get beaten up, but on the other hand, he doesn't want to lose face in front of Bala. More soldiers have gathered around, looking hostile. SOLDIER How come you don't dance like the rest of us? Z glances over at Bala. Then, shaking with nervousness, he says defiantly... Z Because -- because I'm an individual! SOLDIER #2 An individual? Never heard of it. MANDIBLE You look like a worker to me. WEAVER Hey, lay off my little buddy! Z, meanwhile, looks far away, ecstatic, as if he's just realized something very important. Unfortunately, just at this moment, A soldier pushes Weaver...Weaver pushes him back...somebody makes a dive for Z -- and before you know it, there's a regular bar brawl going on, with Weaver in the middle of it, cracking heads together, punching ants in the face, having a great time. Just then, the Princess' handmaidens hurries over. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess Bala! Princess Bala! Z, who's scrabbling around on the floor, overhears. Z Princess? You're a Princess? HANDMAIDEN #2 The police are coming! BALA Uh oh. (to Z) Goodbye! Gotta run! Z Wait! When can I see you again? BALA Let me think. Hmmnn... (thinks) Never. Bye! Bala rushes off with her handmaiden, just before a squad of whistle-blowing POLICE wade into the crowd. Z Wait! Princess! Wait! But she's already gone, leaving Z holding her scarf. CUT TO: INT. DORMITORY - THE NEXT DAY Z is talking to Weaver, who's getting ready to go off to war. Nearby, columns of ant soldiers march by. WEAVER Get real, Z! She just dropped the scarf by accident! Z Are you kidding? There were sparks between us! This scarf is a sign! WEAVER It's a sign that you're crazy! Do you know what the penalty for impersonating a soldier is? Z What's gonna go wrong?! I take your place for the royal inspection. Bala comes strolling down the line, she sees me -- bingo! Love is rekindled, and she takes me up to the palace for a little... (wags his eyebrows suggestively) tea and crumpets... and you take your place again, and go march around to your heart's content! Weaver looks unconvinced. Z You have to help me. Please, Weaver. Think of all the things I've done for you! WEAVER (thinks) I can't think of any. Z (pause) Well I'm gonna start doing things for you... WEAVER Will you introduce me to some worker girls? Z You bet! They'll really go for a sensitive guy like you! WEAVER Maybe I'll get lucky. (Weaver thinks about it) You know, Z, I wouldn't do this for anyone but you... Weaver hands Z has helmet. WEAVER Wear this. Z (overjoyed) You're a real buddy. WEAVER (sourly) Yeah, I know. Z What do I do? WEAVER Don't tell anyone you're a worker. Follow that column over there. And come right back after the inspection! Weaver points to a bunch of soldiers hurrying by in formation. Z (overjoyed) Thanks! I owe you! Z skips off and joins the column, marching in time with the soldiers but too excited to keep from jazzing it up a little. INT. TOWN CENTER - NIGHT The ant army has gathered in a huge HALL in front of a reviewing stand. We can hear the murmuring of thousands of soldiers -- but all we can see is a HUGE POSTER of an ant General pointing right at the camera. The poster reads, "GENERAL FORMICA WANTS YOU -- to obey". Z turns to some of the soldiers near him. Z Any of you guys know when the Princess will show up? She's kind of a personal friend. The soldiers look at Z like he's nuts. LOUD VOICE ATTEN-SHUN! MARTIAL MUSIC sounds, and we hear thousands of ant feet as they snap to attention. Z imitates the soldiers awkwardly. GENERAL FORMICA struts to the middle 6f the screen, slapping his thigh with a swagger stick (the antenna of some unfortunate insect) FORMICA First of all, let me make one thing clear. Nobody ever won a battle by thinking for himself. All this "thinking" stuff is a load of crap. If the almighty had wanted you boys to think, he wouldn't have given you huge mandibles and a brain so small you'd misplace it if it wasn't trapped inside your head. In the audience, Z starts laughing -- he thinks Formica's just made a joke. Z (slapping his thigh) "Trapped inside your head" -- that's a good one -- Z notices nobody else is laughing. He stops. Z Geez -- tough room. From the stage, Formica is squinting at the audience, trying to make out who was laughing, but there are just too many ants. He continues. FORMICA (striding back and forth) We ants survive as a species because we do what we're told. We survive because we work together, as one, we get the job done, we do whatever it takes to persevere! (dramatic pause) Hell, we're not an army of ants...we're one giant ant, with giant fists, and giant jaws! The soldiers CHEER! Z CHEERS along with the rest of them. Z (to the soldier ant next to him) Lays it on a little thick, doesn't he? If you ask me, he's one giant bore. FORMICA Now I've heard a lot of scuttlebutt about a food shortage. Well you boys are gonna be taken care of. But in the meantime we're gonna eat the enemy for breakfast, we are gonna eat the enemy for lunch, and we are gonna eat the enemy for dinner! Z Geez, and I forgot my toothbrush. FORMICA (reflective moment) Dammit, I'm proud to be an ant. (he looks out at his army) And I know each and every one of you boys will do your duty. Dismissed. Z applauds and whistles as the other ants look at him in confusion. Z (clapping) Bravo! Bring on the Princess! COLONEL Stow the gab there, soldier! Let's move 'em out! The soldiers turn to the right and start to march out past the reviewing stand. A COLONEL marches at the head of Z's column as Z looks around for the Princess. COLONEL Eyes...left! Finally, as Z's part of the army marches past the end of the reviewing stand, he sees her, looking bored, standing next to the Queen, who is giving the royal wave. Z (waving) Princess! Princess Bala! Hey! It's me! Z! I've got your scarf! ON THE REVIEWING STAND, Bala sees Z -- that is to say, she sees one of the thousands upon thousands of ants marching by... BALA (peering out) Who is that idiot? QUEEN Darling, you must encourage the troops -- wave! Bala waves unenthusiastically, little more than flopping her hand back and forth on her wrist. Down below, Z takes this as a sign that Bala has seen him. Z (excited) Excuse me, guys -- That's my date. Well, it's been fun. Have a great war! Z tries to squeeze his way back towards the royals, but he's surrounded by a solid wall of soldiers -- and they're carrying him along with them. Z Hey! Wait! Z loses sight of the Princess as he's carried away. BARBATUS, a hard-as-nails "grunt" soldier ant, taps Z on the shoulder. BARBATUS You new, kid? Z I just joined up. But I'm quitting! I got a trial membership! BARBATUS Trial membership? Kid, when you join this ant's army, you're in for the full hitch. At that moment, Z is swept out of the cramped corridor they've been marching along, as the army emerges into the OPEN AIR outside of the colony. EXT. ANT MOUND - NIGHT It's a starry, moonlit night. The shadows crowd around the panicked Z, who looks up at the sky as we see the army on the march... Z Wait a minute, there's been a mistake! I've got to get back to the colony! Z starts to fall out of line, but Barbatus, looking concerned, stops him. BARBATUS Are you crazy, kid? They shoot deserters! Z swallows hard. BARBATUS You just stick by old Barbatus. He'll watch out for you. (off Z's look) Whatsamatter, kid? Leave a girl behind? Z Yeah. Well -- no. She's kind of playing hard to get. As a matter of fact, she's playing completely unattainable. (nervously) So, what's on the schedule? A brisk walk? a foraging expedition? BARBATUS No -- we're going to attack the termites! Z (alarmed) Attack? But -- I hate attacking! It's so hostile! Around Z and Barbatus, the ants start up a marching song, which we intersperse with dialogue between

script

How many times the word 'script' appears in the text?

Antz Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS "Antz", unknown draft A N T Z CHARACTERS VOICES "Z"...............................................WOODY ALLEN "WASP #1".........................................DAN AYKROYD "WASP #2".........................................JANE CURTIN "GEN. FORMICA"...................................DANNY GLOVER "MANDIBLE".......................................GENE HACKMAN "AZTECA".......................................JENNIFER LOPEZ "DRUNK SCOUT"....................................JOHN MAHONEY "WEAVER"...................................SYLVESTER STALLONE "PRINCESS BALA"..................................SHARON STONE "QUEEN"..........................................MERYL STREEP "CARPENTER"................................CHRISTOPHER WALKEN Z (O.S.) (over a dark screen) All my life, I've lived and worked in the big city... We see: EXT. AN ANT MOUND - DAY The camera swoops towards the entrance, then dives inside, past a couple of tough-looking soldier ants who stand at the gates of the ant colony like insect bouncers...into an access tunnel that snakes this way and that, past a row of ants plodding along... ...and into the MAIN CHAMBER of the colony, a huge, teeming vista that seems to stretch away forever, filled with ants rushing here and there on their business. We see -- a "traffic cop" directing foot traffic, waving his arms like crazy so both sides move at once -- a column of soldier ants marching along in formation -- a chain of ants letting down a matchbox elevator filled with workers. Z (V.O.) ...which is kind of a problem, since I've always felt uncomfortably in crowds. INT. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR'S OFFICE - DAY We join Z, a worker ant with issues. He's lying on a couch, recounting his woes. Z I feel...isolated. Different. I've got abandonment issues. My father flew away when I was just a larva. My mother didn't have much time for me...when you have five million siblings, it's difficult to get attention. (pause) I feel physically inadequate -- I've never been able to lift more than ten times my own weight. Sometimes I think I'm just not cut out to be a worker. But I don't have any other options. I was assigned to trade school when I was just a grub. The whole system just...makes me feel...insignificant. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (enthusiastic) Terrific! You should feel insignificant! For the first time, we see the ant MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR. He's a mixture of Tony Robbins and Ron Popiel (the hyperactive late-night TV huckster, and founder of "Ronco"). Z ...I should? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (hopping around enthusiastically) YES!!! You know, people ask me, "Doctor, why are you always happy?" And I tell them it's mind over matter. I don't mind that I don't matter! Do you get it? Do you get it? Z gives a fake smile. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (incredibly "up") Z, we're part of the fastest growing species in the whole world! The counsellor rolls down a chart from the wall. An arrow shows ant population going up, up, up. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Ask me why we're so successful. Z Why are we so successful? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR I'm glad you asked me that question! The motivational counsellor opens some blinds...and we see a vista of the ant-filled chamber below. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR What do you see out there? Z ...Ants... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Right! Ants! Millions of creatures, each with his assigned task, all pulling together! Down below, we see a group of ants carrying a boulder up an incline. One worker ants slips, and the boulder rolls down, crushing his leg. The other ants rush over -- it looks like they're going to help their fallen comrade, but instead, they climb right over him, and pick up the boulder, continuing with their task. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR You see? Being an ant is being able to say, "Hey -- I'm meaningless, you're meaningless." Z But -- but I've always felt life was about finding meaning...and then sharing it with someone special, someone you love. The motivational counsellor puts his arm on Z's shoulder...he seems to understand... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Z...you need help. (looking at a clock) Whoops! We're gonna have to stop there. Your minute is up! The counsellor ushers Z out of his seat and towards the door. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Now back to work! We've made real progress! Remember -- let's be best superorganism we can be! INT. EARLY MEGA-TUNNEL - DAY A gigantic tunnel, with the size and scale of the "Chunnel". A banner strung overhead reads: "The Mega-Tunnel -- Tunneling Our Way to a Bright Future!" Along the walls hang 50's work- incentive style posters with messages like, "You asked for it, you got it -- more work!" and "TWO MEALS A WEEK IS ENOUGH!!!" Line after line of ants is working on the tunnel, digging, passing clumps of dirt from ant to ant, everyone synchronized. CLOSE on a clump of DIRT being passed from hand to hand. PULL OUT TO REVEAL AZTECA, a feisty, cynical, female worker ant, who stands there, waiting to pass the dirt on. Z is daydreaming behind her, with clumps of dirt starting to pile up in front of him. AZTECA Hello?! Earth to Z! You better snap out of it, or there's gonna be a lot of pissed off ants! Z looks back, and sees the ants behind staring at him angrily. Z (snapping out of it) Sorry Azteca. Here you go, fellas! Fresh dirt! Alley oop! (looking at the dirt) Shouldn't we be wearing gloves? I mean this dirt is very...dirty. Doesn't anyone think of hygiene? (Z's stomach growls) Boy am I hungry. I'm so hungry I'm seeing double. It looks like there's two million ants in here. When's lunch? Tomorrow, or the day after? AZTECA (sweetly) Z, old pal... (shouts) SHUT UP!!! It's bad enough there's a food shortage without you complaining about it every day. Z The squeaky wheel gets the oil. AZTECA No, Z. The squeaky wheel gets thrown away, alright? You're a good ant, Z, even though you are a pain in my rear- segment. I don't wanna see anything happen to you. So quit mouthing off, before you get in trouble. A WHISTLE BLOWS. Z Thank goodness. Breaktime. All the ants put down their tools. A beat. Then the WHISTLE BLOWS AGAIN. All the ants pick up their tools again. AZTECA (resigned) Break's over. Z (getting back to work) This colony needs another tunnel like a hole in the ground. Why are we even digging this thing? AZTECA Who cares, Z. All I know is, we gotta dig. We're not the ones in charge. INT. TOWN CENTER - DAY The huge, spacious main chamber of the colony. Looming over the scene is the royal palace, which seems to be inaccessible, perched on top of a hill-like pedestal. Around the base of the pedestal, a crew of workers loiters, seemingly aimlessly...can these be the only unemployed ants in the place? GENERAL FORMICA STAIRS! The workers look up and GROAN. Then they start forming a stairway with their own bodies, linking arms, stepping on each other's shoulders. It's extremely unpleasant work. One ant is a little tardy, and just manages to get in place before... GENERAL FORMICA, the Pattonesque military leader of the colony, STEPS ON HIS HEAD, using it as the first step as he ascends to the palace, his aide-de-camp Carpenter in tow. As Formica mounts the "stairs" we can hear the workers going, "OUCH! OOF! YIKES!" etc. GENERAL FORMICA Cut the chit-chat down there! (turning to Carpenter) We've spoiled these workers, Carpenter. They've never had it so good, and listen to them -- always grumbling and complaining... Formica steps on the foot of one of the "stairway" ants, who muffles a yelp. CARPENTER ...Yes, sir. GENERAL FORMICA What have they got to complain about? Three square meals a day... CARPENTER Actually, sir, we've cut them down to three roughly rectangular meals a week. FORMICA Don't give me statistics, Carpenter. I know what I'm talking about. DOORS! Formica and Carpenter have reached the top of the staircase. There, the two guard ants on either side of the massive throne room doors pull them open -- and one door hinge SQUEAKS. FORMICA (to guard ant, while passing) Oil that, soldier. INT. THRONE ROOM - DAY The QUEEN is on her throne, her huge abdomen sprawled behind her. QUEEN Ah! General Formica. Formica salutes and marches to her, Carpenter behind him. Note: Throughout this scene, the Queen is giving birth repeatedly. Each birth is accompanied by a herald playing a short "Happy Birthday" fanfare on his trumpet. Mid-wife ants bring each baby to the Queen for inspection, who COOS a few words. The midwives put the babies on a moving bassinet- line, powered by ants on a treadmill. QUEEN General, the severe food shortage that faces the colony...pains me. The thought of any of my children going hungry... (she shudders; then, to baby) Who's the cutest widdle worker? You are! Yes, you! Don't forget to brush your teeth! (to mid-wife) Ship 'er out. (back to Formica) What steps are you taking to remedy the situation? FORMICA We are launching a major offensive to expand our foraging territory... QUEEN Yes, what else? FORMICA Please don't worry, your majesty. Leave the worrying to me. As you know, I'm not an ant of half- measures. I don't pussyfoot around. This crisis is my number one priority, and I promise you it's being dealt with swiftly, and decisively. The Queen's attention is interrupted by another baby being put in her arms. QUEEN (to baby) No snacking between meals! Off you go! (to Formica) Now -- what were we saying? FORMICA (Oliver North-style) I do not recollect, your majesty. Will that be all? QUEEN Yes, General Formica. Carry on, my good man! I don't know what we would do without you. Formica clicks his heels and bows his head. Carpenter bows low. Formica smartly about faces -- BALA (O.S.) General Formica! PRINCESS BALA hurries through a second doorway, carrying a swatch book. Something about her sets her apart from the HANDMAIDEN ANTS with her. Her tiara, probably. Formica tilts his head quizzically to Carpenter behind him. CARPENTER (sotto) Princess Bala, sir. Your fiancee. FORMICA Princess! You look -- outstanding. Is there anything I can do for you? BALA Well -- I thought -- since we're getting married...it might be nice if we...got to know one another. Formica looks confused. QUEEN Bala has always been a hopeless romantic, General. BALA It's just that -- well, I'm honored that you selected me, and everything, I just thought the marriage might go a little more smoothly if -- we had a conversation? FORMICA (uncomfortable) Conversation...yes...well... (to Carpenter) Wasn't she briefed? QUEEN (holding up a baby) Look, General! A darling baby soldier! (emotionally, to baby) Don't try to be a hero! Just make sure you come back in one piece! (handing it off) Next! FORMICA (using the interruption) I'll take your suggestion under advisement, Princess. In the meanwhile -- Formica turns to go. BALA General -- we have to talk sometime! FORMICA Very well. Carpenter, is there a convenient time to talk vis-a-vis: relationship? CARPENTER Actually, sir, we're ahead of schedule. We have thirty-six seconds available right now. FORMICA Outstanding. Princess...? Bala's a little fazed...but grabs her chance. BALA So, um...how was your day? What did you do? FORMICA (scouring his mind) Well... (that's it!) I declared war! BALA (sadly) Oh...and I was afraid we had nothing in common... CARPENTER (under his breath) Fourteen-fifty hours, sir. FORMICA Duty calls! He strides across the floor. Bala watches him go, her antennae drooping unhappily. FORMICA No squeak. Outstanding! We see through the now-open doors into the throne-room as Formica and Carpenter double-time out of the frame. The Queen sees that Bala is unhappy. QUEEN (sympathetically) I felt the same way before I got married. Confused. Scared. BALA (hopefully) You did? QUEEN Yes -- but I did my duty and sorted out all those messy feelings. The wonderful thing about ant life is that everything is arranged. Even marriage. You're lucky -- General Formica is a paragon of anthood. BALA (unconvinced) Yes...he's wonderful... The doors swing shut on them -- revealing the two guard ants who were CRUSHED in the wake of Formica's exit. INT. BALA'S QUARTERS - DAY Bala enters, followed by her handmaidens, who are in a state of giggling infatuation over Formica. Bala is scowling as she leafs through a wedding catalogue. HANDMAIDEN #1 (swooning over General Formica) The General's body segments are so...symmetrical. HANDMAIDEN #2 (giggling) I'd let him order me into battle anyday. Bala hurls the swatch book against the wall. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess? What's wrong? BALA Wrong? How could anything be wrong? I'm going to marry General Formica and be a queen and have millions of babies, just like my mom. (concerned) Do I look fat to you? HANDMAIDEN #2 (knowingly, to Handmaiden #2) Pre-wedding jitters. HANDMAIDEN #1 You just need to blow off some steam. Let's go to the bar at the Royal Club! BALA The Club's so stuffy. I want to try someplace different. HANDMAIDEN #2 There isn't anyplace else -- (making a joke) Except the worker bar. BALA The worker bar! Yes! That's where I want to go! The handmaidens look shocked. HANDMAIDEN #1 But -- we can't -- there'll be workers there. INT. ANT BAR - NIGHT A long bar filled with ants. The bar itself seems to stretch for miles, and there are hundreds of ants trying to get a drink...unfortunately, there's only one bartender. Z is at the bar with WEAVER, a burly ant soldier. Z We declared war again? (off Weaver's nod) Are you scared? WEAVER (shrugs) I'll be back. The BARTENDER, a grizzled veteran, slaps down what looks like a couple of large green beer mugs. Actually, they're aphids, little green critters he fills up from a number of kegs hanging from the ceiling. The kegs are specialized ants with hugely distended stomachs, which spray liquid into the aphids. APHIDS (as they're slapped on bar) Ouch! Ouch! BARTENDER Two aphid beers. Z (as Bartender leaves) Did you see that? How he gave you the beers, not me? I'm telling you, he's got something against workers. WEAVER I don't know what you're talking about, Z. Z Come on -- everybody dumps on us workers. You soldiers get all the glory. Plus you get to go out into the world, meet interesting insects, and kill them. WEAVER Yeah, but you get to spend all day with those fabulous worker babes. We can see that Weaver is eyeing a nearby table of "Worker Babes", including Z's friend Azteca. Z Weaver, they're career girls. They're obsessed with digging. (sighs) No, I'll probably never meet the girl for me. WEAVER Who said there was a girl for you? I was talking about a girl for me. (quaffing his aphid beer) Don't you want your aphid beer? Z I can't help it. I have a thing about drinking from the anus of another creature. Call me crazy. WEAVER Z, we've known each other a long time, right? Z Of course. You were born two seconds after me. WEAVER And all the time I've known you, you've been grumping and groaning. You should quit making waves. Go with the flow. Z Weaver, I'm an insect, not a liquid. Down the bar, there's a commotion. A grizzled old SCOUT ant has had too much to drink. DRUNK SCOUT Have you been to Insectopia? Have you? No, ya goddam larvas! But I have... (becoming emotional) ...Mosquitos n' caterpillars n' beetles -- all livin' in peace, stuffin their guts with food...No rules, no regulations...you can be your own ant there... (howling drunkenly) It's Insectopia! Insectopia! Z Hey, Weaver, listen! DRUNK SCOUT I was cut off from my unit -- found it by mistake -- (slurring) It changed my life! (spraying another soldier with saliva) You see -- ya follow the great yellow egg, and you come to the land of red and white -- SOLDIERS You've had enough for one night! Come on, Gramps, before you get in trouble. The soldiers pull him from the bar, carrying him out. Z (excited) Hey, did you hear what he said?! WEAVER Poor guy's had one too many scouting missions. MUSIC STARTS UP. INT. ANT BAR ENTRANCE - NIGHT Princess Bala is peering in at the entrance to the ant bar, accompanied by her worried-looking handmaidens. HANDMAIDEN #2 We shouldn't be doing this -- it isn't proper! BALA I'm the Princess, aren't I? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course -- BALA And do Princesses do improper things? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course not -- BALA Then if I go to the worker bar, it isn't improper. Anyway, don't worry. No one will recognize us in our disguises. She adjusts her "disguise", a hardhat, tied down Jackie O.- style with an ant's version of a Chanel scarf. BALA I'm just a common worker, cooling off after a rough day! Music starts. An ant BARKER takes the mic at one end of the dance floor. BARKER (on loudspeaker) Okay, folks. It's six-fifteen, and that means it's time to dance. Every ant gets up to dance. Weaver turns to Z. WEAVER (draining his beer) Time to cut a rug, Z! Z I'm not in the mood. (disgusted) Even when they're off work, they follow orders. WEAVER Well, you just sit here and be a party-pooper. Weaver joins the rest of the ants who are lining up for the dance. The Barker calls out the steps in a bored monotone -- all the ants already know the steps. Everyone dances in perfect synch. BARKER (southern twang) And a left-right-quarterstep-back step-halfstep -- a left-right- quarterstep-backstep-halfstep -- a left-right-quarterstep-backstep halfstep -- AT THE ENTRANCE, Bala smiles mischievously at her handmaidens. BALA I'm going to ask one of these mindless, primitive worker-types to dance with me! HANDMAIDEN #1 But General Formica would be furious! BALA (enjoying the idea) I know. The handmaidens are appalled. Bala whirls away from them, sets her sights and searches the crowd -- zeroing in on -- Z, who's watching the other ants dance. Z What a bunch of losers. Mindless zombies capitulating to an oppressive system -- BALA Wanna dance? Bala's standing right there. Z is instantly smitten. Z Me?! Yes!!! I mean -- (regaining suavosity) Just let me finish my beer. Not breaking eye contact with Bala, Z smiles suavely. Reaches suavely for a beer. Suavely grabs the candle in a glass jar off the bar. Suavely singes his face. He plays it off with a rakish little laugh. A bit apprehensive, Bala heads onto the floor. Z follows her. Z So uh -- how come I haven't seen you around here before? BALA (covering up) I work in the palace, I don't get out much. Z The palace, hunh? I bet those royals really live it up. Of course they're all a little, you know, from inbreeding -- BALA (shocked) What? Z and Bala step onto the dance floor with the rest of the ants, but Z can't do any of the steps. Z Now, let's see, I -- it's been a while since I -- I think you -- Bala watches Z, trying to follow along. It's the blind leading the blind, as Z tries in vain to follow the barker's rapid instructions. Z Here, I'll lead. Z starts doing his own, individual dance. With a suave expression on his face, he leads Bala in a helter-skelter mixture-of Tango, Charleston, and hand-jive. BALA Are you sure this is a real dance? Z Well, actually, uh -- I'm sort of making it up -- BALA (surprised) Really? Z Why should everyone dance the same way? It's as exciting as watching fungus grow. BALA You're right! Z (surprised) You -- you think I'm right? BALA Why can't I just do whatever I want to do? Why can't I just go wild?! Yahoo! Bala starts to get into it, making up her own steps in reply to Z's, loosening up, having fun. For a moment, the two of them are actually sexy together. Then they get a little too wild -- and the other ants, who are still doing their intricate dance, start to collide with Bala and Z. Z almost knocks over a big soldier ant. We can only see the ant's back at the moment. SOLDIER Hey! Watch your step, worker. Z has turned around to see the soldier ant, MAJOR MANDIBLE, glaring at him. Mandible is about twice Z's size. He's got one eye missing, and half of his left antenna his been chewed off. BALA You watch yours, soldier, or my worker friend will beat you up! Z (terrified) Oh, that's okay, I'll let him off this time. (whispering to Bala) Are you crazy? This guy's built like a pebble! (ineptly trying to placate the soldier) You know they do great prosthetic antennas nowadays -- BALA Aren't you gonna stand up for yourself? Z's caught between a rock and a hard place. He doesn't want to get beaten up, but on the other hand, he doesn't want to lose face in front of Bala. More soldiers have gathered around, looking hostile. SOLDIER How come you don't dance like the rest of us? Z glances over at Bala. Then, shaking with nervousness, he says defiantly... Z Because -- because I'm an individual! SOLDIER #2 An individual? Never heard of it. MANDIBLE You look like a worker to me. WEAVER Hey, lay off my little buddy! Z, meanwhile, looks far away, ecstatic, as if he's just realized something very important. Unfortunately, just at this moment, A soldier pushes Weaver...Weaver pushes him back...somebody makes a dive for Z -- and before you know it, there's a regular bar brawl going on, with Weaver in the middle of it, cracking heads together, punching ants in the face, having a great time. Just then, the Princess' handmaidens hurries over. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess Bala! Princess Bala! Z, who's scrabbling around on the floor, overhears. Z Princess? You're a Princess? HANDMAIDEN #2 The police are coming! BALA Uh oh. (to Z) Goodbye! Gotta run! Z Wait! When can I see you again? BALA Let me think. Hmmnn... (thinks) Never. Bye! Bala rushes off with her handmaiden, just before a squad of whistle-blowing POLICE wade into the crowd. Z Wait! Princess! Wait! But she's already gone, leaving Z holding her scarf. CUT TO: INT. DORMITORY - THE NEXT DAY Z is talking to Weaver, who's getting ready to go off to war. Nearby, columns of ant soldiers march by. WEAVER Get real, Z! She just dropped the scarf by accident! Z Are you kidding? There were sparks between us! This scarf is a sign! WEAVER It's a sign that you're crazy! Do you know what the penalty for impersonating a soldier is? Z What's gonna go wrong?! I take your place for the royal inspection. Bala comes strolling down the line, she sees me -- bingo! Love is rekindled, and she takes me up to the palace for a little... (wags his eyebrows suggestively) tea and crumpets... and you take your place again, and go march around to your heart's content! Weaver looks unconvinced. Z You have to help me. Please, Weaver. Think of all the things I've done for you! WEAVER (thinks) I can't think of any. Z (pause) Well I'm gonna start doing things for you... WEAVER Will you introduce me to some worker girls? Z You bet! They'll really go for a sensitive guy like you! WEAVER Maybe I'll get lucky. (Weaver thinks about it) You know, Z, I wouldn't do this for anyone but you... Weaver hands Z has helmet. WEAVER Wear this. Z (overjoyed) You're a real buddy. WEAVER (sourly) Yeah, I know. Z What do I do? WEAVER Don't tell anyone you're a worker. Follow that column over there. And come right back after the inspection! Weaver points to a bunch of soldiers hurrying by in formation. Z (overjoyed) Thanks! I owe you! Z skips off and joins the column, marching in time with the soldiers but too excited to keep from jazzing it up a little. INT. TOWN CENTER - NIGHT The ant army has gathered in a huge HALL in front of a reviewing stand. We can hear the murmuring of thousands of soldiers -- but all we can see is a HUGE POSTER of an ant General pointing right at the camera. The poster reads, "GENERAL FORMICA WANTS YOU -- to obey". Z turns to some of the soldiers near him. Z Any of you guys know when the Princess will show up? She's kind of a personal friend. The soldiers look at Z like he's nuts. LOUD VOICE ATTEN-SHUN! MARTIAL MUSIC sounds, and we hear thousands of ant feet as they snap to attention. Z imitates the soldiers awkwardly. GENERAL FORMICA struts to the middle 6f the screen, slapping his thigh with a swagger stick (the antenna of some unfortunate insect) FORMICA First of all, let me make one thing clear. Nobody ever won a battle by thinking for himself. All this "thinking" stuff is a load of crap. If the almighty had wanted you boys to think, he wouldn't have given you huge mandibles and a brain so small you'd misplace it if it wasn't trapped inside your head. In the audience, Z starts laughing -- he thinks Formica's just made a joke. Z (slapping his thigh) "Trapped inside your head" -- that's a good one -- Z notices nobody else is laughing. He stops. Z Geez -- tough room. From the stage, Formica is squinting at the audience, trying to make out who was laughing, but there are just too many ants. He continues. FORMICA (striding back and forth) We ants survive as a species because we do what we're told. We survive because we work together, as one, we get the job done, we do whatever it takes to persevere! (dramatic pause) Hell, we're not an army of ants...we're one giant ant, with giant fists, and giant jaws! The soldiers CHEER! Z CHEERS along with the rest of them. Z (to the soldier ant next to him) Lays it on a little thick, doesn't he? If you ask me, he's one giant bore. FORMICA Now I've heard a lot of scuttlebutt about a food shortage. Well you boys are gonna be taken care of. But in the meantime we're gonna eat the enemy for breakfast, we are gonna eat the enemy for lunch, and we are gonna eat the enemy for dinner! Z Geez, and I forgot my toothbrush. FORMICA (reflective moment) Dammit, I'm proud to be an ant. (he looks out at his army) And I know each and every one of you boys will do your duty. Dismissed. Z applauds and whistles as the other ants look at him in confusion. Z (clapping) Bravo! Bring on the Princess! COLONEL Stow the gab there, soldier! Let's move 'em out! The soldiers turn to the right and start to march out past the reviewing stand. A COLONEL marches at the head of Z's column as Z looks around for the Princess. COLONEL Eyes...left! Finally, as Z's part of the army marches past the end of the reviewing stand, he sees her, looking bored, standing next to the Queen, who is giving the royal wave. Z (waving) Princess! Princess Bala! Hey! It's me! Z! I've got your scarf! ON THE REVIEWING STAND, Bala sees Z -- that is to say, she sees one of the thousands upon thousands of ants marching by... BALA (peering out) Who is that idiot? QUEEN Darling, you must encourage the troops -- wave! Bala waves unenthusiastically, little more than flopping her hand back and forth on her wrist. Down below, Z takes this as a sign that Bala has seen him. Z (excited) Excuse me, guys -- That's my date. Well, it's been fun. Have a great war! Z tries to squeeze his way back towards the royals, but he's surrounded by a solid wall of soldiers -- and they're carrying him along with them. Z Hey! Wait! Z loses sight of the Princess as he's carried away. BARBATUS, a hard-as-nails "grunt" soldier ant, taps Z on the shoulder. BARBATUS You new, kid? Z I just joined up. But I'm quitting! I got a trial membership! BARBATUS Trial membership? Kid, when you join this ant's army, you're in for the full hitch. At that moment, Z is swept out of the cramped corridor they've been marching along, as the army emerges into the OPEN AIR outside of the colony. EXT. ANT MOUND - NIGHT It's a starry, moonlit night. The shadows crowd around the panicked Z, who looks up at the sky as we see the army on the march... Z Wait a minute, there's been a mistake! I've got to get back to the colony! Z starts to fall out of line, but Barbatus, looking concerned, stops him. BARBATUS Are you crazy, kid? They shoot deserters! Z swallows hard. BARBATUS You just stick by old Barbatus. He'll watch out for you. (off Z's look) Whatsamatter, kid? Leave a girl behind? Z Yeah. Well -- no. She's kind of playing hard to get. As a matter of fact, she's playing completely unattainable. (nervously) So, what's on the schedule? A brisk walk? a foraging expedition? BARBATUS No -- we're going to attack the termites! Z (alarmed) Attack? But -- I hate attacking! It's so hostile! Around Z and Barbatus, the ants start up a marching song, which we intersperse with dialogue between

antz

How many times the word 'antz' appears in the text?

