Sam: Sammy to the rescue!
Rebecca: Sam, get that mutt out of here!
Sam: What?
Rebecca: Sheridan's in the kitchen with Satan!
Sam: This is no time for folk singing.

Mr. Sheridan: I'd like to ask you a favor.
Rebecca: I see.
Mr. Sheridan: I'm going to New York on a business trip for a few days, and I'd like you to take care of my dog while I'm away.
Rebecca: Well, I'm sorry, Mr. Sheridan, but I have plans for the entire week, and I could not possibly break them. I hope you understand.
Mr. Sheridan: That's fine. I realize this is short notice. Thanks, anyway. [walks away]
Rebecca: [shakes] My plans could be changed. Please, sir, let let me do this for you.
Mr. Sheridan: Well, if you don't think it would be any trouble. Thank you, Miss Howe.
Rebecca: Oh, no, sir. Thank you for the opportunity of knowing your dog. God, I make myself sick!

Sam: Hey, there, Rebecca. How do you like living with Sheridan's pooch?
Rebecca: Sir Bronwyn the Gallant from Fairhaven Manor, better known as Buster, is fine. l, on the other hand, am a nervous wreck.
Alan: What's the matter, Rebecca?
Rebecca: Well, I knew I was going to have to take care of the dog, but I didn't know it was going to be in a place that was huge and kind of like a mausoleum and is stuck way out in the middle of the moors.
Cliff: There are no moors in Massachusetts.
Rebecca: I think they had them flown in or something.