Family Affair (1966) s01e13 Episode Script
The Thursday Man
1
Now come on.
Why couldn't Murray come in and play?
I'll tell you why.
Because Murray needed a bath urgently.
It's fun to be dirty.
How come we can't play on the dirty
sidewalks like Murray?
Because you are being raised like
civilized children.
What's civilized?
Clean.
Clean.
Then I don't want to be whatever you said.
Now look, Mr. Davis is bringing guests
home for dinner, and I have business to do
in the kitchen, so go to your rooms and
play.
Go on.
We see him every day.
In fact, since Uncle Bill is away a lot, we see
Mr. French more than anybody else in the world.
He is English.
He has a beard.
He understands a lot about cooking and
books and music.
And that is all I know about him.
I suppose that is the most I know about
anybody.
Now that I think of it, I wonder if anybody
really knows anything about other people.
I mean, the real, deep-down insights of
other people.
The end.
I'd like to see you follow it up.
Follow it up?
I'm willing to give you extra credit for
writing a sequel about Mr. French.
I'd like to see you explore the
possibility of getting to know someone.
Gosh, it sort of scares me.
Well, I mean, trying to get personal with
Mr. French.
Miss Elliot, if you knew him You
won't do anything to hurt him or offend him.
Now, perhaps he doesn't know how to reach
you either.
Perhaps he would welcome a chance to open
up.
You know, I've often thought that we all
would.
Okay, Miss Elliot.
I'll try.
Mr. French.
Uh, where were you born?
London.
What part?
The West End, of course.
What did your father do?
Oh, he was in service, as was my
grandfather.
What was your mother like?
The matter of my family tree should be of
small importance.
Small interest.
Forgive me, Miss Cissy.
Uncle Bill.
Mm-hmm?
How long have you known, how long have you
known Mr. French?
About nine years.
Where did you meet him?
In London.
I was working on a job over there.
I met him and brought him back with me.
Why?
Well, I wrote a composition about him,
and he wrote a composition for English.
You know, the more I think about it, the more I
realize that I don't know very much about him.
What would you like to know?
Well, doesn't he have a first name?
Sure, it's, uh, I put it on a check every
month.
Giles.
Giles French.
Giles?
Yep.
I can't imagine anybody calling him Giles.
Not even his mother.
Somehow, I get the idea that he was never
a small boy.
I think he always looked the way he does
now.
Maybe he did.
You know, come to think of it,
I don't know much about him myself.
Never occurred to me to ask him a lot of
questions.
I see him every day of the week,
too, except Thursday.
Where does he go when his day off?
Oh, how would I know?
He, uh, leaves early in the morning and he
comes back late in the evening.
Same time every week.
Nine years.
Gosh.
Nine years sharing the same apartment.
That's all you know about him?
Yeah.
Well, maybe men aren't as inquisitive as
women.
Maybe we respect each other's privacy,
too.
So not a bad idea for anybody.
Don't go too far, okay?
Okay, bye.
Bye-bye.
Good afternoon, Miss Davis.
Hello, Miss Davisham.
Oh, please.
Thanks.
And how is Mr. Davis?
Oh, he's fine.
The twins are fine, too.
Mr. French is fine.
Oh, Oh?
Mm-hmm.
Um, Mr. French is English.
Uh, so I understand.
Did you know Mr. French back in England?
Yes.
Very well.
Uh, I would say so.
Well, we don't know a lot of stuff about
him.
Was he always so, well, so stiff?
Do you know when he grew a beard?
I mean things like, uh, was he ever
married?
Did he have any children?
Romances?
I mean, maybe you and Mr. French were
even
Well, uh, you could have gone out on dates
back there.
Why, the two of you could have been in
love and you wouldn't mention it.
Miss Davis, we consider reticence a
virtue.
I'm sure your intentions are good,
but it is
rather astounding.
It's a sensitive subject.
You see
Mr. French was very much in love.
But not with me.
He was?
Would you tell me about it?
Certainly not.
Mr. French in love.
Really in love.
Amazing.
Imagine Mr. French being in love.
Likewell
Romeo andJulie.
It's Mr. Withers.
Go on ahead, Freddy.
Good afternoon, Miss Davis.
Hi, Mr. Withers.