Antz Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS "Antz", unknown draft A N T Z CHARACTERS VOICES "Z"...............................................WOODY ALLEN "WASP #1".........................................DAN AYKROYD "WASP #2".........................................JANE CURTIN "GEN. FORMICA"...................................DANNY GLOVER "MANDIBLE".......................................GENE HACKMAN "AZTECA".......................................JENNIFER LOPEZ "DRUNK SCOUT"....................................JOHN MAHONEY "WEAVER"...................................SYLVESTER STALLONE "PRINCESS BALA"..................................SHARON STONE "QUEEN"..........................................MERYL STREEP "CARPENTER"................................CHRISTOPHER WALKEN Z (O.S.) (over a dark screen) All my life, I've lived and worked in the big city... We see: EXT. AN ANT MOUND - DAY The camera swoops towards the entrance, then dives inside, past a couple of tough-looking soldier ants who stand at the gates of the ant colony like insect bouncers...into an access tunnel that snakes this way and that, past a row of ants plodding along... ...and into the MAIN CHAMBER of the colony, a huge, teeming vista that seems to stretch away forever, filled with ants rushing here and there on their business. We see -- a "traffic cop" directing foot traffic, waving his arms like crazy so both sides move at once -- a column of soldier ants marching along in formation -- a chain of ants letting down a matchbox elevator filled with workers. Z (V.O.) ...which is kind of a problem, since I've always felt uncomfortably in crowds. INT. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR'S OFFICE - DAY We join Z, a worker ant with issues. He's lying on a couch, recounting his woes. Z I feel...isolated. Different. I've got abandonment issues. My father flew away when I was just a larva. My mother didn't have much time for me...when you have five million siblings, it's difficult to get attention. (pause) I feel physically inadequate -- I've never been able to lift more than ten times my own weight. Sometimes I think I'm just not cut out to be a worker. But I don't have any other options. I was assigned to trade school when I was just a grub. The whole system just...makes me feel...insignificant. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (enthusiastic) Terrific! You should feel insignificant! For the first time, we see the ant MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR. He's a mixture of Tony Robbins and Ron Popiel (the hyperactive late-night TV huckster, and founder of "Ronco"). Z ...I should? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (hopping around enthusiastically) YES!!! You know, people ask me, "Doctor, why are you always happy?" And I tell them it's mind over matter. I don't mind that I don't matter! Do you get it? Do you get it? Z gives a fake smile. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (incredibly "up") Z, we're part of the fastest growing species in the whole world! The counsellor rolls down a chart from the wall. An arrow shows ant population going up, up, up. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Ask me why we're so successful. Z Why are we so successful? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR I'm glad you asked me that question! The motivational counsellor opens some blinds...and we see a vista of the ant-filled chamber below. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR What do you see out there? Z ...Ants... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Right! Ants! Millions of creatures, each with his assigned task, all pulling together! Down below, we see a group of ants carrying a boulder up an incline. One worker ants slips, and the boulder rolls down, crushing his leg. The other ants rush over -- it looks like they're going to help their fallen comrade, but instead, they climb right over him, and pick up the boulder, continuing with their task. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR You see? Being an ant is being able to say, "Hey -- I'm meaningless, you're meaningless." Z But -- but I've always felt life was about finding meaning...and then sharing it with someone special, someone you love. The motivational counsellor puts his arm on Z's shoulder...he seems to understand... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Z...you need help. (looking at a clock) Whoops! We're gonna have to stop there. Your minute is up! The counsellor ushers Z out of his seat and towards the door. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Now back to work! We've made real progress! Remember -- let's be best superorganism we can be! INT. EARLY MEGA-TUNNEL - DAY A gigantic tunnel, with the size and scale of the "Chunnel". A banner strung overhead reads: "The Mega-Tunnel -- Tunneling Our Way to a Bright Future!" Along the walls hang 50's work- incentive style posters with messages like, "You asked for it, you got it -- more work!" and "TWO MEALS A WEEK IS ENOUGH!!!" Line after line of ants is working on the tunnel, digging, passing clumps of dirt from ant to ant, everyone synchronized. CLOSE on a clump of DIRT being passed from hand to hand. PULL OUT TO REVEAL AZTECA, a feisty, cynical, female worker ant, who stands there, waiting to pass the dirt on. Z is daydreaming behind her, with clumps of dirt starting to pile up in front of him. AZTECA Hello?! Earth to Z! You better snap out of it, or there's gonna be a lot of pissed off ants! Z looks back, and sees the ants behind staring at him angrily. Z (snapping out of it) Sorry Azteca. Here you go, fellas! Fresh dirt! Alley oop! (looking at the dirt) Shouldn't we be wearing gloves? I mean this dirt is very...dirty. Doesn't anyone think of hygiene? (Z's stomach growls) Boy am I hungry. I'm so hungry I'm seeing double. It looks like there's two million ants in here. When's lunch? Tomorrow, or the day after? AZTECA (sweetly) Z, old pal... (shouts) SHUT UP!!! It's bad enough there's a food shortage without you complaining about it every day. Z The squeaky wheel gets the oil. AZTECA No, Z. The squeaky wheel gets thrown away, alright? You're a good ant, Z, even though you are a pain in my rear- segment. I don't wanna see anything happen to you. So quit mouthing off, before you get in trouble. A WHISTLE BLOWS. Z Thank goodness. Breaktime. All the ants put down their tools. A beat. Then the WHISTLE BLOWS AGAIN. All the ants pick up their tools again. AZTECA (resigned) Break's over. Z (getting back to work) This colony needs another tunnel like a hole in the ground. Why are we even digging this thing? AZTECA Who cares, Z. All I know is, we gotta dig. We're not the ones in charge. INT. TOWN CENTER - DAY The huge, spacious main chamber of the colony. Looming over the scene is the royal palace, which seems to be inaccessible, perched on top of a hill-like pedestal. Around the base of the pedestal, a crew of workers loiters, seemingly aimlessly...can these be the only unemployed ants in the place? GENERAL FORMICA STAIRS! The workers look up and GROAN. Then they start forming a stairway with their own bodies, linking arms, stepping on each other's shoulders. It's extremely unpleasant work. One ant is a little tardy, and just manages to get in place before... GENERAL FORMICA, the Pattonesque military leader of the colony, STEPS ON HIS HEAD, using it as the first step as he ascends to the palace, his aide-de-camp Carpenter in tow. As Formica mounts the "stairs" we can hear the workers going, "OUCH! OOF! YIKES!" etc. GENERAL FORMICA Cut the chit-chat down there! (turning to Carpenter) We've spoiled these workers, Carpenter. They've never had it so good, and listen to them -- always grumbling and complaining... Formica steps on the foot of one of the "stairway" ants, who muffles a yelp. CARPENTER ...Yes, sir. GENERAL FORMICA What have they got to complain about? Three square meals a day... CARPENTER Actually, sir, we've cut them down to three roughly rectangular meals a week. FORMICA Don't give me statistics, Carpenter. I know what I'm talking about. DOORS! Formica and Carpenter have reached the top of the staircase. There, the two guard ants on either side of the massive throne room doors pull them open -- and one door hinge SQUEAKS. FORMICA (to guard ant, while passing) Oil that, soldier. INT. THRONE ROOM - DAY The QUEEN is on her throne, her huge abdomen sprawled behind her. QUEEN Ah! General Formica. Formica salutes and marches to her, Carpenter behind him. Note: Throughout this scene, the Queen is giving birth repeatedly. Each birth is accompanied by a herald playing a short "Happy Birthday" fanfare on his trumpet. Mid-wife ants bring each baby to the Queen for inspection, who COOS a few words. The midwives put the babies on a moving bassinet- line, powered by ants on a treadmill. QUEEN General, the severe food shortage that faces the colony...pains me. The thought of any of my children going hungry... (she shudders; then, to baby) Who's the cutest widdle worker? You are! Yes, you! Don't forget to brush your teeth! (to mid-wife) Ship 'er out. (back to Formica) What steps are you taking to remedy the situation? FORMICA We are launching a major offensive to expand our foraging territory... QUEEN Yes, what else? FORMICA Please don't worry, your majesty. Leave the worrying to me. As you know, I'm not an ant of half- measures. I don't pussyfoot around. This crisis is my number one priority, and I promise you it's being dealt with swiftly, and decisively. The Queen's attention is interrupted by another baby being put in her arms. QUEEN (to baby) No snacking between meals! Off you go! (to Formica) Now -- what were we saying? FORMICA (Oliver North-style) I do not recollect, your majesty. Will that be all? QUEEN Yes, General Formica. Carry on, my good man! I don't know what we would do without you. Formica clicks his heels and bows his head. Carpenter bows low. Formica smartly about faces -- BALA (O.S.) General Formica! PRINCESS BALA hurries through a second doorway, carrying a swatch book. Something about her sets her apart from the HANDMAIDEN ANTS with her. Her tiara, probably. Formica tilts his head quizzically to Carpenter behind him. CARPENTER (sotto) Princess Bala, sir. Your fiancee. FORMICA Princess! You look -- outstanding. Is there anything I can do for you? BALA Well -- I thought -- since we're getting married...it might be nice if we...got to know one another. Formica looks confused. QUEEN Bala has always been a hopeless romantic, General. BALA It's just that -- well, I'm honored that you selected me, and everything, I just thought the marriage might go a little more smoothly if -- we had a conversation? FORMICA (uncomfortable) Conversation...yes...well... (to Carpenter) Wasn't she briefed? QUEEN (holding up a baby) Look, General! A darling baby soldier! (emotionally, to baby) Don't try to be a hero! Just make sure you come back in one piece! (handing it off) Next! FORMICA (using the interruption) I'll take your suggestion under advisement, Princess. In the meanwhile -- Formica turns to go. BALA General -- we have to talk sometime! FORMICA Very well. Carpenter, is there a convenient time to talk vis-a-vis: relationship? CARPENTER Actually, sir, we're ahead of schedule. We have thirty-six seconds available right now. FORMICA Outstanding. Princess...? Bala's a little fazed...but grabs her chance. BALA So, um...how was your day? What did you do? FORMICA (scouring his mind) Well... (that's it!) I declared war! BALA (sadly) Oh...and I was afraid we had nothing in common... CARPENTER (under his breath) Fourteen-fifty hours, sir. FORMICA Duty calls! He strides across the floor. Bala watches him go, her antennae drooping unhappily. FORMICA No squeak. Outstanding! We see through the now-open doors into the throne-room as Formica and Carpenter double-time out of the frame. The Queen sees that Bala is unhappy. QUEEN (sympathetically) I felt the same way before I got married. Confused. Scared. BALA (hopefully) You did? QUEEN Yes -- but I did my duty and sorted out all those messy feelings. The wonderful thing about ant life is that everything is arranged. Even marriage. You're lucky -- General Formica is a paragon of anthood. BALA (unconvinced) Yes...he's wonderful... The doors swing shut on them -- revealing the two guard ants who were CRUSHED in the wake of Formica's exit. INT. BALA'S QUARTERS - DAY Bala enters, followed by her handmaidens, who are in a state of giggling infatuation over Formica. Bala is scowling as she leafs through a wedding catalogue. HANDMAIDEN #1 (swooning over General Formica) The General's body segments are so...symmetrical. HANDMAIDEN #2 (giggling) I'd let him order me into battle anyday. Bala hurls the swatch book against the wall. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess? What's wrong? BALA Wrong? How could anything be wrong? I'm going to marry General Formica and be a queen and have millions of babies, just like my mom. (concerned) Do I look fat to you? HANDMAIDEN #2 (knowingly, to Handmaiden #2) Pre-wedding jitters. HANDMAIDEN #1 You just need to blow off some steam. Let's go to the bar at the Royal Club! BALA The Club's so stuffy. I want to try someplace different. HANDMAIDEN #2 There isn't anyplace else -- (making a joke) Except the worker bar. BALA The worker bar! Yes! That's where I want to go! The handmaidens look shocked. HANDMAIDEN #1 But -- we can't -- there'll be workers there. INT. ANT BAR - NIGHT A long bar filled with ants. The bar itself seems to stretch for miles, and there are hundreds of ants trying to get a drink...unfortunately, there's only one bartender. Z is at the bar with WEAVER, a burly ant soldier. Z We declared war again? (off Weaver's nod) Are you scared? WEAVER (shrugs) I'll be back. The BARTENDER, a grizzled veteran, slaps down what looks like a couple of large green beer mugs. Actually, they're aphids, little green critters he fills up from a number of kegs hanging from the ceiling. The kegs are specialized ants with hugely distended stomachs, which spray liquid into the aphids. APHIDS (as they're slapped on bar) Ouch! Ouch! BARTENDER Two aphid beers. Z (as Bartender leaves) Did you see that? How he gave you the beers, not me? I'm telling you, he's got something against workers. WEAVER I don't know what you're talking about, Z. Z Come on -- everybody dumps on us workers. You soldiers get all the glory. Plus you get to go out into the world, meet interesting insects, and kill them. WEAVER Yeah, but you get to spend all day with those fabulous worker babes. We can see that Weaver is eyeing a nearby table of "Worker Babes", including Z's friend Azteca. Z Weaver, they're career girls. They're obsessed with digging. (sighs) No, I'll probably never meet the girl for me. WEAVER Who said there was a girl for you? I was talking about a girl for me. (quaffing his aphid beer) Don't you want your aphid beer? Z I can't help it. I have a thing about drinking from the anus of another creature. Call me crazy. WEAVER Z, we've known each other a long time, right? Z Of course. You were born two seconds after me. WEAVER And all the time I've known you, you've been grumping and groaning. You should quit making waves. Go with the flow. Z Weaver, I'm an insect, not a liquid. Down the bar, there's a commotion. A grizzled old SCOUT ant has had too much to drink. DRUNK SCOUT Have you been to Insectopia? Have you? No, ya goddam larvas! But I have... (becoming emotional) ...Mosquitos n' caterpillars n' beetles -- all livin' in peace, stuffin their guts with food...No rules, no regulations...you can be your own ant there... (howling drunkenly) It's Insectopia! Insectopia! Z Hey, Weaver, listen! DRUNK SCOUT I was cut off from my unit -- found it by mistake -- (slurring) It changed my life! (spraying another soldier with saliva) You see -- ya follow the great yellow egg, and you come to the land of red and white -- SOLDIERS You've had enough for one night! Come on, Gramps, before you get in trouble. The soldiers pull him from the bar, carrying him out. Z (excited) Hey, did you hear what he said?! WEAVER Poor guy's had one too many scouting missions. MUSIC STARTS UP. INT. ANT BAR ENTRANCE - NIGHT Princess Bala is peering in at the entrance to the ant bar, accompanied by her worried-looking handmaidens. HANDMAIDEN #2 We shouldn't be doing this -- it isn't proper! BALA I'm the Princess, aren't I? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course -- BALA And do Princesses do improper things? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course not -- BALA Then if I go to the worker bar, it isn't improper. Anyway, don't worry. No one will recognize us in our disguises. She adjusts her "disguise", a hardhat, tied down Jackie O.- style with an ant's version of a Chanel scarf. BALA I'm just a common worker, cooling off after a rough day! Music starts. An ant BARKER takes the mic at one end of the dance floor. BARKER (on loudspeaker) Okay, folks. It's six-fifteen, and that means it's time to dance. Every ant gets up to dance. Weaver turns to Z. WEAVER (draining his beer) Time to cut a rug, Z! Z I'm not in the mood. (disgusted) Even when they're off work, they follow orders. WEAVER Well, you just sit here and be a party-pooper. Weaver joins the rest of the ants who are lining up for the dance. The Barker calls out the steps in a bored monotone -- all the ants already know the steps. Everyone dances in perfect synch. BARKER (southern twang) And a left-right-quarterstep-back step-halfstep -- a left-right- quarterstep-backstep-halfstep -- a left-right-quarterstep-backstep halfstep -- AT THE ENTRANCE, Bala smiles mischievously at her handmaidens. BALA I'm going to ask one of these mindless, primitive worker-types to dance with me! HANDMAIDEN #1 But General Formica would be furious! BALA (enjoying the idea) I know. The handmaidens are appalled. Bala whirls away from them, sets her sights and searches the crowd -- zeroing in on -- Z, who's watching the other ants dance. Z What a bunch of losers. Mindless zombies capitulating to an oppressive system -- BALA Wanna dance? Bala's standing right there. Z is instantly smitten. Z Me?! Yes!!! I mean -- (regaining suavosity) Just let me finish my beer. Not breaking eye contact with Bala, Z smiles suavely. Reaches suavely for a beer. Suavely grabs the candle in a glass jar off the bar. Suavely singes his face. He plays it off with a rakish little laugh. A bit apprehensive, Bala heads onto the floor. Z follows her. Z So uh -- how come I haven't seen you around here before? BALA (covering up) I work in the palace, I don't get out much. Z The palace, hunh? I bet those royals really live it up. Of course they're all a little, you know, from inbreeding -- BALA (shocked) What? Z and Bala step onto the dance floor with the rest of the ants, but Z can't do any of the steps. Z Now, let's see, I -- it's been a while since I -- I think you -- Bala watches Z, trying to follow along. It's the blind leading the blind, as Z tries in vain to follow the barker's rapid instructions. Z Here, I'll lead. Z starts doing his own, individual dance. With a suave expression on his face, he leads Bala in a helter-skelter mixture-of Tango, Charleston, and hand-jive. BALA Are you sure this is a real dance? Z Well, actually, uh -- I'm sort of making it up -- BALA (surprised) Really? Z Why should everyone dance the same way? It's as exciting as watching fungus grow. BALA You're right! Z (surprised) You -- you think I'm right? BALA Why can't I just do whatever I want to do? Why can't I just go wild?! Yahoo! Bala starts to get into it, making up her own steps in reply to Z's, loosening up, having fun. For a moment, the two of them are actually sexy together. Then they get a little too wild -- and the other ants, who are still doing their intricate dance, start to collide with Bala and Z. Z almost knocks over a big soldier ant. We can only see the ant's back at the moment. SOLDIER Hey! Watch your step, worker. Z has turned around to see the soldier ant, MAJOR MANDIBLE, glaring at him. Mandible is about twice Z's size. He's got one eye missing, and half of his left antenna his been chewed off. BALA You watch yours, soldier, or my worker friend will beat you up! Z (terrified) Oh, that's okay, I'll let him off this time. (whispering to Bala) Are you crazy? This guy's built like a pebble! (ineptly trying to placate the soldier) You know they do great prosthetic antennas nowadays -- BALA Aren't you gonna stand up for yourself? Z's caught between a rock and a hard place. He doesn't want to get beaten up, but on the other hand, he doesn't want to lose face in front of Bala. More soldiers have gathered around, looking hostile. SOLDIER How come you don't dance like the rest of us? Z glances over at Bala. Then, shaking with nervousness, he says defiantly... Z Because -- because I'm an individual! SOLDIER #2 An individual? Never heard of it. MANDIBLE You look like a worker to me. WEAVER Hey, lay off my little buddy! Z, meanwhile, looks far away, ecstatic, as if he's just realized something very important. Unfortunately, just at this moment, A soldier pushes Weaver...Weaver pushes him back...somebody makes a dive for Z -- and before you know it, there's a regular bar brawl going on, with Weaver in the middle of it, cracking heads together, punching ants in the face, having a great time. Just then, the Princess' handmaidens hurries over. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess Bala! Princess Bala! Z, who's scrabbling around on the floor, overhears. Z Princess? You're a Princess? HANDMAIDEN #2 The police are coming! BALA Uh oh. (to Z) Goodbye! Gotta run! Z Wait! When can I see you again? BALA Let me think. Hmmnn... (thinks) Never. Bye! Bala rushes off with her handmaiden, just before a squad of whistle-blowing POLICE wade into the crowd. Z Wait! Princess! Wait! But she's already gone, leaving Z holding her scarf. CUT TO: INT. DORMITORY - THE NEXT DAY Z is talking to Weaver, who's getting ready to go off to war. Nearby, columns of ant soldiers march by. WEAVER Get real, Z! She just dropped the scarf by accident! Z Are you kidding? There were sparks between us! This scarf is a sign! WEAVER It's a sign that you're crazy! Do you know what the penalty for impersonating a soldier is? Z What's gonna go wrong?! I take your place for the royal inspection. Bala comes strolling down the line, she sees me -- bingo! Love is rekindled, and she takes me up to the palace for a little... (wags his eyebrows suggestively) tea and crumpets... and you take your place again, and go march around to your heart's content! Weaver looks unconvinced. Z You have to help me. Please, Weaver. Think of all the things I've done for you! WEAVER (thinks) I can't think of any. Z (pause) Well I'm gonna start doing things for you... WEAVER Will you introduce me to some worker girls? Z You bet! They'll really go for a sensitive guy like you! WEAVER Maybe I'll get lucky. (Weaver thinks about it) You know, Z, I wouldn't do this for anyone but you... Weaver hands Z has helmet. WEAVER Wear this. Z (overjoyed) You're a real buddy. WEAVER (sourly) Yeah, I know. Z What do I do? WEAVER Don't tell anyone you're a worker. Follow that column over there. And come right back after the inspection! Weaver points to a bunch of soldiers hurrying by in formation. Z (overjoyed) Thanks! I owe you! Z skips off and joins the column, marching in time with the soldiers but too excited to keep from jazzing it up a little. INT. TOWN CENTER - NIGHT The ant army has gathered in a huge HALL in front of a reviewing stand. We can hear the murmuring of thousands of soldiers -- but all we can see is a HUGE POSTER of an ant General pointing right at the camera. The poster reads, "GENERAL FORMICA WANTS YOU -- to obey". Z turns to some of the soldiers near him. Z Any of you guys know when the Princess will show up? She's kind of a personal friend. The soldiers look at Z like he's nuts. LOUD VOICE ATTEN-SHUN! MARTIAL MUSIC sounds, and we hear thousands of ant feet as they snap to attention. Z imitates the soldiers awkwardly. GENERAL FORMICA struts to the middle 6f the screen, slapping his thigh with a swagger stick (the antenna of some unfortunate insect) FORMICA First of all, let me make one thing clear. Nobody ever won a battle by thinking for himself. All this "thinking" stuff is a load of crap. If the almighty had wanted you boys to think, he wouldn't have given you huge mandibles and a brain so small you'd misplace it if it wasn't trapped inside your head. In the audience, Z starts laughing -- he thinks Formica's just made a joke. Z (slapping his thigh) "Trapped inside your head" -- that's a good one -- Z notices nobody else is laughing. He stops. Z Geez -- tough room. From the stage, Formica is squinting at the audience, trying to make out who was laughing, but there are just too many ants. He continues. FORMICA (striding back and forth) We ants survive as a species because we do what we're told. We survive because we work together, as one, we get the job done, we do whatever it takes to persevere! (dramatic pause) Hell, we're not an army of ants...we're one giant ant, with giant fists, and giant jaws! The soldiers CHEER! Z CHEERS along with the rest of them. Z (to the soldier ant next to him) Lays it on a little thick, doesn't he? If you ask me, he's one giant bore. FORMICA Now I've heard a lot of scuttlebutt about a food shortage. Well you boys are gonna be taken care of. But in the meantime we're gonna eat the enemy for breakfast, we are gonna eat the enemy for lunch, and we are gonna eat the enemy for dinner! Z Geez, and I forgot my toothbrush. FORMICA (reflective moment) Dammit, I'm proud to be an ant. (he looks out at his army) And I know each and every one of you boys will do your duty. Dismissed. Z applauds and whistles as the other ants look at him in confusion. Z (clapping) Bravo! Bring on the Princess! COLONEL Stow the gab there, soldier! Let's move 'em out! The soldiers turn to the right and start to march out past the reviewing stand. A COLONEL marches at the head of Z's column as Z looks around for the Princess. COLONEL Eyes...left! Finally, as Z's part of the army marches past the end of the reviewing stand, he sees her, looking bored, standing next to the Queen, who is giving the royal wave. Z (waving) Princess! Princess Bala! Hey! It's me! Z! I've got your scarf! ON THE REVIEWING STAND, Bala sees Z -- that is to say, she sees one of the thousands upon thousands of ants marching by... BALA (peering out) Who is that idiot? QUEEN Darling, you must encourage the troops -- wave! Bala waves unenthusiastically, little more than flopping her hand back and forth on her wrist. Down below, Z takes this as a sign that Bala has seen him. Z (excited) Excuse me, guys -- That's my date. Well, it's been fun. Have a great war! Z tries to squeeze his way back towards the royals, but he's surrounded by a solid wall of soldiers -- and they're carrying him along with them. Z Hey! Wait! Z loses sight of the Princess as he's carried away. BARBATUS, a hard-as-nails "grunt" soldier ant, taps Z on the shoulder. BARBATUS You new, kid? Z I just joined up. But I'm quitting! I got a trial membership! BARBATUS Trial membership? Kid, when you join this ant's army, you're in for the full hitch. At that moment, Z is swept out of the cramped corridor they've been marching along, as the army emerges into the OPEN AIR outside of the colony. EXT. ANT MOUND - NIGHT It's a starry, moonlit night. The shadows crowd around the panicked Z, who looks up at the sky as we see the army on the march... Z Wait a minute, there's been a mistake! I've got to get back to the colony! Z starts to fall out of line, but Barbatus, looking concerned, stops him. BARBATUS Are you crazy, kid? They shoot deserters! Z swallows hard. BARBATUS You just stick by old Barbatus. He'll watch out for you. (off Z's look) Whatsamatter, kid? Leave a girl behind? Z Yeah. Well -- no. She's kind of playing hard to get. As a matter of fact, she's playing completely unattainable. (nervously) So, what's on the schedule? A brisk walk? a foraging expedition? BARBATUS No -- we're going to attack the termites! Z (alarmed) Attack? But -- I hate attacking! It's so hostile! Around Z and Barbatus, the ants start up a marching song, which we intersperse with dialogue between

boulder

How many times the word 'boulder' appears in the text?

Antz Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS "Antz", unknown draft A N T Z CHARACTERS VOICES "Z"...............................................WOODY ALLEN "WASP #1".........................................DAN AYKROYD "WASP #2".........................................JANE CURTIN "GEN. FORMICA"...................................DANNY GLOVER "MANDIBLE".......................................GENE HACKMAN "AZTECA".......................................JENNIFER LOPEZ "DRUNK SCOUT"....................................JOHN MAHONEY "WEAVER"...................................SYLVESTER STALLONE "PRINCESS BALA"..................................SHARON STONE "QUEEN"..........................................MERYL STREEP "CARPENTER"................................CHRISTOPHER WALKEN Z (O.S.) (over a dark screen) All my life, I've lived and worked in the big city... We see: EXT. AN ANT MOUND - DAY The camera swoops towards the entrance, then dives inside, past a couple of tough-looking soldier ants who stand at the gates of the ant colony like insect bouncers...into an access tunnel that snakes this way and that, past a row of ants plodding along... ...and into the MAIN CHAMBER of the colony, a huge, teeming vista that seems to stretch away forever, filled with ants rushing here and there on their business. We see -- a "traffic cop" directing foot traffic, waving his arms like crazy so both sides move at once -- a column of soldier ants marching along in formation -- a chain of ants letting down a matchbox elevator filled with workers. Z (V.O.) ...which is kind of a problem, since I've always felt uncomfortably in crowds. INT. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR'S OFFICE - DAY We join Z, a worker ant with issues. He's lying on a couch, recounting his woes. Z I feel...isolated. Different. I've got abandonment issues. My father flew away when I was just a larva. My mother didn't have much time for me...when you have five million siblings, it's difficult to get attention. (pause) I feel physically inadequate -- I've never been able to lift more than ten times my own weight. Sometimes I think I'm just not cut out to be a worker. But I don't have any other options. I was assigned to trade school when I was just a grub. The whole system just...makes me feel...insignificant. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (enthusiastic) Terrific! You should feel insignificant! For the first time, we see the ant MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR. He's a mixture of Tony Robbins and Ron Popiel (the hyperactive late-night TV huckster, and founder of "Ronco"). Z ...I should? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (hopping around enthusiastically) YES!!! You know, people ask me, "Doctor, why are you always happy?" And I tell them it's mind over matter. I don't mind that I don't matter! Do you get it? Do you get it? Z gives a fake smile. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (incredibly "up") Z, we're part of the fastest growing species in the whole world! The counsellor rolls down a chart from the wall. An arrow shows ant population going up, up, up. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Ask me why we're so successful. Z Why are we so successful? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR I'm glad you asked me that question! The motivational counsellor opens some blinds...and we see a vista of the ant-filled chamber below. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR What do you see out there? Z ...Ants... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Right! Ants! Millions of creatures, each with his assigned task, all pulling together! Down below, we see a group of ants carrying a boulder up an incline. One worker ants slips, and the boulder rolls down, crushing his leg. The other ants rush over -- it looks like they're going to help their fallen comrade, but instead, they climb right over him, and pick up the boulder, continuing with their task. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR You see? Being an ant is being able to say, "Hey -- I'm meaningless, you're meaningless." Z But -- but I've always felt life was about finding meaning...and then sharing it with someone special, someone you love. The motivational counsellor puts his arm on Z's shoulder...he seems to understand... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Z...you need help. (looking at a clock) Whoops! We're gonna have to stop there. Your minute is up! The counsellor ushers Z out of his seat and towards the door. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Now back to work! We've made real progress! Remember -- let's be best superorganism we can be! INT. EARLY MEGA-TUNNEL - DAY A gigantic tunnel, with the size and scale of the "Chunnel". A banner strung overhead reads: "The Mega-Tunnel -- Tunneling Our Way to a Bright Future!" Along the walls hang 50's work- incentive style posters with messages like, "You asked for it, you got it -- more work!" and "TWO MEALS A WEEK IS ENOUGH!!!" Line after line of ants is working on the tunnel, digging, passing clumps of dirt from ant to ant, everyone synchronized. CLOSE on a clump of DIRT being passed from hand to hand. PULL OUT TO REVEAL AZTECA, a feisty, cynical, female worker ant, who stands there, waiting to pass the dirt on. Z is daydreaming behind her, with clumps of dirt starting to pile up in front of him. AZTECA Hello?! Earth to Z! You better snap out of it, or there's gonna be a lot of pissed off ants! Z looks back, and sees the ants behind staring at him angrily. Z (snapping out of it) Sorry Azteca. Here you go, fellas! Fresh dirt! Alley oop! (looking at the dirt) Shouldn't we be wearing gloves? I mean this dirt is very...dirty. Doesn't anyone think of hygiene? (Z's stomach growls) Boy am I hungry. I'm so hungry I'm seeing double. It looks like there's two million ants in here. When's lunch? Tomorrow, or the day after? AZTECA (sweetly) Z, old pal... (shouts) SHUT UP!!! It's bad enough there's a food shortage without you complaining about it every day. Z The squeaky wheel gets the oil. AZTECA No, Z. The squeaky wheel gets thrown away, alright? You're a good ant, Z, even though you are a pain in my rear- segment. I don't wanna see anything happen to you. So quit mouthing off, before you get in trouble. A WHISTLE BLOWS. Z Thank goodness. Breaktime. All the ants put down their tools. A beat. Then the WHISTLE BLOWS AGAIN. All the ants pick up their tools again. AZTECA (resigned) Break's over. Z (getting back to work) This colony needs another tunnel like a hole in the ground. Why are we even digging this thing? AZTECA Who cares, Z. All I know is, we gotta dig. We're not the ones in charge. INT. TOWN CENTER - DAY The huge, spacious main chamber of the colony. Looming over the scene is the royal palace, which seems to be inaccessible, perched on top of a hill-like pedestal. Around the base of the pedestal, a crew of workers loiters, seemingly aimlessly...can these be the only unemployed ants in the place? GENERAL FORMICA STAIRS! The workers look up and GROAN. Then they start forming a stairway with their own bodies, linking arms, stepping on each other's shoulders. It's extremely unpleasant work. One ant is a little tardy, and just manages to get in place before... GENERAL FORMICA, the Pattonesque military leader of the colony, STEPS ON HIS HEAD, using it as the first step as he ascends to the palace, his aide-de-camp Carpenter in tow. As Formica mounts the "stairs" we can hear the workers going, "OUCH! OOF! YIKES!" etc. GENERAL FORMICA Cut the chit-chat down there! (turning to Carpenter) We've spoiled these workers, Carpenter. They've never had it so good, and listen to them -- always grumbling and complaining... Formica steps on the foot of one of the "stairway" ants, who muffles a yelp. CARPENTER ...Yes, sir. GENERAL FORMICA What have they got to complain about? Three square meals a day... CARPENTER Actually, sir, we've cut them down to three roughly rectangular meals a week. FORMICA Don't give me statistics, Carpenter. I know what I'm talking about. DOORS! Formica and Carpenter have reached the top of the staircase. There, the two guard ants on either side of the massive throne room doors pull them open -- and one door hinge SQUEAKS. FORMICA (to guard ant, while passing) Oil that, soldier. INT. THRONE ROOM - DAY The QUEEN is on her throne, her huge abdomen sprawled behind her. QUEEN Ah! General Formica. Formica salutes and marches to her, Carpenter behind him. Note: Throughout this scene, the Queen is giving birth repeatedly. Each birth is accompanied by a herald playing a short "Happy Birthday" fanfare on his trumpet. Mid-wife ants bring each baby to the Queen for inspection, who COOS a few words. The midwives put the babies on a moving bassinet- line, powered by ants on a treadmill. QUEEN General, the severe food shortage that faces the colony...pains me. The thought of any of my children going hungry... (she shudders; then, to baby) Who's the cutest widdle worker? You are! Yes, you! Don't forget to brush your teeth! (to mid-wife) Ship 'er out. (back to Formica) What steps are you taking to remedy the situation? FORMICA We are launching a major offensive to expand our foraging territory... QUEEN Yes, what else? FORMICA Please don't worry, your majesty. Leave the worrying to me. As you know, I'm not an ant of half- measures. I don't pussyfoot around. This crisis is my number one priority, and I promise you it's being dealt with swiftly, and decisively. The Queen's attention is interrupted by another baby being put in her arms. QUEEN (to baby) No snacking between meals! Off you go! (to Formica) Now -- what were we saying? FORMICA (Oliver North-style) I do not recollect, your majesty. Will that be all? QUEEN Yes, General Formica. Carry on, my good man! I don't know what we would do without you. Formica clicks his heels and bows his head. Carpenter bows low. Formica smartly about faces -- BALA (O.S.) General Formica! PRINCESS BALA hurries through a second doorway, carrying a swatch book. Something about her sets her apart from the HANDMAIDEN ANTS with her. Her tiara, probably. Formica tilts his head quizzically to Carpenter behind him. CARPENTER (sotto) Princess Bala, sir. Your fiancee. FORMICA Princess! You look -- outstanding. Is there anything I can do for you? BALA Well -- I thought -- since we're getting married...it might be nice if we...got to know one another. Formica looks confused. QUEEN Bala has always been a hopeless romantic, General. BALA It's just that -- well, I'm honored that you selected me, and everything, I just thought the marriage might go a little more smoothly if -- we had a conversation? FORMICA (uncomfortable) Conversation...yes...well... (to Carpenter) Wasn't she briefed? QUEEN (holding up a baby) Look, General! A darling baby soldier! (emotionally, to baby) Don't try to be a hero! Just make sure you come back in one piece! (handing it off) Next! FORMICA (using the interruption) I'll take your suggestion under advisement, Princess. In the meanwhile -- Formica turns to go. BALA General -- we have to talk sometime! FORMICA Very well. Carpenter, is there a convenient time to talk vis-a-vis: relationship? CARPENTER Actually, sir, we're ahead of schedule. We have thirty-six seconds available right now. FORMICA Outstanding. Princess...? Bala's a little fazed...but grabs her chance. BALA So, um...how was your day? What did you do? FORMICA (scouring his mind) Well... (that's it!) I declared war! BALA (sadly) Oh...and I was afraid we had nothing in common... CARPENTER (under his breath) Fourteen-fifty hours, sir. FORMICA Duty calls! He strides across the floor. Bala watches him go, her antennae drooping unhappily. FORMICA No squeak. Outstanding! We see through the now-open doors into the throne-room as Formica and Carpenter double-time out of the frame. The Queen sees that Bala is unhappy. QUEEN (sympathetically) I felt the same way before I got married. Confused. Scared. BALA (hopefully) You did? QUEEN Yes -- but I did my duty and sorted out all those messy feelings. The wonderful thing about ant life is that everything is arranged. Even marriage. You're lucky -- General Formica is a paragon of anthood. BALA (unconvinced) Yes...he's wonderful... The doors swing shut on them -- revealing the two guard ants who were CRUSHED in the wake of Formica's exit. INT. BALA'S QUARTERS - DAY Bala enters, followed by her handmaidens, who are in a state of giggling infatuation over Formica. Bala is scowling as she leafs through a wedding catalogue. HANDMAIDEN #1 (swooning over General Formica) The General's body segments are so...symmetrical. HANDMAIDEN #2 (giggling) I'd let him order me into battle anyday. Bala hurls the swatch book against the wall. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess? What's wrong? BALA Wrong? How could anything be wrong? I'm going to marry General Formica and be a queen and have millions of babies, just like my mom. (concerned) Do I look fat to you? HANDMAIDEN #2 (knowingly, to Handmaiden #2) Pre-wedding jitters. HANDMAIDEN #1 You just need to blow off some steam. Let's go to the bar at the Royal Club! BALA The Club's so stuffy. I want to try someplace different. HANDMAIDEN #2 There isn't anyplace else -- (making a joke) Except the worker bar. BALA The worker bar! Yes! That's where I want to go! The handmaidens look shocked. HANDMAIDEN #1 But -- we can't -- there'll be workers there. INT. ANT BAR - NIGHT A long bar filled with ants. The bar itself seems to stretch for miles, and there are hundreds of ants trying to get a drink...unfortunately, there's only one bartender. Z is at the bar with WEAVER, a burly ant soldier. Z We declared war again? (off Weaver's nod) Are you scared? WEAVER (shrugs) I'll be back. The BARTENDER, a grizzled veteran, slaps down what looks like a couple of large green beer mugs. Actually, they're aphids, little green critters he fills up from a number of kegs hanging from the ceiling. The kegs are specialized ants with hugely distended stomachs, which spray liquid into the aphids. APHIDS (as they're slapped on bar) Ouch! Ouch! BARTENDER Two aphid beers. Z (as Bartender leaves) Did you see that? How he gave you the beers, not me? I'm telling you, he's got something against workers. WEAVER I don't know what you're talking about, Z. Z Come on -- everybody dumps on us workers. You soldiers get all the glory. Plus you get to go out into the world, meet interesting insects, and kill them. WEAVER Yeah, but you get to spend all day with those fabulous worker babes. We can see that Weaver is eyeing a nearby table of "Worker Babes", including Z's friend Azteca. Z Weaver, they're career girls. They're obsessed with digging. (sighs) No, I'll probably never meet the girl for me. WEAVER Who said there was a girl for you? I was talking about a girl for me. (quaffing his aphid beer) Don't you want your aphid beer? Z I can't help it. I have a thing about drinking from the anus of another creature. Call me crazy. WEAVER Z, we've known each other a long time, right? Z Of course. You were born two seconds after me. WEAVER And all the time I've known you, you've been grumping and groaning. You should quit making waves. Go with the flow. Z Weaver, I'm an insect, not a liquid. Down the bar, there's a commotion. A grizzled old SCOUT ant has had too much to drink. DRUNK SCOUT Have you been to Insectopia? Have you? No, ya goddam larvas! But I have... (becoming emotional) ...Mosquitos n' caterpillars n' beetles -- all livin' in peace, stuffin their guts with food...No rules, no regulations...you can be your own ant there... (howling drunkenly) It's Insectopia! Insectopia! Z Hey, Weaver, listen! DRUNK SCOUT I was cut off from my unit -- found it by mistake -- (slurring) It changed my life! (spraying another soldier with saliva) You see -- ya follow the great yellow egg, and you come to the land of red and white -- SOLDIERS You've had enough for one night! Come on, Gramps, before you get in trouble. The soldiers pull him from the bar, carrying him out. Z (excited) Hey, did you hear what he said?! WEAVER Poor guy's had one too many scouting missions. MUSIC STARTS UP. INT. ANT BAR ENTRANCE - NIGHT Princess Bala is peering in at the entrance to the ant bar, accompanied by her worried-looking handmaidens. HANDMAIDEN #2 We shouldn't be doing this -- it isn't proper! BALA I'm the Princess, aren't I? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course -- BALA And do Princesses do improper things? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course not -- BALA Then if I go to the worker bar, it isn't improper. Anyway, don't worry. No one will recognize us in our disguises. She adjusts her "disguise", a hardhat, tied down Jackie O.- style with an ant's version of a Chanel scarf. BALA I'm just a common worker, cooling off after a rough day! Music starts. An ant BARKER takes the mic at one end of the dance floor. BARKER (on loudspeaker) Okay, folks. It's six-fifteen, and that means it's time to dance. Every ant gets up to dance. Weaver turns to Z. WEAVER (draining his beer) Time to cut a rug, Z! Z I'm not in the mood. (disgusted) Even when they're off work, they follow orders. WEAVER Well, you just sit here and be a party-pooper. Weaver joins the rest of the ants who are lining up for the dance. The Barker calls out the steps in a bored monotone -- all the ants already know the steps. Everyone dances in perfect synch. BARKER (southern twang) And a left-right-quarterstep-back step-halfstep -- a left-right- quarterstep-backstep-halfstep -- a left-right-quarterstep-backstep halfstep -- AT THE ENTRANCE, Bala smiles mischievously at her handmaidens. BALA I'm going to ask one of these mindless, primitive worker-types to dance with me! HANDMAIDEN #1 But General Formica would be furious! BALA (enjoying the idea) I know. The handmaidens are appalled. Bala whirls away from them, sets her sights and searches the crowd -- zeroing in on -- Z, who's watching the other ants dance. Z What a bunch of losers. Mindless zombies capitulating to an oppressive system -- BALA Wanna dance? Bala's standing right there. Z is instantly smitten. Z Me?! Yes!!! I mean -- (regaining suavosity) Just let me finish my beer. Not breaking eye contact with Bala, Z smiles suavely. Reaches suavely for a beer. Suavely grabs the candle in a glass jar off the bar. Suavely singes his face. He plays it off with a rakish little laugh. A bit apprehensive, Bala heads onto the floor. Z follows her. Z So uh -- how come I haven't seen you around here before? BALA (covering up) I work in the palace, I don't get out much. Z The palace, hunh? I bet those royals really live it up. Of course they're all a little, you know, from inbreeding -- BALA (shocked) What? Z and Bala step onto the dance floor with the rest of the ants, but Z can't do any of the steps. Z Now, let's see, I -- it's been a while since I -- I think you -- Bala watches Z, trying to follow along. It's the blind leading the blind, as Z tries in vain to follow the barker's rapid instructions. Z Here, I'll lead. Z starts doing his own, individual dance. With a suave expression on his face, he leads Bala in a helter-skelter mixture-of Tango, Charleston, and hand-jive. BALA Are you sure this is a real dance? Z Well, actually, uh -- I'm sort of making it up -- BALA (surprised) Really? Z Why should everyone dance the same way? It's as exciting as watching fungus grow. BALA You're right! Z (surprised) You -- you think I'm right? BALA Why can't I just do whatever I want to do? Why can't I just go wild?! Yahoo! Bala starts to get into it, making up her own steps in reply to Z's, loosening up, having fun. For a moment, the two of them are actually sexy together. Then they get a little too wild -- and the other ants, who are still doing their intricate dance, start to collide with Bala and Z. Z almost knocks over a big soldier ant. We can only see the ant's back at the moment. SOLDIER Hey! Watch your step, worker. Z has turned around to see the soldier ant, MAJOR MANDIBLE, glaring at him. Mandible is about twice Z's size. He's got one eye missing, and half of his left antenna his been chewed off. BALA You watch yours, soldier, or my worker friend will beat you up! Z (terrified) Oh, that's okay, I'll let him off this time. (whispering to Bala) Are you crazy? This guy's built like a pebble! (ineptly trying to placate the soldier) You know they do great prosthetic antennas nowadays -- BALA Aren't you gonna stand up for yourself? Z's caught between a rock and a hard place. He doesn't want to get beaten up, but on the other hand, he doesn't want to lose face in front of Bala. More soldiers have gathered around, looking hostile. SOLDIER How come you don't dance like the rest of us? Z glances over at Bala. Then, shaking with nervousness, he says defiantly... Z Because -- because I'm an individual! SOLDIER #2 An individual? Never heard of it. MANDIBLE You look like a worker to me. WEAVER Hey, lay off my little buddy! Z, meanwhile, looks far away, ecstatic, as if he's just realized something very important. Unfortunately, just at this moment, A soldier pushes Weaver...Weaver pushes him back...somebody makes a dive for Z -- and before you know it, there's a regular bar brawl going on, with Weaver in the middle of it, cracking heads together, punching ants in the face, having a great time. Just then, the Princess' handmaidens hurries over. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess Bala! Princess Bala! Z, who's scrabbling around on the floor, overhears. Z Princess? You're a Princess? HANDMAIDEN #2 The police are coming! BALA Uh oh. (to Z) Goodbye! Gotta run! Z Wait! When can I see you again? BALA Let me think. Hmmnn... (thinks) Never. Bye! Bala rushes off with her handmaiden, just before a squad of whistle-blowing POLICE wade into the crowd. Z Wait! Princess! Wait! But she's already gone, leaving Z holding her scarf. CUT TO: INT. DORMITORY - THE NEXT DAY Z is talking to Weaver, who's getting ready to go off to war. Nearby, columns of ant soldiers march by. WEAVER Get real, Z! She just dropped the scarf by accident! Z Are you kidding? There were sparks between us! This scarf is a sign! WEAVER It's a sign that you're crazy! Do you know what the penalty for impersonating a soldier is? Z What's gonna go wrong?! I take your place for the royal inspection. Bala comes strolling down the line, she sees me -- bingo! Love is rekindled, and she takes me up to the palace for a little... (wags his eyebrows suggestively) tea and crumpets... and you take your place again, and go march around to your heart's content! Weaver looks unconvinced. Z You have to help me. Please, Weaver. Think of all the things I've done for you! WEAVER (thinks) I can't think of any. Z (pause) Well I'm gonna start doing things for you... WEAVER Will you introduce me to some worker girls? Z You bet! They'll really go for a sensitive guy like you! WEAVER Maybe I'll get lucky. (Weaver thinks about it) You know, Z, I wouldn't do this for anyone but you... Weaver hands Z has helmet. WEAVER Wear this. Z (overjoyed) You're a real buddy. WEAVER (sourly) Yeah, I know. Z What do I do? WEAVER Don't tell anyone you're a worker. Follow that column over there. And come right back after the inspection! Weaver points to a bunch of soldiers hurrying by in formation. Z (overjoyed) Thanks! I owe you! Z skips off and joins the column, marching in time with the soldiers but too excited to keep from jazzing it up a little. INT. TOWN CENTER - NIGHT The ant army has gathered in a huge HALL in front of a reviewing stand. We can hear the murmuring of thousands of soldiers -- but all we can see is a HUGE POSTER of an ant General pointing right at the camera. The poster reads, "GENERAL FORMICA WANTS YOU -- to obey". Z turns to some of the soldiers near him. Z Any of you guys know when the Princess will show up? She's kind of a personal friend. The soldiers look at Z like he's nuts. LOUD VOICE ATTEN-SHUN! MARTIAL MUSIC sounds, and we hear thousands of ant feet as they snap to attention. Z imitates the soldiers awkwardly. GENERAL FORMICA struts to the middle 6f the screen, slapping his thigh with a swagger stick (the antenna of some unfortunate insect) FORMICA First of all, let me make one thing clear. Nobody ever won a battle by thinking for himself. All this "thinking" stuff is a load of crap. If the almighty had wanted you boys to think, he wouldn't have given you huge mandibles and a brain so small you'd misplace it if it wasn't trapped inside your head. In the audience, Z starts laughing -- he thinks Formica's just made a joke. Z (slapping his thigh) "Trapped inside your head" -- that's a good one -- Z notices nobody else is laughing. He stops. Z Geez -- tough room. From the stage, Formica is squinting at the audience, trying to make out who was laughing, but there are just too many ants. He continues. FORMICA (striding back and forth) We ants survive as a species because we do what we're told. We survive because we work together, as one, we get the job done, we do whatever it takes to persevere! (dramatic pause) Hell, we're not an army of ants...we're one giant ant, with giant fists, and giant jaws! The soldiers CHEER! Z CHEERS along with the rest of them. Z (to the soldier ant next to him) Lays it on a little thick, doesn't he? If you ask me, he's one giant bore. FORMICA Now I've heard a lot of scuttlebutt about a food shortage. Well you boys are gonna be taken care of. But in the meantime we're gonna eat the enemy for breakfast, we are gonna eat the enemy for lunch, and we are gonna eat the enemy for dinner! Z Geez, and I forgot my toothbrush. FORMICA (reflective moment) Dammit, I'm proud to be an ant. (he looks out at his army) And I know each and every one of you boys will do your duty. Dismissed. Z applauds and whistles as the other ants look at him in confusion. Z (clapping) Bravo! Bring on the Princess! COLONEL Stow the gab there, soldier! Let's move 'em out! The soldiers turn to the right and start to march out past the reviewing stand. A COLONEL marches at the head of Z's column as Z looks around for the Princess. COLONEL Eyes...left! Finally, as Z's part of the army marches past the end of the reviewing stand, he sees her, looking bored, standing next to the Queen, who is giving the royal wave. Z (waving) Princess! Princess Bala! Hey! It's me! Z! I've got your scarf! ON THE REVIEWING STAND, Bala sees Z -- that is to say, she sees one of the thousands upon thousands of ants marching by... BALA (peering out) Who is that idiot? QUEEN Darling, you must encourage the troops -- wave! Bala waves unenthusiastically, little more than flopping her hand back and forth on her wrist. Down below, Z takes this as a sign that Bala has seen him. Z (excited) Excuse me, guys -- That's my date. Well, it's been fun. Have a great war! Z tries to squeeze his way back towards the royals, but he's surrounded by a solid wall of soldiers -- and they're carrying him along with them. Z Hey! Wait! Z loses sight of the Princess as he's carried away. BARBATUS, a hard-as-nails "grunt" soldier ant, taps Z on the shoulder. BARBATUS You new, kid? Z I just joined up. But I'm quitting! I got a trial membership! BARBATUS Trial membership? Kid, when you join this ant's army, you're in for the full hitch. At that moment, Z is swept out of the cramped corridor they've been marching along, as the army emerges into the OPEN AIR outside of the colony. EXT. ANT MOUND - NIGHT It's a starry, moonlit night. The shadows crowd around the panicked Z, who looks up at the sky as we see the army on the march... Z Wait a minute, there's been a mistake! I've got to get back to the colony! Z starts to fall out of line, but Barbatus, looking concerned, stops him. BARBATUS Are you crazy, kid? They shoot deserters! Z swallows hard. BARBATUS You just stick by old Barbatus. He'll watch out for you. (off Z's look) Whatsamatter, kid? Leave a girl behind? Z Yeah. Well -- no. She's kind of playing hard to get. As a matter of fact, she's playing completely unattainable. (nervously) So, what's on the schedule? A brisk walk? a foraging expedition? BARBATUS No -- we're going to attack the termites! Z (alarmed) Attack? But -- I hate attacking! It's so hostile! Around Z and Barbatus, the ants start up a marching song, which we intersperse with dialogue between

