CHARLIE CHAPLIN is hiding in Utah because a state law makes it impossible to serve him with a restraining order preventing the sale of his latest picture. Mildred Harris is hovering around New York, because that is the spot to be if you are interested in the coin that comes from a picture sale. And her attorneys have filed suit in Los Angeles just to be safe in covering the country.

All of which is a pretty mess not calculated to do the picture industry any good. Still less is it calculated to bring credit to Charlie and Mildred. Least of all to Mildred.

For the girl who married into stardom is talking—talking too much. The interviews she gave New York’s papers on the day her attorneys filed suit sounded like the rattling of a vacuum bottle. Mildred Harris in the role of an anguished wife suing for divorce on grounds of cruelty looks like Theda Bara would in a Pickford part.

Big city interviews are out of Mildred’s class. She gets her “lines” balled up and hangs a “To Let” sign from the upper stories.

But Mildred has little to lose. In Lois Weber’s clever hands she was an actress of promise—but no more—before she cleverly annexed stardom along with the title “Mrs. Charlie Chaplin.” Slipping back will only be a balancing act for Mildred.

Charlie’s case is different. Charlie is one of the half dozen figures who mean and typify the motion picture to the general public. Charlie, with all his personal faults, is so big as an artist that he can suffer; and so big a part of the motion picture, that the art can suffer.

Therefore, be it resolved and otherwise made known that we are about to take it upon ourselves to offer a little advice:

Take a tip from us, Charlie, slip her the coin. We don’t know the price, but it will be cheap at any price. Settle it. Call it quits. Get back to work. There’s the slim bespectacled shadow of Harold Lloyd on your path. Get busy.

You don’t want to go into Court. What’s the use? There are only two courses open to you. You either have to sit still and say nothing, taking your medicine like a man, playing the age-old part of giving the woman the benefit of silence, or—or—.

You have to start telling things.

And that will hurt you as much as it will injure anyone else.

Silence means a costly verdict against you. Conversation will mean a costly verdict against the industry as well as all concerned—and at the hands of the great arbiter, the general public. What of it if you say you have lots to tell? Mud has an inherent habit of smirching all who touch it. Even blue mud does it.

On the other hand the payment of a juicy bunch of coin now will wrench your very soul. But after it’s all over you’ll find it didn’t hurt half as much as you expected. It’s like pulling a tooth.

Come on—try it, Charlie!

Zi-i-p—goes a nickel!

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