[doorbell ringing]
-I got it.
Hi, Miss Cathcart.
-Hi, Dennis.
You're just the boy I need.
How would you like a job?
-Sure, Miss Cathcart.
What's to it?
-Well, I need somebody to rake
up the leaves once a week,
mow the lawn, take the trash
cans out on pick-up days,
wash a few windows, and
bring in some firewood.
How does $ . a week sound?
-Gosh.
It sounds fine up through
setting out the trash cans.
You've got a lot of
windows, Miss Cathcart.
-Oh.
Well, $ . .
It's a deal.
-We haven't even got
to the firewood yet.
-Oh, gee, Dennis,
what a haggler.
Well, $ a week.
-Miss Cathcart, now it's a deal.
-OK.
-Why, hello, Miss Cathcart.
-Oh.
Hello, Mrs. Mitchell.
I was just hiring
Dennis for a few chores,
if you've no objection.
-Oh, not at all.
Anything that keeps him in
pocket money I'm all for.
-You don't know
how lucky you are,
having a man around the house,
happily married, looking
so young and lovely.
-Oh, why, thank
you, Miss Cathcart.
-And all because you've
found your own knight
in shining armor.
HENRY (OFFSCREEN): Alice?
Where's that screwdriver
I left on the sink?
Oh, hi, Miss Cathcart.
-Hello, Mr. Mitchell.
-I'm afraid my knight's a
little tarnished right now.
-I'm cleaning the furnace.
-Well, there's nothing wrong
with a little good clean soot,
Mr. Mitchell.
Gee, I wouldn't
care what he looked
like if I had a man
around the house
to keep the home fires burning.
Well, I've got to
be running along.
I'll see you this afternoon
after school, Dennis.
-OK, Miss Cathcart.
-Bye.
-Goodbye.
-Goodbye.
-Gosh.
She shouldn't have much
trouble getting a husband.
She doesn't sound
very hard to please.
[theme music]
-Eloise, good news.
Krinkie wants me to write
the "Jane Butterfield" column
for a few weeks for the paper.
-You mean that advice
to the lovelorn thing?
-Why not?
I'll advise the
lovelorn or anyone
who hopes to be
lovelorn for $ , .
Listen to this, Eloise.
Dear Jane Butterfield.
I am in love with a nice man
who passes my house every day,
but I can't get him to
stop and get acquainted.
He seems very shy.
What shall I do?
Signed, Hopeful.
[chuckling]
-Fortunately, I know just
the advice to give her.
Dear Hopeful.
Remember, the way to a man's
heart is through his stomach.
Why don't you bake
a nice apple pie
for the object of
your affections?
-When do we get the $ , ?
-As soon as I achieve results.
The column has been
allowed to run down.
Do you know what we're
going to do with the money?
We are going to take a
vacation trip to Canada.
-Aw.
[knocking]
DENNIS (OFFSCREEN):
Hey, Mr. Wilson!
-Come in, Dennis.
-Hi, Mr. Wilson.
Mom said you wanted to see me.
-Yes, I-- I have a job for you.
There's, uh, $ in it
if you're interested.
-Boy, it's raining jobs.
Am I interested.
-Good.
I had these handbills
printed this morning,
and I want you to
distribute them for me.
Tack them up all over town.
Put them every place.
DENNIS (OFFSCREEN): Is
romance your problem?
Consult Jane Butterfield.
-"Jane Butterfield"
is a newspaper column,
Dennis, only I'll be writing it.
And giving the advice
to the lovelorn.
-Oh, I get it.
-Before I'm finished, I'll
have every single woman
in this town happily married.
-Hear, hear.
-And I'll be helping by taking
these handbills around, huh?
-You are making a
great contribution.
Uh, but Dennis, I
don't want people
to know that I'm
Jane Butterfield.
After all, I'm a
magazine writer.
-OK, Mr. Wilson.
Hey, with all these
weddings coming up,
I better go tell our minister to
start getting ready right now.