asked

How many times the word 'asked' appears in the text?

Antz Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS "Antz", unknown draft A N T Z CHARACTERS VOICES "Z"...............................................WOODY ALLEN "WASP #1".........................................DAN AYKROYD "WASP #2".........................................JANE CURTIN "GEN. FORMICA"...................................DANNY GLOVER "MANDIBLE".......................................GENE HACKMAN "AZTECA".......................................JENNIFER LOPEZ "DRUNK SCOUT"....................................JOHN MAHONEY "WEAVER"...................................SYLVESTER STALLONE "PRINCESS BALA"..................................SHARON STONE "QUEEN"..........................................MERYL STREEP "CARPENTER"................................CHRISTOPHER WALKEN Z (O.S.) (over a dark screen) All my life, I've lived and worked in the big city... We see: EXT. AN ANT MOUND - DAY The camera swoops towards the entrance, then dives inside, past a couple of tough-looking soldier ants who stand at the gates of the ant colony like insect bouncers...into an access tunnel that snakes this way and that, past a row of ants plodding along... ...and into the MAIN CHAMBER of the colony, a huge, teeming vista that seems to stretch away forever, filled with ants rushing here and there on their business. We see -- a "traffic cop" directing foot traffic, waving his arms like crazy so both sides move at once -- a column of soldier ants marching along in formation -- a chain of ants letting down a matchbox elevator filled with workers. Z (V.O.) ...which is kind of a problem, since I've always felt uncomfortably in crowds. INT. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR'S OFFICE - DAY We join Z, a worker ant with issues. He's lying on a couch, recounting his woes. Z I feel...isolated. Different. I've got abandonment issues. My father flew away when I was just a larva. My mother didn't have much time for me...when you have five million siblings, it's difficult to get attention. (pause) I feel physically inadequate -- I've never been able to lift more than ten times my own weight. Sometimes I think I'm just not cut out to be a worker. But I don't have any other options. I was assigned to trade school when I was just a grub. The whole system just...makes me feel...insignificant. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (enthusiastic) Terrific! You should feel insignificant! For the first time, we see the ant MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR. He's a mixture of Tony Robbins and Ron Popiel (the hyperactive late-night TV huckster, and founder of "Ronco"). Z ...I should? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (hopping around enthusiastically) YES!!! You know, people ask me, "Doctor, why are you always happy?" And I tell them it's mind over matter. I don't mind that I don't matter! Do you get it? Do you get it? Z gives a fake smile. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (incredibly "up") Z, we're part of the fastest growing species in the whole world! The counsellor rolls down a chart from the wall. An arrow shows ant population going up, up, up. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Ask me why we're so successful. Z Why are we so successful? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR I'm glad you asked me that question! The motivational counsellor opens some blinds...and we see a vista of the ant-filled chamber below. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR What do you see out there? Z ...Ants... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Right! Ants! Millions of creatures, each with his assigned task, all pulling together! Down below, we see a group of ants carrying a boulder up an incline. One worker ants slips, and the boulder rolls down, crushing his leg. The other ants rush over -- it looks like they're going to help their fallen comrade, but instead, they climb right over him, and pick up the boulder, continuing with their task. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR You see? Being an ant is being able to say, "Hey -- I'm meaningless, you're meaningless." Z But -- but I've always felt life was about finding meaning...and then sharing it with someone special, someone you love. The motivational counsellor puts his arm on Z's shoulder...he seems to understand... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Z...you need help. (looking at a clock) Whoops! We're gonna have to stop there. Your minute is up! The counsellor ushers Z out of his seat and towards the door. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Now back to work! We've made real progress! Remember -- let's be best superorganism we can be! INT. EARLY MEGA-TUNNEL - DAY A gigantic tunnel, with the size and scale of the "Chunnel". A banner strung overhead reads: "The Mega-Tunnel -- Tunneling Our Way to a Bright Future!" Along the walls hang 50's work- incentive style posters with messages like, "You asked for it, you got it -- more work!" and "TWO MEALS A WEEK IS ENOUGH!!!" Line after line of ants is working on the tunnel, digging, passing clumps of dirt from ant to ant, everyone synchronized. CLOSE on a clump of DIRT being passed from hand to hand. PULL OUT TO REVEAL AZTECA, a feisty, cynical, female worker ant, who stands there, waiting to pass the dirt on. Z is daydreaming behind her, with clumps of dirt starting to pile up in front of him. AZTECA Hello?! Earth to Z! You better snap out of it, or there's gonna be a lot of pissed off ants! Z looks back, and sees the ants behind staring at him angrily. Z (snapping out of it) Sorry Azteca. Here you go, fellas! Fresh dirt! Alley oop! (looking at the dirt) Shouldn't we be wearing gloves? I mean this dirt is very...dirty. Doesn't anyone think of hygiene? (Z's stomach growls) Boy am I hungry. I'm so hungry I'm seeing double. It looks like there's two million ants in here. When's lunch? Tomorrow, or the day after? AZTECA (sweetly) Z, old pal... (shouts) SHUT UP!!! It's bad enough there's a food shortage without you complaining about it every day. Z The squeaky wheel gets the oil. AZTECA No, Z. The squeaky wheel gets thrown away, alright? You're a good ant, Z, even though you are a pain in my rear- segment. I don't wanna see anything happen to you. So quit mouthing off, before you get in trouble. A WHISTLE BLOWS. Z Thank goodness. Breaktime. All the ants put down their tools. A beat. Then the WHISTLE BLOWS AGAIN. All the ants pick up their tools again. AZTECA (resigned) Break's over. Z (getting back to work) This colony needs another tunnel like a hole in the ground. Why are we even digging this thing? AZTECA Who cares, Z. All I know is, we gotta dig. We're not the ones in charge. INT. TOWN CENTER - DAY The huge, spacious main chamber of the colony. Looming over the scene is the royal palace, which seems to be inaccessible, perched on top of a hill-like pedestal. Around the base of the pedestal, a crew of workers loiters, seemingly aimlessly...can these be the only unemployed ants in the place? GENERAL FORMICA STAIRS! The workers look up and GROAN. Then they start forming a stairway with their own bodies, linking arms, stepping on each other's shoulders. It's extremely unpleasant work. One ant is a little tardy, and just manages to get in place before... GENERAL FORMICA, the Pattonesque military leader of the colony, STEPS ON HIS HEAD, using it as the first step as he ascends to the palace, his aide-de-camp Carpenter in tow. As Formica mounts the "stairs" we can hear the workers going, "OUCH! OOF! YIKES!" etc. GENERAL FORMICA Cut the chit-chat down there! (turning to Carpenter) We've spoiled these workers, Carpenter. They've never had it so good, and listen to them -- always grumbling and complaining... Formica steps on the foot of one of the "stairway" ants, who muffles a yelp. CARPENTER ...Yes, sir. GENERAL FORMICA What have they got to complain about? Three square meals a day... CARPENTER Actually, sir, we've cut them down to three roughly rectangular meals a week. FORMICA Don't give me statistics, Carpenter. I know what I'm talking about. DOORS! Formica and Carpenter have reached the top of the staircase. There, the two guard ants on either side of the massive throne room doors pull them open -- and one door hinge SQUEAKS. FORMICA (to guard ant, while passing) Oil that, soldier. INT. THRONE ROOM - DAY The QUEEN is on her throne, her huge abdomen sprawled behind her. QUEEN Ah! General Formica. Formica salutes and marches to her, Carpenter behind him. Note: Throughout this scene, the Queen is giving birth repeatedly. Each birth is accompanied by a herald playing a short "Happy Birthday" fanfare on his trumpet. Mid-wife ants bring each baby to the Queen for inspection, who COOS a few words. The midwives put the babies on a moving bassinet- line, powered by ants on a treadmill. QUEEN General, the severe food shortage that faces the colony...pains me. The thought of any of my children going hungry... (she shudders; then, to baby) Who's the cutest widdle worker? You are! Yes, you! Don't forget to brush your teeth! (to mid-wife) Ship 'er out. (back to Formica) What steps are you taking to remedy the situation? FORMICA We are launching a major offensive to expand our foraging territory... QUEEN Yes, what else? FORMICA Please don't worry, your majesty. Leave the worrying to me. As you know, I'm not an ant of half- measures. I don't pussyfoot around. This crisis is my number one priority, and I promise you it's being dealt with swiftly, and decisively. The Queen's attention is interrupted by another baby being put in her arms. QUEEN (to baby) No snacking between meals! Off you go! (to Formica) Now -- what were we saying? FORMICA (Oliver North-style) I do not recollect, your majesty. Will that be all? QUEEN Yes, General Formica. Carry on, my good man! I don't know what we would do without you. Formica clicks his heels and bows his head. Carpenter bows low. Formica smartly about faces -- BALA (O.S.) General Formica! PRINCESS BALA hurries through a second doorway, carrying a swatch book. Something about her sets her apart from the HANDMAIDEN ANTS with her. Her tiara, probably. Formica tilts his head quizzically to Carpenter behind him. CARPENTER (sotto) Princess Bala, sir. Your fiancee. FORMICA Princess! You look -- outstanding. Is there anything I can do for you? BALA Well -- I thought -- since we're getting married...it might be nice if we...got to know one another. Formica looks confused. QUEEN Bala has always been a hopeless romantic, General. BALA It's just that -- well, I'm honored that you selected me, and everything, I just thought the marriage might go a little more smoothly if -- we had a conversation? FORMICA (uncomfortable) Conversation...yes...well... (to Carpenter) Wasn't she briefed? QUEEN (holding up a baby) Look, General! A darling baby soldier! (emotionally, to baby) Don't try to be a hero! Just make sure you come back in one piece! (handing it off) Next! FORMICA (using the interruption) I'll take your suggestion under advisement, Princess. In the meanwhile -- Formica turns to go. BALA General -- we have to talk sometime! FORMICA Very well. Carpenter, is there a convenient time to talk vis-a-vis: relationship? CARPENTER Actually, sir, we're ahead of schedule. We have thirty-six seconds available right now. FORMICA Outstanding. Princess...? Bala's a little fazed...but grabs her chance. BALA So, um...how was your day? What did you do? FORMICA (scouring his mind) Well... (that's it!) I declared war! BALA (sadly) Oh...and I was afraid we had nothing in common... CARPENTER (under his breath) Fourteen-fifty hours, sir. FORMICA Duty calls! He strides across the floor. Bala watches him go, her antennae drooping unhappily. FORMICA No squeak. Outstanding! We see through the now-open doors into the throne-room as Formica and Carpenter double-time out of the frame. The Queen sees that Bala is unhappy. QUEEN (sympathetically) I felt the same way before I got married. Confused. Scared. BALA (hopefully) You did? QUEEN Yes -- but I did my duty and sorted out all those messy feelings. The wonderful thing about ant life is that everything is arranged. Even marriage. You're lucky -- General Formica is a paragon of anthood. BALA (unconvinced) Yes...he's wonderful... The doors swing shut on them -- revealing the two guard ants who were CRUSHED in the wake of Formica's exit. INT. BALA'S QUARTERS - DAY Bala enters, followed by her handmaidens, who are in a state of giggling infatuation over Formica. Bala is scowling as she leafs through a wedding catalogue. HANDMAIDEN #1 (swooning over General Formica) The General's body segments are so...symmetrical. HANDMAIDEN #2 (giggling) I'd let him order me into battle anyday. Bala hurls the swatch book against the wall. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess? What's wrong? BALA Wrong? How could anything be wrong? I'm going to marry General Formica and be a queen and have millions of babies, just like my mom. (concerned) Do I look fat to you? HANDMAIDEN #2 (knowingly, to Handmaiden #2) Pre-wedding jitters. HANDMAIDEN #1 You just need to blow off some steam. Let's go to the bar at the Royal Club! BALA The Club's so stuffy. I want to try someplace different. HANDMAIDEN #2 There isn't anyplace else -- (making a joke) Except the worker bar. BALA The worker bar! Yes! That's where I want to go! The handmaidens look shocked. HANDMAIDEN #1 But -- we can't -- there'll be workers there. INT. ANT BAR - NIGHT A long bar filled with ants. The bar itself seems to stretch for miles, and there are hundreds of ants trying to get a drink...unfortunately, there's only one bartender. Z is at the bar with WEAVER, a burly ant soldier. Z We declared war again? (off Weaver's nod) Are you scared? WEAVER (shrugs) I'll be back. The BARTENDER, a grizzled veteran, slaps down what looks like a couple of large green beer mugs. Actually, they're aphids, little green critters he fills up from a number of kegs hanging from the ceiling. The kegs are specialized ants with hugely distended stomachs, which spray liquid into the aphids. APHIDS (as they're slapped on bar) Ouch! Ouch! BARTENDER Two aphid beers. Z (as Bartender leaves) Did you see that? How he gave you the beers, not me? I'm telling you, he's got something against workers. WEAVER I don't know what you're talking about, Z. Z Come on -- everybody dumps on us workers. You soldiers get all the glory. Plus you get to go out into the world, meet interesting insects, and kill them. WEAVER Yeah, but you get to spend all day with those fabulous worker babes. We can see that Weaver is eyeing a nearby table of "Worker Babes", including Z's friend Azteca. Z Weaver, they're career girls. They're obsessed with digging. (sighs) No, I'll probably never meet the girl for me. WEAVER Who said there was a girl for you? I was talking about a girl for me. (quaffing his aphid beer) Don't you want your aphid beer? Z I can't help it. I have a thing about drinking from the anus of another creature. Call me crazy. WEAVER Z, we've known each other a long time, right? Z Of course. You were born two seconds after me. WEAVER And all the time I've known you, you've been grumping and groaning. You should quit making waves. Go with the flow. Z Weaver, I'm an insect, not a liquid. Down the bar, there's a commotion. A grizzled old SCOUT ant has had too much to drink. DRUNK SCOUT Have you been to Insectopia? Have you? No, ya goddam larvas! But I have... (becoming emotional) ...Mosquitos n' caterpillars n' beetles -- all livin' in peace, stuffin their guts with food...No rules, no regulations...you can be your own ant there... (howling drunkenly) It's Insectopia! Insectopia! Z Hey, Weaver, listen! DRUNK SCOUT I was cut off from my unit -- found it by mistake -- (slurring) It changed my life! (spraying another soldier with saliva) You see -- ya follow the great yellow egg, and you come to the land of red and white -- SOLDIERS You've had enough for one night! Come on, Gramps, before you get in trouble. The soldiers pull him from the bar, carrying him out. Z (excited) Hey, did you hear what he said?! WEAVER Poor guy's had one too many scouting missions. MUSIC STARTS UP. INT. ANT BAR ENTRANCE - NIGHT Princess Bala is peering in at the entrance to the ant bar, accompanied by her worried-looking handmaidens. HANDMAIDEN #2 We shouldn't be doing this -- it isn't proper! BALA I'm the Princess, aren't I? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course -- BALA And do Princesses do improper things? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course not -- BALA Then if I go to the worker bar, it isn't improper. Anyway, don't worry. No one will recognize us in our disguises. She adjusts her "disguise", a hardhat, tied down Jackie O.- style with an ant's version of a Chanel scarf. BALA I'm just a common worker, cooling off after a rough day! Music starts. An ant BARKER takes the mic at one end of the dance floor. BARKER (on loudspeaker) Okay, folks. It's six-fifteen, and that means it's time to dance. Every ant gets up to dance. Weaver turns to Z. WEAVER (draining his beer) Time to cut a rug, Z! Z I'm not in the mood. (disgusted) Even when they're off work, they follow orders. WEAVER Well, you just sit here and be a party-pooper. Weaver joins the rest of the ants who are lining up for the dance. The Barker calls out the steps in a bored monotone -- all the ants already know the steps. Everyone dances in perfect synch. BARKER (southern twang) And a left-right-quarterstep-back step-halfstep -- a left-right- quarterstep-backstep-halfstep -- a left-right-quarterstep-backstep halfstep -- AT THE ENTRANCE, Bala smiles mischievously at her handmaidens. BALA I'm going to ask one of these mindless, primitive worker-types to dance with me! HANDMAIDEN #1 But General Formica would be furious! BALA (enjoying the idea) I know. The handmaidens are appalled. Bala whirls away from them, sets her sights and searches the crowd -- zeroing in on -- Z, who's watching the other ants dance. Z What a bunch of losers. Mindless zombies capitulating to an oppressive system -- BALA Wanna dance? Bala's standing right there. Z is instantly smitten. Z Me?! Yes!!! I mean -- (regaining suavosity) Just let me finish my beer. Not breaking eye contact with Bala, Z smiles suavely. Reaches suavely for a beer. Suavely grabs the candle in a glass jar off the bar. Suavely singes his face. He plays it off with a rakish little laugh. A bit apprehensive, Bala heads onto the floor. Z follows her. Z So uh -- how come I haven't seen you around here before? BALA (covering up) I work in the palace, I don't get out much. Z The palace, hunh? I bet those royals really live it up. Of course they're all a little, you know, from inbreeding -- BALA (shocked) What? Z and Bala step onto the dance floor with the rest of the ants, but Z can't do any of the steps. Z Now, let's see, I -- it's been a while since I -- I think you -- Bala watches Z, trying to follow along. It's the blind leading the blind, as Z tries in vain to follow the barker's rapid instructions. Z Here, I'll lead. Z starts doing his own, individual dance. With a suave expression on his face, he leads Bala in a helter-skelter mixture-of Tango, Charleston, and hand-jive. BALA Are you sure this is a real dance? Z Well, actually, uh -- I'm sort of making it up -- BALA (surprised) Really? Z Why should everyone dance the same way? It's as exciting as watching fungus grow. BALA You're right! Z (surprised) You -- you think I'm right? BALA Why can't I just do whatever I want to do? Why can't I just go wild?! Yahoo! Bala starts to get into it, making up her own steps in reply to Z's, loosening up, having fun. For a moment, the two of them are actually sexy together. Then they get a little too wild -- and the other ants, who are still doing their intricate dance, start to collide with Bala and Z. Z almost knocks over a big soldier ant. We can only see the ant's back at the moment. SOLDIER Hey! Watch your step, worker. Z has turned around to see the soldier ant, MAJOR MANDIBLE, glaring at him. Mandible is about twice Z's size. He's got one eye missing, and half of his left antenna his been chewed off. BALA You watch yours, soldier, or my worker friend will beat you up! Z (terrified) Oh, that's okay, I'll let him off this time. (whispering to Bala) Are you crazy? This guy's built like a pebble! (ineptly trying to placate the soldier) You know they do great prosthetic antennas nowadays -- BALA Aren't you gonna stand up for yourself? Z's caught between a rock and a hard place. He doesn't want to get beaten up, but on the other hand, he doesn't want to lose face in front of Bala. More soldiers have gathered around, looking hostile. SOLDIER How come you don't dance like the rest of us? Z glances over at Bala. Then, shaking with nervousness, he says defiantly... Z Because -- because I'm an individual! SOLDIER #2 An individual? Never heard of it. MANDIBLE You look like a worker to me. WEAVER Hey, lay off my little buddy! Z, meanwhile, looks far away, ecstatic, as if he's just realized something very important. Unfortunately, just at this moment, A soldier pushes Weaver...Weaver pushes him back...somebody makes a dive for Z -- and before you know it, there's a regular bar brawl going on, with Weaver in the middle of it, cracking heads together, punching ants in the face, having a great time. Just then, the Princess' handmaidens hurries over. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess Bala! Princess Bala! Z, who's scrabbling around on the floor, overhears. Z Princess? You're a Princess? HANDMAIDEN #2 The police are coming! BALA Uh oh. (to Z) Goodbye! Gotta run! Z Wait! When can I see you again? BALA Let me think. Hmmnn... (thinks) Never. Bye! Bala rushes off with her handmaiden, just before a squad of whistle-blowing POLICE wade into the crowd. Z Wait! Princess! Wait! But she's already gone, leaving Z holding her scarf. CUT TO: INT. DORMITORY - THE NEXT DAY Z is talking to Weaver, who's getting ready to go off to war. Nearby, columns of ant soldiers march by. WEAVER Get real, Z! She just dropped the scarf by accident! Z Are you kidding? There were sparks between us! This scarf is a sign! WEAVER It's a sign that you're crazy! Do you know what the penalty for impersonating a soldier is? Z What's gonna go wrong?! I take your place for the royal inspection. Bala comes strolling down the line, she sees me -- bingo! Love is rekindled, and she takes me up to the palace for a little... (wags his eyebrows suggestively) tea and crumpets... and you take your place again, and go march around to your heart's content! Weaver looks unconvinced. Z You have to help me. Please, Weaver. Think of all the things I've done for you! WEAVER (thinks) I can't think of any. Z (pause) Well I'm gonna start doing things for you... WEAVER Will you introduce me to some worker girls? Z You bet! They'll really go for a sensitive guy like you! WEAVER Maybe I'll get lucky. (Weaver thinks about it) You know, Z, I wouldn't do this for anyone but you... Weaver hands Z has helmet. WEAVER Wear this. Z (overjoyed) You're a real buddy. WEAVER (sourly) Yeah, I know. Z What do I do? WEAVER Don't tell anyone you're a worker. Follow that column over there. And come right back after the inspection! Weaver points to a bunch of soldiers hurrying by in formation. Z (overjoyed) Thanks! I owe you! Z skips off and joins the column, marching in time with the soldiers but too excited to keep from jazzing it up a little. INT. TOWN CENTER - NIGHT The ant army has gathered in a huge HALL in front of a reviewing stand. We can hear the murmuring of thousands of soldiers -- but all we can see is a HUGE POSTER of an ant General pointing right at the camera. The poster reads, "GENERAL FORMICA WANTS YOU -- to obey". Z turns to some of the soldiers near him. Z Any of you guys know when the Princess will show up? She's kind of a personal friend. The soldiers look at Z like he's nuts. LOUD VOICE ATTEN-SHUN! MARTIAL MUSIC sounds, and we hear thousands of ant feet as they snap to attention. Z imitates the soldiers awkwardly. GENERAL FORMICA struts to the middle 6f the screen, slapping his thigh with a swagger stick (the antenna of some unfortunate insect) FORMICA First of all, let me make one thing clear. Nobody ever won a battle by thinking for himself. All this "thinking" stuff is a load of crap. If the almighty had wanted you boys to think, he wouldn't have given you huge mandibles and a brain so small you'd misplace it if it wasn't trapped inside your head. In the audience, Z starts laughing -- he thinks Formica's just made a joke. Z (slapping his thigh) "Trapped inside your head" -- that's a good one -- Z notices nobody else is laughing. He stops. Z Geez -- tough room. From the stage, Formica is squinting at the audience, trying to make out who was laughing, but there are just too many ants. He continues. FORMICA (striding back and forth) We ants survive as a species because we do what we're told. We survive because we work together, as one, we get the job done, we do whatever it takes to persevere! (dramatic pause) Hell, we're not an army of ants...we're one giant ant, with giant fists, and giant jaws! The soldiers CHEER! Z CHEERS along with the rest of them. Z (to the soldier ant next to him) Lays it on a little thick, doesn't he? If you ask me, he's one giant bore. FORMICA Now I've heard a lot of scuttlebutt about a food shortage. Well you boys are gonna be taken care of. But in the meantime we're gonna eat the enemy for breakfast, we are gonna eat the enemy for lunch, and we are gonna eat the enemy for dinner! Z Geez, and I forgot my toothbrush. FORMICA (reflective moment) Dammit, I'm proud to be an ant. (he looks out at his army) And I know each and every one of you boys will do your duty. Dismissed. Z applauds and whistles as the other ants look at him in confusion. Z (clapping) Bravo! Bring on the Princess! COLONEL Stow the gab there, soldier! Let's move 'em out! The soldiers turn to the right and start to march out past the reviewing stand. A COLONEL marches at the head of Z's column as Z looks around for the Princess. COLONEL Eyes...left! Finally, as Z's part of the army marches past the end of the reviewing stand, he sees her, looking bored, standing next to the Queen, who is giving the royal wave. Z (waving) Princess! Princess Bala! Hey! It's me! Z! I've got your scarf! ON THE REVIEWING STAND, Bala sees Z -- that is to say, she sees one of the thousands upon thousands of ants marching by... BALA (peering out) Who is that idiot? QUEEN Darling, you must encourage the troops -- wave! Bala waves unenthusiastically, little more than flopping her hand back and forth on her wrist. Down below, Z takes this as a sign that Bala has seen him. Z (excited) Excuse me, guys -- That's my date. Well, it's been fun. Have a great war! Z tries to squeeze his way back towards the royals, but he's surrounded by a solid wall of soldiers -- and they're carrying him along with them. Z Hey! Wait! Z loses sight of the Princess as he's carried away. BARBATUS, a hard-as-nails "grunt" soldier ant, taps Z on the shoulder. BARBATUS You new, kid? Z I just joined up. But I'm quitting! I got a trial membership! BARBATUS Trial membership? Kid, when you join this ant's army, you're in for the full hitch. At that moment, Z is swept out of the cramped corridor they've been marching along, as the army emerges into the OPEN AIR outside of the colony. EXT. ANT MOUND - NIGHT It's a starry, moonlit night. The shadows crowd around the panicked Z, who looks up at the sky as we see the army on the march... Z Wait a minute, there's been a mistake! I've got to get back to the colony! Z starts to fall out of line, but Barbatus, looking concerned, stops him. BARBATUS Are you crazy, kid? They shoot deserters! Z swallows hard. BARBATUS You just stick by old Barbatus. He'll watch out for you. (off Z's look) Whatsamatter, kid? Leave a girl behind? Z Yeah. Well -- no. She's kind of playing hard to get. As a matter of fact, she's playing completely unattainable. (nervously) So, what's on the schedule? A brisk walk? a foraging expedition? BARBATUS No -- we're going to attack the termites! Z (alarmed) Attack? But -- I hate attacking! It's so hostile! Around Z and Barbatus, the ants start up a marching song, which we intersperse with dialogue between

estim

How many times the word 'estim' appears in the text?

