[inside a derelict tractor]
Mrs. Brisby: Mr. Ages? Mr. Ages? Is anybody home?
Mr. Ages: Go away!
Mrs. Brisby: Mr. Ages!
Mr. Ages: What is it?
Mrs. Brisby: Mr. Ages, may I please speak to you?
Mr. Ages: What?
Mrs. Brisby: I said, "May I please speak..." [Mr. Ages appears, coughing behind Mrs. Brisby] [shocked gasp] "...with you?" Oh, thank goodness. I'm so glad you're home.
Mr. Ages: Confounded machine! You never know when it's going to up and blow!
Mrs. Brisby: Yes. I don't suppose you would remember me.
Mr. Ages: Yes, you're Mrs. Brisby. And I'm sorry about your husband's death. Now if you'd excuse me.
Mrs. Brisby: Mr. Ages!
Mr. Ages: Great Jupiter, woman! What do you want?!
Mrs. Brisby: Mr. Ages, I know you don't like visitors, but this is an emergency. Please--
[a sudden explosion shatters the tractor, sending Mr. Ages down in a basket. Mrs. Brisby comes over to him as he nears the basket.]
Mr. Ages: Ma-- [coughs] Madam, that is an emergency.
Mrs. Brisby: [worried] Oh, Mr. Ages, my son Timothy is so sick.
Mr. Ages: Timmy? The one with the spider bite? Oh, just give him some pepsissiwa root and--
Mrs. Brisby: [interrupts; more worried] No! No, he's sick with a fever.
Mr. Ages: Well, I suppose I could fix up something.
Mrs. Brisby: Oh, thank you.
Mr. Ages: Follow me, but don't touch anything. Understand?
Mrs. Brisby: Mr. Ages? Mr. Ages? Is anybody home?
Mr. Ages: Go away!
Mrs. Brisby: Mr. Ages!
Mr. Ages: What is it?
Mrs. Brisby: Mr. Ages, may I please speak to you?
Mr. Ages: What?
Mrs. Brisby: I said, "May I please speak..." [Mr. Ages appears, coughing behind Mrs. Brisby] [shocked gasp] "...with you?" Oh, thank goodness. I'm so glad you're home.
Mr. Ages: Confounded machine! You never know when it's going to up and blow!
Mrs. Brisby: Yes. I don't suppose you would remember me.
Mr. Ages: Yes, you're Mrs. Brisby. And I'm sorry about your husband's death. Now if you'd excuse me.
Mrs. Brisby: Mr. Ages!
Mr. Ages: Great Jupiter, woman! What do you want?!
Mrs. Brisby: Mr. Ages, I know you don't like visitors, but this is an emergency. Please--
[a sudden explosion shatters the tractor, sending Mr. Ages down in a basket. Mrs. Brisby comes over to him as he nears the basket.]
Mr. Ages: Ma-- [coughs] Madam, that is an emergency.
Mrs. Brisby: [worried] Oh, Mr. Ages, my son Timothy is so sick.
Mr. Ages: Timmy? The one with the spider bite? Oh, just give him some pepsissiwa root and--
Mrs. Brisby: [interrupts; more worried] No! No, he's sick with a fever.
Mr. Ages: Well, I suppose I could fix up something.
Mrs. Brisby: Oh, thank you.
Mr. Ages: Follow me, but don't touch anything. Understand?
[inside a derelict tractor]
Mrs. Brisby: Mr. Ages? Mr. Ages? Is anybody home?
Mr. Ages: Go away!
Mrs. Brisby: Mr. Ages!
Mr. Ages: What is it?
Mrs. Brisby: Mr. Ages, may I please speak to you?
Mr. Ages: What?
Mrs. Brisby: I said, "May I please speak..." [Mr. Ages appears, coughing behind Mrs. Brisby] [shocked gasp] "...with you?" Oh, thank goodness. I'm so glad you're home.
Mr. Ages: Confounded machine! You never know when it's going to up and blow!
Mrs. Brisby: Yes. I don't suppose you would remember me.
Mr. Ages: Yes, you're Mrs. Brisby. And I'm sorry about your husband's death. Now if you'd excuse me.
Mrs. Brisby: Mr. Ages!
Mr. Ages: Great Jupiter, woman! What do you want?!
Mrs. Brisby: Mr. Ages, I know you don't like visitors, but this is an emergency. Please--
[a sudden explosion shatters the tractor, sending Mr. Ages down in a basket. Mrs. Brisby comes over to him as he nears the basket.]
Mr. Ages: Ma-- [coughs] Madam, that is an emergency.
Mrs. Brisby: [worried] Oh, Mr. Ages, my son Timothy is so sick.
Mr. Ages: Timmy? The one with the spider bite? Oh, just give him some pepsissiwa root and--
Mrs. Brisby: [interrupts; more worried] No! No, he's sick with a fever.
Mr. Ages: Well, I suppose I could fix up something.
Mrs. Brisby: Oh, thank you.
Mr. Ages: Follow me, but don't touch anything. Understand?
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