[chuckling]
-Yoo-hoo!
Yoo-hoo, Sgt. Mooney.
I never saw you
look more handsome.
-Oh, Miss Cathcart.
-I knew you'd be along this way.
You never walk down my
street, you naughty boy.
-Well, Elm Street is closer
to where I board and room.
-Well, why don't you
walk me home now?
It's just a block over.
I want to show you
some snapshots taken
of me on the beach last summer.
-Uh, sorry, Miss Cathcart.
Some other time, maybe.
-When?
-Well, sometime when
I'm not so busy.
I'm in a hurry right now.
-You ought to relax
more, sergeant.
All work and no play-- oh.
-Uh, goodbye, Miss Cathcart.
-That's a knight who has to have
a chink in his armor someplace.
-Dennis, what are you doing?
-Hi, Miss Tarbell.
I'm putting up handbills
about Jane Butterfield.
-Her column was very
interesting this morning.
-You think Jane Butterfield
gives pretty good advice, huh?
-We'll soon see, Dennis.
Hello, Sgt. Mooney.
-Hello, Miss Tarbell.
-Hi, Sgt. Mooney.
-Hey, what are you
putting up there, Dennis?
-Oh, you wouldn't be interested
in that, Sgt. Mooney.
I was hoping you'd come along.
I've just baked a
big, yummy apple pie.
-That's nice.
-Why don't you come over and,
uh, rest your tired little feet
while you sample
a big juicy slice?
-Well, thanks, Miss
Tarbell, but I--
-Oh, come on.
You like apple pie.
And if I do say
so myself, nobody
makes them more mouth-watering.
-Well, sorry, Miss
Tarbell, but I--
-Oh, don't be stuffy.
You're on your way
to lunch, aren't you?
-Well, uh, it is lunch hour.
I guess there's no harm
in eating apple pie as
long as I don't do
it on city time.
-Oh, Sgt. Mooney, you're
so cute and droll.
[laughter]
-Boy, what an operator.
Bet she's had advice
from Jane Butterfield.
[doorbell ringing]
-Well, Lucy, how
are things with you?
-Oh, just wonderful, Esther.
I don't know when I've been
so utterly fluttery and happy.
-Oh, the trick mustache show
up again after all these years?
-Oh, I've forgotten Mr.
Penrose ever existed.
Anyway, he was never the
gentleman that Sgt. Mooney is.
-Sgt. Mooney?
-Oh, he's such a dreamboat.
And he seems to be so happy
to have discovered me.
-Oh, rats.
I saw Sgt. Mooney this morning.
He didn't look so happy.
In fact, he was going
to walk me home,
but he was in a hurry to
get to another appointment.
-He was in a hurry
to get to my house.
We had lunch together.
-You're kidding.
How did you corral him?
-Oh, a little birdie
showed me how.
-Well, just because you've
had lunch with a man
doesn't give you a
-year lease on him.
-I hate to disappoint
you, dear, but he's
coming back this evening.
-Oh, come on, Lucy, your
cooking isn't that good.
I've had it.
-Sgt. Mooney is so protective.
I just mentioned that I
had prowlers at my place--
-Prowlers?
-I've got to run along, dear.
I want to pick up some yummy
tidbits at the grocery store.
Sgt. Mooney loves to eat.
It's been nice chatting
with you, dear.
-Great.
Hello, police department?
Get me the chief.
[phone buzzing]
-Chief Doyle speaking.
Who?
Oh, Miss Cathcart.
Yeah, what's the trouble, ma'am?
-Well, I've been
hearing prowlers
around the house,
chief, and I think
it ought to be investigated.
How about sending Sgt. Mooney?
-Just a minute, ma'am.
Mooney.
-Yeah, chief?
-There's a Miss
Cathcart on the phone.
She's complaining
about hearing prowlers.
-Oh, chief, she doesn't
have any prowlers.
She just wishes she did.
-Get going, Mooney.
That's an order.
-Sgt. Mooney, what brings you
to Esther Cathcart's house?