Antz Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS "Antz", unknown draft A N T Z CHARACTERS VOICES "Z"...............................................WOODY ALLEN "WASP #1".........................................DAN AYKROYD "WASP #2".........................................JANE CURTIN "GEN. FORMICA"...................................DANNY GLOVER "MANDIBLE".......................................GENE HACKMAN "AZTECA".......................................JENNIFER LOPEZ "DRUNK SCOUT"....................................JOHN MAHONEY "WEAVER"...................................SYLVESTER STALLONE "PRINCESS BALA"..................................SHARON STONE "QUEEN"..........................................MERYL STREEP "CARPENTER"................................CHRISTOPHER WALKEN Z (O.S.) (over a dark screen) All my life, I've lived and worked in the big city... We see: EXT. AN ANT MOUND - DAY The camera swoops towards the entrance, then dives inside, past a couple of tough-looking soldier ants who stand at the gates of the ant colony like insect bouncers...into an access tunnel that snakes this way and that, past a row of ants plodding along... ...and into the MAIN CHAMBER of the colony, a huge, teeming vista that seems to stretch away forever, filled with ants rushing here and there on their business. We see -- a "traffic cop" directing foot traffic, waving his arms like crazy so both sides move at once -- a column of soldier ants marching along in formation -- a chain of ants letting down a matchbox elevator filled with workers. Z (V.O.) ...which is kind of a problem, since I've always felt uncomfortably in crowds. INT. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR'S OFFICE - DAY We join Z, a worker ant with issues. He's lying on a couch, recounting his woes. Z I feel...isolated. Different. I've got abandonment issues. My father flew away when I was just a larva. My mother didn't have much time for me...when you have five million siblings, it's difficult to get attention. (pause) I feel physically inadequate -- I've never been able to lift more than ten times my own weight. Sometimes I think I'm just not cut out to be a worker. But I don't have any other options. I was assigned to trade school when I was just a grub. The whole system just...makes me feel...insignificant. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (enthusiastic) Terrific! You should feel insignificant! For the first time, we see the ant MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR. He's a mixture of Tony Robbins and Ron Popiel (the hyperactive late-night TV huckster, and founder of "Ronco"). Z ...I should? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (hopping around enthusiastically) YES!!! You know, people ask me, "Doctor, why are you always happy?" And I tell them it's mind over matter. I don't mind that I don't matter! Do you get it? Do you get it? Z gives a fake smile. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (incredibly "up") Z, we're part of the fastest growing species in the whole world! The counsellor rolls down a chart from the wall. An arrow shows ant population going up, up, up. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Ask me why we're so successful. Z Why are we so successful? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR I'm glad you asked me that question! The motivational counsellor opens some blinds...and we see a vista of the ant-filled chamber below. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR What do you see out there? Z ...Ants... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Right! Ants! Millions of creatures, each with his assigned task, all pulling together! Down below, we see a group of ants carrying a boulder up an incline. One worker ants slips, and the boulder rolls down, crushing his leg. The other ants rush over -- it looks like they're going to help their fallen comrade, but instead, they climb right over him, and pick up the boulder, continuing with their task. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR You see? Being an ant is being able to say, "Hey -- I'm meaningless, you're meaningless." Z But -- but I've always felt life was about finding meaning...and then sharing it with someone special, someone you love. The motivational counsellor puts his arm on Z's shoulder...he seems to understand... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Z...you need help. (looking at a clock) Whoops! We're gonna have to stop there. Your minute is up! The counsellor ushers Z out of his seat and towards the door. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Now back to work! We've made real progress! Remember -- let's be best superorganism we can be! INT. EARLY MEGA-TUNNEL - DAY A gigantic tunnel, with the size and scale of the "Chunnel". A banner strung overhead reads: "The Mega-Tunnel -- Tunneling Our Way to a Bright Future!" Along the walls hang 50's work- incentive style posters with messages like, "You asked for it, you got it -- more work!" and "TWO MEALS A WEEK IS ENOUGH!!!" Line after line of ants is working on the tunnel, digging, passing clumps of dirt from ant to ant, everyone synchronized. CLOSE on a clump of DIRT being passed from hand to hand. PULL OUT TO REVEAL AZTECA, a feisty, cynical, female worker ant, who stands there, waiting to pass the dirt on. Z is daydreaming behind her, with clumps of dirt starting to pile up in front of him. AZTECA Hello?! Earth to Z! You better snap out of it, or there's gonna be a lot of pissed off ants! Z looks back, and sees the ants behind staring at him angrily. Z (snapping out of it) Sorry Azteca. Here you go, fellas! Fresh dirt! Alley oop! (looking at the dirt) Shouldn't we be wearing gloves? I mean this dirt is very...dirty. Doesn't anyone think of hygiene? (Z's stomach growls) Boy am I hungry. I'm so hungry I'm seeing double. It looks like there's two million ants in here. When's lunch? Tomorrow, or the day after? AZTECA (sweetly) Z, old pal... (shouts) SHUT UP!!! It's bad enough there's a food shortage without you complaining about it every day. Z The squeaky wheel gets the oil. AZTECA No, Z. The squeaky wheel gets thrown away, alright? You're a good ant, Z, even though you are a pain in my rear- segment. I don't wanna see anything happen to you. So quit mouthing off, before you get in trouble. A WHISTLE BLOWS. Z Thank goodness. Breaktime. All the ants put down their tools. A beat. Then the WHISTLE BLOWS AGAIN. All the ants pick up their tools again. AZTECA (resigned) Break's over. Z (getting back to work) This colony needs another tunnel like a hole in the ground. Why are we even digging this thing? AZTECA Who cares, Z. All I know is, we gotta dig. We're not the ones in charge. INT. TOWN CENTER - DAY The huge, spacious main chamber of the colony. Looming over the scene is the royal palace, which seems to be inaccessible, perched on top of a hill-like pedestal. Around the base of the pedestal, a crew of workers loiters, seemingly aimlessly...can these be the only unemployed ants in the place? GENERAL FORMICA STAIRS! The workers look up and GROAN. Then they start forming a stairway with their own bodies, linking arms, stepping on each other's shoulders. It's extremely unpleasant work. One ant is a little tardy, and just manages to get in place before... GENERAL FORMICA, the Pattonesque military leader of the colony, STEPS ON HIS HEAD, using it as the first step as he ascends to the palace, his aide-de-camp Carpenter in tow. As Formica mounts the "stairs" we can hear the workers going, "OUCH! OOF! YIKES!" etc. GENERAL FORMICA Cut the chit-chat down there! (turning to Carpenter) We've spoiled these workers, Carpenter. They've never had it so good, and listen to them -- always grumbling and complaining... Formica steps on the foot of one of the "stairway" ants, who muffles a yelp. CARPENTER ...Yes, sir. GENERAL FORMICA What have they got to complain about? Three square meals a day... CARPENTER Actually, sir, we've cut them down to three roughly rectangular meals a week. FORMICA Don't give me statistics, Carpenter. I know what I'm talking about. DOORS! Formica and Carpenter have reached the top of the staircase. There, the two guard ants on either side of the massive throne room doors pull them open -- and one door hinge SQUEAKS. FORMICA (to guard ant, while passing) Oil that, soldier. INT. THRONE ROOM - DAY The QUEEN is on her throne, her huge abdomen sprawled behind her. QUEEN Ah! General Formica. Formica salutes and marches to her, Carpenter behind him. Note: Throughout this scene, the Queen is giving birth repeatedly. Each birth is accompanied by a herald playing a short "Happy Birthday" fanfare on his trumpet. Mid-wife ants bring each baby to the Queen for inspection, who COOS a few words. The midwives put the babies on a moving bassinet- line, powered by ants on a treadmill. QUEEN General, the severe food shortage that faces the colony...pains me. The thought of any of my children going hungry... (she shudders; then, to baby) Who's the cutest widdle worker? You are! Yes, you! Don't forget to brush your teeth! (to mid-wife) Ship 'er out. (back to Formica) What steps are you taking to remedy the situation? FORMICA We are launching a major offensive to expand our foraging territory... QUEEN Yes, what else? FORMICA Please don't worry, your majesty. Leave the worrying to me. As you know, I'm not an ant of half- measures. I don't pussyfoot around. This crisis is my number one priority, and I promise you it's being dealt with swiftly, and decisively. The Queen's attention is interrupted by another baby being put in her arms. QUEEN (to baby) No snacking between meals! Off you go! (to Formica) Now -- what were we saying? FORMICA (Oliver North-style) I do not recollect, your majesty. Will that be all? QUEEN Yes, General Formica. Carry on, my good man! I don't know what we would do without you. Formica clicks his heels and bows his head. Carpenter bows low. Formica smartly about faces -- BALA (O.S.) General Formica! PRINCESS BALA hurries through a second doorway, carrying a swatch book. Something about her sets her apart from the HANDMAIDEN ANTS with her. Her tiara, probably. Formica tilts his head quizzically to Carpenter behind him. CARPENTER (sotto) Princess Bala, sir. Your fiancee. FORMICA Princess! You look -- outstanding. Is there anything I can do for you? BALA Well -- I thought -- since we're getting married...it might be nice if we...got to know one another. Formica looks confused. QUEEN Bala has always been a hopeless romantic, General. BALA It's just that -- well, I'm honored that you selected me, and everything, I just thought the marriage might go a little more smoothly if -- we had a conversation? FORMICA (uncomfortable) Conversation...yes...well... (to Carpenter) Wasn't she briefed? QUEEN (holding up a baby) Look, General! A darling baby soldier! (emotionally, to baby) Don't try to be a hero! Just make sure you come back in one piece! (handing it off) Next! FORMICA (using the interruption) I'll take your suggestion under advisement, Princess. In the meanwhile -- Formica turns to go. BALA General -- we have to talk sometime! FORMICA Very well. Carpenter, is there a convenient time to talk vis-a-vis: relationship? CARPENTER Actually, sir, we're ahead of schedule. We have thirty-six seconds available right now. FORMICA Outstanding. Princess...? Bala's a little fazed...but grabs her chance. BALA So, um...how was your day? What did you do? FORMICA (scouring his mind) Well... (that's it!) I declared war! BALA (sadly) Oh...and I was afraid we had nothing in common... CARPENTER (under his breath) Fourteen-fifty hours, sir. FORMICA Duty calls! He strides across the floor. Bala watches him go, her antennae drooping unhappily. FORMICA No squeak. Outstanding! We see through the now-open doors into the throne-room as Formica and Carpenter double-time out of the frame. The Queen sees that Bala is unhappy. QUEEN (sympathetically) I felt the same way before I got married. Confused. Scared. BALA (hopefully) You did? QUEEN Yes -- but I did my duty and sorted out all those messy feelings. The wonderful thing about ant life is that everything is arranged. Even marriage. You're lucky -- General Formica is a paragon of anthood. BALA (unconvinced) Yes...he's wonderful... The doors swing shut on them -- revealing the two guard ants who were CRUSHED in the wake of Formica's exit. INT. BALA'S QUARTERS - DAY Bala enters, followed by her handmaidens, who are in a state of giggling infatuation over Formica. Bala is scowling as she leafs through a wedding catalogue. HANDMAIDEN #1 (swooning over General Formica) The General's body segments are so...symmetrical. HANDMAIDEN #2 (giggling) I'd let him order me into battle anyday. Bala hurls the swatch book against the wall. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess? What's wrong? BALA Wrong? How could anything be wrong? I'm going to marry General Formica and be a queen and have millions of babies, just like my mom. (concerned) Do I look fat to you? HANDMAIDEN #2 (knowingly, to Handmaiden #2) Pre-wedding jitters. HANDMAIDEN #1 You just need to blow off some steam. Let's go to the bar at the Royal Club! BALA The Club's so stuffy. I want to try someplace different. HANDMAIDEN #2 There isn't anyplace else -- (making a joke) Except the worker bar. BALA The worker bar! Yes! That's where I want to go! The handmaidens look shocked. HANDMAIDEN #1 But -- we can't -- there'll be workers there. INT. ANT BAR - NIGHT A long bar filled with ants. The bar itself seems to stretch for miles, and there are hundreds of ants trying to get a drink...unfortunately, there's only one bartender. Z is at the bar with WEAVER, a burly ant soldier. Z We declared war again? (off Weaver's nod) Are you scared? WEAVER (shrugs) I'll be back. The BARTENDER, a grizzled veteran, slaps down what looks like a couple of large green beer mugs. Actually, they're aphids, little green critters he fills up from a number of kegs hanging from the ceiling. The kegs are specialized ants with hugely distended stomachs, which spray liquid into the aphids. APHIDS (as they're slapped on bar) Ouch! Ouch! BARTENDER Two aphid beers. Z (as Bartender leaves) Did you see that? How he gave you the beers, not me? I'm telling you, he's got something against workers. WEAVER I don't know what you're talking about, Z. Z Come on -- everybody dumps on us workers. You soldiers get all the glory. Plus you get to go out into the world, meet interesting insects, and kill them. WEAVER Yeah, but you get to spend all day with those fabulous worker babes. We can see that Weaver is eyeing a nearby table of "Worker Babes", including Z's friend Azteca. Z Weaver, they're career girls. They're obsessed with digging. (sighs) No, I'll probably never meet the girl for me. WEAVER Who said there was a girl for you? I was talking about a girl for me. (quaffing his aphid beer) Don't you want your aphid beer? Z I can't help it. I have a thing about drinking from the anus of another creature. Call me crazy. WEAVER Z, we've known each other a long time, right? Z Of course. You were born two seconds after me. WEAVER And all the time I've known you, you've been grumping and groaning. You should quit making waves. Go with the flow. Z Weaver, I'm an insect, not a liquid. Down the bar, there's a commotion. A grizzled old SCOUT ant has had too much to drink. DRUNK SCOUT Have you been to Insectopia? Have you? No, ya goddam larvas! But I have... (becoming emotional) ...Mosquitos n' caterpillars n' beetles -- all livin' in peace, stuffin their guts with food...No rules, no regulations...you can be your own ant there... (howling drunkenly) It's Insectopia! Insectopia! Z Hey, Weaver, listen! DRUNK SCOUT I was cut off from my unit -- found it by mistake -- (slurring) It changed my life! (spraying another soldier with saliva) You see -- ya follow the great yellow egg, and you come to the land of red and white -- SOLDIERS You've had enough for one night! Come on, Gramps, before you get in trouble. The soldiers pull him from the bar, carrying him out. Z (excited) Hey, did you hear what he said?! WEAVER Poor guy's had one too many scouting missions. MUSIC STARTS UP. INT. ANT BAR ENTRANCE - NIGHT Princess Bala is peering in at the entrance to the ant bar, accompanied by her worried-looking handmaidens. HANDMAIDEN #2 We shouldn't be doing this -- it isn't proper! BALA I'm the Princess, aren't I? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course -- BALA And do Princesses do improper things? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course not -- BALA Then if I go to the worker bar, it isn't improper. Anyway, don't worry. No one will recognize us in our disguises. She adjusts her "disguise", a hardhat, tied down Jackie O.- style with an ant's version of a Chanel scarf. BALA I'm just a common worker, cooling off after a rough day! Music starts. An ant BARKER takes the mic at one end of the dance floor. BARKER (on loudspeaker) Okay, folks. It's six-fifteen, and that means it's time to dance. Every ant gets up to dance. Weaver turns to Z. WEAVER (draining his beer) Time to cut a rug, Z! Z I'm not in the mood. (disgusted) Even when they're off work, they follow orders. WEAVER Well, you just sit here and be a party-pooper. Weaver joins the rest of the ants who are lining up for the dance. The Barker calls out the steps in a bored monotone -- all the ants already know the steps. Everyone dances in perfect synch. BARKER (southern twang) And a left-right-quarterstep-back step-halfstep -- a left-right- quarterstep-backstep-halfstep -- a left-right-quarterstep-backstep halfstep -- AT THE ENTRANCE, Bala smiles mischievously at her handmaidens. BALA I'm going to ask one of these mindless, primitive worker-types to dance with me! HANDMAIDEN #1 But General Formica would be furious! BALA (enjoying the idea) I know. The handmaidens are appalled. Bala whirls away from them, sets her sights and searches the crowd -- zeroing in on -- Z, who's watching the other ants dance. Z What a bunch of losers. Mindless zombies capitulating to an oppressive system -- BALA Wanna dance? Bala's standing right there. Z is instantly smitten. Z Me?! Yes!!! I mean -- (regaining suavosity) Just let me finish my beer. Not breaking eye contact with Bala, Z smiles suavely. Reaches suavely for a beer. Suavely grabs the candle in a glass jar off the bar. Suavely singes his face. He plays it off with a rakish little laugh. A bit apprehensive, Bala heads onto the floor. Z follows her. Z So uh -- how come I haven't seen you around here before? BALA (covering up) I work in the palace, I don't get out much. Z The palace, hunh? I bet those royals really live it up. Of course they're all a little, you know, from inbreeding -- BALA (shocked) What? Z and Bala step onto the dance floor with the rest of the ants, but Z can't do any of the steps. Z Now, let's see, I -- it's been a while since I -- I think you -- Bala watches Z, trying to follow along. It's the blind leading the blind, as Z tries in vain to follow the barker's rapid instructions. Z Here, I'll lead. Z starts doing his own, individual dance. With a suave expression on his face, he leads Bala in a helter-skelter mixture-of Tango, Charleston, and hand-jive. BALA Are you sure this is a real dance? Z Well, actually, uh -- I'm sort of making it up -- BALA (surprised) Really? Z Why should everyone dance the same way? It's as exciting as watching fungus grow. BALA You're right! Z (surprised) You -- you think I'm right? BALA Why can't I just do whatever I want to do? Why can't I just go wild?! Yahoo! Bala starts to get into it, making up her own steps in reply to Z's, loosening up, having fun. For a moment, the two of them are actually sexy together. Then they get a little too wild -- and the other ants, who are still doing their intricate dance, start to collide with Bala and Z. Z almost knocks over a big soldier ant. We can only see the ant's back at the moment. SOLDIER Hey! Watch your step, worker. Z has turned around to see the soldier ant, MAJOR MANDIBLE, glaring at him. Mandible is about twice Z's size. He's got one eye missing, and half of his left antenna his been chewed off. BALA You watch yours, soldier, or my worker friend will beat you up! Z (terrified) Oh, that's okay, I'll let him off this time. (whispering to Bala) Are you crazy? This guy's built like a pebble! (ineptly trying to placate the soldier) You know they do great prosthetic antennas nowadays -- BALA Aren't you gonna stand up for yourself? Z's caught between a rock and a hard place. He doesn't want to get beaten up, but on the other hand, he doesn't want to lose face in front of Bala. More soldiers have gathered around, looking hostile. SOLDIER How come you don't dance like the rest of us? Z glances over at Bala. Then, shaking with nervousness, he says defiantly... Z Because -- because I'm an individual! SOLDIER #2 An individual? Never heard of it. MANDIBLE You look like a worker to me. WEAVER Hey, lay off my little buddy! Z, meanwhile, looks far away, ecstatic, as if he's just realized something very important. Unfortunately, just at this moment, A soldier pushes Weaver...Weaver pushes him back...somebody makes a dive for Z -- and before you know it, there's a regular bar brawl going on, with Weaver in the middle of it, cracking heads together, punching ants in the face, having a great time. Just then, the Princess' handmaidens hurries over. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess Bala! Princess Bala! Z, who's scrabbling around on the floor, overhears. Z Princess? You're a Princess? HANDMAIDEN #2 The police are coming! BALA Uh oh. (to Z) Goodbye! Gotta run! Z Wait! When can I see you again? BALA Let me think. Hmmnn... (thinks) Never. Bye! Bala rushes off with her handmaiden, just before a squad of whistle-blowing POLICE wade into the crowd. Z Wait! Princess! Wait! But she's already gone, leaving Z holding her scarf. CUT TO: INT. DORMITORY - THE NEXT DAY Z is talking to Weaver, who's getting ready to go off to war. Nearby, columns of ant soldiers march by. WEAVER Get real, Z! She just dropped the scarf by accident! Z Are you kidding? There were sparks between us! This scarf is a sign! WEAVER It's a sign that you're crazy! Do you know what the penalty for impersonating a soldier is? Z What's gonna go wrong?! I take your place for the royal inspection. Bala comes strolling down the line, she sees me -- bingo! Love is rekindled, and she takes me up to the palace for a little... (wags his eyebrows suggestively) tea and crumpets... and you take your place again, and go march around to your heart's content! Weaver looks unconvinced. Z You have to help me. Please, Weaver. Think of all the things I've done for you! WEAVER (thinks) I can't think of any. Z (pause) Well I'm gonna start doing things for you... WEAVER Will you introduce me to some worker girls? Z You bet! They'll really go for a sensitive guy like you! WEAVER Maybe I'll get lucky. (Weaver thinks about it) You know, Z, I wouldn't do this for anyone but you... Weaver hands Z has helmet. WEAVER Wear this. Z (overjoyed) You're a real buddy. WEAVER (sourly) Yeah, I know. Z What do I do? WEAVER Don't tell anyone you're a worker. Follow that column over there. And come right back after the inspection! Weaver points to a bunch of soldiers hurrying by in formation. Z (overjoyed) Thanks! I owe you! Z skips off and joins the column, marching in time with the soldiers but too excited to keep from jazzing it up a little. INT. TOWN CENTER - NIGHT The ant army has gathered in a huge HALL in front of a reviewing stand. We can hear the murmuring of thousands of soldiers -- but all we can see is a HUGE POSTER of an ant General pointing right at the camera. The poster reads, "GENERAL FORMICA WANTS YOU -- to obey". Z turns to some of the soldiers near him. Z Any of you guys know when the Princess will show up? She's kind of a personal friend. The soldiers look at Z like he's nuts. LOUD VOICE ATTEN-SHUN! MARTIAL MUSIC sounds, and we hear thousands of ant feet as they snap to attention. Z imitates the soldiers awkwardly. GENERAL FORMICA struts to the middle 6f the screen, slapping his thigh with a swagger stick (the antenna of some unfortunate insect) FORMICA First of all, let me make one thing clear. Nobody ever won a battle by thinking for himself. All this "thinking" stuff is a load of crap. If the almighty had wanted you boys to think, he wouldn't have given you huge mandibles and a brain so small you'd misplace it if it wasn't trapped inside your head. In the audience, Z starts laughing -- he thinks Formica's just made a joke. Z (slapping his thigh) "Trapped inside your head" -- that's a good one -- Z notices nobody else is laughing. He stops. Z Geez -- tough room. From the stage, Formica is squinting at the audience, trying to make out who was laughing, but there are just too many ants. He continues. FORMICA (striding back and forth) We ants survive as a species because we do what we're told. We survive because we work together, as one, we get the job done, we do whatever it takes to persevere! (dramatic pause) Hell, we're not an army of ants...we're one giant ant, with giant fists, and giant jaws! The soldiers CHEER! Z CHEERS along with the rest of them. Z (to the soldier ant next to him) Lays it on a little thick, doesn't he? If you ask me, he's one giant bore. FORMICA Now I've heard a lot of scuttlebutt about a food shortage. Well you boys are gonna be taken care of. But in the meantime we're gonna eat the enemy for breakfast, we are gonna eat the enemy for lunch, and we are gonna eat the enemy for dinner! Z Geez, and I forgot my toothbrush. FORMICA (reflective moment) Dammit, I'm proud to be an ant. (he looks out at his army) And I know each and every one of you boys will do your duty. Dismissed. Z applauds and whistles as the other ants look at him in confusion. Z (clapping) Bravo! Bring on the Princess! COLONEL Stow the gab there, soldier! Let's move 'em out! The soldiers turn to the right and start to march out past the reviewing stand. A COLONEL marches at the head of Z's column as Z looks around for the Princess. COLONEL Eyes...left! Finally, as Z's part of the army marches past the end of the reviewing stand, he sees her, looking bored, standing next to the Queen, who is giving the royal wave. Z (waving) Princess! Princess Bala! Hey! It's me! Z! I've got your scarf! ON THE REVIEWING STAND, Bala sees Z -- that is to say, she sees one of the thousands upon thousands of ants marching by... BALA (peering out) Who is that idiot? QUEEN Darling, you must encourage the troops -- wave! Bala waves unenthusiastically, little more than flopping her hand back and forth on her wrist. Down below, Z takes this as a sign that Bala has seen him. Z (excited) Excuse me, guys -- That's my date. Well, it's been fun. Have a great war! Z tries to squeeze his way back towards the royals, but he's surrounded by a solid wall of soldiers -- and they're carrying him along with them. Z Hey! Wait! Z loses sight of the Princess as he's carried away. BARBATUS, a hard-as-nails "grunt" soldier ant, taps Z on the shoulder. BARBATUS You new, kid? Z I just joined up. But I'm quitting! I got a trial membership! BARBATUS Trial membership? Kid, when you join this ant's army, you're in for the full hitch. At that moment, Z is swept out of the cramped corridor they've been marching along, as the army emerges into the OPEN AIR outside of the colony. EXT. ANT MOUND - NIGHT It's a starry, moonlit night. The shadows crowd around the panicked Z, who looks up at the sky as we see the army on the march... Z Wait a minute, there's been a mistake! I've got to get back to the colony! Z starts to fall out of line, but Barbatus, looking concerned, stops him. BARBATUS Are you crazy, kid? They shoot deserters! Z swallows hard. BARBATUS You just stick by old Barbatus. He'll watch out for you. (off Z's look) Whatsamatter, kid? Leave a girl behind? Z Yeah. Well -- no. She's kind of playing hard to get. As a matter of fact, she's playing completely unattainable. (nervously) So, what's on the schedule? A brisk walk? a foraging expedition? BARBATUS No -- we're going to attack the termites! Z (alarmed) Attack? But -- I hate attacking! It's so hostile! Around Z and Barbatus, the ants start up a marching song, which we intersperse with dialogue between

var

How many times the word 'var' appears in the text?