Do you have a minute?
Certainly.
You and Mr. French are good friends.
Quite so.
Considering that he is opinionated,
stubborn, aloof, and difficult,
not to mention stiff-necked.
Well, didn't you ever see something else
underneath?
A moment of warmth?
A hint of tenderness, maybe?
No.
Well, you must remember something.
Something to show the inner Mr. French.
Inside, Miss Davis, you will find more of
the same.
Well, like where does he go every
Thursday?
I have no idea.
I should consider that his private affair.
Good afternoon, Miss Davis.
Wait, wait, wait.
There was something once.
I always wondered.
Yes?
Well, we were in a local pub discussing
the football matches.
A fellow there recognized Mr. French from
the old days in London.
And he slapped Mr. French on the back and
inquired about Old Bertie.
Who was Old Bertie?
Why, I haven't the foggiest.
But I remember Mr. French's expression.
He drew himself up, didn't
about turn, and marched off.
I never mentioned it again, of course.
Old Bertie.
I understand you to say, Old Bertie.
Yes, Old Bertie.
I was just wondering
And who, may I ask, suggested that you
recall Old Bertie?
Mr. Withers.
May I ask why?
Well, I'm working on this composition for
school.
What composition?
About you.
Me.
I had to write about somebody I knew.
And I thought I knew about you.
Only I don't.
Miss Cissy, have I ever inquired concerning
your past history, your personal affairs back in time?
Have you ever been to Terre Haute?
Well, no.
Then may I suggest a mutual exchange of
privacy?
Yes, sir.
Oh, Bertie.
Bertie and Dean.
Mr. French!
Hmm?
Yes, Bertie?
We brushed our teeth and we're ready for
bed.
Oh, yes.
To be sure, I'll be along to tuck you in
presently.
Whose dog is that?
It's my own.
I used to have a cat that's head broke
off.
I like Mrs. Beasley better.
Have you had the dog very long?
Very long time.
It's a souvenir.
What's a souvenir?
A memory.
Something out of long, long ago.
Is he a friend of yours like Mrs. Beasley?
Precisely.
A friend of mine.
Let's go to bed, Bubby.
Come on.
Hi.
Am I interrupting anything?
No.
Come on.
Sit down.
Uncle Bill, I find out fascinating
little bits and pieces about Mr.
French, but they don't
add up to anything.
And you still try.
Can I figure out what makes them tick?
Well, it started as an assignment for
extra credit.
But now, I'm getting pretty curious.
When do you call an assignment like that?
Private eye caper?
No.
Just a composition to tell about a person
I know.
But all I found out is his name is Giles
French.
He was born in the West End of London.
His father was a Butler.
His grandfather was a Butler.
He was in love once.
He was in love?
French?
Mm-hmm.
Miss Faversham told me.
What else?
Well, Mr. Withers said he was stubborn.
Mm-hmm.
And that when you ask Mr. French
about somebody named Old Bertie, Mr.
French blows his top.
Old Bertie?
Mm-hmm.
I've never heard him talk about anybody
named Old Bertie.
Well, now you know everything,
don't you?
I don't know anything.
Has it ever occurred to you maybe he wants
it that way?
Well, aren't you curious about who he was
in love with?
No.
Or who was Old Bertie?
No.
Well, you think I should drop the whole
project?
No, I think you ought to stop for a minute
and figure out whether you got the right
to go sticking your nose into his private
business.
Yes, sir.
Hey, I got a wild idea.
Why don't you and me go down to the corner
and get a chocolate soda?
I have school tomorrow.
It's Thursday.
I know.
Let's live dangerously.
Morning, Mrs.
Martiani.
Hello, Freddy.
Did you happen to notice a man just went
in the house a few doors down?
I mind my own business.
I got no time to be watching the
neighbors.
I just thought that It's his business
if he wants to go visit old Mrs. Allaby.
Ah, I bet you he's English like her.
He stays on until nine, then he goes.
Every Thursday.
Never misses.
Freddy, you mustn't be nosy about other
people's business.
Nine O'clock on the dot.
Boy.
If Uncle Bill ever finds out, he'll skin
me alive.
Look, in this life, you have to take
chances.
Go on.
Yes?
Mrs. Allenby?
Yes?
May I speak to you, please?