-Well, she's a
taxpayer just like you.
She's entitled to protection.
She complained about prowlers.
-Prowlers?
Why, that's my i--
-Huh?
-I-- I mean, uh, fiddlesticks.
She doesn't have any prowlers.
-That's what I told
the chief, but I
have to make a routine
check, just like with you.
Chief's orders.
[laughing nervously]
[doorbell ringing]
-Come in, sergeant.
While you sit down
and catch your breath,
I'll show you those snapshots.
-Now, Miss Cathcart,
maybe I'd better
check around outside
for the prowler.
-Oh, he's gone now.
Come on and have a cup of tea.
-Well, if he's gone,
I'll be on my way.
-Well, he might come back
if you stay long enough.
Now, then, tea?
Sugar?
-Miss Cathcart,
no prowler's going
to snoop around in
the broad daylight.
-Well, did you
ever stop to think
he might still be in the house?
I tell you, I hear
noises, sergeant.
-What noises?
[thumping]
-What was that?
-You see?
Now we'd better
have a cup of tea
and sit very close together
and steady our nerves.
-Miss Cathcart, I don't
think you have a problem.
-No problem?
Are you kidding?
-I gotta get back to work.
[phone ringing]
-Oh, wait a minute, sergeant.
That may be a
threatening phone call.
-I'll check it out
myself, if you don't mind.
Hello?
-Is that you, Sgt. Mooney?
Well, I just heard
that prowler again,
and I'm terribly frightened.
Could you rush right over?
-Oh, Miss Tarbell, again?
-Tarbell?
-Take it easy.
I'm on my way.
Goodbye, Miss Cathcart.
-That Tarbell.
Swiped him right out from under
my nose, and by telephone.
[knocking]
-Oh, hello, Dennis.
-I'm here to do those
chores, Miss Cathcart.
-Oh.
Well, you can rake up the leaves
and take out the trash cans
before it gets dark.
-OK.
Hey, Miss Cathcart.
You were telling
my mom how lucky
she is to have a husband, huh?
-I'll say she's lucky.
-Well, did you ever
think about writing
to Jane Butterfield
in the paper?
I mean, maybe she could
help you find one.
-Jane Butterfield?
Is that the way your
mother got your father?
-I don't think so.
But you might get
some swell advice.
-Could be.
-Jane Butterfield says
before she's finished,
she'll have every single
woman in town happily married.
-Did Jane Butterfield say that?
-That's what I heard.
Better think it
over, Miss Cathcart.
-Oh, I wouldn't want to
air my personal affairs
in a newspaper, Dennis.
Dear Jane.
-Well, Dennis, thanks to your
help with those handbills,
our mail is picking up.
-I've been telling people about
Jane Butterfield, Mr. Wilson.
-You didn't tell them
that I'm Jane Butterfield?
-Oh, no.
Nobody knows you're a woman.
-Uh, thank you.
Well, let's see
who's lovelorn today.
Uh, dear Jane, I am
the aggressive type
and very attractive.
I've tried everything but a
lasso to rope my sugar cookie,
but failed.
He's a policeman and
supposed to be brave,
but around me he's a coward.
Any suggestions?
Signed, Frustrated.
-What's frustrated?
-Oh.
That's when you want
something and can't have it.
-Like when I want a
m*ssile g*n and Dad
won't let me have it, huh?
-That's frustrating.
-Frustrated?
Is that the way
that one's signed?
-That's right.
-Well, how are you going
to un-frustrate her, Janie?
-Janie?
-Now Eloise, cut that out.
It's another woman with
a desperate problem,
and I happen to know a little
trick that will work for her.
I remember it worked
for you, my dear.
-What trick?
-Oh, pretending to
have a sprained ankle
so that I'd have to
carry you in my arms.
-Now, John Wilson, my ankle
was in a cast for weeks.
-So was my poor back.
-I guess you were pretty
frustrated, huh, Mr. Wilson?
-Ha.
