Pete: Well, I've put all the kiddies east of the Mississippi to bed. How's rehearsal?
Peggy Cornell: Oh awful. Some yokel stood outside the rehearsal hall making and stared at me until I nearly broke me up. What have you got a summons?
Pete: No, fan mail.
Peggy Cornell: Oh. Three of them. That's two more than last week! Your public are growing up and learning to write.
Pete: Listen to this: Dear Uncle Pete. I am well. How are you? I hear you on the radio every night. Great stuff for a he man poet... Have you heard my last poem, Peggy?
Peggy Cornell: I sure hope so.
Pete: Frankie Wallace was a pug. He laid his opponents out like a rug. Until one day... Wait a minute! You haven't heard the last of it.
Peggy Cornell: Well. You've got me cornered.
Pete: Frankie Wallace was a pug. He laid his opponents out like a rug...
Rush Blake: Baby, if you could only sing. Say, there's an idea: a singing cigarette girl. Oh, I can hear the music comin' over the air now. Soft and soothing. You know, I'd like to give you to all America - and seven Canadian stations!
Cigarette Girl: You giving anything would be a new idea.
Rush Blake: You know, Mr. Walcott, in a hotel, it's personality that counts. You can have 300 rooms and 300 baths; but, if you don't put your personality into 'em, where are you? If I've said it once, I've said it a 100 times: east, west, home is best. And that's what you've got here, Mr. Walcott.
Rush Blake: Say, listen, I'm headin' for New York - where there's a pot of gold and milk and honey waitin' for me.
Buddy Clayton: [singing] He taught her gymnastics and dressed her in tights, To help him to live at his ease, He made her assume a masculine name, Now she goes on the trapeze, Oooooooo! She floats through the air, With the greatest of ease, You'd think her a man, On the flying trapeze, Her actions are graceful, All girls she does please, And that's what become of me love!
Rush Blake: Sit down a minute, will ya?
Buddy Clayton: I'm not allowed to sit with a customer.
Rush Blake: I'm not a customer! I'm a prophet from the promised land.
Buddy Clayton: Shhh! I'll keep your secret.
Rush Blake: Sit down a minute, will ya? Listen, I got a perfect honey of an idea. It came to me when I heard you sing.
Buddy Clayton: Don't blame me for that!
Rush Blake: Horace really was wrong. Go east, young man, go east.
Rush Blake: Well, here you are buddy, castle of dreams! A little different from that daffy honky tonk in Hollywood, isn't it?
Chester A. Sharpe: Rush Blake - I wouldn't see him if he brought me Mussolini! It'd be a fake!
Mr. Sharpe's Secretary: Mr. Sharpe will see you now.
Rush Blake: Bright eyes, he'll not only see me, he'll kiss me.
Rush Blake: Here I bring you an absolute, definite novelty - even after you fire me. And just to show you my loyalty, I pay my own railroad fare to get here. Now, I ask you Mr. Sharpe, is that gratitude? Is that gratitude!
Chester A. Sharpe: I don't give a whoop whether it's gratitude or pineapples!
Peggy Cornell: [singing] What are you up to? If you're in the proper mood, For a moonlight interlude, I'm prepared to be pursued by you, Oh! Babe, what are you out for? Baby, what am I in for? Is my baby out for *no* good? Is my baby got rhythm? Tell me is it hot rhythm? Is my baby out for *no* good? Mr. Moon, why does he wink at every star? In the park, in the dark, why do we park a car?
Peggy Cornell: [singing] Is my baby out for *no* good? Cause I could, do you good, if my baby, is out for no good.
Buddy Clayton: [singing] He played with a Miss, Like a cat with a mouse, His eyes would undress, Every maid in the house, Perhaps he is better, Described as a louse, Yet, people came just the same...
Rush Blake: All right, Mr. Sharpe, I can see you're nothing but a high bound reactionary. You're a die hard, Mr. Sharpe. You're losing your grip. I'm going right over and sell him to television.
Peggy Cornell: Ah, the good old Rush technique: you start at the top and work yourself down.
Pete: They laughed at me! They laughed at my poetry. So, what do I do? I write a lyric. Harry Warren sees it and writes the music. Al Dubin touches up the words. And now Witmark's gonna publish it! And who's laughin' now?
Rush Blake: This doesn't call for a lawyer. It calls for a doctor and here I am, Dr. Blake, ready to cure your romantic moments.
Herbert Brokman: Yeah, I had experts trying to cure my romantic moments.
Rush Blake: Say, I've got just the boy for this...
Herbert Brokman: Boy? What boy? I don't want boys!
Rush Blake: This is all wrong, you've got a woman on this program. You can't have a woman sell soap to women. You need a man for that. Did you ever hear of a Fuller Brush woman?
Mrs. Martha Brokman: Herbie, be firm!
Herbert Brokman: Always something to worry about!
Rush Blake: Ah, what's the beef now?
Herbert Brokman: This is a pretty fettle of kish, kettle of fish. Three million women dream about him every night and he wants to marry one girl.
Rush Blake: What about it? He can't marry the whole three million of 'em.
Herbert Brokman: What I care about them bein' in love? Think of my soap!
Peggy Cornell: Listen, I'll let you in on a little secret. For six months I've been trying to get a part in a production and they couldn't see me for dust. So, now, when I'm gonna get married, I get an offer. Tragic, isn't it?
Rush Blake: Imagine that, the kid's gone Broadway.
Herbert Brokman: How can we advertise pure Carlotta soap with a croon singer - that goes around gettin' into tough and rumbles, rough and tumbles in public like a common barroom loafer?
Herbert Brokman: So, now you're rough 'n' tumblin' again - you loafer! What's to become of my Carlotta soap? In 25 minutes it starts on the air and you're gonna wash it all up!
Rush Blake: Thanks, kid, I know you'd see it my way. Remember, I had nothin' to do with this! You don't know me. You never even saw me. I'm the man from Mars to you.