Come in.
The door is unlocked.
How do you do?
I just wanted to ask a few questions
concerning Mr. French.
Mr. Giles French?
Mr. French?
Yes.
He gave your name as a reference.
You see, he applied to our company for a
credit card, just routine.
Gave me as a credit reference?
Oh, what a surprising thing to do.
Won't you sit down, miss
Miss
Miss Jones?
Well, aren't you rather young to be making
this sort of inquiries?
Yes, ma'am.
I am young.
My name isn't Jones.
There isn't any credit card.
I'm ashamed of myself.
I'm Cissy Davis, and I live with my Uncle
Bill.
Mr. French works for him.
I'm a very nosy little girl.
You see, I started out to write a
composition about people for school.
I wrote about Mr. French, only I didn't know
anything about him, and nobody would tell me.
Only
Only Uncle Bill was right.
I should have minded my own business.
I'm very sorry.
Miss Davis, some of us do not like to have others
delving into the past, reminding us of old hurts.
Yes, ma'am.
I'll just leave and not be any more
trouble.
Please, Miss Davis, don't go just yet.
Would you care for tea?
No.
No, thank you.
Thanks.
You know, I think I should answer your
questions.
Really?
Would you?
So that you will stop asking them.
Was he
Was he really in love?
In love?
Oh, yes.
A long time ago.
Mr. French was my husband's valet in
London.
We had reverses and came to America.
Here, Mr. Allenby died.
Mr. French, too, came to America.
And one day we met.
I was quite lonely and bewildered.
He was and is a faithful friend.
And now each Thursday he comes by,
tidies my room, fills the cupboard,
takes me out for a walk and to a lovely
tea.
For one day each week, he
is the old family servant and
I am the lady of the house
and life is gracious again.
Mrs. Allenby, did you ever hear of old
Bertie?
How would you know of old Bertie?
Well, I have no idea of who he is,
only that it makes him flare up.
Well, I should think so.
Old Bertie is a little cloth doll.
Mr. French won it at Brighton.
That's something like your Coney Island.
Why does it mean so much?
Because he won it for her.
And she named it Old Bertie.
She?
The girl.
The one and only girl.
I never met her.
I never even knew her name.
Were they married?
No.
The blitz was on.
Whole blocks just blown to bits.
People just disappeared.
He searched and searched, but he never
found anything except a little cloth dog.
Why.
did you just tell me to mind my own
business?
Because I was afraid you would keep on
asking questions and pry the truth out of
Mr. French, and that would hurt him very
much.
Goodbye, Mrs. Allenby.
My dear.
You and I have a sacred trust.
Yes, ma'am.
Maybe I've grown up a little and can
handle it.
Hi, Cissy.
Oh, hi, Uncle Bill.
What you doing?
Homework?
English composition.
Hmm.
About Mr. French?
No.
This one is about somebody I know.
Me.
That's nice.
I meant the part about girls being too
curious and too romantic and not knowing
enough about respecting other people's
privacy.
Hmm.
Like French says, privacy.
Privacy.
Privacy.
Hi.
Hi, kids.
How was the birthday party?
Sir, Mr. Jody has a large portion of
pistachio ice cream in his hand.
On the hair.
How'd that happen?
Marie did it.
We were playing pin the tail on the
donkey.
Marie was bending over, and I pinned the
tail on him.
Marie hit me, Jody hit him, and Marie
threw his ice cream cone at Jody.
Well, I guess it's just as well it went in his
hair instead of all over the lady's furniture.
Yes, sir.
Only Jody threw his chocolate cone at
Marie, and it went all over the couch.
Sir, my my train My train leaves me
entirely unprepared for such nonsense.
All right, Jody, you go get your clothes
off.
I'm going to put you in the
washing machine, and then
we'll call up the lady and
tell her we're sorry, all right?
Well, get going.
With your kind permission, sir, I will retire to my
room and meditate in silence for an hour before dinner.
Well, now you got me doing it.
I wonder where he does go.
He does go on Thursdays.
Oh, just be glad he's here the other six
days.
Uncle Bill, I know Mr. French's first
name.
You too?
It's Mr.
I know.
I know.
I know.
I know.
I know.
I know.
I know.
I know.
I know.
I know.