-Ahem.
Well, to work.
Dear Frustrated.
-Why, Esther.
Aren't you a little
dressy for gardening?
-You're a little
gussied up yourself.
What for?
-I just thought I'd
come over and walk along
with Sgt. Mooney.
-Yeah?
What makes you
think he's coming?
-I called the police station.
They said he'd left for a
routine assignment on Spruce
Street.
I just figured he was about due
to check up on your prowlers.
And I was right.
Hello, Sgt. Mooney.
-Why, sergeant, you
look sharp as a tack.
-Eek!
Help!
Put it away quick!
Eek!
Esther, what are you doing?
Whoa!
I'm all wet.
-Oh, I'm so sorry.
Here, let me dry you off.
-My mink.
Not my mink.
It's ruined.
-Sorry, I lost my head.
I'll get a towel.
-My mink.
[sobbing]
-Help!
Ow!
Ow!
Ow!
-Are you OK, Miss Cathcart?
-Of course I'm not OK.
I sprained my ankle.
-That's too bad.
-Well, are you just
going to let me sit here?
Where's your gallantry?
-Excuse me.
Maybe I can help you
hobble into the house.
-Oh, I've sprained both ankles.
I can't walk.
-Oh, brother, then
I'll have to carry you.
-Yeah.
-Sgt. Mooney, are you going
to let her get away with that?
-Miss Tarbell, a policeman
has to do his duty.
She's a taxpayer.
[sobbing]
-So that's who Frustrated is.
Boy, Mr. Wilson's advice may
be corny, but it sure works.
-Put me over in
that chair, Harold.
The name is Harold, isn't it?
Oh, I guess you'd better put me
over in that chair over there.
I think Harold is such
a distinguished name.
Or maybe you'd better
put me on the couch.
-Have a heart, Miss Cathcart.
-I have a heart.
And the name is Esther,
-Harold.
-I know, I know.
-Oh, hold it.
-Make up your mind.
This ain't no child's play.
-I know.
Can you carry me
out to the kitchen?
-The kitchen?
-I've got some fried
chicken in the oven.
We could have a nice,
cozy dinner for two.
-Oh no, we can't.
-Harold Mooney.
-Mr. Wilson!
Mr. Wilson!
-Yes, Dennis.
Coming, coming.
What is it, Dennis?
-Mr. Wilson?
Did you know when
you wrote that stuff
about apple pies
and sprained ankles,
you were helping Miss Tarbell
and Miss Cathcart trap Sgt.
Mooney?
-Oh, no.
-Are you sure?
-Sure, I'm sure.
I just saw Sgt. Mooney carrying
Miss Cathcart into her house.
-Good heaven.
I wonder if he'll ever get out.
-Well, after that sprained
ankle trick, you didn't.
-Looks like Sgt. Mooney
is the one who needs help.
Boy, is he in the middle.
Two women.
-Dennis, there's
no doubt about it.
-Maybe he never even
thought about writing
to Jane Butterfield.
Maybe I ought to
see that he gets
a handbill, huh, Mr. Wilson?
-My boy, you are
thinking like a genius.
The more letters I get, the
better Krinkie will like it,
and the sooner we can get
off on our Canadian vacation.
-Is it worth another
dollar if I can swing it?
-You are not only
thinking like a genius,
you are a shrewd businessman.
-See you later.
-Bye.
-I was wondering if I could
leave these handbills here.
Maybe you could give
them to the guys in jail
if they happen to have
a romantic problem.
-Do you want to know something?
Jail isn't a bad place
for a guy to hole up
if he's got a romantic problem.
Is romance your problem?
Consult Jane Butterfield
daily in the "Chronicle."
Nah, that stuff's bunk.
-Gosh, Sgt. Mooney.
You'd be surprised if you knew
how well her advice works.
-How do you know
so much, Dennis?
-Well, I know someone who knows
Jane Butterfield real well.
And he says-- I mean, she
says when she's through,
every single woman in town
will be happily married.
