Slipping faster than automobile prices—and in the same direction—are two young ladies of the screen, yclept Mabel Normand and Mildred Harris.

In one case it’s a shame; in the other it’s the natural course of events.

When good fellows slip we are sorry.

On the other hand, water cannot run up hill, neither can matrimony make stars.

You can’t expect to find many tenants in the lofts of any screen star, but Mildred’s vacancy surpasses understanding. Hoisted by matrimony into the position of a First National star Milly fluttered along in haphazard, fashion. Now, we understand, the end has been reached. The coming Mildred Harris Chaplin productions will not be First National attractions. Some other means will be found to offer them to a not over-anxious public.

Mabel Normand’s case is more difficult of analysis. In the hands of Sennett, Mabel could have still been splitting honors with Pickford and Fairbanks. Now she’s playing on the “Maybe, yes; Maybe no” time. What’s the answer?

It seems to us that Mabel started to slip the day she got well enough acquainted with Samuel Goldwyn to call him “Sammy” and give him orders. Mabel’s orders brought her individual stardom and probably more money than the Sennett payroll afforded—but not the same pictures.

Not all the printer’s ink that artists can splash will hold a star in place if the pictures fail. High-priced vehicles and expensive productions don’t balance for the genius of a Sennett.

Now that Sammy has been erased from the affairs of the company whose name he bears there is speculation in picture circles as to what effect this will have on Mabel Normand’s status. Two years ago this discussion would have been a burning one. The loss of Mabel Normand meant considerable to any company. Now? It’s just idle speculation that doesn’t seem to be heading anywhere and caring less whether it arrives or not.

It’s too bad!

For Mabel is the original good sport of picture players. You can’t find a Mabel Normand knocker if you travel the length and breadth of studio land. (Always excepting studio hands who have felt her tongue.) And that’s going some in a business where the dearest phrase is “I knew her when——.”

Give us Mabel Normand and Pearl White on one party and we’ll guarantee to turn rivers into burning oil. You can’t step so lively or so fast that you won’t find yourself trailing Mabel.

It’s a shame to see Mabel start to slip. Won’t somebody bring forth another “Mickey”? You can’t expect Sammy to do it alone. Won’t somebody give him an idea?

He who laughs last laughs loudest. And the former Mrs. Goldfish-wyn—Jesse Lasky’s sister—is getting too many of the ha-ha lines in the script.