I know.
I know.
I know.
I know.
Now come on.
Why couldn't Murray come in and play?
I'll tell you why.
Because Murray needed a bath urgently.
It's fun to be dirty.
How come we can't play on the dirty
sidewalks like Murray?
Because you are being raised like
civilized children.
What's civilized?
Clean.
Clean.
Then I don't want to be whatever you said.
Now look, Mr. Davis is bringing guests
home for dinner, and I have business to do
in the kitchen, so go to your rooms and
play.
Go on.
We see him every day.
In fact, since Uncle Bill is away a lot, we see
Mr. French more than anybody else in the world.
He is English.
He has a beard.
He understands a lot about cooking and
books and music.
And that is all I know about him.
I suppose that is the most I know about
anybody.
Now that I think of it, I wonder if anybody
really knows anything about other people.
I mean, the real, deep-down insights of
other people.
The end.
I'd like to see you follow it up.
Follow it up?
I'm willing to give you extra credit for
writing a sequel about Mr. French.
I'd like to see you explore the
possibility of getting to know someone.
Gosh, it sort of scares me.
Well, I mean, trying to get personal with
Mr. French.
Miss Elliot, if you knew him You
won't do anything to hurt him or offend him.
Now, perhaps he doesn't know how to reach
you either.
Perhaps he would welcome a chance to open
up.
You know, I've often thought that we all
would.
Okay, Miss Elliot.
I'll try.
Mr. French.
Uh, where were you born?
London.
What part?
The West End, of course.
What did your father do?
Oh, he was in service, as was my
grandfather.
What was your mother like?
The matter of my family tree should be of
small importance.
Small interest.
Forgive me, Miss Cissy.
Uncle Bill.
Mm-hmm?
How long have you known, how long have you
known Mr. French?
About nine years.
Where did you meet him?
In London.
I was working on a job over there.
I met him and brought him back with me.
Why?
Well, I wrote a composition about him,
and he wrote a composition for English.
You know, the more I think about it, the more I
realize that I don't know very much about him.
What would you like to know?
Well, doesn't he have a first name?
Sure, it's, uh, I put it on a check every
month.
Giles.
Giles French.
Giles?
Yep.
I can't imagine anybody calling him Giles.
Not even his mother.
Somehow, I get the idea that he was never
a small boy.
I think he always looked the way he does
now.
Maybe he did.
You know, come to think of it,
I don't know much about him myself.
Never occurred to me to ask him a lot of
questions.
I see him every day of the week,
too, except Thursday.
Where does he go when his day off?
Oh, how would I know?
He, uh, leaves early in the morning and he
comes back late in the evening.
Same time every week.
Nine years.
Gosh.
Nine years sharing the same apartment.
That's all you know about him?
Yeah.
Well, maybe men aren't as inquisitive as
women.
Maybe we respect each other's privacy,
too.
So not a bad idea for anybody.
Don't go too far, okay?
Okay, bye.
Bye-bye.
Good afternoon, Miss Davis.
Hello, Miss Davisham.
Oh, please.
Thanks.
And how is Mr. Davis?
Oh, he's fine.
The twins are fine, too.
Mr. French is fine.
Oh, Oh?
Mm-hmm.
Um, Mr. French is English.
Uh, so I understand.
Did you know Mr. French back in England?
Yes.
Very well.
Uh, I would say so.
Well, we don't know a lot of stuff about
him.
Was he always so, well, so stiff?
Do you know when he grew a beard?
I mean things like, uh, was he ever
married?
Did he have any children?
Romances?
I mean, maybe you and Mr. French were
even
Well, uh, you could have gone out on dates
back there.
Why, the two of you could have been in
love and you wouldn't mention it.
Miss Davis, we consider reticence a
virtue.
I'm sure your intentions are good,
but it is
rather astounding.
It's a sensitive subject.
You see
Mr. French was very much in love.
But not with me.
He was?
Would you tell me about it?
Certainly not.
Mr. French in love.
Really in love.
Amazing.
Imagine Mr. French being in love.
Likewell
Romeo andJulie.
It's Mr. Withers.
Go on ahead, Freddy.
Good afternoon, Miss Davis.
Hi, Mr. Withers.
Do you have a minute?
Certainly.