-No kidding?
-So if Jane Butterfield
can do that,
why can't she tell a man
how not to get trapped?
-Yeah.
-So would you give
these to anybody
in jail with a romantic
problem, Sgt. Mooney?
I'll see you around.
-It's a cinch.
I've got to try something.
Dear Jane.
-Dear Jane, I am a desk officer,
but the chief assigned me
to two dames' houses regularly
to check for prowlers.
They both just
want to get married
and are driving me crazy.
How can I get rid of them
without insulting them
or losing my job and pension?
P.S., don't put
this in the paper.
Just send advice in a hurry
to Sgt. Harold Mooney.
-Oh!
-You see, John happens to know
that the two ladies in question
are Miss Tarbell
and Miss Cathcart.
[gasp]
-Oh, dear.
-And he's already given them
advice on how to get their man.
-Oh!
Mr. Wilson, how can you be fair
to both women and Sgt. Mooney?
-It's simply a matter
of professional ethics.
I advise each one impartially
according to his or her needs.
-King Solomon.
-Now, in Sgt.
Mooney's case, I would
advise him to say that
he is sending alimony
to four ex-wives, that
he would like a fifth
to be a mother to
his six children.
-Oh.
-That should frighten them.
-That should frighten anybody.
[laughter]
-I have four ex-wives,
but I would like a fifth
to help me pay alimony and
support my six children.
Jane Butterfield.
Man oh man, that ought to do it.
[chuckling]
-I was beginning
trying to avoid me, sergeant.
-Well, Miss Cathcart,
I didn't want
to get you mixed up in my life.
-Oh, I'd love to get mixed up.
Sorry, I forgot.
Sit over here.
-Now, Miss Cathcart,
I-- I thought it over.
-So have I.
-And I'm thinking I ought
to settle down and find
a mother for my six children.
-Six children?
I didn't even know
you'd been married.
-Four times.
-Kind of shakes
you up, doesn't it?
-Four times?
I didn't know you
were such a Lochinvar.
Why, I'd be number five.
-Of course, there's
the small matter
of paying alimony
to four ex-wives.
-Alimony to four women.
-And I expect number five
to help take care of them.
-Well, I'm a good kid.
We'll manage.
Yippee, we're engaged.
-You don't know
what you're doing.
-That's what you think.
[phone ringing]
-Heck of a time
to be interrupted.
Hello?
-Esther, this is Lucy Tarbell.
Let me speak to Sgt. Mooney.
-It won't do you
any good, honey.
Sgt. Mooney and I
just got engaged.
And if that doesn't throw you
for a loop, brace yourself.
I'm going to be a mother.
Lucy?
Lucy?
Must have fainted.
Harold?
Harold?
Harold.
So Sgt. Mooney and I
got engaged, chief,
but he got away
before I found out
where I could see
our six children.
-Mooney says he has four
ex-wives and six kids?
Mooney!
Come in here.
-Hello, honey bun.
-You want me, chief?
-I don't know if I want
you any longer or not.
What's this you've been
hiding from the force?
How come we don't know about all
those wives you're supporting?
-It's OK, chief,
I'm willing to help.
-Chief, there isn't a
word of truth in it.
The whole idea was hatched
by this Jane Butterfield
at the "Chronicle."
-You've been getting advice
from Jane Butterfield too?
-Well, it looks to me
like this Jane Butterfield
is stirring up too much trouble.
And nobody's going to make a
monkey out of this department.
Get me Krinkie at
the "Chronicle."
-Wow!
-Ah.
Dennis, I can hardly wait to get
up to the Canadian north woods.
I am going to catch
myself a whopper.
-Sure got the equipment
for it, Mr. Wilson.
-Including that
aluminum boat out in
my garage, $
worth of equipment.
And all paid for by my
Jane Butterfield column.
-Has Mr. Krinkie paid
you the $ , already?
-No, no.
But with the letters pouring
in, thanks to your help,
it won't be long.
