How would you like a $50 cut in salary?
Do I laugh now or wait till it gets funny? No, I'm serious.
I've just been talking to Norton. Too much stuff piling up on my desk.
Too much pressure on my nerves.
I spend half the night walking up and down in my bed.
I've got to have an assistant and I thought of you.
Me? Why pick on me?
Well, because I've got a crazy idea you might be good at the job.
That's crazy, all right. I'm a salesman.
Yeah. A peddler, a gladhander, a backslapper.
You're too good to be a salesman.
Nobody's too good to be a salesman. Phooey!
All you guys do is just ring doorbells and dish out a smooth line of monkey talk.
What's troubling you is that $50 cut, isn't it?
Well, that'd trouble anybody. Now look, Walter.
The job I'm talking about takes brains and integrity.
It takes more guts than there is in 50 salesmen.
It's the hottest job in the business.
Yeah, but it's still a desk job.
I don't want to be nailed to a desk. Desk job?
Is that all you can see in it?
Just a hard chair to park your pants on from 9:00 to 5:00, huh?
Just a pile of papers to shuffle around, and five sharp pencils...
and a scratch pad to make figures on, maybe a little doodling on the side.
Well, that's not the way I look at it, Walter.
To me, a claims man is a surgeon, that desk is an operating table...
and those pencils are scalpels and bone chisels.
And those papers are not just forms and statistics and claims for compensation.
They're alive. They're packed with drama...
with twisted hopes and crooked dreams.
A claims man, Walter, is a doctor and a bloodhound and a...
Who? Okay, hold on a minute.
A claims man is a doctor and a bloodhound and a cop and a judge and a jury...
and a father confessor, all in one.
And you want to tell me you're not interested?
You don't want to work with your brains?
All you want to work is with your finger on the doorbell...
for a few bucks more a week. There's a dame on your phone.
Walter Neff speaking. I had to call you, Walter.
It's very urgent. Are you with somebody?
Yes, I am. Can't I call you back, Margie?
No, you can't. I've only got a minute. It can't wait.
Listen. He's going tonight. On the train. Are you listening?
Walter? Yeah. I'm listening, Margie.
Only, make it snappy, will you? He's on crutches.
The doctor says he can go if he's careful. The change will do him good.
It's wonderful, Walter. Just the way you wanted it, on a train.
Only with the crutches it makes it much better, doesn't it?
Yeah. Yeah, that's 100% better.
Hold the line a minute, will you?
Keyes, suppose I join you in your office? That's all right. I'll wait.
Only tell her not to take all day.
Go ahead.
It's the 10:15 from Glendale. I'm driving him.
It's still the same dark street, isn't it?
And the signal is three honks on the horn. Okay. Anything else?
No.
Oh, uh...
what color did you pick?
Blue. Navy blue. And the cast is on his left leg.
Mmm-hmm.
Yeah, that suits me fine.
This is it, Walter. I'm shaking like a leaf.
But it's straight down the line for both of us.
I love you, Walter. Goodbye.
Sorry, Keyes. What's the matter?
Dames chasing you again? Or still? Or is it none of my business?
If I told you it was a customer...
Margie. I bet she drinks from the bottle.