You and Mr. French are good friends.
Quite so.
Considering that he is opinionated,
stubborn, aloof, and difficult,
not to mention stiff-necked.
Well, didn't you ever see something else
underneath?
A moment of warmth?
A hint of tenderness, maybe?
No.
Well, you must remember something.
Something to show the inner Mr. French.
Inside, Miss Davis, you will find more of
the same.
Well, like where does he go every
Thursday?
I have no idea.
I should consider that his private affair.
Good afternoon, Miss Davis.
Wait, wait, wait.
There was something once.
I always wondered.
Yes?
Well, we were in a local pub discussing
the football matches.
A fellow there recognized Mr. French from
the old days in London.
And he slapped Mr. French on the back and
inquired about Old Bertie.
Who was Old Bertie?
Why, I haven't the foggiest.
But I remember Mr. French's expression.
He drew himself up, didn't
about turn, and marched off.
I never mentioned it again, of course.
Old Bertie.
I understand you to say, Old Bertie.
Yes, Old Bertie.
I was just wondering
And who, may I ask, suggested that you
recall Old Bertie?
Mr. Withers.
May I ask why?
Well, I'm working on this composition for
school.
What composition?
About you.
Me.
I had to write about somebody I knew.
And I thought I knew about you.
Only I don't.
Miss Cissy, have I ever inquired concerning
your past history, your personal affairs back in time?
Have you ever been to Terre Haute?
Well, no.
Then may I suggest a mutual exchange of
privacy?
Yes, sir.
Oh, Bertie.
Bertie and Dean.
Mr. French!
Hmm?
Yes, Bertie?
We brushed our teeth and we're ready for
bed.
Oh, yes.
To be sure, I'll be along to tuck you in
presently.
Whose dog is that?
It's my own.
I used to have a cat that's head broke
off.
I like Mrs. Beasley better.
Have you had the dog very long?
Very long time.
It's a souvenir.
What's a souvenir?
A memory.
Something out of long, long ago.
Is he a friend of yours like Mrs. Beasley?
Precisely.
A friend of mine.
Let's go to bed, Bubby.
Come on.
Hi.
Am I interrupting anything?
No.
Come on.
Sit down.
Uncle Bill, I find out fascinating
little bits and pieces about Mr.
French, but they don't
add up to anything.
And you still try.
Can I figure out what makes them tick?
Well, it started as an assignment for
extra credit.
But now, I'm getting pretty curious.
When do you call an assignment like that?
Private eye caper?
No.
Just a composition to tell about a person
I know.
But all I found out is his name is Giles
French.
He was born in the West End of London.
His father was a Butler.
His grandfather was a Butler.
He was in love once.
He was in love?
French?
Mm-hmm.
Miss Faversham told me.
What else?
Well, Mr. Withers said he was stubborn.
Mm-hmm.
And that when you ask Mr. French
about somebody named Old Bertie, Mr.
French blows his top.
Old Bertie?
Mm-hmm.
I've never heard him talk about anybody
named Old Bertie.
Well, now you know everything,
don't you?
I don't know anything.
Has it ever occurred to you maybe he wants
it that way?
Well, aren't you curious about who he was
in love with?
No.
Or who was Old Bertie?
No.
Well, you think I should drop the whole
project?
No, I think you ought to stop for a minute
and figure out whether you got the right
to go sticking your nose into his private
business.
Yes, sir.
Hey, I got a wild idea.
Why don't you and me go down to the corner
and get a chocolate soda?
I have school tomorrow.
It's Thursday.
I know.
Let's live dangerously.
Morning, Mrs.
Martiani.
Hello, Freddy.
Did you happen to notice a man just went
in the house a few doors down?
I mind my own business.
I got no time to be watching the
neighbors.
I just thought that It's his business
if he wants to go visit old Mrs. Allaby.
Ah, I bet you he's English like her.
He stays on until nine, then he goes.
Every Thursday.
Never misses.
Freddy, you mustn't be nosy about other
people's business.
Nine O'clock on the dot.
Boy.
If Uncle Bill ever finds out, he'll skin
me alive.
Look, in this life, you have to take
chances.
Go on.
Yes?
Mrs. Allenby?
Yes?
May I speak to you, please?
Come in.
The door is unlocked.
