Garden of the Moon

Slappy Harris:
Say, you ought to be able to get us a lot of publicity. You know, Don is a solid tenor, when he gets nice and groovy, its out of this world.

Toni Blake:
How's that?

Slappy Harris:
I mean its a killer duck. Well, when he starts us cats sending, you ought to see the alligators pack around the grandstand.

Toni Blake:
I don't mean to be rude, but, are you giving me the double-talk?

Don Vincente:
Ha-ha. Nah, that's just a little swing lingo. He means the customers like our work.

Toni Blake:
Does he speak English too?

Don Vincente:
Of course he does. Slappy, say a few words in English for the lady.

Slappy Harris:
Oh, she knows what I mean. She's no icky.

Don Vincente:
Now, look fellas, I want to break this to you gently, so hang on tight. We're booked in the Garden of the Moon, Los Angeles. You realize what this means? No more Brooklyn weddings. No more beer joints. No more Chop Suey dives. From now on we work every night and we get paid every week. Fellas, this is it!

Photographer:
Hey, Quinn, we've been here for one whole hour. When is that oriental monkey arrive?

John Quinn:
Now, listen, you bird dogs, have a little respect for his highness.

Reporter:
What kind of a mug is this highness?

John Quinn:
Certainly nice of you to call me John on such short acquaintance.

Maharajah of Sund:
I always call people I like by their first name, Mr. Quinn.

Toni Blake:
I hope you got your pants pressed.

Slappy Harris:
Well, at least I got 'em on.