 Oh, Mr. Conklin can't stand the sight of me. What's so funny about that? I'm not laughing at that. I'm laughing at the thought of how ridiculous he'll look in 1961. Ridiculous? Well, sure. Now, there he'll be after six years of aggravation, standing around on a hot June day in a frock coat and heavy striped pants, watching his only daughter marry some jerk he can't stand the sight of.