DASH:
With his belly full of apple pastry Tom wandered the streets looking
for work and a place to sleep.
DOT:
At last he found someone willing to lend him a cot in the cellar of
the Gold Indicator Company.
DASH:
One morning he woke up and heard a ruckus...
(CODY
enters as BROKER. DASH rushes in as nervous clerk. They huddle around
"Stock ticker".)
CODY/BROKER:
Fix it! Fix it! Hurry up! We’re losing money faster than juice
through a goose!
DASH/CLERK:
I’m trying sir, I just can’t see what’s wrong with it!
BROKER:
Can’t see what’s wrong, what do I pay you for, for garsh
darn sake?
CLERK:
I keep track of the profits, sir! I am not a telegraph operator!
EDISON:
Telegraph operator? Did someone say telegraph operator?
BROKER:
My kingdom for a telegraph operator! I got a house full of over
educated smarty pants and not one of them can save the ship.
We’re going down boys, we’re going down!
EDISON:
What seems to be the problem?
BROKER:
This ticker won’t tick! Don’t you see there’s an army,
a universe of brokers out there watching for the price of gold.
They’re buying, they’re selling. Stock quotes and price
changes! It’s how the world goes round, don’t you see? This
contraption is the one that transmits...
EDISON:
Telegraphs...
BROKER:
Telegraphs schmelagraphs! The diddly ding dong thing don’t work!
We’re ruined boys, ruined I tell you...
(EDISON
quietly goes to the machine and rattles a few parts. BROKER rages on
behind him as EDISON finishes and stands back.
SOUND CUE:
Sound of ticker ticking happily away.)
They’re
gonna sue me, boys don’t you see? They’re gonna rip the
shirt right off my back, don’t you see? The end is near, boys,
the end is near!!
CLERK:
Um. Sir. Um. Look.
(They all
look at machine.)
BROKER:
Well I’ll be a horse’s wide patoot. Did you do this young man?
EDISON:
It wasn’t hard. Seems a spring broke off, and fell down between
these wheels...
(BROKER
& DASH are hushed.)
BROKER:
You’re a genius, son. A bonifide genius. I want to offer you a job.(With
a thumb over his shoulder at DASH.) His job.
