Sheriff: [Tyrone and Gladys have crashlanded in a horses trough] If you know what's good for ya, mister, you'll water your horse and get outta town.
Gladys: That's no way to talk to Miss Pottsville of 1933. I am not a horse!
Sheriff: Oh, eh, eh, I'm sorry ma'am, ah, I should've known.
Tyrone: Of course. Horses don't carry purses, and they wear different kinds of shoes.
[laughs]
Tyrone: Ah, that was clever.