(Opening music plays: Theme to "Peabody's Improbable History")
Peabody: Hello, everyone. Peabody here, and this is my boy, Sherman.
Sherman: What are we going to do today, Mr. Peabody?
P: Today, Sherman, we are going back to the Whitechapel district of London, in the year 1888, to pay a call upon that notorious cut-up, Jack the Ripper.
S: I'll set the WABAC machine!
[Business with WABAC]
P: And here we are. And there, unless I'm very much mistaken--which I never am--the gentleman with the high neckline and narrow lapels is Mr. Ripper himself.
(Jack is the typical upper-class English twit we've seen in other Jay Ward cartoons, vaguely reminiscent of young David Niven.)
S: Gosh, Mr. Peabody! He's just standing there! He's not ripping anybody!
P: Give him time, Sherman, give him time. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.
(they wait)
P: That's enough time, Sherman. Let's go give history a helping hand, shall we?
S: Let's shall!
P: We can work on your English later.
S: What are you going to do, Mr. Peabody?
P: As history suggests, Jack was a misogynist with a maniacal hatred of women of the street. Therefore, we shall introduce him to such a woman and let nature take its awful course.
(A strumpet shows up, and Peabody instructs her.)
P: Here, madame, is a pretty penny for you, if you will go up to that gentleman and whisper filthy nothings in his ear.
Strumpet: Coo lumme, pet!
(She walks up to to him and whispers in his ear. Disappointingly, his reaction consists of manifesting a bunch of hearts and blushing slightly, then following her offstage.)
P: Alas, Sherman, our first gambit has failed.
S: What'll we do now, Mr. Peabody?
P: We wait, Sherman.
(Five minutes later, the twit returns from his assignation and stands on the corner again.)
P: And now, let's see if we can poison his mind against that lady of the evening. Oh, sir!
J: Oh, I say, what, wot?
P: Are you aware that the young woman you were dallying with just now is a harlot?
J: I beg your pardon?
P: A harlot. A naughty lady. A tuppence tart.
J: Oh, I say! I gave her thruppence! (goofy smile) But it was worth fuppence and a ha'penny! (more hearts emit)
P: Ah, but she doesn't care with whom she cohabits, and is even now sharing her possibly diseased charms with other gents.
J: Oh, well, jolly old fortunes of war, wot? Share the wealth, wot?
P: But aren't you just a bit irate, or murderously jealous?
J: I should say not! Easy come, easy go!
(He resumes standing aimlessly and Peabody returns to Sherman.)
S: What now, Mr. Peabody?
P: What indeed, Sherman! This is a poser. If Jack the Ripper fails to rip, history itself will be the poorer for it!
S: Gosh!
P: Gosh, indeed. Indeed, gosh! Let me think.
(Sherman assumes a posture of silent, alert readiness, as befits a well-trained boy.)
P: Sherman, I have it!
S: The plague?
P: No, an idea. According to the best historians--I include myself among their number--Jack the Ripper, in addition to his day job of ripping, was also a frustrated surgeon.
S: He was?
P: He positively was. And therefore, I shall appeal to his medical nature. (to Jack) Oh, sir!
J: You rang?
P: Are you aware that the saucy bit of crumpet with whom you have been cavorting is in urgent need of medical attention?
J: Good heavens!
P: And if you don't operate at once, her appendix and spleen may both burst forthwith?
J: I? Operate? But, my dear sir, I have no idea what to do!
P: Just follow my instructions, and all will be copacetic. Come along, there's no time to lose!
(They dash around the corner to where the Strumpet is back to soliciting.)
P: There she is. Quickly, hold this ether-soaked cotton in front of her nose for five seconds!
J: It smells fascinating. What a bouquet! (starts to sniff at it)
P: Stop! Do as I say, or I'll summon a bobby!
J: Oh, very well. (He knocks out the Strumpet.)
P: Now, gather her up, and follow me into this secluded alley. You will follow my directions to the letter!
J: Oh, quite. Pip pip.
P: (voice over) For the next thirty minutes, I directed that hapless drone in a series of the most horrific indignities a human being has ever perpetrated on another. At the end of the time, the hapless fille de joie was a lifeless, bloody husk, and Jack the Ripper was born!
J: Say, that was ripping fun! I think I'll do it again! And again!
P: Stout fellow. Think of it as cleaning the streets!
(Jack dashes off like a maniac, brandishing his blade.)
S: Gosh, Mr. Peabody, that was terrible!
P: Yes, Sherman, our job here is done. Back... to the WABAC machine, and home!
(back in Peabody's penthouse)
P: Well, Sherman, did you learn anything today?
S: History is gruesome?
P: Did you happen to notice anything about the procedure you witnessed?
S: History is stomach-turning?
P: Did you chance to observe the instrument being used?
S: He was an upper-class British twit, wasn't he?
P: I mean the instrument that he was using on the luckless trollop.
S: Gosh, no, Mr. Peabody! I just assumed he used a scalpel.
P: One might guess so, but the actual implement was more of a colloquial hand blade, popular in the 19th and early 20th century.
S: You're not going to say what I hope you're not going to say, are you, Mr. Peabody?
P: Why, Sherman, even one of your rudimentary perceptive abilities should have been able to discern the familiar form of a... Jack... knife!
S: Oh, Mr. Peabody!
(ba-whump)
(closing music)
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