Mad Youth

Lucy Morgan:
I don't wanna grow old!

Jane, piano player at Bridge party:
Want to play, Stewart?

Stewart, Singing Bridge Player:
Oh, I suppose so, but I don't like Bridge. My brother lost his wife playing Bridge.

Jane, piano player at Bridge party:
You mean to say your brother bet his wife on a Bridge game?

Stewart, Singing Bridge Player:
No, she trumped his ace, and he shot her!

Jane, piano player at Bridge party:
That'll never happen to you, you old woman hater.

Stewart, Singing Bridge Player:
I'm not a woman hater, I'm just a happy bachelor!

Jane, piano player at Bridge party:
I should think lifelong bachelorhood would be pretty lonely.

Stewart, Singing Bridge Player:
Oh, well, if it was good enough for my father, I guess it's good enough for me!

Count DeHoven:
You mean to tell me you let your daughter go and visit Helen without even knowing where she lives?

Lucy Morgan:
Well, yes. She said she'd write in a few days.

Count DeHoven:
But all we know about Helen is that she ran away to marry a man she had never seen. A man she met through a matrimonial agency advertisement.

Lucy Morgan:
Yes, I... I guess that is so.

Count DeHoven:
Don't you know that some of those agencies are the worst kind of traps? That many of the customers are criminals, morons, white slavers, or people who are mentally or physically diseased?

Lucy Morgan:
Oh, I've never given it a thought.

Count DeHoven:
Oh, you American mothers, with your Bridge parties, and beauty shops, and your silly flirtations. Wasting your lives and neglecting your duties. Letting your children run wild for lack of sensible parental supervision.

Lucy Morgan:
Oh, you don't know American children. They're spoiled and disobedient, and drunken.

Count DeHoven:
Drunken? Yes, drunk with the exuberance of youth and sheer joy of living. There's nothing really wrong with the children of today. Nothing that proper environment and congenial home life wouldn't correct.

Lucy Morgan:
What do you expect us modern mothers to do?

Count DeHoven:
Quit trying to be butterflies. Get back to the business of being mothers, like your mother, and your grandmother, and generations of mothers before them.