Antz Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS "Antz", unknown draft A N T Z CHARACTERS VOICES "Z"...............................................WOODY ALLEN "WASP #1".........................................DAN AYKROYD "WASP #2".........................................JANE CURTIN "GEN. FORMICA"...................................DANNY GLOVER "MANDIBLE".......................................GENE HACKMAN "AZTECA".......................................JENNIFER LOPEZ "DRUNK SCOUT"....................................JOHN MAHONEY "WEAVER"...................................SYLVESTER STALLONE "PRINCESS BALA"..................................SHARON STONE "QUEEN"..........................................MERYL STREEP "CARPENTER"................................CHRISTOPHER WALKEN Z (O.S.) (over a dark screen) All my life, I've lived and worked in the big city... We see: EXT. AN ANT MOUND - DAY The camera swoops towards the entrance, then dives inside, past a couple of tough-looking soldier ants who stand at the gates of the ant colony like insect bouncers...into an access tunnel that snakes this way and that, past a row of ants plodding along... ...and into the MAIN CHAMBER of the colony, a huge, teeming vista that seems to stretch away forever, filled with ants rushing here and there on their business. We see -- a "traffic cop" directing foot traffic, waving his arms like crazy so both sides move at once -- a column of soldier ants marching along in formation -- a chain of ants letting down a matchbox elevator filled with workers. Z (V.O.) ...which is kind of a problem, since I've always felt uncomfortably in crowds. INT. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR'S OFFICE - DAY We join Z, a worker ant with issues. He's lying on a couch, recounting his woes. Z I feel...isolated. Different. I've got abandonment issues. My father flew away when I was just a larva. My mother didn't have much time for me...when you have five million siblings, it's difficult to get attention. (pause) I feel physically inadequate -- I've never been able to lift more than ten times my own weight. Sometimes I think I'm just not cut out to be a worker. But I don't have any other options. I was assigned to trade school when I was just a grub. The whole system just...makes me feel...insignificant. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (enthusiastic) Terrific! You should feel insignificant! For the first time, we see the ant MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR. He's a mixture of Tony Robbins and Ron Popiel (the hyperactive late-night TV huckster, and founder of "Ronco"). Z ...I should? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (hopping around enthusiastically) YES!!! You know, people ask me, "Doctor, why are you always happy?" And I tell them it's mind over matter. I don't mind that I don't matter! Do you get it? Do you get it? Z gives a fake smile. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (incredibly "up") Z, we're part of the fastest growing species in the whole world! The counsellor rolls down a chart from the wall. An arrow shows ant population going up, up, up. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Ask me why we're so successful. Z Why are we so successful? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR I'm glad you asked me that question! The motivational counsellor opens some blinds...and we see a vista of the ant-filled chamber below. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR What do you see out there? Z ...Ants... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Right! Ants! Millions of creatures, each with his assigned task, all pulling together! Down below, we see a group of ants carrying a boulder up an incline. One worker ants slips, and the boulder rolls down, crushing his leg. The other ants rush over -- it looks like they're going to help their fallen comrade, but instead, they climb right over him, and pick up the boulder, continuing with their task. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR You see? Being an ant is being able to say, "Hey -- I'm meaningless, you're meaningless." Z But -- but I've always felt life was about finding meaning...and then sharing it with someone special, someone you love. The motivational counsellor puts his arm on Z's shoulder...he seems to understand... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Z...you need help. (looking at a clock) Whoops! We're gonna have to stop there. Your minute is up! The counsellor ushers Z out of his seat and towards the door. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Now back to work! We've made real progress! Remember -- let's be best superorganism we can be! INT. EARLY MEGA-TUNNEL - DAY A gigantic tunnel, with the size and scale of the "Chunnel". A banner strung overhead reads: "The Mega-Tunnel -- Tunneling Our Way to a Bright Future!" Along the walls hang 50's work- incentive style posters with messages like, "You asked for it, you got it -- more work!" and "TWO MEALS A WEEK IS ENOUGH!!!" Line after line of ants is working on the tunnel, digging, passing clumps of dirt from ant to ant, everyone synchronized. CLOSE on a clump of DIRT being passed from hand to hand. PULL OUT TO REVEAL AZTECA, a feisty, cynical, female worker ant, who stands there, waiting to pass the dirt on. Z is daydreaming behind her, with clumps of dirt starting to pile up in front of him. AZTECA Hello?! Earth to Z! You better snap out of it, or there's gonna be a lot of pissed off ants! Z looks back, and sees the ants behind staring at him angrily. Z (snapping out of it) Sorry Azteca. Here you go, fellas! Fresh dirt! Alley oop! (looking at the dirt) Shouldn't we be wearing gloves? I mean this dirt is very...dirty. Doesn't anyone think of hygiene? (Z's stomach growls) Boy am I hungry. I'm so hungry I'm seeing double. It looks like there's two million ants in here. When's lunch? Tomorrow, or the day after? AZTECA (sweetly) Z, old pal... (shouts) SHUT UP!!! It's bad enough there's a food shortage without you complaining about it every day. Z The squeaky wheel gets the oil. AZTECA No, Z. The squeaky wheel gets thrown away, alright? You're a good ant, Z, even though you are a pain in my rear- segment. I don't wanna see anything happen to you. So quit mouthing off, before you get in trouble. A WHISTLE BLOWS. Z Thank goodness. Breaktime. All the ants put down their tools. A beat. Then the WHISTLE BLOWS AGAIN. All the ants pick up their tools again. AZTECA (resigned) Break's over. Z (getting back to work) This colony needs another tunnel like a hole in the ground. Why are we even digging this thing? AZTECA Who cares, Z. All I know is, we gotta dig. We're not the ones in charge. INT. TOWN CENTER - DAY The huge, spacious main chamber of the colony. Looming over the scene is the royal palace, which seems to be inaccessible, perched on top of a hill-like pedestal. Around the base of the pedestal, a crew of workers loiters, seemingly aimlessly...can these be the only unemployed ants in the place? GENERAL FORMICA STAIRS! The workers look up and GROAN. Then they start forming a stairway with their own bodies, linking arms, stepping on each other's shoulders. It's extremely unpleasant work. One ant is a little tardy, and just manages to get in place before... GENERAL FORMICA, the Pattonesque military leader of the colony, STEPS ON HIS HEAD, using it as the first step as he ascends to the palace, his aide-de-camp Carpenter in tow. As Formica mounts the "stairs" we can hear the workers going, "OUCH! OOF! YIKES!" etc. GENERAL FORMICA Cut the chit-chat down there! (turning to Carpenter) We've spoiled these workers, Carpenter. They've never had it so good, and listen to them -- always grumbling and complaining... Formica steps on the foot of one of the "stairway" ants, who muffles a yelp. CARPENTER ...Yes, sir. GENERAL FORMICA What have they got to complain about? Three square meals a day... CARPENTER Actually, sir, we've cut them down to three roughly rectangular meals a week. FORMICA Don't give me statistics, Carpenter. I know what I'm talking about. DOORS! Formica and Carpenter have reached the top of the staircase. There, the two guard ants on either side of the massive throne room doors pull them open -- and one door hinge SQUEAKS. FORMICA (to guard ant, while passing) Oil that, soldier. INT. THRONE ROOM - DAY The QUEEN is on her throne, her huge abdomen sprawled behind her. QUEEN Ah! General Formica. Formica salutes and marches to her, Carpenter behind him. Note: Throughout this scene, the Queen is giving birth repeatedly. Each birth is accompanied by a herald playing a short "Happy Birthday" fanfare on his trumpet. Mid-wife ants bring each baby to the Queen for inspection, who COOS a few words. The midwives put the babies on a moving bassinet- line, powered by ants on a treadmill. QUEEN General, the severe food shortage that faces the colony...pains me. The thought of any of my children going hungry... (she shudders; then, to baby) Who's the cutest widdle worker? You are! Yes, you! Don't forget to brush your teeth! (to mid-wife) Ship 'er out. (back to Formica) What steps are you taking to remedy the situation? FORMICA We are launching a major offensive to expand our foraging territory... QUEEN Yes, what else? FORMICA Please don't worry, your majesty. Leave the worrying to me. As you know, I'm not an ant of half- measures. I don't pussyfoot around. This crisis is my number one priority, and I promise you it's being dealt with swiftly, and decisively. The Queen's attention is interrupted by another baby being put in her arms. QUEEN (to baby) No snacking between meals! Off you go! (to Formica) Now -- what were we saying? FORMICA (Oliver North-style) I do not recollect, your majesty. Will that be all? QUEEN Yes, General Formica. Carry on, my good man! I don't know what we would do without you. Formica clicks his heels and bows his head. Carpenter bows low. Formica smartly about faces -- BALA (O.S.) General Formica! PRINCESS BALA hurries through a second doorway, carrying a swatch book. Something about her sets her apart from the HANDMAIDEN ANTS with her. Her tiara, probably. Formica tilts his head quizzically to Carpenter behind him. CARPENTER (sotto) Princess Bala, sir. Your fiancee. FORMICA Princess! You look -- outstanding. Is there anything I can do for you? BALA Well -- I thought -- since we're getting married...it might be nice if we...got to know one another. Formica looks confused. QUEEN Bala has always been a hopeless romantic, General. BALA It's just that -- well, I'm honored that you selected me, and everything, I just thought the marriage might go a little more smoothly if -- we had a conversation? FORMICA (uncomfortable) Conversation...yes...well... (to Carpenter) Wasn't she briefed? QUEEN (holding up a baby) Look, General! A darling baby soldier! (emotionally, to baby) Don't try to be a hero! Just make sure you come back in one piece! (handing it off) Next! FORMICA (using the interruption) I'll take your suggestion under advisement, Princess. In the meanwhile -- Formica turns to go. BALA General -- we have to talk sometime! FORMICA Very well. Carpenter, is there a convenient time to talk vis-a-vis: relationship? CARPENTER Actually, sir, we're ahead of schedule. We have thirty-six seconds available right now. FORMICA Outstanding. Princess...? Bala's a little fazed...but grabs her chance. BALA So, um...how was your day? What did you do? FORMICA (scouring his mind) Well... (that's it!) I declared war! BALA (sadly) Oh...and I was afraid we had nothing in common... CARPENTER (under his breath) Fourteen-fifty hours, sir. FORMICA Duty calls! He strides across the floor. Bala watches him go, her antennae drooping unhappily. FORMICA No squeak. Outstanding! We see through the now-open doors into the throne-room as Formica and Carpenter double-time out of the frame. The Queen sees that Bala is unhappy. QUEEN (sympathetically) I felt the same way before I got married. Confused. Scared. BALA (hopefully) You did? QUEEN Yes -- but I did my duty and sorted out all those messy feelings. The wonderful thing about ant life is that everything is arranged. Even marriage. You're lucky -- General Formica is a paragon of anthood. BALA (unconvinced) Yes...he's wonderful... The doors swing shut on them -- revealing the two guard ants who were CRUSHED in the wake of Formica's exit. INT. BALA'S QUARTERS - DAY Bala enters, followed by her handmaidens, who are in a state of giggling infatuation over Formica. Bala is scowling as she leafs through a wedding catalogue. HANDMAIDEN #1 (swooning over General Formica) The General's body segments are so...symmetrical. HANDMAIDEN #2 (giggling) I'd let him order me into battle anyday. Bala hurls the swatch book against the wall. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess? What's wrong? BALA Wrong? How could anything be wrong? I'm going to marry General Formica and be a queen and have millions of babies, just like my mom. (concerned) Do I look fat to you? HANDMAIDEN #2 (knowingly, to Handmaiden #2) Pre-wedding jitters. HANDMAIDEN #1 You just need to blow off some steam. Let's go to the bar at the Royal Club! BALA The Club's so stuffy. I want to try someplace different. HANDMAIDEN #2 There isn't anyplace else -- (making a joke) Except the worker bar. BALA The worker bar! Yes! That's where I want to go! The handmaidens look shocked. HANDMAIDEN #1 But -- we can't -- there'll be workers there. INT. ANT BAR - NIGHT A long bar filled with ants. The bar itself seems to stretch for miles, and there are hundreds of ants trying to get a drink...unfortunately, there's only one bartender. Z is at the bar with WEAVER, a burly ant soldier. Z We declared war again? (off Weaver's nod) Are you scared? WEAVER (shrugs) I'll be back. The BARTENDER, a grizzled veteran, slaps down what looks like a couple of large green beer mugs. Actually, they're aphids, little green critters he fills up from a number of kegs hanging from the ceiling. The kegs are specialized ants with hugely distended stomachs, which spray liquid into the aphids. APHIDS (as they're slapped on bar) Ouch! Ouch! BARTENDER Two aphid beers. Z (as Bartender leaves) Did you see that? How he gave you the beers, not me? I'm telling you, he's got something against workers. WEAVER I don't know what you're talking about, Z. Z Come on -- everybody dumps on us workers. You soldiers get all the glory. Plus you get to go out into the world, meet interesting insects, and kill them. WEAVER Yeah, but you get to spend all day with those fabulous worker babes. We can see that Weaver is eyeing a nearby table of "Worker Babes", including Z's friend Azteca. Z Weaver, they're career girls. They're obsessed with digging. (sighs) No, I'll probably never meet the girl for me. WEAVER Who said there was a girl for you? I was talking about a girl for me. (quaffing his aphid beer) Don't you want your aphid beer? Z I can't help it. I have a thing about drinking from the anus of another creature. Call me crazy. WEAVER Z, we've known each other a long time, right? Z Of course. You were born two seconds after me. WEAVER And all the time I've known you, you've been grumping and groaning. You should quit making waves. Go with the flow. Z Weaver, I'm an insect, not a liquid. Down the bar, there's a commotion. A grizzled old SCOUT ant has had too much to drink. DRUNK SCOUT Have you been to Insectopia? Have you? No, ya goddam larvas! But I have... (becoming emotional) ...Mosquitos n' caterpillars n' beetles -- all livin' in peace, stuffin their guts with food...No rules, no regulations...you can be your own ant there... (howling drunkenly) It's Insectopia! Insectopia! Z Hey, Weaver, listen! DRUNK SCOUT I was cut off from my unit -- found it by mistake -- (slurring) It changed my life! (spraying another soldier with saliva) You see -- ya follow the great yellow egg, and you come to the land of red and white -- SOLDIERS You've had enough for one night! Come on, Gramps, before you get in trouble. The soldiers pull him from the bar, carrying him out. Z (excited) Hey, did you hear what he said?! WEAVER Poor guy's had one too many scouting missions. MUSIC STARTS UP. INT. ANT BAR ENTRANCE - NIGHT Princess Bala is peering in at the entrance to the ant bar, accompanied by her worried-looking handmaidens. HANDMAIDEN #2 We shouldn't be doing this -- it isn't proper! BALA I'm the Princess, aren't I? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course -- BALA And do Princesses do improper things? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course not -- BALA Then if I go to the worker bar, it isn't improper. Anyway, don't worry. No one will recognize us in our disguises. She adjusts her "disguise", a hardhat, tied down Jackie O.- style with an ant's version of a Chanel scarf. BALA I'm just a common worker, cooling off after a rough day! Music starts. An ant BARKER takes the mic at one end of the dance floor. BARKER (on loudspeaker) Okay, folks. It's six-fifteen, and that means it's time to dance. Every ant gets up to dance. Weaver turns to Z. WEAVER (draining his beer) Time to cut a rug, Z! Z I'm not in the mood. (disgusted) Even when they're off work, they follow orders. WEAVER Well, you just sit here and be a party-pooper. Weaver joins the rest of the ants who are lining up for the dance. The Barker calls out the steps in a bored monotone -- all the ants already know the steps. Everyone dances in perfect synch. BARKER (southern twang) And a left-right-quarterstep-back step-halfstep -- a left-right- quarterstep-backstep-halfstep -- a left-right-quarterstep-backstep halfstep -- AT THE ENTRANCE, Bala smiles mischievously at her handmaidens. BALA I'm going to ask one of these mindless, primitive worker-types to dance with me! HANDMAIDEN #1 But General Formica would be furious! BALA (enjoying the idea) I know. The handmaidens are appalled. Bala whirls away from them, sets her sights and searches the crowd -- zeroing in on -- Z, who's watching the other ants dance. Z What a bunch of losers. Mindless zombies capitulating to an oppressive system -- BALA Wanna dance? Bala's standing right there. Z is instantly smitten. Z Me?! Yes!!! I mean -- (regaining suavosity) Just let me finish my beer. Not breaking eye contact with Bala, Z smiles suavely. Reaches suavely for a beer. Suavely grabs the candle in a glass jar off the bar. Suavely singes his face. He plays it off with a rakish little laugh. A bit apprehensive, Bala heads onto the floor. Z follows her. Z So uh -- how come I haven't seen you around here before? BALA (covering up) I work in the palace, I don't get out much. Z The palace, hunh? I bet those royals really live it up. Of course they're all a little, you know, from inbreeding -- BALA (shocked) What? Z and Bala step onto the dance floor with the rest of the ants, but Z can't do any of the steps. Z Now, let's see, I -- it's been a while since I -- I think you -- Bala watches Z, trying to follow along. It's the blind leading the blind, as Z tries in vain to follow the barker's rapid instructions. Z Here, I'll lead. Z starts doing his own, individual dance. With a suave expression on his face, he leads Bala in a helter-skelter mixture-of Tango, Charleston, and hand-jive. BALA Are you sure this is a real dance? Z Well, actually, uh -- I'm sort of making it up -- BALA (surprised) Really? Z Why should everyone dance the same way? It's as exciting as watching fungus grow. BALA You're right! Z (surprised) You -- you think I'm right? BALA Why can't I just do whatever I want to do? Why can't I just go wild?! Yahoo! Bala starts to get into it, making up her own steps in reply to Z's, loosening up, having fun. For a moment, the two of them are actually sexy together. Then they get a little too wild -- and the other ants, who are still doing their intricate dance, start to collide with Bala and Z. Z almost knocks over a big soldier ant. We can only see the ant's back at the moment. SOLDIER Hey! Watch your step, worker. Z has turned around to see the soldier ant, MAJOR MANDIBLE, glaring at him. Mandible is about twice Z's size. He's got one eye missing, and half of his left antenna his been chewed off. BALA You watch yours, soldier, or my worker friend will beat you up! Z (terrified) Oh, that's okay, I'll let him off this time. (whispering to Bala) Are you crazy? This guy's built like a pebble! (ineptly trying to placate the soldier) You know they do great prosthetic antennas nowadays -- BALA Aren't you gonna stand up for yourself? Z's caught between a rock and a hard place. He doesn't want to get beaten up, but on the other hand, he doesn't want to lose face in front of Bala. More soldiers have gathered around, looking hostile. SOLDIER How come you don't dance like the rest of us? Z glances over at Bala. Then, shaking with nervousness, he says defiantly... Z Because -- because I'm an individual! SOLDIER #2 An individual? Never heard of it. MANDIBLE You look like a worker to me. WEAVER Hey, lay off my little buddy! Z, meanwhile, looks far away, ecstatic, as if he's just realized something very important. Unfortunately, just at this moment, A soldier pushes Weaver...Weaver pushes him back...somebody makes a dive for Z -- and before you know it, there's a regular bar brawl going on, with Weaver in the middle of it, cracking heads together, punching ants in the face, having a great time. Just then, the Princess' handmaidens hurries over. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess Bala! Princess Bala! Z, who's scrabbling around on the floor, overhears. Z Princess? You're a Princess? HANDMAIDEN #2 The police are coming! BALA Uh oh. (to Z) Goodbye! Gotta run! Z Wait! When can I see you again? BALA Let me think. Hmmnn... (thinks) Never. Bye! Bala rushes off with her handmaiden, just before a squad of whistle-blowing POLICE wade into the crowd. Z Wait! Princess! Wait! But she's already gone, leaving Z holding her scarf. CUT TO: INT. DORMITORY - THE NEXT DAY Z is talking to Weaver, who's getting ready to go off to war. Nearby, columns of ant soldiers march by. WEAVER Get real, Z! She just dropped the scarf by accident! Z Are you kidding? There were sparks between us! This scarf is a sign! WEAVER It's a sign that you're crazy! Do you know what the penalty for impersonating a soldier is? Z What's gonna go wrong?! I take your place for the royal inspection. Bala comes strolling down the line, she sees me -- bingo! Love is rekindled, and she takes me up to the palace for a little... (wags his eyebrows suggestively) tea and crumpets... and you take your place again, and go march around to your heart's content! Weaver looks unconvinced. Z You have to help me. Please, Weaver. Think of all the things I've done for you! WEAVER (thinks) I can't think of any. Z (pause) Well I'm gonna start doing things for you... WEAVER Will you introduce me to some worker girls? Z You bet! They'll really go for a sensitive guy like you! WEAVER Maybe I'll get lucky. (Weaver thinks about it) You know, Z, I wouldn't do this for anyone but you... Weaver hands Z has helmet. WEAVER Wear this. Z (overjoyed) You're a real buddy. WEAVER (sourly) Yeah, I know. Z What do I do? WEAVER Don't tell anyone you're a worker. Follow that column over there. And come right back after the inspection! Weaver points to a bunch of soldiers hurrying by in formation. Z (overjoyed) Thanks! I owe you! Z skips off and joins the column, marching in time with the soldiers but too excited to keep from jazzing it up a little. INT. TOWN CENTER - NIGHT The ant army has gathered in a huge HALL in front of a reviewing stand. We can hear the murmuring of thousands of soldiers -- but all we can see is a HUGE POSTER of an ant General pointing right at the camera. The poster reads, "GENERAL FORMICA WANTS YOU -- to obey". Z turns to some of the soldiers near him. Z Any of you guys know when the Princess will show up? She's kind of a personal friend. The soldiers look at Z like he's nuts. LOUD VOICE ATTEN-SHUN! MARTIAL MUSIC sounds, and we hear thousands of ant feet as they snap to attention. Z imitates the soldiers awkwardly. GENERAL FORMICA struts to the middle 6f the screen, slapping his thigh with a swagger stick (the antenna of some unfortunate insect) FORMICA First of all, let me make one thing clear. Nobody ever won a battle by thinking for himself. All this "thinking" stuff is a load of crap. If the almighty had wanted you boys to think, he wouldn't have given you huge mandibles and a brain so small you'd misplace it if it wasn't trapped inside your head. In the audience, Z starts laughing -- he thinks Formica's just made a joke. Z (slapping his thigh) "Trapped inside your head" -- that's a good one -- Z notices nobody else is laughing. He stops. Z Geez -- tough room. From the stage, Formica is squinting at the audience, trying to make out who was laughing, but there are just too many ants. He continues. FORMICA (striding back and forth) We ants survive as a species because we do what we're told. We survive because we work together, as one, we get the job done, we do whatever it takes to persevere! (dramatic pause) Hell, we're not an army of ants...we're one giant ant, with giant fists, and giant jaws! The soldiers CHEER! Z CHEERS along with the rest of them. Z (to the soldier ant next to him) Lays it on a little thick, doesn't he? If you ask me, he's one giant bore. FORMICA Now I've heard a lot of scuttlebutt about a food shortage. Well you boys are gonna be taken care of. But in the meantime we're gonna eat the enemy for breakfast, we are gonna eat the enemy for lunch, and we are gonna eat the enemy for dinner! Z Geez, and I forgot my toothbrush. FORMICA (reflective moment) Dammit, I'm proud to be an ant. (he looks out at his army) And I know each and every one of you boys will do your duty. Dismissed. Z applauds and whistles as the other ants look at him in confusion. Z (clapping) Bravo! Bring on the Princess! COLONEL Stow the gab there, soldier! Let's move 'em out! The soldiers turn to the right and start to march out past the reviewing stand. A COLONEL marches at the head of Z's column as Z looks around for the Princess. COLONEL Eyes...left! Finally, as Z's part of the army marches past the end of the reviewing stand, he sees her, looking bored, standing next to the Queen, who is giving the royal wave. Z (waving) Princess! Princess Bala! Hey! It's me! Z! I've got your scarf! ON THE REVIEWING STAND, Bala sees Z -- that is to say, she sees one of the thousands upon thousands of ants marching by... BALA (peering out) Who is that idiot? QUEEN Darling, you must encourage the troops -- wave! Bala waves unenthusiastically, little more than flopping her hand back and forth on her wrist. Down below, Z takes this as a sign that Bala has seen him. Z (excited) Excuse me, guys -- That's my date. Well, it's been fun. Have a great war! Z tries to squeeze his way back towards the royals, but he's surrounded by a solid wall of soldiers -- and they're carrying him along with them. Z Hey! Wait! Z loses sight of the Princess as he's carried away. BARBATUS, a hard-as-nails "grunt" soldier ant, taps Z on the shoulder. BARBATUS You new, kid? Z I just joined up. But I'm quitting! I got a trial membership! BARBATUS Trial membership? Kid, when you join this ant's army, you're in for the full hitch. At that moment, Z is swept out of the cramped corridor they've been marching along, as the army emerges into the OPEN AIR outside of the colony. EXT. ANT MOUND - NIGHT It's a starry, moonlit night. The shadows crowd around the panicked Z, who looks up at the sky as we see the army on the march... Z Wait a minute, there's been a mistake! I've got to get back to the colony! Z starts to fall out of line, but Barbatus, looking concerned, stops him. BARBATUS Are you crazy, kid? They shoot deserters! Z swallows hard. BARBATUS You just stick by old Barbatus. He'll watch out for you. (off Z's look) Whatsamatter, kid? Leave a girl behind? Z Yeah. Well -- no. She's kind of playing hard to get. As a matter of fact, she's playing completely unattainable. (nervously) So, what's on the schedule? A brisk walk? a foraging expedition? BARBATUS No -- we're going to attack the termites! Z (alarmed) Attack? But -- I hate attacking! It's so hostile! Around Z and Barbatus, the ants start up a marching song, which we intersperse with dialogue between

jew

How many times the word 'jew' appears in the text?

Antz Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS "Antz", unknown draft A N T Z CHARACTERS VOICES "Z"...............................................WOODY ALLEN "WASP #1".........................................DAN AYKROYD "WASP #2".........................................JANE CURTIN "GEN. FORMICA"...................................DANNY GLOVER "MANDIBLE".......................................GENE HACKMAN "AZTECA".......................................JENNIFER LOPEZ "DRUNK SCOUT"....................................JOHN MAHONEY "WEAVER"...................................SYLVESTER STALLONE "PRINCESS BALA"..................................SHARON STONE "QUEEN"..........................................MERYL STREEP "CARPENTER"................................CHRISTOPHER WALKEN Z (O.S.) (over a dark screen) All my life, I've lived and worked in the big city... We see: EXT. AN ANT MOUND - DAY The camera swoops towards the entrance, then dives inside, past a couple of tough-looking soldier ants who stand at the gates of the ant colony like insect bouncers...into an access tunnel that snakes this way and that, past a row of ants plodding along... ...and into the MAIN CHAMBER of the colony, a huge, teeming vista that seems to stretch away forever, filled with ants rushing here and there on their business. We see -- a "traffic cop" directing foot traffic, waving his arms like crazy so both sides move at once -- a column of soldier ants marching along in formation -- a chain of ants letting down a matchbox elevator filled with workers. Z (V.O.) ...which is kind of a problem, since I've always felt uncomfortably in crowds. INT. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR'S OFFICE - DAY We join Z, a worker ant with issues. He's lying on a couch, recounting his woes. Z I feel...isolated. Different. I've got abandonment issues. My father flew away when I was just a larva. My mother didn't have much time for me...when you have five million siblings, it's difficult to get attention. (pause) I feel physically inadequate -- I've never been able to lift more than ten times my own weight. Sometimes I think I'm just not cut out to be a worker. But I don't have any other options. I was assigned to trade school when I was just a grub. The whole system just...makes me feel...insignificant. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (enthusiastic) Terrific! You should feel insignificant! For the first time, we see the ant MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR. He's a mixture of Tony Robbins and Ron Popiel (the hyperactive late-night TV huckster, and founder of "Ronco"). Z ...I should? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (hopping around enthusiastically) YES!!! You know, people ask me, "Doctor, why are you always happy?" And I tell them it's mind over matter. I don't mind that I don't matter! Do you get it? Do you get it? Z gives a fake smile. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (incredibly "up") Z, we're part of the fastest growing species in the whole world! The counsellor rolls down a chart from the wall. An arrow shows ant population going up, up, up. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Ask me why we're so successful. Z Why are we so successful? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR I'm glad you asked me that question! The motivational counsellor opens some blinds...and we see a vista of the ant-filled chamber below. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR What do you see out there? Z ...Ants... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Right! Ants! Millions of creatures, each with his assigned task, all pulling together! Down below, we see a group of ants carrying a boulder up an incline. One worker ants slips, and the boulder rolls down, crushing his leg. The other ants rush over -- it looks like they're going to help their fallen comrade, but instead, they climb right over him, and pick up the boulder, continuing with their task. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR You see? Being an ant is being able to say, "Hey -- I'm meaningless, you're meaningless." Z But -- but I've always felt life was about finding meaning...and then sharing it with someone special, someone you love. The motivational counsellor puts his arm on Z's shoulder...he seems to understand... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Z...you need help. (looking at a clock) Whoops! We're gonna have to stop there. Your minute is up! The counsellor ushers Z out of his seat and towards the door. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Now back to work! We've made real progress! Remember -- let's be best superorganism we can be! INT. EARLY MEGA-TUNNEL - DAY A gigantic tunnel, with the size and scale of the "Chunnel". A banner strung overhead reads: "The Mega-Tunnel -- Tunneling Our Way to a Bright Future!" Along the walls hang 50's work- incentive style posters with messages like, "You asked for it, you got it -- more work!" and "TWO MEALS A WEEK IS ENOUGH!!!" Line after line of ants is working on the tunnel, digging, passing clumps of dirt from ant to ant, everyone synchronized. CLOSE on a clump of DIRT being passed from hand to hand. PULL OUT TO REVEAL AZTECA, a feisty, cynical, female worker ant, who stands there, waiting to pass the dirt on. Z is daydreaming behind her, with clumps of dirt starting to pile up in front of him. AZTECA Hello?! Earth to Z! You better snap out of it, or there's gonna be a lot of pissed off ants! Z looks back, and sees the ants behind staring at him angrily. Z (snapping out of it) Sorry Azteca. Here you go, fellas! Fresh dirt! Alley oop! (looking at the dirt) Shouldn't we be wearing gloves? I mean this dirt is very...dirty. Doesn't anyone think of hygiene? (Z's stomach growls) Boy am I hungry. I'm so hungry I'm seeing double. It looks like there's two million ants in here. When's lunch? Tomorrow, or the day after? AZTECA (sweetly) Z, old pal... (shouts) SHUT UP!!! It's bad enough there's a food shortage without you complaining about it every day. Z The squeaky wheel gets the oil. AZTECA No, Z. The squeaky wheel gets thrown away, alright? You're a good ant, Z, even though you are a pain in my rear- segment. I don't wanna see anything happen to you. So quit mouthing off, before you get in trouble. A WHISTLE BLOWS. Z Thank goodness. Breaktime. All the ants put down their tools. A beat. Then the WHISTLE BLOWS AGAIN. All the ants pick up their tools again. AZTECA (resigned) Break's over. Z (getting back to work) This colony needs another tunnel like a hole in the ground. Why are we even digging this thing? AZTECA Who cares, Z. All I know is, we gotta dig. We're not the ones in charge. INT. TOWN CENTER - DAY The huge, spacious main chamber of the colony. Looming over the scene is the royal palace, which seems to be inaccessible, perched on top of a hill-like pedestal. Around the base of the pedestal, a crew of workers loiters, seemingly aimlessly...can these be the only unemployed ants in the place? GENERAL FORMICA STAIRS! The workers look up and GROAN. Then they start forming a stairway with their own bodies, linking arms, stepping on each other's shoulders. It's extremely unpleasant work. One ant is a little tardy, and just manages to get in place before... GENERAL FORMICA, the Pattonesque military leader of the colony, STEPS ON HIS HEAD, using it as the first step as he ascends to the palace, his aide-de-camp Carpenter in tow. As Formica mounts the "stairs" we can hear the workers going, "OUCH! OOF! YIKES!" etc. GENERAL FORMICA Cut the chit-chat down there! (turning to Carpenter) We've spoiled these workers, Carpenter. They've never had it so good, and listen to them -- always grumbling and complaining... Formica steps on the foot of one of the "stairway" ants, who muffles a yelp. CARPENTER ...Yes, sir. GENERAL FORMICA What have they got to complain about? Three square meals a day... CARPENTER Actually, sir, we've cut them down to three roughly rectangular meals a week. FORMICA Don't give me statistics, Carpenter. I know what I'm talking about. DOORS! Formica and Carpenter have reached the top of the staircase. There, the two guard ants on either side of the massive throne room doors pull them open -- and one door hinge SQUEAKS. FORMICA (to guard ant, while passing) Oil that, soldier. INT. THRONE ROOM - DAY The QUEEN is on her throne, her huge abdomen sprawled behind her. QUEEN Ah! General Formica. Formica salutes and marches to her, Carpenter behind him. Note: Throughout this scene, the Queen is giving birth repeatedly. Each birth is accompanied by a herald playing a short "Happy Birthday" fanfare on his trumpet. Mid-wife ants bring each baby to the Queen for inspection, who COOS a few words. The midwives put the babies on a moving bassinet- line, powered by ants on a treadmill. QUEEN General, the severe food shortage that faces the colony...pains me. The thought of any of my children going hungry... (she shudders; then, to baby) Who's the cutest widdle worker? You are! Yes, you! Don't forget to brush your teeth! (to mid-wife) Ship 'er out. (back to Formica) What steps are you taking to remedy the situation? FORMICA We are launching a major offensive to expand our foraging territory... QUEEN Yes, what else? FORMICA Please don't worry, your majesty. Leave the worrying to me. As you know, I'm not an ant of half- measures. I don't pussyfoot around. This crisis is my number one priority, and I promise you it's being dealt with swiftly, and decisively. The Queen's attention is interrupted by another baby being put in her arms. QUEEN (to baby) No snacking between meals! Off you go! (to Formica) Now -- what were we saying? FORMICA (Oliver North-style) I do not recollect, your majesty. Will that be all? QUEEN Yes, General Formica. Carry on, my good man! I don't know what we would do without you. Formica clicks his heels and bows his head. Carpenter bows low. Formica smartly about faces -- BALA (O.S.) General Formica! PRINCESS BALA hurries through a second doorway, carrying a swatch book. Something about her sets her apart from the HANDMAIDEN ANTS with her. Her tiara, probably. Formica tilts his head quizzically to Carpenter behind him. CARPENTER (sotto) Princess Bala, sir. Your fiancee. FORMICA Princess! You look -- outstanding. Is there anything I can do for you? BALA Well -- I thought -- since we're getting married...it might be nice if we...got to know one another. Formica looks confused. QUEEN Bala has always been a hopeless romantic, General. BALA It's just that -- well, I'm honored that you selected me, and everything, I just thought the marriage might go a little more smoothly if -- we had a conversation? FORMICA (uncomfortable) Conversation...yes...well... (to Carpenter) Wasn't she briefed? QUEEN (holding up a baby) Look, General! A darling baby soldier! (emotionally, to baby) Don't try to be a hero! Just make sure you come back in one piece! (handing it off) Next! FORMICA (using the interruption) I'll take your suggestion under advisement, Princess. In the meanwhile -- Formica turns to go. BALA General -- we have to talk sometime! FORMICA Very well. Carpenter, is there a convenient time to talk vis-a-vis: relationship? CARPENTER Actually, sir, we're ahead of schedule. We have thirty-six seconds available right now. FORMICA Outstanding. Princess...? Bala's a little fazed...but grabs her chance. BALA So, um...how was your day? What did you do? FORMICA (scouring his mind) Well... (that's it!) I declared war! BALA (sadly) Oh...and I was afraid we had nothing in common... CARPENTER (under his breath) Fourteen-fifty hours, sir. FORMICA Duty calls! He strides across the floor. Bala watches him go, her antennae drooping unhappily. FORMICA No squeak. Outstanding! We see through the now-open doors into the throne-room as Formica and Carpenter double-time out of the frame. The Queen sees that Bala is unhappy. QUEEN (sympathetically) I felt the same way before I got married. Confused. Scared. BALA (hopefully) You did? QUEEN Yes -- but I did my duty and sorted out all those messy feelings. The wonderful thing about ant life is that everything is arranged. Even marriage. You're lucky -- General Formica is a paragon of anthood. BALA (unconvinced) Yes...he's wonderful... The doors swing shut on them -- revealing the two guard ants who were CRUSHED in the wake of Formica's exit. INT. BALA'S QUARTERS - DAY Bala enters, followed by her handmaidens, who are in a state of giggling infatuation over Formica. Bala is scowling as she leafs through a wedding catalogue. HANDMAIDEN #1 (swooning over General Formica) The General's body segments are so...symmetrical. HANDMAIDEN #2 (giggling) I'd let him order me into battle anyday. Bala hurls the swatch book against the wall. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess? What's wrong? BALA Wrong? How could anything be wrong? I'm going to marry General Formica and be a queen and have millions of babies, just like my mom. (concerned) Do I look fat to you? HANDMAIDEN #2 (knowingly, to Handmaiden #2) Pre-wedding jitters. HANDMAIDEN #1 You just need to blow off some steam. Let's go to the bar at the Royal Club! BALA The Club's so stuffy. I want to try someplace different. HANDMAIDEN #2 There isn't anyplace else -- (making a joke) Except the worker bar. BALA The worker bar! Yes! That's where I want to go! The handmaidens look shocked. HANDMAIDEN #1 But -- we can't -- there'll be workers there. INT. ANT BAR - NIGHT A long bar filled with ants. The bar itself seems to stretch for miles, and there are hundreds of ants trying to get a drink...unfortunately, there's only one bartender. Z is at the bar with WEAVER, a burly ant soldier. Z We declared war again? (off Weaver's nod) Are you scared? WEAVER (shrugs) I'll be back. The BARTENDER, a grizzled veteran, slaps down what looks like a couple of large green beer mugs. Actually, they're aphids, little green critters he fills up from a number of kegs hanging from the ceiling. The kegs are specialized ants with hugely distended stomachs, which spray liquid into the aphids. APHIDS (as they're slapped on bar) Ouch! Ouch! BARTENDER Two aphid beers. Z (as Bartender leaves) Did you see that? How he gave you the beers, not me? I'm telling you, he's got something against workers. WEAVER I don't know what you're talking about, Z. Z Come on -- everybody dumps on us workers. You soldiers get all the glory. Plus you get to go out into the world, meet interesting insects, and kill them. WEAVER Yeah, but you get to spend all day with those fabulous worker babes. We can see that Weaver is eyeing a nearby table of "Worker Babes", including Z's friend Azteca. Z Weaver, they're career girls. They're obsessed with digging. (sighs) No, I'll probably never meet the girl for me. WEAVER Who said there was a girl for you? I was talking about a girl for me. (quaffing his aphid beer) Don't you want your aphid beer? Z I can't help it. I have a thing about drinking from the anus of another creature. Call me crazy. WEAVER Z, we've known each other a long time, right? Z Of course. You were born two seconds after me. WEAVER And all the time I've known you, you've been grumping and groaning. You should quit making waves. Go with the flow. Z Weaver, I'm an insect, not a liquid. Down the bar, there's a commotion. A grizzled old SCOUT ant has had too much to drink. DRUNK SCOUT Have you been to Insectopia? Have you? No, ya goddam larvas! But I have... (becoming emotional) ...Mosquitos n' caterpillars n' beetles -- all livin' in peace, stuffin their guts with food...No rules, no regulations...you can be your own ant there... (howling drunkenly) It's Insectopia! Insectopia! Z Hey, Weaver, listen! DRUNK SCOUT I was cut off from my unit -- found it by mistake -- (slurring) It changed my life! (spraying another soldier with saliva) You see -- ya follow the great yellow egg, and you come to the land of red and white -- SOLDIERS You've had enough for one night! Come on, Gramps, before you get in trouble. The soldiers pull him from the bar, carrying him out. Z (excited) Hey, did you hear what he said?! WEAVER Poor guy's had one too many scouting missions. MUSIC STARTS UP. INT. ANT BAR ENTRANCE - NIGHT Princess Bala is peering in at the entrance to the ant bar, accompanied by her worried-looking handmaidens. HANDMAIDEN #2 We shouldn't be doing this -- it isn't proper! BALA I'm the Princess, aren't I? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course -- BALA And do Princesses do improper things? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course not -- BALA Then if I go to the worker bar, it isn't improper. Anyway, don't worry. No one will recognize us in our disguises. She adjusts her "disguise", a hardhat, tied down Jackie O.- style with an ant's version of a Chanel scarf. BALA I'm just a common worker, cooling off after a rough day! Music starts. An ant BARKER takes the mic at one end of the dance floor. BARKER (on loudspeaker) Okay, folks. It's six-fifteen, and that means it's time to dance. Every ant gets up to dance. Weaver turns to Z. WEAVER (draining his beer) Time to cut a rug, Z! Z I'm not in the mood. (disgusted) Even when they're off work, they follow orders. WEAVER Well, you just sit here and be a party-pooper. Weaver joins the rest of the ants who are lining up for the dance. The Barker calls out the steps in a bored monotone -- all the ants already know the steps. Everyone dances in perfect synch. BARKER (southern twang) And a left-right-quarterstep-back step-halfstep -- a left-right- quarterstep-backstep-halfstep -- a left-right-quarterstep-backstep halfstep -- AT THE ENTRANCE, Bala smiles mischievously at her handmaidens. BALA I'm going to ask one of these mindless, primitive worker-types to dance with me! HANDMAIDEN #1 But General Formica would be furious! BALA (enjoying the idea) I know. The handmaidens are appalled. Bala whirls away from them, sets her sights and searches the crowd -- zeroing in on -- Z, who's watching the other ants dance. Z What a bunch of losers. Mindless zombies capitulating to an oppressive system -- BALA Wanna dance? Bala's standing right there. Z is instantly smitten. Z Me?! Yes!!! I mean -- (regaining suavosity) Just let me finish my beer. Not breaking eye contact with Bala, Z smiles suavely. Reaches suavely for a beer. Suavely grabs the candle in a glass jar off the bar. Suavely singes his face. He plays it off with a rakish little laugh. A bit apprehensive, Bala heads onto the floor. Z follows her. Z So uh -- how come I haven't seen you around here before? BALA (covering up) I work in the palace, I don't get out much. Z The palace, hunh? I bet those royals really live it up. Of course they're all a little, you know, from inbreeding -- BALA (shocked) What? Z and Bala step onto the dance floor with the rest of the ants, but Z can't do any of the steps. Z Now, let's see, I -- it's been a while since I -- I think you -- Bala watches Z, trying to follow along. It's the blind leading the blind, as Z tries in vain to follow the barker's rapid instructions. Z Here, I'll lead. Z starts doing his own, individual dance. With a suave expression on his face, he leads Bala in a helter-skelter mixture-of Tango, Charleston, and hand-jive. BALA Are you sure this is a real dance? Z Well, actually, uh -- I'm sort of making it up -- BALA (surprised) Really? Z Why should everyone dance the same way? It's as exciting as watching fungus grow. BALA You're right! Z (surprised) You -- you think I'm right? BALA Why can't I just do whatever I want to do? Why can't I just go wild?! Yahoo! Bala starts to get into it, making up her own steps in reply to Z's, loosening up, having fun. For a moment, the two of them are actually sexy together. Then they get a little too wild -- and the other ants, who are still doing their intricate dance, start to collide with Bala and Z. Z almost knocks over a big soldier ant. We can only see the ant's back at the moment. SOLDIER Hey! Watch your step, worker. Z has turned around to see the soldier ant, MAJOR MANDIBLE, glaring at him. Mandible is about twice Z's size. He's got one eye missing, and half of his left antenna his been chewed off. BALA You watch yours, soldier, or my worker friend will beat you up! Z (terrified) Oh, that's okay, I'll let him off this time. (whispering to Bala) Are you crazy? This guy's built like a pebble! (ineptly trying to placate the soldier) You know they do great prosthetic antennas nowadays -- BALA Aren't you gonna stand up for yourself? Z's caught between a rock and a hard place. He doesn't want to get beaten up, but on the other hand, he doesn't want to lose face in front of Bala. More soldiers have gathered around, looking hostile. SOLDIER How come you don't dance like the rest of us? Z glances over at Bala. Then, shaking with nervousness, he says defiantly... Z Because -- because I'm an individual! SOLDIER #2 An individual? Never heard of it. MANDIBLE You look like a worker to me. WEAVER Hey, lay off my little buddy! Z, meanwhile, looks far away, ecstatic, as if he's just realized something very important. Unfortunately, just at this moment, A soldier pushes Weaver...Weaver pushes him back...somebody makes a dive for Z -- and before you know it, there's a regular bar brawl going on, with Weaver in the middle of it, cracking heads together, punching ants in the face, having a great time. Just then, the Princess' handmaidens hurries over. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess Bala! Princess Bala! Z, who's scrabbling around on the floor, overhears. Z Princess? You're a Princess? HANDMAIDEN #2 The police are coming! BALA Uh oh. (to Z) Goodbye! Gotta run! Z Wait! When can I see you again? BALA Let me think. Hmmnn... (thinks) Never. Bye! Bala rushes off with her handmaiden, just before a squad of whistle-blowing POLICE wade into the crowd. Z Wait! Princess! Wait! But she's already gone, leaving Z holding her scarf. CUT TO: INT. DORMITORY - THE NEXT DAY Z is talking to Weaver, who's getting ready to go off to war. Nearby, columns of ant soldiers march by. WEAVER Get real, Z! She just dropped the scarf by accident! Z Are you kidding? There were sparks between us! This scarf is a sign! WEAVER It's a sign that you're crazy! Do you know what the penalty for impersonating a soldier is? Z What's gonna go wrong?! I take your place for the royal inspection. Bala comes strolling down the line, she sees me -- bingo! Love is rekindled, and she takes me up to the palace for a little... (wags his eyebrows suggestively) tea and crumpets... and you take your place again, and go march around to your heart's content! Weaver looks unconvinced. Z You have to help me. Please, Weaver. Think of all the things I've done for you! WEAVER (thinks) I can't think of any. Z (pause) Well I'm gonna start doing things for you... WEAVER Will you introduce me to some worker girls? Z You bet! They'll really go for a sensitive guy like you! WEAVER Maybe I'll get lucky. (Weaver thinks about it) You know, Z, I wouldn't do this for anyone but you... Weaver hands Z has helmet. WEAVER Wear this. Z (overjoyed) You're a real buddy. WEAVER (sourly) Yeah, I know. Z What do I do? WEAVER Don't tell anyone you're a worker. Follow that column over there. And come right back after the inspection! Weaver points to a bunch of soldiers hurrying by in formation. Z (overjoyed) Thanks! I owe you! Z skips off and joins the column, marching in time with the soldiers but too excited to keep from jazzing it up a little. INT. TOWN CENTER - NIGHT The ant army has gathered in a huge HALL in front of a reviewing stand. We can hear the murmuring of thousands of soldiers -- but all we can see is a HUGE POSTER of an ant General pointing right at the camera. The poster reads, "GENERAL FORMICA WANTS YOU -- to obey". Z turns to some of the soldiers near him. Z Any of you guys know when the Princess will show up? She's kind of a personal friend. The soldiers look at Z like he's nuts. LOUD VOICE ATTEN-SHUN! MARTIAL MUSIC sounds, and we hear thousands of ant feet as they snap to attention. Z imitates the soldiers awkwardly. GENERAL FORMICA struts to the middle 6f the screen, slapping his thigh with a swagger stick (the antenna of some unfortunate insect) FORMICA First of all, let me make one thing clear. Nobody ever won a battle by thinking for himself. All this "thinking" stuff is a load of crap. If the almighty had wanted you boys to think, he wouldn't have given you huge mandibles and a brain so small you'd misplace it if it wasn't trapped inside your head. In the audience, Z starts laughing -- he thinks Formica's just made a joke. Z (slapping his thigh) "Trapped inside your head" -- that's a good one -- Z notices nobody else is laughing. He stops. Z Geez -- tough room. From the stage, Formica is squinting at the audience, trying to make out who was laughing, but there are just too many ants. He continues. FORMICA (striding back and forth) We ants survive as a species because we do what we're told. We survive because we work together, as one, we get the job done, we do whatever it takes to persevere! (dramatic pause) Hell, we're not an army of ants...we're one giant ant, with giant fists, and giant jaws! The soldiers CHEER! Z CHEERS along with the rest of them. Z (to the soldier ant next to him) Lays it on a little thick, doesn't he? If you ask me, he's one giant bore. FORMICA Now I've heard a lot of scuttlebutt about a food shortage. Well you boys are gonna be taken care of. But in the meantime we're gonna eat the enemy for breakfast, we are gonna eat the enemy for lunch, and we are gonna eat the enemy for dinner! Z Geez, and I forgot my toothbrush. FORMICA (reflective moment) Dammit, I'm proud to be an ant. (he looks out at his army) And I know each and every one of you boys will do your duty. Dismissed. Z applauds and whistles as the other ants look at him in confusion. Z (clapping) Bravo! Bring on the Princess! COLONEL Stow the gab there, soldier! Let's move 'em out! The soldiers turn to the right and start to march out past the reviewing stand. A COLONEL marches at the head of Z's column as Z looks around for the Princess. COLONEL Eyes...left! Finally, as Z's part of the army marches past the end of the reviewing stand, he sees her, looking bored, standing next to the Queen, who is giving the royal wave. Z (waving) Princess! Princess Bala! Hey! It's me! Z! I've got your scarf! ON THE REVIEWING STAND, Bala sees Z -- that is to say, she sees one of the thousands upon thousands of ants marching by... BALA (peering out) Who is that idiot? QUEEN Darling, you must encourage the troops -- wave! Bala waves unenthusiastically, little more than flopping her hand back and forth on her wrist. Down below, Z takes this as a sign that Bala has seen him. Z (excited) Excuse me, guys -- That's my date. Well, it's been fun. Have a great war! Z tries to squeeze his way back towards the royals, but he's surrounded by a solid wall of soldiers -- and they're carrying him along with them. Z Hey! Wait! Z loses sight of the Princess as he's carried away. BARBATUS, a hard-as-nails "grunt" soldier ant, taps Z on the shoulder. BARBATUS You new, kid? Z I just joined up. But I'm quitting! I got a trial membership! BARBATUS Trial membership? Kid, when you join this ant's army, you're in for the full hitch. At that moment, Z is swept out of the cramped corridor they've been marching along, as the army emerges into the OPEN AIR outside of the colony. EXT. ANT MOUND - NIGHT It's a starry, moonlit night. The shadows crowd around the panicked Z, who looks up at the sky as we see the army on the march... Z Wait a minute, there's been a mistake! I've got to get back to the colony! Z starts to fall out of line, but Barbatus, looking concerned, stops him. BARBATUS Are you crazy, kid? They shoot deserters! Z swallows hard. BARBATUS You just stick by old Barbatus. He'll watch out for you. (off Z's look) Whatsamatter, kid? Leave a girl behind? Z Yeah. Well -- no. She's kind of playing hard to get. As a matter of fact, she's playing completely unattainable. (nervously) So, what's on the schedule? A brisk walk? a foraging expedition? BARBATUS No -- we're going to attack the termites! Z (alarmed) Attack? But -- I hate attacking! It's so hostile! Around Z and Barbatus, the ants start up a marching song, which we intersperse with dialogue between