How do you do?
I just wanted to ask a few questions
concerning Mr. French.
Mr. Giles French?
Mr. French?
Yes.
He gave your name as a reference.
You see, he applied to our company for a
credit card, just routine.
Gave me as a credit reference?
Oh, what a surprising thing to do.
Won't you sit down, miss
Miss
Miss Jones?
Well, aren't you rather young to be making
this sort of inquiries?
Yes, ma'am.
I am young.
My name isn't Jones.
There isn't any credit card.
I'm ashamed of myself.
I'm Cissy Davis, and I live with my Uncle
Bill.
Mr. French works for him.
I'm a very nosy little girl.
You see, I started out to write a
composition about people for school.
I wrote about Mr. French, only I didn't know
anything about him, and nobody would tell me.
Only
Only Uncle Bill was right.
I should have minded my own business.
I'm very sorry.
Miss Davis, some of us do not like to have others
delving into the past, reminding us of old hurts.
Yes, ma'am.
I'll just leave and not be any more
trouble.
Please, Miss Davis, don't go just yet.
Would you care for tea?
No.
No, thank you.
Thanks.
You know, I think I should answer your
questions.
Really?
Would you?
So that you will stop asking them.
Was he
Was he really in love?
In love?
Oh, yes.
A long time ago.
Mr. French was my husband's valet in
London.
We had reverses and came to America.
Here, Mr. Allenby died.
Mr. French, too, came to America.
And one day we met.
I was quite lonely and bewildered.
He was and is a faithful friend.
And now each Thursday he comes by,
tidies my room, fills the cupboard,
takes me out for a walk and to a lovely
tea.
For one day each week, he
is the old family servant and
I am the lady of the house
and life is gracious again.
Mrs. Allenby, did you ever hear of old
Bertie?
How would you know of old Bertie?
Well, I have no idea of who he is,
only that it makes him flare up.
Well, I should think so.
Old Bertie is a little cloth doll.
Mr. French won it at Brighton.
That's something like your Coney Island.
Why does it mean so much?
Because he won it for her.
And she named it Old Bertie.
She?
The girl.
The one and only girl.
I never met her.
I never even knew her name.
Were they married?
No.
The blitz was on.
Whole blocks just blown to bits.
People just disappeared.
He searched and searched, but he never
found anything except a little cloth dog.
Why.
did you just tell me to mind my own
business?
Because I was afraid you would keep on
asking questions and pry the truth out of
Mr. French, and that would hurt him very
much.
Goodbye, Mrs. Allenby.
My dear.
You and I have a sacred trust.
Yes, ma'am.
Maybe I've grown up a little and can
handle it.
Hi, Cissy.
Oh, hi, Uncle Bill.
What you doing?
Homework?
English composition.
Hmm.
About Mr. French?
No.
This one is about somebody I know.
Me.
That's nice.
I meant the part about girls being too
curious and too romantic and not knowing
enough about respecting other people's
privacy.
Hmm.
Like French says, privacy.
Privacy.
Privacy.
Hi.
Hi, kids.
How was the birthday party?
Sir, Mr. Jody has a large portion of
pistachio ice cream in his hand.
On the hair.
How'd that happen?
Marie did it.
We were playing pin the tail on the
donkey.
Marie was bending over, and I pinned the
tail on him.
Marie hit me, Jody hit him, and Marie
threw his ice cream cone at Jody.
Well, I guess it's just as well it went in his
hair instead of all over the lady's furniture.
Yes, sir.
Only Jody threw his chocolate cone at
Marie, and it went all over the couch.
Sir, my my train My train leaves me
entirely unprepared for such nonsense.
All right, Jody, you go get your clothes
off.
I'm going to put you in the
washing machine, and then
we'll call up the lady and
tell her we're sorry, all right?
Well, get going.
With your kind permission, sir, I will retire to my
room and meditate in silence for an hour before dinner.
Well, now you got me doing it.
I wonder where he does go.
He does go on Thursdays.
Oh, just be glad he's here the other six
days.
Uncle Bill, I know Mr. French's first
name.
You too?
It's Mr.
I know.
I know.
I know.
I know.
I know.
I know.
I know.
I know.
I know.
I know.
I know.
I know.
I know.
I know.