The Beverly Hillbilly.

Hillbilly, that is.

If Margaret gets one look at those hillbillies next door, she'll leave me.

So they loaded up the truck and they moved to Beverly Hills, that is.

Oh, the doctors here are just as silly as the ones in Beverly Hills.

She'll see that underneath that rough exterior, the climates are basically fine people.

Why, she may even help them to get socially acclimated.

You're right.

I don't need my psychiatrist.

You do.

My wife, through whose aristocratic veins flows blood the color of bluing, considers anyone whose ancestors did not arrive on the Mayflower immigrants.

She does make rather a fetish at the family tree, but... But nothing.

I'm stuck.

I'm either going to lose my wife or my largest depositor.

That's what makes the whole thing so difficult.

You know, I like the Clampetts, but I love my wife.

Isn't life weird?

She's a snob.

She's hypochondriac.

She's not young and beautiful, but I love her.