possible

How many times the word 'possible' appears in the text?

Antz Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS "Antz", unknown draft A N T Z CHARACTERS VOICES "Z"...............................................WOODY ALLEN "WASP #1".........................................DAN AYKROYD "WASP #2".........................................JANE CURTIN "GEN. FORMICA"...................................DANNY GLOVER "MANDIBLE".......................................GENE HACKMAN "AZTECA".......................................JENNIFER LOPEZ "DRUNK SCOUT"....................................JOHN MAHONEY "WEAVER"...................................SYLVESTER STALLONE "PRINCESS BALA"..................................SHARON STONE "QUEEN"..........................................MERYL STREEP "CARPENTER"................................CHRISTOPHER WALKEN Z (O.S.) (over a dark screen) All my life, I've lived and worked in the big city... We see: EXT. AN ANT MOUND - DAY The camera swoops towards the entrance, then dives inside, past a couple of tough-looking soldier ants who stand at the gates of the ant colony like insect bouncers...into an access tunnel that snakes this way and that, past a row of ants plodding along... ...and into the MAIN CHAMBER of the colony, a huge, teeming vista that seems to stretch away forever, filled with ants rushing here and there on their business. We see -- a "traffic cop" directing foot traffic, waving his arms like crazy so both sides move at once -- a column of soldier ants marching along in formation -- a chain of ants letting down a matchbox elevator filled with workers. Z (V.O.) ...which is kind of a problem, since I've always felt uncomfortably in crowds. INT. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR'S OFFICE - DAY We join Z, a worker ant with issues. He's lying on a couch, recounting his woes. Z I feel...isolated. Different. I've got abandonment issues. My father flew away when I was just a larva. My mother didn't have much time for me...when you have five million siblings, it's difficult to get attention. (pause) I feel physically inadequate -- I've never been able to lift more than ten times my own weight. Sometimes I think I'm just not cut out to be a worker. But I don't have any other options. I was assigned to trade school when I was just a grub. The whole system just...makes me feel...insignificant. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (enthusiastic) Terrific! You should feel insignificant! For the first time, we see the ant MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR. He's a mixture of Tony Robbins and Ron Popiel (the hyperactive late-night TV huckster, and founder of "Ronco"). Z ...I should? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (hopping around enthusiastically) YES!!! You know, people ask me, "Doctor, why are you always happy?" And I tell them it's mind over matter. I don't mind that I don't matter! Do you get it? Do you get it? Z gives a fake smile. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (incredibly "up") Z, we're part of the fastest growing species in the whole world! The counsellor rolls down a chart from the wall. An arrow shows ant population going up, up, up. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Ask me why we're so successful. Z Why are we so successful? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR I'm glad you asked me that question! The motivational counsellor opens some blinds...and we see a vista of the ant-filled chamber below. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR What do you see out there? Z ...Ants... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Right! Ants! Millions of creatures, each with his assigned task, all pulling together! Down below, we see a group of ants carrying a boulder up an incline. One worker ants slips, and the boulder rolls down, crushing his leg. The other ants rush over -- it looks like they're going to help their fallen comrade, but instead, they climb right over him, and pick up the boulder, continuing with their task. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR You see? Being an ant is being able to say, "Hey -- I'm meaningless, you're meaningless." Z But -- but I've always felt life was about finding meaning...and then sharing it with someone special, someone you love. The motivational counsellor puts his arm on Z's shoulder...he seems to understand... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Z...you need help. (looking at a clock) Whoops! We're gonna have to stop there. Your minute is up! The counsellor ushers Z out of his seat and towards the door. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Now back to work! We've made real progress! Remember -- let's be best superorganism we can be! INT. EARLY MEGA-TUNNEL - DAY A gigantic tunnel, with the size and scale of the "Chunnel". A banner strung overhead reads: "The Mega-Tunnel -- Tunneling Our Way to a Bright Future!" Along the walls hang 50's work- incentive style posters with messages like, "You asked for it, you got it -- more work!" and "TWO MEALS A WEEK IS ENOUGH!!!" Line after line of ants is working on the tunnel, digging, passing clumps of dirt from ant to ant, everyone synchronized. CLOSE on a clump of DIRT being passed from hand to hand. PULL OUT TO REVEAL AZTECA, a feisty, cynical, female worker ant, who stands there, waiting to pass the dirt on. Z is daydreaming behind her, with clumps of dirt starting to pile up in front of him. AZTECA Hello?! Earth to Z! You better snap out of it, or there's gonna be a lot of pissed off ants! Z looks back, and sees the ants behind staring at him angrily. Z (snapping out of it) Sorry Azteca. Here you go, fellas! Fresh dirt! Alley oop! (looking at the dirt) Shouldn't we be wearing gloves? I mean this dirt is very...dirty. Doesn't anyone think of hygiene? (Z's stomach growls) Boy am I hungry. I'm so hungry I'm seeing double. It looks like there's two million ants in here. When's lunch? Tomorrow, or the day after? AZTECA (sweetly) Z, old pal... (shouts) SHUT UP!!! It's bad enough there's a food shortage without you complaining about it every day. Z The squeaky wheel gets the oil. AZTECA No, Z. The squeaky wheel gets thrown away, alright? You're a good ant, Z, even though you are a pain in my rear- segment. I don't wanna see anything happen to you. So quit mouthing off, before you get in trouble. A WHISTLE BLOWS. Z Thank goodness. Breaktime. All the ants put down their tools. A beat. Then the WHISTLE BLOWS AGAIN. All the ants pick up their tools again. AZTECA (resigned) Break's over. Z (getting back to work) This colony needs another tunnel like a hole in the ground. Why are we even digging this thing? AZTECA Who cares, Z. All I know is, we gotta dig. We're not the ones in charge. INT. TOWN CENTER - DAY The huge, spacious main chamber of the colony. Looming over the scene is the royal palace, which seems to be inaccessible, perched on top of a hill-like pedestal. Around the base of the pedestal, a crew of workers loiters, seemingly aimlessly...can these be the only unemployed ants in the place? GENERAL FORMICA STAIRS! The workers look up and GROAN. Then they start forming a stairway with their own bodies, linking arms, stepping on each other's shoulders. It's extremely unpleasant work. One ant is a little tardy, and just manages to get in place before... GENERAL FORMICA, the Pattonesque military leader of the colony, STEPS ON HIS HEAD, using it as the first step as he ascends to the palace, his aide-de-camp Carpenter in tow. As Formica mounts the "stairs" we can hear the workers going, "OUCH! OOF! YIKES!" etc. GENERAL FORMICA Cut the chit-chat down there! (turning to Carpenter) We've spoiled these workers, Carpenter. They've never had it so good, and listen to them -- always grumbling and complaining... Formica steps on the foot of one of the "stairway" ants, who muffles a yelp. CARPENTER ...Yes, sir. GENERAL FORMICA What have they got to complain about? Three square meals a day... CARPENTER Actually, sir, we've cut them down to three roughly rectangular meals a week. FORMICA Don't give me statistics, Carpenter. I know what I'm talking about. DOORS! Formica and Carpenter have reached the top of the staircase. There, the two guard ants on either side of the massive throne room doors pull them open -- and one door hinge SQUEAKS. FORMICA (to guard ant, while passing) Oil that, soldier. INT. THRONE ROOM - DAY The QUEEN is on her throne, her huge abdomen sprawled behind her. QUEEN Ah! General Formica. Formica salutes and marches to her, Carpenter behind him. Note: Throughout this scene, the Queen is giving birth repeatedly. Each birth is accompanied by a herald playing a short "Happy Birthday" fanfare on his trumpet. Mid-wife ants bring each baby to the Queen for inspection, who COOS a few words. The midwives put the babies on a moving bassinet- line, powered by ants on a treadmill. QUEEN General, the severe food shortage that faces the colony...pains me. The thought of any of my children going hungry... (she shudders; then, to baby) Who's the cutest widdle worker? You are! Yes, you! Don't forget to brush your teeth! (to mid-wife) Ship 'er out. (back to Formica) What steps are you taking to remedy the situation? FORMICA We are launching a major offensive to expand our foraging territory... QUEEN Yes, what else? FORMICA Please don't worry, your majesty. Leave the worrying to me. As you know, I'm not an ant of half- measures. I don't pussyfoot around. This crisis is my number one priority, and I promise you it's being dealt with swiftly, and decisively. The Queen's attention is interrupted by another baby being put in her arms. QUEEN (to baby) No snacking between meals! Off you go! (to Formica) Now -- what were we saying? FORMICA (Oliver North-style) I do not recollect, your majesty. Will that be all? QUEEN Yes, General Formica. Carry on, my good man! I don't know what we would do without you. Formica clicks his heels and bows his head. Carpenter bows low. Formica smartly about faces -- BALA (O.S.) General Formica! PRINCESS BALA hurries through a second doorway, carrying a swatch book. Something about her sets her apart from the HANDMAIDEN ANTS with her. Her tiara, probably. Formica tilts his head quizzically to Carpenter behind him. CARPENTER (sotto) Princess Bala, sir. Your fiancee. FORMICA Princess! You look -- outstanding. Is there anything I can do for you? BALA Well -- I thought -- since we're getting married...it might be nice if we...got to know one another. Formica looks confused. QUEEN Bala has always been a hopeless romantic, General. BALA It's just that -- well, I'm honored that you selected me, and everything, I just thought the marriage might go a little more smoothly if -- we had a conversation? FORMICA (uncomfortable) Conversation...yes...well... (to Carpenter) Wasn't she briefed? QUEEN (holding up a baby) Look, General! A darling baby soldier! (emotionally, to baby) Don't try to be a hero! Just make sure you come back in one piece! (handing it off) Next! FORMICA (using the interruption) I'll take your suggestion under advisement, Princess. In the meanwhile -- Formica turns to go. BALA General -- we have to talk sometime! FORMICA Very well. Carpenter, is there a convenient time to talk vis-a-vis: relationship? CARPENTER Actually, sir, we're ahead of schedule. We have thirty-six seconds available right now. FORMICA Outstanding. Princess...? Bala's a little fazed...but grabs her chance. BALA So, um...how was your day? What did you do? FORMICA (scouring his mind) Well... (that's it!) I declared war! BALA (sadly) Oh...and I was afraid we had nothing in common... CARPENTER (under his breath) Fourteen-fifty hours, sir. FORMICA Duty calls! He strides across the floor. Bala watches him go, her antennae drooping unhappily. FORMICA No squeak. Outstanding! We see through the now-open doors into the throne-room as Formica and Carpenter double-time out of the frame. The Queen sees that Bala is unhappy. QUEEN (sympathetically) I felt the same way before I got married. Confused. Scared. BALA (hopefully) You did? QUEEN Yes -- but I did my duty and sorted out all those messy feelings. The wonderful thing about ant life is that everything is arranged. Even marriage. You're lucky -- General Formica is a paragon of anthood. BALA (unconvinced) Yes...he's wonderful... The doors swing shut on them -- revealing the two guard ants who were CRUSHED in the wake of Formica's exit. INT. BALA'S QUARTERS - DAY Bala enters, followed by her handmaidens, who are in a state of giggling infatuation over Formica. Bala is scowling as she leafs through a wedding catalogue. HANDMAIDEN #1 (swooning over General Formica) The General's body segments are so...symmetrical. HANDMAIDEN #2 (giggling) I'd let him order me into battle anyday. Bala hurls the swatch book against the wall. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess? What's wrong? BALA Wrong? How could anything be wrong? I'm going to marry General Formica and be a queen and have millions of babies, just like my mom. (concerned) Do I look fat to you? HANDMAIDEN #2 (knowingly, to Handmaiden #2) Pre-wedding jitters. HANDMAIDEN #1 You just need to blow off some steam. Let's go to the bar at the Royal Club! BALA The Club's so stuffy. I want to try someplace different. HANDMAIDEN #2 There isn't anyplace else -- (making a joke) Except the worker bar. BALA The worker bar! Yes! That's where I want to go! The handmaidens look shocked. HANDMAIDEN #1 But -- we can't -- there'll be workers there. INT. ANT BAR - NIGHT A long bar filled with ants. The bar itself seems to stretch for miles, and there are hundreds of ants trying to get a drink...unfortunately, there's only one bartender. Z is at the bar with WEAVER, a burly ant soldier. Z We declared war again? (off Weaver's nod) Are you scared? WEAVER (shrugs) I'll be back. The BARTENDER, a grizzled veteran, slaps down what looks like a couple of large green beer mugs. Actually, they're aphids, little green critters he fills up from a number of kegs hanging from the ceiling. The kegs are specialized ants with hugely distended stomachs, which spray liquid into the aphids. APHIDS (as they're slapped on bar) Ouch! Ouch! BARTENDER Two aphid beers. Z (as Bartender leaves) Did you see that? How he gave you the beers, not me? I'm telling you, he's got something against workers. WEAVER I don't know what you're talking about, Z. Z Come on -- everybody dumps on us workers. You soldiers get all the glory. Plus you get to go out into the world, meet interesting insects, and kill them. WEAVER Yeah, but you get to spend all day with those fabulous worker babes. We can see that Weaver is eyeing a nearby table of "Worker Babes", including Z's friend Azteca. Z Weaver, they're career girls. They're obsessed with digging. (sighs) No, I'll probably never meet the girl for me. WEAVER Who said there was a girl for you? I was talking about a girl for me. (quaffing his aphid beer) Don't you want your aphid beer? Z I can't help it. I have a thing about drinking from the anus of another creature. Call me crazy. WEAVER Z, we've known each other a long time, right? Z Of course. You were born two seconds after me. WEAVER And all the time I've known you, you've been grumping and groaning. You should quit making waves. Go with the flow. Z Weaver, I'm an insect, not a liquid. Down the bar, there's a commotion. A grizzled old SCOUT ant has had too much to drink. DRUNK SCOUT Have you been to Insectopia? Have you? No, ya goddam larvas! But I have... (becoming emotional) ...Mosquitos n' caterpillars n' beetles -- all livin' in peace, stuffin their guts with food...No rules, no regulations...you can be your own ant there... (howling drunkenly) It's Insectopia! Insectopia! Z Hey, Weaver, listen! DRUNK SCOUT I was cut off from my unit -- found it by mistake -- (slurring) It changed my life! (spraying another soldier with saliva) You see -- ya follow the great yellow egg, and you come to the land of red and white -- SOLDIERS You've had enough for one night! Come on, Gramps, before you get in trouble. The soldiers pull him from the bar, carrying him out. Z (excited) Hey, did you hear what he said?! WEAVER Poor guy's had one too many scouting missions. MUSIC STARTS UP. INT. ANT BAR ENTRANCE - NIGHT Princess Bala is peering in at the entrance to the ant bar, accompanied by her worried-looking handmaidens. HANDMAIDEN #2 We shouldn't be doing this -- it isn't proper! BALA I'm the Princess, aren't I? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course -- BALA And do Princesses do improper things? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course not -- BALA Then if I go to the worker bar, it isn't improper. Anyway, don't worry. No one will recognize us in our disguises. She adjusts her "disguise", a hardhat, tied down Jackie O.- style with an ant's version of a Chanel scarf. BALA I'm just a common worker, cooling off after a rough day! Music starts. An ant BARKER takes the mic at one end of the dance floor. BARKER (on loudspeaker) Okay, folks. It's six-fifteen, and that means it's time to dance. Every ant gets up to dance. Weaver turns to Z. WEAVER (draining his beer) Time to cut a rug, Z! Z I'm not in the mood. (disgusted) Even when they're off work, they follow orders. WEAVER Well, you just sit here and be a party-pooper. Weaver joins the rest of the ants who are lining up for the dance. The Barker calls out the steps in a bored monotone -- all the ants already know the steps. Everyone dances in perfect synch. BARKER (southern twang) And a left-right-quarterstep-back step-halfstep -- a left-right- quarterstep-backstep-halfstep -- a left-right-quarterstep-backstep halfstep -- AT THE ENTRANCE, Bala smiles mischievously at her handmaidens. BALA I'm going to ask one of these mindless, primitive worker-types to dance with me! HANDMAIDEN #1 But General Formica would be furious! BALA (enjoying the idea) I know. The handmaidens are appalled. Bala whirls away from them, sets her sights and searches the crowd -- zeroing in on -- Z, who's watching the other ants dance. Z What a bunch of losers. Mindless zombies capitulating to an oppressive system -- BALA Wanna dance? Bala's standing right there. Z is instantly smitten. Z Me?! Yes!!! I mean -- (regaining suavosity) Just let me finish my beer. Not breaking eye contact with Bala, Z smiles suavely. Reaches suavely for a beer. Suavely grabs the candle in a glass jar off the bar. Suavely singes his face. He plays it off with a rakish little laugh. A bit apprehensive, Bala heads onto the floor. Z follows her. Z So uh -- how come I haven't seen you around here before? BALA (covering up) I work in the palace, I don't get out much. Z The palace, hunh? I bet those royals really live it up. Of course they're all a little, you know, from inbreeding -- BALA (shocked) What? Z and Bala step onto the dance floor with the rest of the ants, but Z can't do any of the steps. Z Now, let's see, I -- it's been a while since I -- I think you -- Bala watches Z, trying to follow along. It's the blind leading the blind, as Z tries in vain to follow the barker's rapid instructions. Z Here, I'll lead. Z starts doing his own, individual dance. With a suave expression on his face, he leads Bala in a helter-skelter mixture-of Tango, Charleston, and hand-jive. BALA Are you sure this is a real dance? Z Well, actually, uh -- I'm sort of making it up -- BALA (surprised) Really? Z Why should everyone dance the same way? It's as exciting as watching fungus grow. BALA You're right! Z (surprised) You -- you think I'm right? BALA Why can't I just do whatever I want to do? Why can't I just go wild?! Yahoo! Bala starts to get into it, making up her own steps in reply to Z's, loosening up, having fun. For a moment, the two of them are actually sexy together. Then they get a little too wild -- and the other ants, who are still doing their intricate dance, start to collide with Bala and Z. Z almost knocks over a big soldier ant. We can only see the ant's back at the moment. SOLDIER Hey! Watch your step, worker. Z has turned around to see the soldier ant, MAJOR MANDIBLE, glaring at him. Mandible is about twice Z's size. He's got one eye missing, and half of his left antenna his been chewed off. BALA You watch yours, soldier, or my worker friend will beat you up! Z (terrified) Oh, that's okay, I'll let him off this time. (whispering to Bala) Are you crazy? This guy's built like a pebble! (ineptly trying to placate the soldier) You know they do great prosthetic antennas nowadays -- BALA Aren't you gonna stand up for yourself? Z's caught between a rock and a hard place. He doesn't want to get beaten up, but on the other hand, he doesn't want to lose face in front of Bala. More soldiers have gathered around, looking hostile. SOLDIER How come you don't dance like the rest of us? Z glances over at Bala. Then, shaking with nervousness, he says defiantly... Z Because -- because I'm an individual! SOLDIER #2 An individual? Never heard of it. MANDIBLE You look like a worker to me. WEAVER Hey, lay off my little buddy! Z, meanwhile, looks far away, ecstatic, as if he's just realized something very important. Unfortunately, just at this moment, A soldier pushes Weaver...Weaver pushes him back...somebody makes a dive for Z -- and before you know it, there's a regular bar brawl going on, with Weaver in the middle of it, cracking heads together, punching ants in the face, having a great time. Just then, the Princess' handmaidens hurries over. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess Bala! Princess Bala! Z, who's scrabbling around on the floor, overhears. Z Princess? You're a Princess? HANDMAIDEN #2 The police are coming! BALA Uh oh. (to Z) Goodbye! Gotta run! Z Wait! When can I see you again? BALA Let me think. Hmmnn... (thinks) Never. Bye! Bala rushes off with her handmaiden, just before a squad of whistle-blowing POLICE wade into the crowd. Z Wait! Princess! Wait! But she's already gone, leaving Z holding her scarf. CUT TO: INT. DORMITORY - THE NEXT DAY Z is talking to Weaver, who's getting ready to go off to war. Nearby, columns of ant soldiers march by. WEAVER Get real, Z! She just dropped the scarf by accident! Z Are you kidding? There were sparks between us! This scarf is a sign! WEAVER It's a sign that you're crazy! Do you know what the penalty for impersonating a soldier is? Z What's gonna go wrong?! I take your place for the royal inspection. Bala comes strolling down the line, she sees me -- bingo! Love is rekindled, and she takes me up to the palace for a little... (wags his eyebrows suggestively) tea and crumpets... and you take your place again, and go march around to your heart's content! Weaver looks unconvinced. Z You have to help me. Please, Weaver. Think of all the things I've done for you! WEAVER (thinks) I can't think of any. Z (pause) Well I'm gonna start doing things for you... WEAVER Will you introduce me to some worker girls? Z You bet! They'll really go for a sensitive guy like you! WEAVER Maybe I'll get lucky. (Weaver thinks about it) You know, Z, I wouldn't do this for anyone but you... Weaver hands Z has helmet. WEAVER Wear this. Z (overjoyed) You're a real buddy. WEAVER (sourly) Yeah, I know. Z What do I do? WEAVER Don't tell anyone you're a worker. Follow that column over there. And come right back after the inspection! Weaver points to a bunch of soldiers hurrying by in formation. Z (overjoyed) Thanks! I owe you! Z skips off and joins the column, marching in time with the soldiers but too excited to keep from jazzing it up a little. INT. TOWN CENTER - NIGHT The ant army has gathered in a huge HALL in front of a reviewing stand. We can hear the murmuring of thousands of soldiers -- but all we can see is a HUGE POSTER of an ant General pointing right at the camera. The poster reads, "GENERAL FORMICA WANTS YOU -- to obey". Z turns to some of the soldiers near him. Z Any of you guys know when the Princess will show up? She's kind of a personal friend. The soldiers look at Z like he's nuts. LOUD VOICE ATTEN-SHUN! MARTIAL MUSIC sounds, and we hear thousands of ant feet as they snap to attention. Z imitates the soldiers awkwardly. GENERAL FORMICA struts to the middle 6f the screen, slapping his thigh with a swagger stick (the antenna of some unfortunate insect) FORMICA First of all, let me make one thing clear. Nobody ever won a battle by thinking for himself. All this "thinking" stuff is a load of crap. If the almighty had wanted you boys to think, he wouldn't have given you huge mandibles and a brain so small you'd misplace it if it wasn't trapped inside your head. In the audience, Z starts laughing -- he thinks Formica's just made a joke. Z (slapping his thigh) "Trapped inside your head" -- that's a good one -- Z notices nobody else is laughing. He stops. Z Geez -- tough room. From the stage, Formica is squinting at the audience, trying to make out who was laughing, but there are just too many ants. He continues. FORMICA (striding back and forth) We ants survive as a species because we do what we're told. We survive because we work together, as one, we get the job done, we do whatever it takes to persevere! (dramatic pause) Hell, we're not an army of ants...we're one giant ant, with giant fists, and giant jaws! The soldiers CHEER! Z CHEERS along with the rest of them. Z (to the soldier ant next to him) Lays it on a little thick, doesn't he? If you ask me, he's one giant bore. FORMICA Now I've heard a lot of scuttlebutt about a food shortage. Well you boys are gonna be taken care of. But in the meantime we're gonna eat the enemy for breakfast, we are gonna eat the enemy for lunch, and we are gonna eat the enemy for dinner! Z Geez, and I forgot my toothbrush. FORMICA (reflective moment) Dammit, I'm proud to be an ant. (he looks out at his army) And I know each and every one of you boys will do your duty. Dismissed. Z applauds and whistles as the other ants look at him in confusion. Z (clapping) Bravo! Bring on the Princess! COLONEL Stow the gab there, soldier! Let's move 'em out! The soldiers turn to the right and start to march out past the reviewing stand. A COLONEL marches at the head of Z's column as Z looks around for the Princess. COLONEL Eyes...left! Finally, as Z's part of the army marches past the end of the reviewing stand, he sees her, looking bored, standing next to the Queen, who is giving the royal wave. Z (waving) Princess! Princess Bala! Hey! It's me! Z! I've got your scarf! ON THE REVIEWING STAND, Bala sees Z -- that is to say, she sees one of the thousands upon thousands of ants marching by... BALA (peering out) Who is that idiot? QUEEN Darling, you must encourage the troops -- wave! Bala waves unenthusiastically, little more than flopping her hand back and forth on her wrist. Down below, Z takes this as a sign that Bala has seen him. Z (excited) Excuse me, guys -- That's my date. Well, it's been fun. Have a great war! Z tries to squeeze his way back towards the royals, but he's surrounded by a solid wall of soldiers -- and they're carrying him along with them. Z Hey! Wait! Z loses sight of the Princess as he's carried away. BARBATUS, a hard-as-nails "grunt" soldier ant, taps Z on the shoulder. BARBATUS You new, kid? Z I just joined up. But I'm quitting! I got a trial membership! BARBATUS Trial membership? Kid, when you join this ant's army, you're in for the full hitch. At that moment, Z is swept out of the cramped corridor they've been marching along, as the army emerges into the OPEN AIR outside of the colony. EXT. ANT MOUND - NIGHT It's a starry, moonlit night. The shadows crowd around the panicked Z, who looks up at the sky as we see the army on the march... Z Wait a minute, there's been a mistake! I've got to get back to the colony! Z starts to fall out of line, but Barbatus, looking concerned, stops him. BARBATUS Are you crazy, kid? They shoot deserters! Z swallows hard. BARBATUS You just stick by old Barbatus. He'll watch out for you. (off Z's look) Whatsamatter, kid? Leave a girl behind? Z Yeah. Well -- no. She's kind of playing hard to get. As a matter of fact, she's playing completely unattainable. (nervously) So, what's on the schedule? A brisk walk? a foraging expedition? BARBATUS No -- we're going to attack the termites! Z (alarmed) Attack? But -- I hate attacking! It's so hostile! Around Z and Barbatus, the ants start up a marching song, which we intersperse with dialogue between

b

How many times the word 'b' appears in the text?

