Doug Fairbanks must darn his own socks at night for all anyone ever sees of him. He used to strut about town with Bull Montana, Kid McCoy, Spike Robinson and a bunch of other retainers proudly walking in his wake. But Mary must be charming Doug in wondrous fashion. He did show up with Mary at the Mission theatre opening and the two marched between packed borders of humanity at the curb.

Mary looked contented and as proud as a queen. Fairbanks formerly appeared rather sloppy, but, in severe evening dress, he impressed his auditors very well indeed. Evidently the two to date have made a hit with one another.

At this writing, Nevada had poked its official nose into the Fairbanks-Pickford marriage again. It seems the solons are about to decide something momentous, which no one gives a hang about. As Kitty Shepherd said down at Hamburgers: “They’re married, ain’t they?”

Mary Thurman is said to have moved from the Beverly Hills hotel. Mary seemed to be in the money for awhile. It costs to live at Beverly. A pretty thing, Mary, but life is just one thing after another.

Let us give vent, brethren, to a long sigh of relief that Mildred Harris Chaplin has ceased yapping for the moment at least. Or is it just some temporary lull that goes before another wind or brainstorm?

Now that Charles is said to have kicked thru with one (or was it $200,000?) Mildred appears to have fired her parting shot and retreated to a mystic place from which she is scheduled some day to emerge with a knock ’em dead voice.

Far be it from us to dispute with a talkative lady or enter into argument regarding the merits or demerits of her case. But the public in Los Angeles grew almost afraid to glance at a morning paper for fear that the fair Mildred has broken loose again with a new brand of dope regarding the elusive Charles.

Along about the time that stomach settlers were being called into use as a result of the slush credited to the comedian’s storm and strife, people began to reflect that, though many crimes had been charged against his curly head, Chaplin himself remained cloistered in a cloud of silence so far as mention of the fair Mildred was concerned.

Millie did all the talking, or at any event the sob brothers and sisters placed her in that light. One minute she was calling Charles a tight-wad and the next stating that she loved him. Just how a woman can love a man and simultaneously inform the wide, wide world that he is a cheap skate passeth understanding.

Several million or so perfectly good white columns of newspaper space were spoiled with the most wanton brand of domestic prattle ever dished out in a city already weary with the frothy doings of its ultra frothy society.

Then Chaplin’s attorneys announced that if Mildred shut up and quit using the Chaplin name that she could take a couple of hundred thousand shekels and call it quits.

The worst thing Chaplin ever was heard to say about his wife hasn’t been printed, probably for the reason that the bepestered young man didn’t say it. Chaplin may be a cheap skate, a nickel counter, and own but two automobiles, but his closest friend and most persistent interviewer never drew from him a word against the unfortunate partner of his domestic woes.

Chaplin has admitted that he had no business getting married in the first place. He declared frankly that he wasn’t made that way. He said that marriage interfered with his work and many believe that his sudden dropping from the pictures was done with the deliberate intention of not returning to it until his bread had been buttered on the other side.

It was more a surprise to Chaplin’s friends that he married in the first place than a shock at reports of trouble that sounded their fanfare thru the newspapers. Everyone thought he’d marry Edna Purviance, if he married at all; though Miss Purviance’s feelings in the matter may not have been given due consideration or interrogation by the gossip mongers.

The Mystery of Mankind