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Mr. Potter: George, I am an old man and most people hate me. But I don't like them either, so that makes it all even. You know just as well as I do that I run practically everything in this town but the Bailey Building and Loan. You know, also, that for a number of years I've been trying to get control of it. Or kill it. But I haven't been able to do it. You have been stopping me. In fact, you have beaten me, George, and as anyone in this county can tell you, that takes some doing. Now take during the depression, for instance. You and I were the only ones that kept our heads. You saved the Building and Loan, I saved all the rest. George: Yes, well, most people say you stole all the rest. Mr. Potter: The envious ones say that, George. The suckers. Now, I have stated my side very frankly. Now let's look at your side. A young man, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, married, making, say, forty a week. George: Forty-five! Mr. Potter: Forty-five. Forty-five. Out of which, after supporting your mother and paying your bills, you're able to keep, say, ten, if you skimp. A child or two comes along and you won't even be able to save the ten. Now, if this young man of twenty-eight was a common, ordinary yokel, I'd say he was doing fine. But George Bailey is not a common, ordinary yokel. He is an intelligent, smart, ambitious, young man who hates his job, who hates the Building and Loan almost as much as I do. A young man who's been dying to get out on his own ever since he was born. A young man... the smartest one in the crowd, mind you... A young man who has to sit by and watch his friends go places because he's trapped. Yes, sir, trapped into frittering his life away, playing nursemaid to a lot of garlic eaters. Do I paint the correct picture or do I exaggerate? George: Oh, what's your point, Mr. Potter? Mr. Potter: My point? My point is, I want to hire you. George: Hire me? Mr. Potter: I want you to manage my affairs, run my properties. George, I'll start you out at twenty thousand dollars a year. George: Twenty thous...twenty thousand dollars a year? Mr. Potter: You wouldn't mind living in the nicest house in town, buying your wife a lot of fine clothes, a couple of business trips to New York a year, maybe once in a while Europe. You wouldn't mind that, would you, George? George: Would I? Y-You're not talking to somebody else around here, are you? You know, th-this is me, you remember me? George Bailey. Mr. Potter: Oh, yes, George Bailey. Whose ship has just come in, provided he has enough brains to climb aboard. George: Holy mackerel! Well, how about the Building and Loan? Mr. Potter: Oh, confound it, man! Are you afraid of success? I'm offering you a three-year contract at twenty thousand dollars a year, starting today. Is it a deal, or isn't it? George: Well, Mr. Potter, I...I...I know I ought to jump at the chance but I...I just, uh, I-I wonder if-if it would be possible for you to give me twenty-four hours to think it over? Mr. Potter: Sure, sure, sure. You go on home and talk about it to your wife. George: I'd like to do that. Mr. Potter: Yeah. In the meantime, I'll draw up the papers. George: All right, sir. Mr. Potter: Okay, George? George: Okay, Mr. Potter. [pause] No, no, no, no. Wait a minute here. Wait a minute. I don't need twenty-four hours. I, I don't have to talk to anybody. I know right now, and the answer is no! No! Doggone it! You sit around here and you spin your little webs and you think the whole world revolves around you and your money. Well, it doesn't, Mr. Potter. In the whole vast configuration of things, I'd say you were nothing but a scurvy little spider! And... [turning to his aide] And that goes for you, too!

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