-Gee, I just can't believe it.
-Believe what?
-I just saw Miss
Cathcart on my way over
here a little while
ago, and she said she
and Sgt. Mooney are
getting married.
-Really?
Well, I guess Mooney
finally surrendered
to her fatal charms.
-He told me he'd
stay in jail first.
-Oh, this will really cinch
the success of the column.
I'll have Krinkie put
a picture of Mooney
and his bride in the
paper with the caption,
Jane Butterfield makes
two hearts b*at as one.
[doorbell ringing]
-Now, excuse me.
Oh, Krinkie, we
were just talking--
-What are you trying to do,
Wilson, ruin my newspaper?
-Well, I'm doing a good
job for you, aren't I?
-Too good, I'm afraid.
You've got the police
chief on my neck.
Says one of his men is in a
mess acting on your advice.
Defamation of character.
He may sue.
-Sue?
-He's pretty sore.
-So I'm going to drop the
column 'til things simmer down.
-Drop it?
What about my $ , ?
-I'm sorry, Wilson.
I'll give you $ to cover
out-of-pocket expenses.
-$ ?
What about my Canadian vacation?
I've already spent
$ on equipment.
-I'm sorry.
I'll advertise it for you
in my secondhand column.
-Secondhand?
-Here's your $ , Wilson.
And our deal is off.
-Krinkie, I am not
going to take it.
-Well, I am. $ ?
That'll just pay
the down payment
on fixing my busted sofa.
They'll send you a
bill for the rest.
And let me tell you
something, Janie Butterdrops.
Your advice is for the birds.
Sprained ankle indeed.
Ha!
-Now just a-- oh,
would you-- hey!
Hey!
Miss Cathcart,
that's my-- I-- ugh.
-Wilson, I'm surprised
at you, hiding
behind Jane
Butterfield's skirts.
-I was trying to
help you out, Mooney.
-Yeah, Sgt. Mooney.
Mr. Wilson was
trying to help you.
-Well, it just so
happens you did,
with the $ I was going to
have to cough up if you hadn't.
-It just shows you, Mooney.
Nobody appreciates what
you trying to do for them.
I work hard.
I build up the
column for Krinkie.
Then, when I want to take
a little Canadian vacation,
he-- uh-oh.
-Oh, boy.
Looks like you've got
another dissatisfied
customer, Mr. Wilson.
-Close the door, Dennis.
I don't want her to
get in the house.
-Apple pie is what you told
me to serve, Jane Butterfield.
Well, I won't bother to
make an apple pie for you.
I'll just serve them up as is.
-It's a w*r!
You'd better get behind
something, Mr. Wilson.
-Going inside.
I-- it's locked!
-Sorry, Mr. Wilson, you
told me to close it.
-Never mind that now.
Go on around back from the patio
and open it from the inside,
quick.
-Now, cut that
out, Miss Tarbell,
or I'll call the riot squad.
-You keep out of this, you
two-timing double-crosser.
-Don't close the door.
Wait for me.
-Whew.
-Boy, you'd better leave for
Canada no matter what it costs.
-Advice to the lovelorn?
I-- I wish I'd never
seen that column.
[thumping outside]
-Well, Mr. Wilson,
if she keeps it up,
at least you'll
have lots of apples.
And I'll come over and help
you eat apple pie every day.
[laughing]
-Oh, good grief.
[theme music]
04x12 - Jane Butterfield Says
Watch/Buy Amazon Merchandise
Follows the Mitchell family – Henry, Alice, and their only child, Dennis, an energetic, trouble-prone, mischievous, but well-meaning boy, who often tangles first with his peace-and-quiet-loving neighbor, George Wilson, a retired salesman, and later with George's brother John, a writer.
Follows the Mitchell family – Henry, Alice, and their only child, Dennis, an energetic, trouble-prone, mischievous, but well-meaning boy, who often tangles first with his peace-and-quiet-loving neighbor, George Wilson, a retired salesman, and later with George's brother John, a writer.