Reel One. At last hearing “Doug” Fairbanks and Mary Pickford were living here happily in their little grey home in the west, on top of a big Beverly hill. Every day or so appears a dispatch that the Nevada authorities intend to dissolve the partnership but this is taken to be the final, spasmodic throb of a dying determination.

Doug thinks he’s married to Mary. Mary believes she is married to Doug. Owen Moore, Mary’s former hubby, is quite certain he isn’t married to Mary and what the state of Nevada thinks isn’t causing any particular excitement. If Nevada proved a convenient place to arrange the legal break and figures her dear judges or lawmakers were slip-shoddy she should get some new judges and lawmakers. What is done is done.

Reel Two. Recent presentation of the new Griffith play, “Way Down East,” caused a laughable situation for those who were aware of the facts. The laughable situation did not get into the newspapers because some of our very best families would have suffered humiliation. It appears that “D. W.” issued several invitations to prominent society women for the opening night, as his “guests”—though he was in New York.

What a flurry and flutter there was among the high-brows when they learned that the invites had gone out. Who had been asked? It did not occur to the high-brow ladies that D. W. Griffith is truly the master mind of pictures and that his use of Mrs. Belmont in the picture was smart bait to draw society. Mrs. Belmont really didn’t have much to do but appear in an up-to-date gown and give Lillian Gish a haughty look.

But society here went daffy when it became known that some society women had been invited by Mr. Griffith’s representatives, while others had not. Immediately there was a buzz of phones and considerable indignation, denouncements and heart-burnings seared the wires. “How came it that Mrs. Such and So had been invited and ‘I’ have not? It reflects upon my social standing.”

How crafty old D. W. must have grinned as the reports went into him of the society ladies’ wrath. For lack of brains, poise and downright self-respect society women cart off the well known cake. Newspaper women laughed themselves sick at the coy admissions discreetly tendered them that “Oh, by the way, Mr. Griffith sent me a personal invitation to be present at the opening of ‘Way Down East.’” It possibly is stretching it to say that the paper gals laughed themselves sick. They have become so used to such situations that they scarcely laugh at all. They just grin and “bear it”—and proceed openly to kid society in the papers without society apparently becoming the wiser.

It is almost pitiable to watch fair and heavy matrons, who have done well, raising a family or starting one, long for a chance to see themselves upon the screen. They gaze upon Lillian Gish as some ravishly blessed mortal lifted by the Gods but they see no reason why they would not be just as good if given a chance.

Much of the nasty gossip which follows prominent picture folk emanates from the society morgues where every skeleton known to scandal is laid carefully away for future reference.

The fat ladies of wealth who are unable to fit into the screen take a girl, perhaps like Lillian Gish, and in seeming fury that the girl has succeeded, tear what they may of her character to pieces. About any fashionable hotel where gather the disappointed “widows” and dames whose husbands have let them come west for a “rest” may be heard the most intimate details concerning the private life of every person prominent on the screen. Nine times out of ten these details are featured by everything but the truth.

Every girl that ever worked for Griffith, whether she knows it or not, has been the victim of whispers relative to what price she paid for her success. Griffith is a muchly misunderstood man. He is shrewd, too smart for the average picture maker. His people appear to reverence him. Probably no girl regrets her experience and training under this particular director—though not as much can be said for many other directors.

The name of Lillian Gish and Griffith have been mentioned in unsavory tones more than once. The girl is a remarkably fine young woman who scarcely would know what was meant by the insinuations cast abroad concerning her and the director. Wherever Lillian goes her mother is not far away. The two sisters, Lillian and Dorothy, are among the hardest workers upon the screen. It is understood that the late Robert Harron was extremely fond of Dorothy and it is understood that this admiration was not returned in the way that young Harron would have wished.

Harron had a number of sisters, who spent much of their time about the studios where their brother worked. The Gish and Harron families were constantly together and a great friendship existed between them all. It is understood that Dorothy admired Harron tremendously but could not reciprocate his reported love for her. Bobby Harron was an exceptional young man from a moral standpoint. He was clean and wholesome. In fact a number of the Griffith stars have been marked for their personal virtues. In view of these facts it is a relief to point out that some of the unmentionable vices which beset Movieland are partially offset by the cleanliness of many really great stars.