Antz Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS "Antz", unknown draft A N T Z CHARACTERS VOICES "Z"...............................................WOODY ALLEN "WASP #1".........................................DAN AYKROYD "WASP #2".........................................JANE CURTIN "GEN. FORMICA"...................................DANNY GLOVER "MANDIBLE".......................................GENE HACKMAN "AZTECA".......................................JENNIFER LOPEZ "DRUNK SCOUT"....................................JOHN MAHONEY "WEAVER"...................................SYLVESTER STALLONE "PRINCESS BALA"..................................SHARON STONE "QUEEN"..........................................MERYL STREEP "CARPENTER"................................CHRISTOPHER WALKEN Z (O.S.) (over a dark screen) All my life, I've lived and worked in the big city... We see: EXT. AN ANT MOUND - DAY The camera swoops towards the entrance, then dives inside, past a couple of tough-looking soldier ants who stand at the gates of the ant colony like insect bouncers...into an access tunnel that snakes this way and that, past a row of ants plodding along... ...and into the MAIN CHAMBER of the colony, a huge, teeming vista that seems to stretch away forever, filled with ants rushing here and there on their business. We see -- a "traffic cop" directing foot traffic, waving his arms like crazy so both sides move at once -- a column of soldier ants marching along in formation -- a chain of ants letting down a matchbox elevator filled with workers. Z (V.O.) ...which is kind of a problem, since I've always felt uncomfortably in crowds. INT. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR'S OFFICE - DAY We join Z, a worker ant with issues. He's lying on a couch, recounting his woes. Z I feel...isolated. Different. I've got abandonment issues. My father flew away when I was just a larva. My mother didn't have much time for me...when you have five million siblings, it's difficult to get attention. (pause) I feel physically inadequate -- I've never been able to lift more than ten times my own weight. Sometimes I think I'm just not cut out to be a worker. But I don't have any other options. I was assigned to trade school when I was just a grub. The whole system just...makes me feel...insignificant. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (enthusiastic) Terrific! You should feel insignificant! For the first time, we see the ant MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR. He's a mixture of Tony Robbins and Ron Popiel (the hyperactive late-night TV huckster, and founder of "Ronco"). Z ...I should? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (hopping around enthusiastically) YES!!! You know, people ask me, "Doctor, why are you always happy?" And I tell them it's mind over matter. I don't mind that I don't matter! Do you get it? Do you get it? Z gives a fake smile. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (incredibly "up") Z, we're part of the fastest growing species in the whole world! The counsellor rolls down a chart from the wall. An arrow shows ant population going up, up, up. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Ask me why we're so successful. Z Why are we so successful? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR I'm glad you asked me that question! The motivational counsellor opens some blinds...and we see a vista of the ant-filled chamber below. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR What do you see out there? Z ...Ants... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Right! Ants! Millions of creatures, each with his assigned task, all pulling together! Down below, we see a group of ants carrying a boulder up an incline. One worker ants slips, and the boulder rolls down, crushing his leg. The other ants rush over -- it looks like they're going to help their fallen comrade, but instead, they climb right over him, and pick up the boulder, continuing with their task. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR You see? Being an ant is being able to say, "Hey -- I'm meaningless, you're meaningless." Z But -- but I've always felt life was about finding meaning...and then sharing it with someone special, someone you love. The motivational counsellor puts his arm on Z's shoulder...he seems to understand... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Z...you need help. (looking at a clock) Whoops! We're gonna have to stop there. Your minute is up! The counsellor ushers Z out of his seat and towards the door. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Now back to work! We've made real progress! Remember -- let's be best superorganism we can be! INT. EARLY MEGA-TUNNEL - DAY A gigantic tunnel, with the size and scale of the "Chunnel". A banner strung overhead reads: "The Mega-Tunnel -- Tunneling Our Way to a Bright Future!" Along the walls hang 50's work- incentive style posters with messages like, "You asked for it, you got it -- more work!" and "TWO MEALS A WEEK IS ENOUGH!!!" Line after line of ants is working on the tunnel, digging, passing clumps of dirt from ant to ant, everyone synchronized. CLOSE on a clump of DIRT being passed from hand to hand. PULL OUT TO REVEAL AZTECA, a feisty, cynical, female worker ant, who stands there, waiting to pass the dirt on. Z is daydreaming behind her, with clumps of dirt starting to pile up in front of him. AZTECA Hello?! Earth to Z! You better snap out of it, or there's gonna be a lot of pissed off ants! Z looks back, and sees the ants behind staring at him angrily. Z (snapping out of it) Sorry Azteca. Here you go, fellas! Fresh dirt! Alley oop! (looking at the dirt) Shouldn't we be wearing gloves? I mean this dirt is very...dirty. Doesn't anyone think of hygiene? (Z's stomach growls) Boy am I hungry. I'm so hungry I'm seeing double. It looks like there's two million ants in here. When's lunch? Tomorrow, or the day after? AZTECA (sweetly) Z, old pal... (shouts) SHUT UP!!! It's bad enough there's a food shortage without you complaining about it every day. Z The squeaky wheel gets the oil. AZTECA No, Z. The squeaky wheel gets thrown away, alright? You're a good ant, Z, even though you are a pain in my rear- segment. I don't wanna see anything happen to you. So quit mouthing off, before you get in trouble. A WHISTLE BLOWS. Z Thank goodness. Breaktime. All the ants put down their tools. A beat. Then the WHISTLE BLOWS AGAIN. All the ants pick up their tools again. AZTECA (resigned) Break's over. Z (getting back to work) This colony needs another tunnel like a hole in the ground. Why are we even digging this thing? AZTECA Who cares, Z. All I know is, we gotta dig. We're not the ones in charge. INT. TOWN CENTER - DAY The huge, spacious main chamber of the colony. Looming over the scene is the royal palace, which seems to be inaccessible, perched on top of a hill-like pedestal. Around the base of the pedestal, a crew of workers loiters, seemingly aimlessly...can these be the only unemployed ants in the place? GENERAL FORMICA STAIRS! The workers look up and GROAN. Then they start forming a stairway with their own bodies, linking arms, stepping on each other's shoulders. It's extremely unpleasant work. One ant is a little tardy, and just manages to get in place before... GENERAL FORMICA, the Pattonesque military leader of the colony, STEPS ON HIS HEAD, using it as the first step as he ascends to the palace, his aide-de-camp Carpenter in tow. As Formica mounts the "stairs" we can hear the workers going, "OUCH! OOF! YIKES!" etc. GENERAL FORMICA Cut the chit-chat down there! (turning to Carpenter) We've spoiled these workers, Carpenter. They've never had it so good, and listen to them -- always grumbling and complaining... Formica steps on the foot of one of the "stairway" ants, who muffles a yelp. CARPENTER ...Yes, sir. GENERAL FORMICA What have they got to complain about? Three square meals a day... CARPENTER Actually, sir, we've cut them down to three roughly rectangular meals a week. FORMICA Don't give me statistics, Carpenter. I know what I'm talking about. DOORS! Formica and Carpenter have reached the top of the staircase. There, the two guard ants on either side of the massive throne room doors pull them open -- and one door hinge SQUEAKS. FORMICA (to guard ant, while passing) Oil that, soldier. INT. THRONE ROOM - DAY The QUEEN is on her throne, her huge abdomen sprawled behind her. QUEEN Ah! General Formica. Formica salutes and marches to her, Carpenter behind him. Note: Throughout this scene, the Queen is giving birth repeatedly. Each birth is accompanied by a herald playing a short "Happy Birthday" fanfare on his trumpet. Mid-wife ants bring each baby to the Queen for inspection, who COOS a few words. The midwives put the babies on a moving bassinet- line, powered by ants on a treadmill. QUEEN General, the severe food shortage that faces the colony...pains me. The thought of any of my children going hungry... (she shudders; then, to baby) Who's the cutest widdle worker? You are! Yes, you! Don't forget to brush your teeth! (to mid-wife) Ship 'er out. (back to Formica) What steps are you taking to remedy the situation? FORMICA We are launching a major offensive to expand our foraging territory... QUEEN Yes, what else? FORMICA Please don't worry, your majesty. Leave the worrying to me. As you know, I'm not an ant of half- measures. I don't pussyfoot around. This crisis is my number one priority, and I promise you it's being dealt with swiftly, and decisively. The Queen's attention is interrupted by another baby being put in her arms. QUEEN (to baby) No snacking between meals! Off you go! (to Formica) Now -- what were we saying? FORMICA (Oliver North-style) I do not recollect, your majesty. Will that be all? QUEEN Yes, General Formica. Carry on, my good man! I don't know what we would do without you. Formica clicks his heels and bows his head. Carpenter bows low. Formica smartly about faces -- BALA (O.S.) General Formica! PRINCESS BALA hurries through a second doorway, carrying a swatch book. Something about her sets her apart from the HANDMAIDEN ANTS with her. Her tiara, probably. Formica tilts his head quizzically to Carpenter behind him. CARPENTER (sotto) Princess Bala, sir. Your fiancee. FORMICA Princess! You look -- outstanding. Is there anything I can do for you? BALA Well -- I thought -- since we're getting married...it might be nice if we...got to know one another. Formica looks confused. QUEEN Bala has always been a hopeless romantic, General. BALA It's just that -- well, I'm honored that you selected me, and everything, I just thought the marriage might go a little more smoothly if -- we had a conversation? FORMICA (uncomfortable) Conversation...yes...well... (to Carpenter) Wasn't she briefed? QUEEN (holding up a baby) Look, General! A darling baby soldier! (emotionally, to baby) Don't try to be a hero! Just make sure you come back in one piece! (handing it off) Next! FORMICA (using the interruption) I'll take your suggestion under advisement, Princess. In the meanwhile -- Formica turns to go. BALA General -- we have to talk sometime! FORMICA Very well. Carpenter, is there a convenient time to talk vis-a-vis: relationship? CARPENTER Actually, sir, we're ahead of schedule. We have thirty-six seconds available right now. FORMICA Outstanding. Princess...? Bala's a little fazed...but grabs her chance. BALA So, um...how was your day? What did you do? FORMICA (scouring his mind) Well... (that's it!) I declared war! BALA (sadly) Oh...and I was afraid we had nothing in common... CARPENTER (under his breath) Fourteen-fifty hours, sir. FORMICA Duty calls! He strides across the floor. Bala watches him go, her antennae drooping unhappily. FORMICA No squeak. Outstanding! We see through the now-open doors into the throne-room as Formica and Carpenter double-time out of the frame. The Queen sees that Bala is unhappy. QUEEN (sympathetically) I felt the same way before I got married. Confused. Scared. BALA (hopefully) You did? QUEEN Yes -- but I did my duty and sorted out all those messy feelings. The wonderful thing about ant life is that everything is arranged. Even marriage. You're lucky -- General Formica is a paragon of anthood. BALA (unconvinced) Yes...he's wonderful... The doors swing shut on them -- revealing the two guard ants who were CRUSHED in the wake of Formica's exit. INT. BALA'S QUARTERS - DAY Bala enters, followed by her handmaidens, who are in a state of giggling infatuation over Formica. Bala is scowling as she leafs through a wedding catalogue. HANDMAIDEN #1 (swooning over General Formica) The General's body segments are so...symmetrical. HANDMAIDEN #2 (giggling) I'd let him order me into battle anyday. Bala hurls the swatch book against the wall. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess? What's wrong? BALA Wrong? How could anything be wrong? I'm going to marry General Formica and be a queen and have millions of babies, just like my mom. (concerned) Do I look fat to you? HANDMAIDEN #2 (knowingly, to Handmaiden #2) Pre-wedding jitters. HANDMAIDEN #1 You just need to blow off some steam. Let's go to the bar at the Royal Club! BALA The Club's so stuffy. I want to try someplace different. HANDMAIDEN #2 There isn't anyplace else -- (making a joke) Except the worker bar. BALA The worker bar! Yes! That's where I want to go! The handmaidens look shocked. HANDMAIDEN #1 But -- we can't -- there'll be workers there. INT. ANT BAR - NIGHT A long bar filled with ants. The bar itself seems to stretch for miles, and there are hundreds of ants trying to get a drink...unfortunately, there's only one bartender. Z is at the bar with WEAVER, a burly ant soldier. Z We declared war again? (off Weaver's nod) Are you scared? WEAVER (shrugs) I'll be back. The BARTENDER, a grizzled veteran, slaps down what looks like a couple of large green beer mugs. Actually, they're aphids, little green critters he fills up from a number of kegs hanging from the ceiling. The kegs are specialized ants with hugely distended stomachs, which spray liquid into the aphids. APHIDS (as they're slapped on bar) Ouch! Ouch! BARTENDER Two aphid beers. Z (as Bartender leaves) Did you see that? How he gave you the beers, not me? I'm telling you, he's got something against workers. WEAVER I don't know what you're talking about, Z. Z Come on -- everybody dumps on us workers. You soldiers get all the glory. Plus you get to go out into the world, meet interesting insects, and kill them. WEAVER Yeah, but you get to spend all day with those fabulous worker babes. We can see that Weaver is eyeing a nearby table of "Worker Babes", including Z's friend Azteca. Z Weaver, they're career girls. They're obsessed with digging. (sighs) No, I'll probably never meet the girl for me. WEAVER Who said there was a girl for you? I was talking about a girl for me. (quaffing his aphid beer) Don't you want your aphid beer? Z I can't help it. I have a thing about drinking from the anus of another creature. Call me crazy. WEAVER Z, we've known each other a long time, right? Z Of course. You were born two seconds after me. WEAVER And all the time I've known you, you've been grumping and groaning. You should quit making waves. Go with the flow. Z Weaver, I'm an insect, not a liquid. Down the bar, there's a commotion. A grizzled old SCOUT ant has had too much to drink. DRUNK SCOUT Have you been to Insectopia? Have you? No, ya goddam larvas! But I have... (becoming emotional) ...Mosquitos n' caterpillars n' beetles -- all livin' in peace, stuffin their guts with food...No rules, no regulations...you can be your own ant there... (howling drunkenly) It's Insectopia! Insectopia! Z Hey, Weaver, listen! DRUNK SCOUT I was cut off from my unit -- found it by mistake -- (slurring) It changed my life! (spraying another soldier with saliva) You see -- ya follow the great yellow egg, and you come to the land of red and white -- SOLDIERS You've had enough for one night! Come on, Gramps, before you get in trouble. The soldiers pull him from the bar, carrying him out. Z (excited) Hey, did you hear what he said?! WEAVER Poor guy's had one too many scouting missions. MUSIC STARTS UP. INT. ANT BAR ENTRANCE - NIGHT Princess Bala is peering in at the entrance to the ant bar, accompanied by her worried-looking handmaidens. HANDMAIDEN #2 We shouldn't be doing this -- it isn't proper! BALA I'm the Princess, aren't I? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course -- BALA And do Princesses do improper things? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course not -- BALA Then if I go to the worker bar, it isn't improper. Anyway, don't worry. No one will recognize us in our disguises. She adjusts her "disguise", a hardhat, tied down Jackie O.- style with an ant's version of a Chanel scarf. BALA I'm just a common worker, cooling off after a rough day! Music starts. An ant BARKER takes the mic at one end of the dance floor. BARKER (on loudspeaker) Okay, folks. It's six-fifteen, and that means it's time to dance. Every ant gets up to dance. Weaver turns to Z. WEAVER (draining his beer) Time to cut a rug, Z! Z I'm not in the mood. (disgusted) Even when they're off work, they follow orders. WEAVER Well, you just sit here and be a party-pooper. Weaver joins the rest of the ants who are lining up for the dance. The Barker calls out the steps in a bored monotone -- all the ants already know the steps. Everyone dances in perfect synch. BARKER (southern twang) And a left-right-quarterstep-back step-halfstep -- a left-right- quarterstep-backstep-halfstep -- a left-right-quarterstep-backstep halfstep -- AT THE ENTRANCE, Bala smiles mischievously at her handmaidens. BALA I'm going to ask one of these mindless, primitive worker-types to dance with me! HANDMAIDEN #1 But General Formica would be furious! BALA (enjoying the idea) I know. The handmaidens are appalled. Bala whirls away from them, sets her sights and searches the crowd -- zeroing in on -- Z, who's watching the other ants dance. Z What a bunch of losers. Mindless zombies capitulating to an oppressive system -- BALA Wanna dance? Bala's standing right there. Z is instantly smitten. Z Me?! Yes!!! I mean -- (regaining suavosity) Just let me finish my beer. Not breaking eye contact with Bala, Z smiles suavely. Reaches suavely for a beer. Suavely grabs the candle in a glass jar off the bar. Suavely singes his face. He plays it off with a rakish little laugh. A bit apprehensive, Bala heads onto the floor. Z follows her. Z So uh -- how come I haven't seen you around here before? BALA (covering up) I work in the palace, I don't get out much. Z The palace, hunh? I bet those royals really live it up. Of course they're all a little, you know, from inbreeding -- BALA (shocked) What? Z and Bala step onto the dance floor with the rest of the ants, but Z can't do any of the steps. Z Now, let's see, I -- it's been a while since I -- I think you -- Bala watches Z, trying to follow along. It's the blind leading the blind, as Z tries in vain to follow the barker's rapid instructions. Z Here, I'll lead. Z starts doing his own, individual dance. With a suave expression on his face, he leads Bala in a helter-skelter mixture-of Tango, Charleston, and hand-jive. BALA Are you sure this is a real dance? Z Well, actually, uh -- I'm sort of making it up -- BALA (surprised) Really? Z Why should everyone dance the same way? It's as exciting as watching fungus grow. BALA You're right! Z (surprised) You -- you think I'm right? BALA Why can't I just do whatever I want to do? Why can't I just go wild?! Yahoo! Bala starts to get into it, making up her own steps in reply to Z's, loosening up, having fun. For a moment, the two of them are actually sexy together. Then they get a little too wild -- and the other ants, who are still doing their intricate dance, start to collide with Bala and Z. Z almost knocks over a big soldier ant. We can only see the ant's back at the moment. SOLDIER Hey! Watch your step, worker. Z has turned around to see the soldier ant, MAJOR MANDIBLE, glaring at him. Mandible is about twice Z's size. He's got one eye missing, and half of his left antenna his been chewed off. BALA You watch yours, soldier, or my worker friend will beat you up! Z (terrified) Oh, that's okay, I'll let him off this time. (whispering to Bala) Are you crazy? This guy's built like a pebble! (ineptly trying to placate the soldier) You know they do great prosthetic antennas nowadays -- BALA Aren't you gonna stand up for yourself? Z's caught between a rock and a hard place. He doesn't want to get beaten up, but on the other hand, he doesn't want to lose face in front of Bala. More soldiers have gathered around, looking hostile. SOLDIER How come you don't dance like the rest of us? Z glances over at Bala. Then, shaking with nervousness, he says defiantly... Z Because -- because I'm an individual! SOLDIER #2 An individual? Never heard of it. MANDIBLE You look like a worker to me. WEAVER Hey, lay off my little buddy! Z, meanwhile, looks far away, ecstatic, as if he's just realized something very important. Unfortunately, just at this moment, A soldier pushes Weaver...Weaver pushes him back...somebody makes a dive for Z -- and before you know it, there's a regular bar brawl going on, with Weaver in the middle of it, cracking heads together, punching ants in the face, having a great time. Just then, the Princess' handmaidens hurries over. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess Bala! Princess Bala! Z, who's scrabbling around on the floor, overhears. Z Princess? You're a Princess? HANDMAIDEN #2 The police are coming! BALA Uh oh. (to Z) Goodbye! Gotta run! Z Wait! When can I see you again? BALA Let me think. Hmmnn... (thinks) Never. Bye! Bala rushes off with her handmaiden, just before a squad of whistle-blowing POLICE wade into the crowd. Z Wait! Princess! Wait! But she's already gone, leaving Z holding her scarf. CUT TO: INT. DORMITORY - THE NEXT DAY Z is talking to Weaver, who's getting ready to go off to war. Nearby, columns of ant soldiers march by. WEAVER Get real, Z! She just dropped the scarf by accident! Z Are you kidding? There were sparks between us! This scarf is a sign! WEAVER It's a sign that you're crazy! Do you know what the penalty for impersonating a soldier is? Z What's gonna go wrong?! I take your place for the royal inspection. Bala comes strolling down the line, she sees me -- bingo! Love is rekindled, and she takes me up to the palace for a little... (wags his eyebrows suggestively) tea and crumpets... and you take your place again, and go march around to your heart's content! Weaver looks unconvinced. Z You have to help me. Please, Weaver. Think of all the things I've done for you! WEAVER (thinks) I can't think of any. Z (pause) Well I'm gonna start doing things for you... WEAVER Will you introduce me to some worker girls? Z You bet! They'll really go for a sensitive guy like you! WEAVER Maybe I'll get lucky. (Weaver thinks about it) You know, Z, I wouldn't do this for anyone but you... Weaver hands Z has helmet. WEAVER Wear this. Z (overjoyed) You're a real buddy. WEAVER (sourly) Yeah, I know. Z What do I do? WEAVER Don't tell anyone you're a worker. Follow that column over there. And come right back after the inspection! Weaver points to a bunch of soldiers hurrying by in formation. Z (overjoyed) Thanks! I owe you! Z skips off and joins the column, marching in time with the soldiers but too excited to keep from jazzing it up a little. INT. TOWN CENTER - NIGHT The ant army has gathered in a huge HALL in front of a reviewing stand. We can hear the murmuring of thousands of soldiers -- but all we can see is a HUGE POSTER of an ant General pointing right at the camera. The poster reads, "GENERAL FORMICA WANTS YOU -- to obey". Z turns to some of the soldiers near him. Z Any of you guys know when the Princess will show up? She's kind of a personal friend. The soldiers look at Z like he's nuts. LOUD VOICE ATTEN-SHUN! MARTIAL MUSIC sounds, and we hear thousands of ant feet as they snap to attention. Z imitates the soldiers awkwardly. GENERAL FORMICA struts to the middle 6f the screen, slapping his thigh with a swagger stick (the antenna of some unfortunate insect) FORMICA First of all, let me make one thing clear. Nobody ever won a battle by thinking for himself. All this "thinking" stuff is a load of crap. If the almighty had wanted you boys to think, he wouldn't have given you huge mandibles and a brain so small you'd misplace it if it wasn't trapped inside your head. In the audience, Z starts laughing -- he thinks Formica's just made a joke. Z (slapping his thigh) "Trapped inside your head" -- that's a good one -- Z notices nobody else is laughing. He stops. Z Geez -- tough room. From the stage, Formica is squinting at the audience, trying to make out who was laughing, but there are just too many ants. He continues. FORMICA (striding back and forth) We ants survive as a species because we do what we're told. We survive because we work together, as one, we get the job done, we do whatever it takes to persevere! (dramatic pause) Hell, we're not an army of ants...we're one giant ant, with giant fists, and giant jaws! The soldiers CHEER! Z CHEERS along with the rest of them. Z (to the soldier ant next to him) Lays it on a little thick, doesn't he? If you ask me, he's one giant bore. FORMICA Now I've heard a lot of scuttlebutt about a food shortage. Well you boys are gonna be taken care of. But in the meantime we're gonna eat the enemy for breakfast, we are gonna eat the enemy for lunch, and we are gonna eat the enemy for dinner! Z Geez, and I forgot my toothbrush. FORMICA (reflective moment) Dammit, I'm proud to be an ant. (he looks out at his army) And I know each and every one of you boys will do your duty. Dismissed. Z applauds and whistles as the other ants look at him in confusion. Z (clapping) Bravo! Bring on the Princess! COLONEL Stow the gab there, soldier! Let's move 'em out! The soldiers turn to the right and start to march out past the reviewing stand. A COLONEL marches at the head of Z's column as Z looks around for the Princess. COLONEL Eyes...left! Finally, as Z's part of the army marches past the end of the reviewing stand, he sees her, looking bored, standing next to the Queen, who is giving the royal wave. Z (waving) Princess! Princess Bala! Hey! It's me! Z! I've got your scarf! ON THE REVIEWING STAND, Bala sees Z -- that is to say, she sees one of the thousands upon thousands of ants marching by... BALA (peering out) Who is that idiot? QUEEN Darling, you must encourage the troops -- wave! Bala waves unenthusiastically, little more than flopping her hand back and forth on her wrist. Down below, Z takes this as a sign that Bala has seen him. Z (excited) Excuse me, guys -- That's my date. Well, it's been fun. Have a great war! Z tries to squeeze his way back towards the royals, but he's surrounded by a solid wall of soldiers -- and they're carrying him along with them. Z Hey! Wait! Z loses sight of the Princess as he's carried away. BARBATUS, a hard-as-nails "grunt" soldier ant, taps Z on the shoulder. BARBATUS You new, kid? Z I just joined up. But I'm quitting! I got a trial membership! BARBATUS Trial membership? Kid, when you join this ant's army, you're in for the full hitch. At that moment, Z is swept out of the cramped corridor they've been marching along, as the army emerges into the OPEN AIR outside of the colony. EXT. ANT MOUND - NIGHT It's a starry, moonlit night. The shadows crowd around the panicked Z, who looks up at the sky as we see the army on the march... Z Wait a minute, there's been a mistake! I've got to get back to the colony! Z starts to fall out of line, but Barbatus, looking concerned, stops him. BARBATUS Are you crazy, kid? They shoot deserters! Z swallows hard. BARBATUS You just stick by old Barbatus. He'll watch out for you. (off Z's look) Whatsamatter, kid? Leave a girl behind? Z Yeah. Well -- no. She's kind of playing hard to get. As a matter of fact, she's playing completely unattainable. (nervously) So, what's on the schedule? A brisk walk? a foraging expedition? BARBATUS No -- we're going to attack the termites! Z (alarmed) Attack? But -- I hate attacking! It's so hostile! Around Z and Barbatus, the ants start up a marching song, which we intersperse with dialogue between

copies

How many times the word 'copies' appears in the text?

Antz Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS "Antz", unknown draft A N T Z CHARACTERS VOICES "Z"...............................................WOODY ALLEN "WASP #1".........................................DAN AYKROYD "WASP #2".........................................JANE CURTIN "GEN. FORMICA"...................................DANNY GLOVER "MANDIBLE".......................................GENE HACKMAN "AZTECA".......................................JENNIFER LOPEZ "DRUNK SCOUT"....................................JOHN MAHONEY "WEAVER"...................................SYLVESTER STALLONE "PRINCESS BALA"..................................SHARON STONE "QUEEN"..........................................MERYL STREEP "CARPENTER"................................CHRISTOPHER WALKEN Z (O.S.) (over a dark screen) All my life, I've lived and worked in the big city... We see: EXT. AN ANT MOUND - DAY The camera swoops towards the entrance, then dives inside, past a couple of tough-looking soldier ants who stand at the gates of the ant colony like insect bouncers...into an access tunnel that snakes this way and that, past a row of ants plodding along... ...and into the MAIN CHAMBER of the colony, a huge, teeming vista that seems to stretch away forever, filled with ants rushing here and there on their business. We see -- a "traffic cop" directing foot traffic, waving his arms like crazy so both sides move at once -- a column of soldier ants marching along in formation -- a chain of ants letting down a matchbox elevator filled with workers. Z (V.O.) ...which is kind of a problem, since I've always felt uncomfortably in crowds. INT. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR'S OFFICE - DAY We join Z, a worker ant with issues. He's lying on a couch, recounting his woes. Z I feel...isolated. Different. I've got abandonment issues. My father flew away when I was just a larva. My mother didn't have much time for me...when you have five million siblings, it's difficult to get attention. (pause) I feel physically inadequate -- I've never been able to lift more than ten times my own weight. Sometimes I think I'm just not cut out to be a worker. But I don't have any other options. I was assigned to trade school when I was just a grub. The whole system just...makes me feel...insignificant. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (enthusiastic) Terrific! You should feel insignificant! For the first time, we see the ant MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR. He's a mixture of Tony Robbins and Ron Popiel (the hyperactive late-night TV huckster, and founder of "Ronco"). Z ...I should? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (hopping around enthusiastically) YES!!! You know, people ask me, "Doctor, why are you always happy?" And I tell them it's mind over matter. I don't mind that I don't matter! Do you get it? Do you get it? Z gives a fake smile. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (incredibly "up") Z, we're part of the fastest growing species in the whole world! The counsellor rolls down a chart from the wall. An arrow shows ant population going up, up, up. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Ask me why we're so successful. Z Why are we so successful? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR I'm glad you asked me that question! The motivational counsellor opens some blinds...and we see a vista of the ant-filled chamber below. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR What do you see out there? Z ...Ants... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Right! Ants! Millions of creatures, each with his assigned task, all pulling together! Down below, we see a group of ants carrying a boulder up an incline. One worker ants slips, and the boulder rolls down, crushing his leg. The other ants rush over -- it looks like they're going to help their fallen comrade, but instead, they climb right over him, and pick up the boulder, continuing with their task. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR You see? Being an ant is being able to say, "Hey -- I'm meaningless, you're meaningless." Z But -- but I've always felt life was about finding meaning...and then sharing it with someone special, someone you love. The motivational counsellor puts his arm on Z's shoulder...he seems to understand... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Z...you need help. (looking at a clock) Whoops! We're gonna have to stop there. Your minute is up! The counsellor ushers Z out of his seat and towards the door. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Now back to work! We've made real progress! Remember -- let's be best superorganism we can be! INT. EARLY MEGA-TUNNEL - DAY A gigantic tunnel, with the size and scale of the "Chunnel". A banner strung overhead reads: "The Mega-Tunnel -- Tunneling Our Way to a Bright Future!" Along the walls hang 50's work- incentive style posters with messages like, "You asked for it, you got it -- more work!" and "TWO MEALS A WEEK IS ENOUGH!!!" Line after line of ants is working on the tunnel, digging, passing clumps of dirt from ant to ant, everyone synchronized. CLOSE on a clump of DIRT being passed from hand to hand. PULL OUT TO REVEAL AZTECA, a feisty, cynical, female worker ant, who stands there, waiting to pass the dirt on. Z is daydreaming behind her, with clumps of dirt starting to pile up in front of him. AZTECA Hello?! Earth to Z! You better snap out of it, or there's gonna be a lot of pissed off ants! Z looks back, and sees the ants behind staring at him angrily. Z (snapping out of it) Sorry Azteca. Here you go, fellas! Fresh dirt! Alley oop! (looking at the dirt) Shouldn't we be wearing gloves? I mean this dirt is very...dirty. Doesn't anyone think of hygiene? (Z's stomach growls) Boy am I hungry. I'm so hungry I'm seeing double. It looks like there's two million ants in here. When's lunch? Tomorrow, or the day after? AZTECA (sweetly) Z, old pal... (shouts) SHUT UP!!! It's bad enough there's a food shortage without you complaining about it every day. Z The squeaky wheel gets the oil. AZTECA No, Z. The squeaky wheel gets thrown away, alright? You're a good ant, Z, even though you are a pain in my rear- segment. I don't wanna see anything happen to you. So quit mouthing off, before you get in trouble. A WHISTLE BLOWS. Z Thank goodness. Breaktime. All the ants put down their tools. A beat. Then the WHISTLE BLOWS AGAIN. All the ants pick up their tools again. AZTECA (resigned) Break's over. Z (getting back to work) This colony needs another tunnel like a hole in the ground. Why are we even digging this thing? AZTECA Who cares, Z. All I know is, we gotta dig. We're not the ones in charge. INT. TOWN CENTER - DAY The huge, spacious main chamber of the colony. Looming over the scene is the royal palace, which seems to be inaccessible, perched on top of a hill-like pedestal. Around the base of the pedestal, a crew of workers loiters, seemingly aimlessly...can these be the only unemployed ants in the place? GENERAL FORMICA STAIRS! The workers look up and GROAN. Then they start forming a stairway with their own bodies, linking arms, stepping on each other's shoulders. It's extremely unpleasant work. One ant is a little tardy, and just manages to get in place before... GENERAL FORMICA, the Pattonesque military leader of the colony, STEPS ON HIS HEAD, using it as the first step as he ascends to the palace, his aide-de-camp Carpenter in tow. As Formica mounts the "stairs" we can hear the workers going, "OUCH! OOF! YIKES!" etc. GENERAL FORMICA Cut the chit-chat down there! (turning to Carpenter) We've spoiled these workers, Carpenter. They've never had it so good, and listen to them -- always grumbling and complaining... Formica steps on the foot of one of the "stairway" ants, who muffles a yelp. CARPENTER ...Yes, sir. GENERAL FORMICA What have they got to complain about? Three square meals a day... CARPENTER Actually, sir, we've cut them down to three roughly rectangular meals a week. FORMICA Don't give me statistics, Carpenter. I know what I'm talking about. DOORS! Formica and Carpenter have reached the top of the staircase. There, the two guard ants on either side of the massive throne room doors pull them open -- and one door hinge SQUEAKS. FORMICA (to guard ant, while passing) Oil that, soldier. INT. THRONE ROOM - DAY The QUEEN is on her throne, her huge abdomen sprawled behind her. QUEEN Ah! General Formica. Formica salutes and marches to her, Carpenter behind him. Note: Throughout this scene, the Queen is giving birth repeatedly. Each birth is accompanied by a herald playing a short "Happy Birthday" fanfare on his trumpet. Mid-wife ants bring each baby to the Queen for inspection, who COOS a few words. The midwives put the babies on a moving bassinet- line, powered by ants on a treadmill. QUEEN General, the severe food shortage that faces the colony...pains me. The thought of any of my children going hungry... (she shudders; then, to baby) Who's the cutest widdle worker? You are! Yes, you! Don't forget to brush your teeth! (to mid-wife) Ship 'er out. (back to Formica) What steps are you taking to remedy the situation? FORMICA We are launching a major offensive to expand our foraging territory... QUEEN Yes, what else? FORMICA Please don't worry, your majesty. Leave the worrying to me. As you know, I'm not an ant of half- measures. I don't pussyfoot around. This crisis is my number one priority, and I promise you it's being dealt with swiftly, and decisively. The Queen's attention is interrupted by another baby being put in her arms. QUEEN (to baby) No snacking between meals! Off you go! (to Formica) Now -- what were we saying? FORMICA (Oliver North-style) I do not recollect, your majesty. Will that be all? QUEEN Yes, General Formica. Carry on, my good man! I don't know what we would do without you. Formica clicks his heels and bows his head. Carpenter bows low. Formica smartly about faces -- BALA (O.S.) General Formica! PRINCESS BALA hurries through a second doorway, carrying a swatch book. Something about her sets her apart from the HANDMAIDEN ANTS with her. Her tiara, probably. Formica tilts his head quizzically to Carpenter behind him. CARPENTER (sotto) Princess Bala, sir. Your fiancee. FORMICA Princess! You look -- outstanding. Is there anything I can do for you? BALA Well -- I thought -- since we're getting married...it might be nice if we...got to know one another. Formica looks confused. QUEEN Bala has always been a hopeless romantic, General. BALA It's just that -- well, I'm honored that you selected me, and everything, I just thought the marriage might go a little more smoothly if -- we had a conversation? FORMICA (uncomfortable) Conversation...yes...well... (to Carpenter) Wasn't she briefed? QUEEN (holding up a baby) Look, General! A darling baby soldier! (emotionally, to baby) Don't try to be a hero! Just make sure you come back in one piece! (handing it off) Next! FORMICA (using the interruption) I'll take your suggestion under advisement, Princess. In the meanwhile -- Formica turns to go. BALA General -- we have to talk sometime! FORMICA Very well. Carpenter, is there a convenient time to talk vis-a-vis: relationship? CARPENTER Actually, sir, we're ahead of schedule. We have thirty-six seconds available right now. FORMICA Outstanding. Princess...? Bala's a little fazed...but grabs her chance. BALA So, um...how was your day? What did you do? FORMICA (scouring his mind) Well... (that's it!) I declared war! BALA (sadly) Oh...and I was afraid we had nothing in common... CARPENTER (under his breath) Fourteen-fifty hours, sir. FORMICA Duty calls! He strides across the floor. Bala watches him go, her antennae drooping unhappily. FORMICA No squeak. Outstanding! We see through the now-open doors into the throne-room as Formica and Carpenter double-time out of the frame. The Queen sees that Bala is unhappy. QUEEN (sympathetically) I felt the same way before I got married. Confused. Scared. BALA (hopefully) You did? QUEEN Yes -- but I did my duty and sorted out all those messy feelings. The wonderful thing about ant life is that everything is arranged. Even marriage. You're lucky -- General Formica is a paragon of anthood. BALA (unconvinced) Yes...he's wonderful... The doors swing shut on them -- revealing the two guard ants who were CRUSHED in the wake of Formica's exit. INT. BALA'S QUARTERS - DAY Bala enters, followed by her handmaidens, who are in a state of giggling infatuation over Formica. Bala is scowling as she leafs through a wedding catalogue. HANDMAIDEN #1 (swooning over General Formica) The General's body segments are so...symmetrical. HANDMAIDEN #2 (giggling) I'd let him order me into battle anyday. Bala hurls the swatch book against the wall. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess? What's wrong? BALA Wrong? How could anything be wrong? I'm going to marry General Formica and be a queen and have millions of babies, just like my mom. (concerned) Do I look fat to you? HANDMAIDEN #2 (knowingly, to Handmaiden #2) Pre-wedding jitters. HANDMAIDEN #1 You just need to blow off some steam. Let's go to the bar at the Royal Club! BALA The Club's so stuffy. I want to try someplace different. HANDMAIDEN #2 There isn't anyplace else -- (making a joke) Except the worker bar. BALA The worker bar! Yes! That's where I want to go! The handmaidens look shocked. HANDMAIDEN #1 But -- we can't -- there'll be workers there. INT. ANT BAR - NIGHT A long bar filled with ants. The bar itself seems to stretch for miles, and there are hundreds of ants trying to get a drink...unfortunately, there's only one bartender. Z is at the bar with WEAVER, a burly ant soldier. Z We declared war again? (off Weaver's nod) Are you scared? WEAVER (shrugs) I'll be back. The BARTENDER, a grizzled veteran, slaps down what looks like a couple of large green beer mugs. Actually, they're aphids, little green critters he fills up from a number of kegs hanging from the ceiling. The kegs are specialized ants with hugely distended stomachs, which spray liquid into the aphids. APHIDS (as they're slapped on bar) Ouch! Ouch! BARTENDER Two aphid beers. Z (as Bartender leaves) Did you see that? How he gave you the beers, not me? I'm telling you, he's got something against workers. WEAVER I don't know what you're talking about, Z. Z Come on -- everybody dumps on us workers. You soldiers get all the glory. Plus you get to go out into the world, meet interesting insects, and kill them. WEAVER Yeah, but you get to spend all day with those fabulous worker babes. We can see that Weaver is eyeing a nearby table of "Worker Babes", including Z's friend Azteca. Z Weaver, they're career girls. They're obsessed with digging. (sighs) No, I'll probably never meet the girl for me. WEAVER Who said there was a girl for you? I was talking about a girl for me. (quaffing his aphid beer) Don't you want your aphid beer? Z I can't help it. I have a thing about drinking from the anus of another creature. Call me crazy. WEAVER Z, we've known each other a long time, right? Z Of course. You were born two seconds after me. WEAVER And all the time I've known you, you've been grumping and groaning. You should quit making waves. Go with the flow. Z Weaver, I'm an insect, not a liquid. Down the bar, there's a commotion. A grizzled old SCOUT ant has had too much to drink. DRUNK SCOUT Have you been to Insectopia? Have you? No, ya goddam larvas! But I have... (becoming emotional) ...Mosquitos n' caterpillars n' beetles -- all livin' in peace, stuffin their guts with food...No rules, no regulations...you can be your own ant there... (howling drunkenly) It's Insectopia! Insectopia! Z Hey, Weaver, listen! DRUNK SCOUT I was cut off from my unit -- found it by mistake -- (slurring) It changed my life! (spraying another soldier with saliva) You see -- ya follow the great yellow egg, and you come to the land of red and white -- SOLDIERS You've had enough for one night! Come on, Gramps, before you get in trouble. The soldiers pull him from the bar, carrying him out. Z (excited) Hey, did you hear what he said?! WEAVER Poor guy's had one too many scouting missions. MUSIC STARTS UP. INT. ANT BAR ENTRANCE - NIGHT Princess Bala is peering in at the entrance to the ant bar, accompanied by her worried-looking handmaidens. HANDMAIDEN #2 We shouldn't be doing this -- it isn't proper! BALA I'm the Princess, aren't I? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course -- BALA And do Princesses do improper things? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course not -- BALA Then if I go to the worker bar, it isn't improper. Anyway, don't worry. No one will recognize us in our disguises. She adjusts her "disguise", a hardhat, tied down Jackie O.- style with an ant's version of a Chanel scarf. BALA I'm just a common worker, cooling off after a rough day! Music starts. An ant BARKER takes the mic at one end of the dance floor. BARKER (on loudspeaker) Okay, folks. It's six-fifteen, and that means it's time to dance. Every ant gets up to dance. Weaver turns to Z. WEAVER (draining his beer) Time to cut a rug, Z! Z I'm not in the mood. (disgusted) Even when they're off work, they follow orders. WEAVER Well, you just sit here and be a party-pooper. Weaver joins the rest of the ants who are lining up for the dance. The Barker calls out the steps in a bored monotone -- all the ants already know the steps. Everyone dances in perfect synch. BARKER (southern twang) And a left-right-quarterstep-back step-halfstep -- a left-right- quarterstep-backstep-halfstep -- a left-right-quarterstep-backstep halfstep -- AT THE ENTRANCE, Bala smiles mischievously at her handmaidens. BALA I'm going to ask one of these mindless, primitive worker-types to dance with me! HANDMAIDEN #1 But General Formica would be furious! BALA (enjoying the idea) I know. The handmaidens are appalled. Bala whirls away from them, sets her sights and searches the crowd -- zeroing in on -- Z, who's watching the other ants dance. Z What a bunch of losers. Mindless zombies capitulating to an oppressive system -- BALA Wanna dance? Bala's standing right there. Z is instantly smitten. Z Me?! Yes!!! I mean -- (regaining suavosity) Just let me finish my beer. Not breaking eye contact with Bala, Z smiles suavely. Reaches suavely for a beer. Suavely grabs the candle in a glass jar off the bar. Suavely singes his face. He plays it off with a rakish little laugh. A bit apprehensive, Bala heads onto the floor. Z follows her. Z So uh -- how come I haven't seen you around here before? BALA (covering up) I work in the palace, I don't get out much. Z The palace, hunh? I bet those royals really live it up. Of course they're all a little, you know, from inbreeding -- BALA (shocked) What? Z and Bala step onto the dance floor with the rest of the ants, but Z can't do any of the steps. Z Now, let's see, I -- it's been a while since I -- I think you -- Bala watches Z, trying to follow along. It's the blind leading the blind, as Z tries in vain to follow the barker's rapid instructions. Z Here, I'll lead. Z starts doing his own, individual dance. With a suave expression on his face, he leads Bala in a helter-skelter mixture-of Tango, Charleston, and hand-jive. BALA Are you sure this is a real dance? Z Well, actually, uh -- I'm sort of making it up -- BALA (surprised) Really? Z Why should everyone dance the same way? It's as exciting as watching fungus grow. BALA You're right! Z (surprised) You -- you think I'm right? BALA Why can't I just do whatever I want to do? Why can't I just go wild?! Yahoo! Bala starts to get into it, making up her own steps in reply to Z's, loosening up, having fun. For a moment, the two of them are actually sexy together. Then they get a little too wild -- and the other ants, who are still doing their intricate dance, start to collide with Bala and Z. Z almost knocks over a big soldier ant. We can only see the ant's back at the moment. SOLDIER Hey! Watch your step, worker. Z has turned around to see the soldier ant, MAJOR MANDIBLE, glaring at him. Mandible is about twice Z's size. He's got one eye missing, and half of his left antenna his been chewed off. BALA You watch yours, soldier, or my worker friend will beat you up! Z (terrified) Oh, that's okay, I'll let him off this time. (whispering to Bala) Are you crazy? This guy's built like a pebble! (ineptly trying to placate the soldier) You know they do great prosthetic antennas nowadays -- BALA Aren't you gonna stand up for yourself? Z's caught between a rock and a hard place. He doesn't want to get beaten up, but on the other hand, he doesn't want to lose face in front of Bala. More soldiers have gathered around, looking hostile. SOLDIER How come you don't dance like the rest of us? Z glances over at Bala. Then, shaking with nervousness, he says defiantly... Z Because -- because I'm an individual! SOLDIER #2 An individual? Never heard of it. MANDIBLE You look like a worker to me. WEAVER Hey, lay off my little buddy! Z, meanwhile, looks far away, ecstatic, as if he's just realized something very important. Unfortunately, just at this moment, A soldier pushes Weaver...Weaver pushes him back...somebody makes a dive for Z -- and before you know it, there's a regular bar brawl going on, with Weaver in the middle of it, cracking heads together, punching ants in the face, having a great time. Just then, the Princess' handmaidens hurries over. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess Bala! Princess Bala! Z, who's scrabbling around on the floor, overhears. Z Princess? You're a Princess? HANDMAIDEN #2 The police are coming! BALA Uh oh. (to Z) Goodbye! Gotta run! Z Wait! When can I see you again? BALA Let me think. Hmmnn... (thinks) Never. Bye! Bala rushes off with her handmaiden, just before a squad of whistle-blowing POLICE wade into the crowd. Z Wait! Princess! Wait! But she's already gone, leaving Z holding her scarf. CUT TO: INT. DORMITORY - THE NEXT DAY Z is talking to Weaver, who's getting ready to go off to war. Nearby, columns of ant soldiers march by. WEAVER Get real, Z! She just dropped the scarf by accident! Z Are you kidding? There were sparks between us! This scarf is a sign! WEAVER It's a sign that you're crazy! Do you know what the penalty for impersonating a soldier is? Z What's gonna go wrong?! I take your place for the royal inspection. Bala comes strolling down the line, she sees me -- bingo! Love is rekindled, and she takes me up to the palace for a little... (wags his eyebrows suggestively) tea and crumpets... and you take your place again, and go march around to your heart's content! Weaver looks unconvinced. Z You have to help me. Please, Weaver. Think of all the things I've done for you! WEAVER (thinks) I can't think of any. Z (pause) Well I'm gonna start doing things for you... WEAVER Will you introduce me to some worker girls? Z You bet! They'll really go for a sensitive guy like you! WEAVER Maybe I'll get lucky. (Weaver thinks about it) You know, Z, I wouldn't do this for anyone but you... Weaver hands Z has helmet. WEAVER Wear this. Z (overjoyed) You're a real buddy. WEAVER (sourly) Yeah, I know. Z What do I do? WEAVER Don't tell anyone you're a worker. Follow that column over there. And come right back after the inspection! Weaver points to a bunch of soldiers hurrying by in formation. Z (overjoyed) Thanks! I owe you! Z skips off and joins the column, marching in time with the soldiers but too excited to keep from jazzing it up a little. INT. TOWN CENTER - NIGHT The ant army has gathered in a huge HALL in front of a reviewing stand. We can hear the murmuring of thousands of soldiers -- but all we can see is a HUGE POSTER of an ant General pointing right at the camera. The poster reads, "GENERAL FORMICA WANTS YOU -- to obey". Z turns to some of the soldiers near him. Z Any of you guys know when the Princess will show up? She's kind of a personal friend. The soldiers look at Z like he's nuts. LOUD VOICE ATTEN-SHUN! MARTIAL MUSIC sounds, and we hear thousands of ant feet as they snap to attention. Z imitates the soldiers awkwardly. GENERAL FORMICA struts to the middle 6f the screen, slapping his thigh with a swagger stick (the antenna of some unfortunate insect) FORMICA First of all, let me make one thing clear. Nobody ever won a battle by thinking for himself. All this "thinking" stuff is a load of crap. If the almighty had wanted you boys to think, he wouldn't have given you huge mandibles and a brain so small you'd misplace it if it wasn't trapped inside your head. In the audience, Z starts laughing -- he thinks Formica's just made a joke. Z (slapping his thigh) "Trapped inside your head" -- that's a good one -- Z notices nobody else is laughing. He stops. Z Geez -- tough room. From the stage, Formica is squinting at the audience, trying to make out who was laughing, but there are just too many ants. He continues. FORMICA (striding back and forth) We ants survive as a species because we do what we're told. We survive because we work together, as one, we get the job done, we do whatever it takes to persevere! (dramatic pause) Hell, we're not an army of ants...we're one giant ant, with giant fists, and giant jaws! The soldiers CHEER! Z CHEERS along with the rest of them. Z (to the soldier ant next to him) Lays it on a little thick, doesn't he? If you ask me, he's one giant bore. FORMICA Now I've heard a lot of scuttlebutt about a food shortage. Well you boys are gonna be taken care of. But in the meantime we're gonna eat the enemy for breakfast, we are gonna eat the enemy for lunch, and we are gonna eat the enemy for dinner! Z Geez, and I forgot my toothbrush. FORMICA (reflective moment) Dammit, I'm proud to be an ant. (he looks out at his army) And I know each and every one of you boys will do your duty. Dismissed. Z applauds and whistles as the other ants look at him in confusion. Z (clapping) Bravo! Bring on the Princess! COLONEL Stow the gab there, soldier! Let's move 'em out! The soldiers turn to the right and start to march out past the reviewing stand. A COLONEL marches at the head of Z's column as Z looks around for the Princess. COLONEL Eyes...left! Finally, as Z's part of the army marches past the end of the reviewing stand, he sees her, looking bored, standing next to the Queen, who is giving the royal wave. Z (waving) Princess! Princess Bala! Hey! It's me! Z! I've got your scarf! ON THE REVIEWING STAND, Bala sees Z -- that is to say, she sees one of the thousands upon thousands of ants marching by... BALA (peering out) Who is that idiot? QUEEN Darling, you must encourage the troops -- wave! Bala waves unenthusiastically, little more than flopping her hand back and forth on her wrist. Down below, Z takes this as a sign that Bala has seen him. Z (excited) Excuse me, guys -- That's my date. Well, it's been fun. Have a great war! Z tries to squeeze his way back towards the royals, but he's surrounded by a solid wall of soldiers -- and they're carrying him along with them. Z Hey! Wait! Z loses sight of the Princess as he's carried away. BARBATUS, a hard-as-nails "grunt" soldier ant, taps Z on the shoulder. BARBATUS You new, kid? Z I just joined up. But I'm quitting! I got a trial membership! BARBATUS Trial membership? Kid, when you join this ant's army, you're in for the full hitch. At that moment, Z is swept out of the cramped corridor they've been marching along, as the army emerges into the OPEN AIR outside of the colony. EXT. ANT MOUND - NIGHT It's a starry, moonlit night. The shadows crowd around the panicked Z, who looks up at the sky as we see the army on the march... Z Wait a minute, there's been a mistake! I've got to get back to the colony! Z starts to fall out of line, but Barbatus, looking concerned, stops him. BARBATUS Are you crazy, kid? They shoot deserters! Z swallows hard. BARBATUS You just stick by old Barbatus. He'll watch out for you. (off Z's look) Whatsamatter, kid? Leave a girl behind? Z Yeah. Well -- no. She's kind of playing hard to get. As a matter of fact, she's playing completely unattainable. (nervously) So, what's on the schedule? A brisk walk? a foraging expedition? BARBATUS No -- we're going to attack the termites! Z (alarmed) Attack? But -- I hate attacking! It's so hostile! Around Z and Barbatus, the ants start up a marching song, which we intersperse with dialogue between

