Stan Sr.: If you must make a noise, make it quietly.
Ollie Sr.: Make a noise quietly. Hmph!
Ollie Sr.: Boys will be boys.
Stan Sr.: Blood is thicker than water.
Ollie Sr.: Blood's thicker than water. Hmph!
Ollie Sr.: That's it. If you brats don't be quiet you'll have to go to bed.
Stan Sr.: Yes we'll have to go to bed.
Ollie Sr.: Not we, The kids.
Ollie Sr.: If you brats don't get to bed, I'll break your necks!
Stan Sr.: Shh. Don't talk to them like that. Treat them with kindness. You'll get more out of them. Remember the old adage, you can lead a horse to water but a pencil must be lead.
Ollie Jr.: [after being warned for the last time to be quiet] Let's play hide and seek!
Stan Jr.: You're it.
Ollie Jr.: No, you're it!
Stan Jr.: No, you're it!
Ollie Jr.: No, you're it!
Stan Jr.: [crying loudly] I don't want to be it! WAH!
[throws a tantrum]
Ollie Sr.: [singing softly] Go to sleep, my ba-a-a-by, my ba-a-a-by, my ba...
Stan Sr.: [interrupting loudly] MY BA-A-ABY!
[kids wake up with a shocked start]
Ollie Sr.: Will you brats keep quiet? How do you expect me to concentrate?
Ollie Sr.: [stops Laurel partway to the bathroom door and takes the drinking glass out of his hand, then speaks in his typical bossy reproachful manner] Just a minute... you might SPILL IT!
[goes and opens the door, unaware that the little boys had left the bathtub plugged and with its faucet running full blast, and so by now there are several feet of water inside the bathroom. Both men are swept up and carried clear across the living room by the tremendous tidal wave of water that rushes out of the bathroom doorway]
Ollie Sr.: What's all this racket about?
Ollie Jr.: [in a plaintive whiny "poor me" tone of voice] He hit me!
Stan Jr.: I did not! He hit m-
[taking his hand out of the covers to try to point to Ollie Jr., then realizing with extreme chagrin that he still has the boxing glove on. He hastily slips his hand out of the glove and then half-heartedly points a bare finger at Ollie Jr., knowing that his complaint/accusation won't hold much water now that the fathers have seen the boxing glove and thus will suspect that Stan had been doing some hitting himself]
Ollie Sr.: [in an irritable bossy tone of voice] Shoot THAT ball!
Stan Sr.: [reaching out to stop Ollie from using his pool cue] My break!
Ollie Sr.: It's MY break!
Stan Sr.: [indignantly] It's MY break!
Stan Sr.: You went in the pocket there -...
Ollie Sr.: [bonks Stan over the head with his pool cue to shut him up, then leans over the pool table with the cuestick to hit the cueball again. Stan quickly reaches out and picks up the cueball to keep Ollie from hitting it, but Ollie doesn't see Stan's action in time, and thrusts the cuestick forward where the ball had been, skinning off a strip of the pool table's green felt playing surface]