Reel Three. One of the greatest “parties” yet staged in Los Angeles, was given by a well known director several nights ago. Now it should not be assumed that the picture parties are particularly different than some of the pajama and kimono parties tendered in Hollywood and Pasadena. In fact many of the picture ladies “hold out” longer than their more discreet sisters who get their kick out of a monthly party, whereas a picture girl has an invite a night and knows every step and parry of the game.

One of the best known girls of the screen sat in one chair throughout a recent party and visitors remarked upon her serenity and refusal to rush the bar.

A wild woman from one of the comedies gave her the once over. “Say, Edna’s been stewed for two hours and can’t stand up. But she’s got sense enough to keep still.”

But, referring to the big party. It lasted several days. Some of the guests went home, changed their clothes and came back again. The affair must have cost thousands of dollars. The guests were not numerous but well selected. A number of orchestras were employed, one coming on as one went off shift.

The host was a man of parts. He employed chauffeurs with cars ready to grab any guest who wished to stumble home and might possibly not be deemed able to guide his own car had he come without a driver. Most of the drivers who came to the party left unceremoniously when the party waxed late into the next day. Even chauffeurs have feelings.

The newspaper accounts mostly were suave and soft pedally. But it is said that some of the best newspaper people remembered only the quietness of the opening hour or so and were in no editorial mood to recollect just everything that did happen.

Reel Four. A great social mix-up occurred at Hollywood the other morning. One of our best matinee idols, a year or so ago separated from his wife and half dozen children. He took unto himself another wife. The decree allowed that the father could have the children part of the time, or half of the time.

Following his new matrimonial venture the matinee star found himself blessed one morning with a new baby. Just recently the former wife emerged from the east and took apartments at one of the most fashionable Hollywood hotels. She was accompanied by a flock of children.

The moment had come for the former husband to have his time portion of the children. Bright and early on the day after their arrival they made for the father’s home, where they were happily received by the foster mother who showed them their half sister, her own child.

Kids will be kids, so it was no wonder that the mother of the flock was surprised and amazed during the course of the morning when one of her brightest young hopes trundled a baby carriage into her room and gaily announced that he had a new sister to show her. He had come down from the home of his father and foster mother with sure enough evidence that father still was raising children.

The papers stated that the mother was threatened with hysteria and bade her surprised child take his charge back to its father’s home. For comedy and tragedy, go watch in the halls of childhood.

Eve tempted Adam with an apple. Were you ever tempted by an apple?

Our Language

Here are a few of the difficulties of the English language:

• A flock of ships is called a fleet.
• A fleet of sheep is called a flock.
• A flock of girls is called a bevy.
• A bevy of wolves is called a pack.
• A pack of thieves is called a gang.
• A gang of angels is called a host.
• A host of porpoises is called a shoal.
• A shoal of buffaloes is called a herd.
• A herd of children is called a troop.
• A troop of partridges is called a covey.
• A covey of beauties is called a galaxy.
• A galaxy of ruffians is called a horde.
• A horde of rubbish is called a heap.
• A heap of oxen is called a drove.
• A drove of blackguards is called a mob.
• A mob of whales is called a school.
• A school of worshippers is called a congregation.

Bull Frog Bull

The Frog is a slick member of the reptile family deriving its name from the Latin words E Hopus Jumpus, meaning “Warts.” It has four legs, but only finds use for two—the hind ones, which are built on altogether different lines than the front ones, being about five times as long, and fold under his body at a very convenient angle, affording ample seating capacity. The most common species of the Frog Family are the Toad Frog and the Bull Frog. The French people consider the Bull Frog quite a delicacy, and all snakes are very fond of Toad Frogs. Some scientists say the snake has far better taste than the Frenchman when it comes to choosing its food. The Frog can catch more flies than Tris Speaker, with far less effort, and is about the only thing left in this grand and glorious country with any hops in it.

You Can’t Fool a Horse-Fly

Mike and Pat were telling stories. During the conversation a fly lit on Pat’s nose.

“What kind of a fly is that, Moike?” asked Pat.

“Why, that’s a horse-fly, Pat.”

“Begorra, Moike, and what’s a horse-fly?”

“Why, a horse-fly, Pat, is a fly that lights on a horse’s neck.”

“You don’t mean to say O’im a horse’s neck, do you, you dirty blaggard?”

“No, Pat, but you can’t fool a fly.”