Listen to me, you great big bumble-headed baboon.

I'll make it thirty-five bucks and not a cent more.

Walter, are you gonna listen?

But good grief, how much is that other paper gonna pay you?

There isn't any other paper.

Oh! Well in that case, the raise is off. You go back to your old salary...

Walter, I want to show you something. It's here. It's a ring. Take a good look at it. Do you know what it is? It's an engagement ring. I tried to tell you right away, but you would start reminiscing. I'm getting married, Walter, and I'm also getting as far away from the newspaper business as I can get.

What?

I am through.

You can marry all you want to, Hildy, but you can't quit the newspaper business.

Oh! Why not?

I know you, Hildy. I know what quitting would mean to you.

And what would it mean?

It would kill ya.

You can't sell me that, Walter Burns.

Who says I can't? You're a newspaperman.

That's why I'm quitting. I want to go someplace where I can be a woman.

You mean be a traitor.

A traitor? A traitor to what?

A traitor to journalism. You're a journalist, Hildy.

A journalist? Hell, what does that mean? Peeking through keyholes? Chasing after fire engines? Waking people up in the middle of the night to ask them if Hitler's gonna start another war? Stealing pictures off old ladies? I know all about reporters, Walter. A lot of daffy buttinskis running around without a nickel in their pockets and for what? So a million hired girls and motormen's wives'll know what's going on. Why-... Golly, what's the use? Walter, you-you wouldn't know what it means to want to be respectable and live a half-way normal life. The point is, I-I'm through.