film

How many times the word 'film' appears in the text?

Antz Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })(); The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb) The web's largest movie script resource! Search IMSDb Alphabetical # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Genre Action Adventure Animation Comedy Crime Drama Family Fantasy Film-Noir Horror Musical Mystery Romance Sci-Fi Short Thriller War Western Sponsor TV Transcripts Futurama Seinfeld South Park Stargate SG-1 Lost The 4400 International French scripts Movie Software Rip from DVD Rip Blu-Ray Latest Comments Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10 Star Wars: The Force Awakens10/10 Batman Begins9/10 Collateral10/10 Jackie Brown8/10 Movie Chat Message Yell ! ALL SCRIPTS "Antz", unknown draft A N T Z CHARACTERS VOICES "Z"...............................................WOODY ALLEN "WASP #1".........................................DAN AYKROYD "WASP #2".........................................JANE CURTIN "GEN. FORMICA"...................................DANNY GLOVER "MANDIBLE".......................................GENE HACKMAN "AZTECA".......................................JENNIFER LOPEZ "DRUNK SCOUT"....................................JOHN MAHONEY "WEAVER"...................................SYLVESTER STALLONE "PRINCESS BALA"..................................SHARON STONE "QUEEN"..........................................MERYL STREEP "CARPENTER"................................CHRISTOPHER WALKEN Z (O.S.) (over a dark screen) All my life, I've lived and worked in the big city... We see: EXT. AN ANT MOUND - DAY The camera swoops towards the entrance, then dives inside, past a couple of tough-looking soldier ants who stand at the gates of the ant colony like insect bouncers...into an access tunnel that snakes this way and that, past a row of ants plodding along... ...and into the MAIN CHAMBER of the colony, a huge, teeming vista that seems to stretch away forever, filled with ants rushing here and there on their business. We see -- a "traffic cop" directing foot traffic, waving his arms like crazy so both sides move at once -- a column of soldier ants marching along in formation -- a chain of ants letting down a matchbox elevator filled with workers. Z (V.O.) ...which is kind of a problem, since I've always felt uncomfortably in crowds. INT. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR'S OFFICE - DAY We join Z, a worker ant with issues. He's lying on a couch, recounting his woes. Z I feel...isolated. Different. I've got abandonment issues. My father flew away when I was just a larva. My mother didn't have much time for me...when you have five million siblings, it's difficult to get attention. (pause) I feel physically inadequate -- I've never been able to lift more than ten times my own weight. Sometimes I think I'm just not cut out to be a worker. But I don't have any other options. I was assigned to trade school when I was just a grub. The whole system just...makes me feel...insignificant. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (enthusiastic) Terrific! You should feel insignificant! For the first time, we see the ant MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR. He's a mixture of Tony Robbins and Ron Popiel (the hyperactive late-night TV huckster, and founder of "Ronco"). Z ...I should? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (hopping around enthusiastically) YES!!! You know, people ask me, "Doctor, why are you always happy?" And I tell them it's mind over matter. I don't mind that I don't matter! Do you get it? Do you get it? Z gives a fake smile. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR (incredibly "up") Z, we're part of the fastest growing species in the whole world! The counsellor rolls down a chart from the wall. An arrow shows ant population going up, up, up. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Ask me why we're so successful. Z Why are we so successful? MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR I'm glad you asked me that question! The motivational counsellor opens some blinds...and we see a vista of the ant-filled chamber below. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR What do you see out there? Z ...Ants... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Right! Ants! Millions of creatures, each with his assigned task, all pulling together! Down below, we see a group of ants carrying a boulder up an incline. One worker ants slips, and the boulder rolls down, crushing his leg. The other ants rush over -- it looks like they're going to help their fallen comrade, but instead, they climb right over him, and pick up the boulder, continuing with their task. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR You see? Being an ant is being able to say, "Hey -- I'm meaningless, you're meaningless." Z But -- but I've always felt life was about finding meaning...and then sharing it with someone special, someone you love. The motivational counsellor puts his arm on Z's shoulder...he seems to understand... MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Z...you need help. (looking at a clock) Whoops! We're gonna have to stop there. Your minute is up! The counsellor ushers Z out of his seat and towards the door. MOTIVATIONAL COUNSELLOR Now back to work! We've made real progress! Remember -- let's be best superorganism we can be! INT. EARLY MEGA-TUNNEL - DAY A gigantic tunnel, with the size and scale of the "Chunnel". A banner strung overhead reads: "The Mega-Tunnel -- Tunneling Our Way to a Bright Future!" Along the walls hang 50's work- incentive style posters with messages like, "You asked for it, you got it -- more work!" and "TWO MEALS A WEEK IS ENOUGH!!!" Line after line of ants is working on the tunnel, digging, passing clumps of dirt from ant to ant, everyone synchronized. CLOSE on a clump of DIRT being passed from hand to hand. PULL OUT TO REVEAL AZTECA, a feisty, cynical, female worker ant, who stands there, waiting to pass the dirt on. Z is daydreaming behind her, with clumps of dirt starting to pile up in front of him. AZTECA Hello?! Earth to Z! You better snap out of it, or there's gonna be a lot of pissed off ants! Z looks back, and sees the ants behind staring at him angrily. Z (snapping out of it) Sorry Azteca. Here you go, fellas! Fresh dirt! Alley oop! (looking at the dirt) Shouldn't we be wearing gloves? I mean this dirt is very...dirty. Doesn't anyone think of hygiene? (Z's stomach growls) Boy am I hungry. I'm so hungry I'm seeing double. It looks like there's two million ants in here. When's lunch? Tomorrow, or the day after? AZTECA (sweetly) Z, old pal... (shouts) SHUT UP!!! It's bad enough there's a food shortage without you complaining about it every day. Z The squeaky wheel gets the oil. AZTECA No, Z. The squeaky wheel gets thrown away, alright? You're a good ant, Z, even though you are a pain in my rear- segment. I don't wanna see anything happen to you. So quit mouthing off, before you get in trouble. A WHISTLE BLOWS. Z Thank goodness. Breaktime. All the ants put down their tools. A beat. Then the WHISTLE BLOWS AGAIN. All the ants pick up their tools again. AZTECA (resigned) Break's over. Z (getting back to work) This colony needs another tunnel like a hole in the ground. Why are we even digging this thing? AZTECA Who cares, Z. All I know is, we gotta dig. We're not the ones in charge. INT. TOWN CENTER - DAY The huge, spacious main chamber of the colony. Looming over the scene is the royal palace, which seems to be inaccessible, perched on top of a hill-like pedestal. Around the base of the pedestal, a crew of workers loiters, seemingly aimlessly...can these be the only unemployed ants in the place? GENERAL FORMICA STAIRS! The workers look up and GROAN. Then they start forming a stairway with their own bodies, linking arms, stepping on each other's shoulders. It's extremely unpleasant work. One ant is a little tardy, and just manages to get in place before... GENERAL FORMICA, the Pattonesque military leader of the colony, STEPS ON HIS HEAD, using it as the first step as he ascends to the palace, his aide-de-camp Carpenter in tow. As Formica mounts the "stairs" we can hear the workers going, "OUCH! OOF! YIKES!" etc. GENERAL FORMICA Cut the chit-chat down there! (turning to Carpenter) We've spoiled these workers, Carpenter. They've never had it so good, and listen to them -- always grumbling and complaining... Formica steps on the foot of one of the "stairway" ants, who muffles a yelp. CARPENTER ...Yes, sir. GENERAL FORMICA What have they got to complain about? Three square meals a day... CARPENTER Actually, sir, we've cut them down to three roughly rectangular meals a week. FORMICA Don't give me statistics, Carpenter. I know what I'm talking about. DOORS! Formica and Carpenter have reached the top of the staircase. There, the two guard ants on either side of the massive throne room doors pull them open -- and one door hinge SQUEAKS. FORMICA (to guard ant, while passing) Oil that, soldier. INT. THRONE ROOM - DAY The QUEEN is on her throne, her huge abdomen sprawled behind her. QUEEN Ah! General Formica. Formica salutes and marches to her, Carpenter behind him. Note: Throughout this scene, the Queen is giving birth repeatedly. Each birth is accompanied by a herald playing a short "Happy Birthday" fanfare on his trumpet. Mid-wife ants bring each baby to the Queen for inspection, who COOS a few words. The midwives put the babies on a moving bassinet- line, powered by ants on a treadmill. QUEEN General, the severe food shortage that faces the colony...pains me. The thought of any of my children going hungry... (she shudders; then, to baby) Who's the cutest widdle worker? You are! Yes, you! Don't forget to brush your teeth! (to mid-wife) Ship 'er out. (back to Formica) What steps are you taking to remedy the situation? FORMICA We are launching a major offensive to expand our foraging territory... QUEEN Yes, what else? FORMICA Please don't worry, your majesty. Leave the worrying to me. As you know, I'm not an ant of half- measures. I don't pussyfoot around. This crisis is my number one priority, and I promise you it's being dealt with swiftly, and decisively. The Queen's attention is interrupted by another baby being put in her arms. QUEEN (to baby) No snacking between meals! Off you go! (to Formica) Now -- what were we saying? FORMICA (Oliver North-style) I do not recollect, your majesty. Will that be all? QUEEN Yes, General Formica. Carry on, my good man! I don't know what we would do without you. Formica clicks his heels and bows his head. Carpenter bows low. Formica smartly about faces -- BALA (O.S.) General Formica! PRINCESS BALA hurries through a second doorway, carrying a swatch book. Something about her sets her apart from the HANDMAIDEN ANTS with her. Her tiara, probably. Formica tilts his head quizzically to Carpenter behind him. CARPENTER (sotto) Princess Bala, sir. Your fiancee. FORMICA Princess! You look -- outstanding. Is there anything I can do for you? BALA Well -- I thought -- since we're getting married...it might be nice if we...got to know one another. Formica looks confused. QUEEN Bala has always been a hopeless romantic, General. BALA It's just that -- well, I'm honored that you selected me, and everything, I just thought the marriage might go a little more smoothly if -- we had a conversation? FORMICA (uncomfortable) Conversation...yes...well... (to Carpenter) Wasn't she briefed? QUEEN (holding up a baby) Look, General! A darling baby soldier! (emotionally, to baby) Don't try to be a hero! Just make sure you come back in one piece! (handing it off) Next! FORMICA (using the interruption) I'll take your suggestion under advisement, Princess. In the meanwhile -- Formica turns to go. BALA General -- we have to talk sometime! FORMICA Very well. Carpenter, is there a convenient time to talk vis-a-vis: relationship? CARPENTER Actually, sir, we're ahead of schedule. We have thirty-six seconds available right now. FORMICA Outstanding. Princess...? Bala's a little fazed...but grabs her chance. BALA So, um...how was your day? What did you do? FORMICA (scouring his mind) Well... (that's it!) I declared war! BALA (sadly) Oh...and I was afraid we had nothing in common... CARPENTER (under his breath) Fourteen-fifty hours, sir. FORMICA Duty calls! He strides across the floor. Bala watches him go, her antennae drooping unhappily. FORMICA No squeak. Outstanding! We see through the now-open doors into the throne-room as Formica and Carpenter double-time out of the frame. The Queen sees that Bala is unhappy. QUEEN (sympathetically) I felt the same way before I got married. Confused. Scared. BALA (hopefully) You did? QUEEN Yes -- but I did my duty and sorted out all those messy feelings. The wonderful thing about ant life is that everything is arranged. Even marriage. You're lucky -- General Formica is a paragon of anthood. BALA (unconvinced) Yes...he's wonderful... The doors swing shut on them -- revealing the two guard ants who were CRUSHED in the wake of Formica's exit. INT. BALA'S QUARTERS - DAY Bala enters, followed by her handmaidens, who are in a state of giggling infatuation over Formica. Bala is scowling as she leafs through a wedding catalogue. HANDMAIDEN #1 (swooning over General Formica) The General's body segments are so...symmetrical. HANDMAIDEN #2 (giggling) I'd let him order me into battle anyday. Bala hurls the swatch book against the wall. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess? What's wrong? BALA Wrong? How could anything be wrong? I'm going to marry General Formica and be a queen and have millions of babies, just like my mom. (concerned) Do I look fat to you? HANDMAIDEN #2 (knowingly, to Handmaiden #2) Pre-wedding jitters. HANDMAIDEN #1 You just need to blow off some steam. Let's go to the bar at the Royal Club! BALA The Club's so stuffy. I want to try someplace different. HANDMAIDEN #2 There isn't anyplace else -- (making a joke) Except the worker bar. BALA The worker bar! Yes! That's where I want to go! The handmaidens look shocked. HANDMAIDEN #1 But -- we can't -- there'll be workers there. INT. ANT BAR - NIGHT A long bar filled with ants. The bar itself seems to stretch for miles, and there are hundreds of ants trying to get a drink...unfortunately, there's only one bartender. Z is at the bar with WEAVER, a burly ant soldier. Z We declared war again? (off Weaver's nod) Are you scared? WEAVER (shrugs) I'll be back. The BARTENDER, a grizzled veteran, slaps down what looks like a couple of large green beer mugs. Actually, they're aphids, little green critters he fills up from a number of kegs hanging from the ceiling. The kegs are specialized ants with hugely distended stomachs, which spray liquid into the aphids. APHIDS (as they're slapped on bar) Ouch! Ouch! BARTENDER Two aphid beers. Z (as Bartender leaves) Did you see that? How he gave you the beers, not me? I'm telling you, he's got something against workers. WEAVER I don't know what you're talking about, Z. Z Come on -- everybody dumps on us workers. You soldiers get all the glory. Plus you get to go out into the world, meet interesting insects, and kill them. WEAVER Yeah, but you get to spend all day with those fabulous worker babes. We can see that Weaver is eyeing a nearby table of "Worker Babes", including Z's friend Azteca. Z Weaver, they're career girls. They're obsessed with digging. (sighs) No, I'll probably never meet the girl for me. WEAVER Who said there was a girl for you? I was talking about a girl for me. (quaffing his aphid beer) Don't you want your aphid beer? Z I can't help it. I have a thing about drinking from the anus of another creature. Call me crazy. WEAVER Z, we've known each other a long time, right? Z Of course. You were born two seconds after me. WEAVER And all the time I've known you, you've been grumping and groaning. You should quit making waves. Go with the flow. Z Weaver, I'm an insect, not a liquid. Down the bar, there's a commotion. A grizzled old SCOUT ant has had too much to drink. DRUNK SCOUT Have you been to Insectopia? Have you? No, ya goddam larvas! But I have... (becoming emotional) ...Mosquitos n' caterpillars n' beetles -- all livin' in peace, stuffin their guts with food...No rules, no regulations...you can be your own ant there... (howling drunkenly) It's Insectopia! Insectopia! Z Hey, Weaver, listen! DRUNK SCOUT I was cut off from my unit -- found it by mistake -- (slurring) It changed my life! (spraying another soldier with saliva) You see -- ya follow the great yellow egg, and you come to the land of red and white -- SOLDIERS You've had enough for one night! Come on, Gramps, before you get in trouble. The soldiers pull him from the bar, carrying him out. Z (excited) Hey, did you hear what he said?! WEAVER Poor guy's had one too many scouting missions. MUSIC STARTS UP. INT. ANT BAR ENTRANCE - NIGHT Princess Bala is peering in at the entrance to the ant bar, accompanied by her worried-looking handmaidens. HANDMAIDEN #2 We shouldn't be doing this -- it isn't proper! BALA I'm the Princess, aren't I? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course -- BALA And do Princesses do improper things? HANDMAIDEN #2 Of course not -- BALA Then if I go to the worker bar, it isn't improper. Anyway, don't worry. No one will recognize us in our disguises. She adjusts her "disguise", a hardhat, tied down Jackie O.- style with an ant's version of a Chanel scarf. BALA I'm just a common worker, cooling off after a rough day! Music starts. An ant BARKER takes the mic at one end of the dance floor. BARKER (on loudspeaker) Okay, folks. It's six-fifteen, and that means it's time to dance. Every ant gets up to dance. Weaver turns to Z. WEAVER (draining his beer) Time to cut a rug, Z! Z I'm not in the mood. (disgusted) Even when they're off work, they follow orders. WEAVER Well, you just sit here and be a party-pooper. Weaver joins the rest of the ants who are lining up for the dance. The Barker calls out the steps in a bored monotone -- all the ants already know the steps. Everyone dances in perfect synch. BARKER (southern twang) And a left-right-quarterstep-back step-halfstep -- a left-right- quarterstep-backstep-halfstep -- a left-right-quarterstep-backstep halfstep -- AT THE ENTRANCE, Bala smiles mischievously at her handmaidens. BALA I'm going to ask one of these mindless, primitive worker-types to dance with me! HANDMAIDEN #1 But General Formica would be furious! BALA (enjoying the idea) I know. The handmaidens are appalled. Bala whirls away from them, sets her sights and searches the crowd -- zeroing in on -- Z, who's watching the other ants dance. Z What a bunch of losers. Mindless zombies capitulating to an oppressive system -- BALA Wanna dance? Bala's standing right there. Z is instantly smitten. Z Me?! Yes!!! I mean -- (regaining suavosity) Just let me finish my beer. Not breaking eye contact with Bala, Z smiles suavely. Reaches suavely for a beer. Suavely grabs the candle in a glass jar off the bar. Suavely singes his face. He plays it off with a rakish little laugh. A bit apprehensive, Bala heads onto the floor. Z follows her. Z So uh -- how come I haven't seen you around here before? BALA (covering up) I work in the palace, I don't get out much. Z The palace, hunh? I bet those royals really live it up. Of course they're all a little, you know, from inbreeding -- BALA (shocked) What? Z and Bala step onto the dance floor with the rest of the ants, but Z can't do any of the steps. Z Now, let's see, I -- it's been a while since I -- I think you -- Bala watches Z, trying to follow along. It's the blind leading the blind, as Z tries in vain to follow the barker's rapid instructions. Z Here, I'll lead. Z starts doing his own, individual dance. With a suave expression on his face, he leads Bala in a helter-skelter mixture-of Tango, Charleston, and hand-jive. BALA Are you sure this is a real dance? Z Well, actually, uh -- I'm sort of making it up -- BALA (surprised) Really? Z Why should everyone dance the same way? It's as exciting as watching fungus grow. BALA You're right! Z (surprised) You -- you think I'm right? BALA Why can't I just do whatever I want to do? Why can't I just go wild?! Yahoo! Bala starts to get into it, making up her own steps in reply to Z's, loosening up, having fun. For a moment, the two of them are actually sexy together. Then they get a little too wild -- and the other ants, who are still doing their intricate dance, start to collide with Bala and Z. Z almost knocks over a big soldier ant. We can only see the ant's back at the moment. SOLDIER Hey! Watch your step, worker. Z has turned around to see the soldier ant, MAJOR MANDIBLE, glaring at him. Mandible is about twice Z's size. He's got one eye missing, and half of his left antenna his been chewed off. BALA You watch yours, soldier, or my worker friend will beat you up! Z (terrified) Oh, that's okay, I'll let him off this time. (whispering to Bala) Are you crazy? This guy's built like a pebble! (ineptly trying to placate the soldier) You know they do great prosthetic antennas nowadays -- BALA Aren't you gonna stand up for yourself? Z's caught between a rock and a hard place. He doesn't want to get beaten up, but on the other hand, he doesn't want to lose face in front of Bala. More soldiers have gathered around, looking hostile. SOLDIER How come you don't dance like the rest of us? Z glances over at Bala. Then, shaking with nervousness, he says defiantly... Z Because -- because I'm an individual! SOLDIER #2 An individual? Never heard of it. MANDIBLE You look like a worker to me. WEAVER Hey, lay off my little buddy! Z, meanwhile, looks far away, ecstatic, as if he's just realized something very important. Unfortunately, just at this moment, A soldier pushes Weaver...Weaver pushes him back...somebody makes a dive for Z -- and before you know it, there's a regular bar brawl going on, with Weaver in the middle of it, cracking heads together, punching ants in the face, having a great time. Just then, the Princess' handmaidens hurries over. HANDMAIDEN #1 Princess Bala! Princess Bala! Z, who's scrabbling around on the floor, overhears. Z Princess? You're a Princess? HANDMAIDEN #2 The police are coming! BALA Uh oh. (to Z) Goodbye! Gotta run! Z Wait! When can I see you again? BALA Let me think. Hmmnn... (thinks) Never. Bye! Bala rushes off with her handmaiden, just before a squad of whistle-blowing POLICE wade into the crowd. Z Wait! Princess! Wait! But she's already gone, leaving Z holding her scarf. CUT TO: INT. DORMITORY - THE NEXT DAY Z is talking to Weaver, who's getting ready to go off to war. Nearby, columns of ant soldiers march by. WEAVER Get real, Z! She just dropped the scarf by accident! Z Are you kidding? There were sparks between us! This scarf is a sign! WEAVER It's a sign that you're crazy! Do you know what the penalty for impersonating a soldier is? Z What's gonna go wrong?! I take your place for the royal inspection. Bala comes strolling down the line, she sees me -- bingo! Love is rekindled, and she takes me up to the palace for a little... (wags his eyebrows suggestively) tea and crumpets... and you take your place again, and go march around to your heart's content! Weaver looks unconvinced. Z You have to help me. Please, Weaver. Think of all the things I've done for you! WEAVER (thinks) I can't think of any. Z (pause) Well I'm gonna start doing things for you... WEAVER Will you introduce me to some worker girls? Z You bet! They'll really go for a sensitive guy like you! WEAVER Maybe I'll get lucky. (Weaver thinks about it) You know, Z, I wouldn't do this for anyone but you... Weaver hands Z has helmet. WEAVER Wear this. Z (overjoyed) You're a real buddy. WEAVER (sourly) Yeah, I know. Z What do I do? WEAVER Don't tell anyone you're a worker. Follow that column over there. And come right back after the inspection! Weaver points to a bunch of soldiers hurrying by in formation. Z (overjoyed) Thanks! I owe you! Z skips off and joins the column, marching in time with the soldiers but too excited to keep from jazzing it up a little. INT. TOWN CENTER - NIGHT The ant army has gathered in a huge HALL in front of a reviewing stand. We can hear the murmuring of thousands of soldiers -- but all we can see is a HUGE POSTER of an ant General pointing right at the camera. The poster reads, "GENERAL FORMICA WANTS YOU -- to obey". Z turns to some of the soldiers near him. Z Any of you guys know when the Princess will show up? She's kind of a personal friend. The soldiers look at Z like he's nuts. LOUD VOICE ATTEN-SHUN! MARTIAL MUSIC sounds, and we hear thousands of ant feet as they snap to attention. Z imitates the soldiers awkwardly. GENERAL FORMICA struts to the middle 6f the screen, slapping his thigh with a swagger stick (the antenna of some unfortunate insect) FORMICA First of all, let me make one thing clear. Nobody ever won a battle by thinking for himself. All this "thinking" stuff is a load of crap. If the almighty had wanted you boys to think, he wouldn't have given you huge mandibles and a brain so small you'd misplace it if it wasn't trapped inside your head. In the audience, Z starts laughing -- he thinks Formica's just made a joke. Z (slapping his thigh) "Trapped inside your head" -- that's a good one -- Z notices nobody else is laughing. He stops. Z Geez -- tough room. From the stage, Formica is squinting at the audience, trying to make out who was laughing, but there are just too many ants. He continues. FORMICA (striding back and forth) We ants survive as a species because we do what we're told. We survive because we work together, as one, we get the job done, we do whatever it takes to persevere! (dramatic pause) Hell, we're not an army of ants...we're one giant ant, with giant fists, and giant jaws! The soldiers CHEER! Z CHEERS along with the rest of them. Z (to the soldier ant next to him) Lays it on a little thick, doesn't he? If you ask me, he's one giant bore. FORMICA Now I've heard a lot of scuttlebutt about a food shortage. Well you boys are gonna be taken care of. But in the meantime we're gonna eat the enemy for breakfast, we are gonna eat the enemy for lunch, and we are gonna eat the enemy for dinner! Z Geez, and I forgot my toothbrush. FORMICA (reflective moment) Dammit, I'm proud to be an ant. (he looks out at his army) And I know each and every one of you boys will do your duty. Dismissed. Z applauds and whistles as the other ants look at him in confusion. Z (clapping) Bravo! Bring on the Princess! COLONEL Stow the gab there, soldier! Let's move 'em out! The soldiers turn to the right and start to march out past the reviewing stand. A COLONEL marches at the head of Z's column as Z looks around for the Princess. COLONEL Eyes...left! Finally, as Z's part of the army marches past the end of the reviewing stand, he sees her, looking bored, standing next to the Queen, who is giving the royal wave. Z (waving) Princess! Princess Bala! Hey! It's me! Z! I've got your scarf! ON THE REVIEWING STAND, Bala sees Z -- that is to say, she sees one of the thousands upon thousands of ants marching by... BALA (peering out) Who is that idiot? QUEEN Darling, you must encourage the troops -- wave! Bala waves unenthusiastically, little more than flopping her hand back and forth on her wrist. Down below, Z takes this as a sign that Bala has seen him. Z (excited) Excuse me, guys -- That's my date. Well, it's been fun. Have a great war! Z tries to squeeze his way back towards the royals, but he's surrounded by a solid wall of soldiers -- and they're carrying him along with them. Z Hey! Wait! Z loses sight of the Princess as he's carried away. BARBATUS, a hard-as-nails "grunt" soldier ant, taps Z on the shoulder. BARBATUS You new, kid? Z I just joined up. But I'm quitting! I got a trial membership! BARBATUS Trial membership? Kid, when you join this ant's army, you're in for the full hitch. At that moment, Z is swept out of the cramped corridor they've been marching along, as the army emerges into the OPEN AIR outside of the colony. EXT. ANT MOUND - NIGHT It's a starry, moonlit night. The shadows crowd around the panicked Z, who looks up at the sky as we see the army on the march... Z Wait a minute, there's been a mistake! I've got to get back to the colony! Z starts to fall out of line, but Barbatus, looking concerned, stops him. BARBATUS Are you crazy, kid? They shoot deserters! Z swallows hard. BARBATUS You just stick by old Barbatus. He'll watch out for you. (off Z's look) Whatsamatter, kid? Leave a girl behind? Z Yeah. Well -- no. She's kind of playing hard to get. As a matter of fact, she's playing completely unattainable. (nervously) So, what's on the schedule? A brisk walk? a foraging expedition? BARBATUS No -- we're going to attack the termites! Z (alarmed) Attack? But -- I hate attacking! It's so hostile! Around Z and Barbatus, the ants start up a marching song, which we intersperse with dialogue between

s

How many times the word 's' appears in the text?