politely and then let the picture ride the way it was.

They always do.

Fortunately, the changes I suggested were not made, and the picture is a tremendous success.

But I still have status as a critic. I am invited to a showing of Mary's picture, "Little Lord Fauntleroy," and asked for suggestions. They know that I'll criticise. I always do and they are afraid of me. Though when they look at my pictures they are always kind and sympathetic and never criticise.

I told Mary her picture was too long. I told her where to cut it. Which, of course, she doesn't do. She never does.

She and Doug listen politely and the picture stands. It always does.

Newspaper men are at the hotel. I go through the same barrage of questions. My "prop" grin does duty for fifteen minutes. I escape.

Douglas 'phones me. He wants to be nice to me. I am on my vacation and he wants it to be a very pleasant one. So he invites me to see "The Three Musketeers" again. This time at its first showing before the public.

Before the opening of Doug's picture we were to have dinner together, Mary and Doug, Mrs. Condé Nast and I.

I felt very embarrassed at meeting Mrs. Nast again. Somewhere there lurks in my memory a broken dinner engagement. It worried me, as I had not even written. It was so foolish not to write. I would be met probably with an "all-is-forgiven" look.

I decide that my best defence is to act vague and not speak of it. I do so and get away with it.

And she has the good taste not to mention it, so a pleasant time is had by all.

We went to the theatre in Mrs. Nast's beautiful limousine. The crowds were gathered for several blocks on every side of the theatre.

I felt proud that I was in the movies. Though on this night, with Douglas and Mary, I felt that I was trailing in their glory. It was their night.

There are cheers—for Mary, for Doug, for me. Again I feel proud that I am in the movies. I try to look dignified. I coax up the "prop" smile and put into it real pleasure. It is a real smile. It feels good and natural.

We get out of the car and crowds swarm. Most of the "all-American" selections are there. Doug takes Mary under his wing and ploughs through as though he were doing a scene and the crowd were extras.

I took my cue from him. I took Mrs. Nast's arm. At least I tried to take it, but she seemed to sort of drift away from me down towards Eighth Avenue, while I, for no apparent reason, backed toward Broadway. The tide changed. I was swept back toward the entrance of the theatre. I was not feeling so proud as I had been. I was still smiling at the dear public, but it had gone back to the "prop" smile.

I realised this and tried to put real pleasure into the smile again. As the grin broadened it opened new space and a policeman parked his fist in it.

I don't like the taste of policemen's fists. I told him so. He glared at me and pushed me for a "first down." My hat flew toward the heavens. It has never returned to me.

I felt a draught. I heard machinery. I looked down. A woman with a pair of scissors was snipping a piece from the seat of my trousers. Another grabbed my tie and almost put an end to my suffering through strangulation. My collar was next. But they only got half of that.

My shirt was pulled out. The buttons torn from my vest. My feet trampled on. My face scratched. But I still retained the smile, "prop" one though it was. Whenever I could think of it I tried to raise it above the level of a "prop" smile and was always rewarded with a policeman's fist. I kept insisting that I was Charlie Chaplin and that I belonged inside. It was absolutely necessary that I should see "The Three Musketeers."

Insistence won. As though on a prearranged signal I felt myself lifted from my feet, my body inverted until my head pointed toward the centre of the lobby and my feet pointed toward an electric sign advertising the Ziegfeld Roof. Then there was a surge, and I moved forward right over the heads of the crowd through the lobby.

As I went through the door, not knowing into what, I saw a friend.

With the "prop" smile still waving, I flung back, "See you later," and, head first, I entered the theatre and came to in a heap at the foot of a bediamonded dowager. I looked up, still carrying the "prop" smile, but my effort fell flat. There was no applause in the look she gave me.

Crestfallen, I gathered myself together, and with what dignity there was left I strode to the box that had been set aside for our party. There was Mary, as sweet and beautiful as ever; Mrs. Nast, calm and composed: Doug serene and dapper.

"Late again," they looked.

And Mary, steely polite, enumerated my sartorial shortcomings. But I knew one of them, at least better than she did, and I hastened to the men's room for repairs. Soap and water and a brush did wonders, but I could find no trousers, collar, or tie, and I returned clean but ragged to the box, where disapproval was being registered unanimously.

I tried to make the "prop" grin more radiant, even though I was most tired after my journey, but it didn't go with Doug and Mary.

But I refused to let them spoil my pleasure and I saw "The Three Musketeers."

It was a thrilling success for Doug. I felt good for him, though I was a bit envious. I wondered if the showing of "The Kid" could have meant as big a night for me.

'Twas quite a night, this opening of the Fairbanks masterpiece, and, considering all the circumstances, I think I behaved admirably. Somehow, though, I think there is a vote of three to one against me.

II.

OFF TO EUROPE

Next morning there was work to do. My lawyer, Nathan Burkan, had to be seen. There were contracts and other things. Almost as much a nuisance as interviews. But I dare say they are necessary.

Poor old Nath! I love him, but am afraid of him. His pockets always bulge contracts. We could be such good friends if he were not a lawyer. And I am sure that there must be times when he is delightful company. I might fire him and then get acquainted.

A very dull day with him. Interrupted by 'phones, invitations, parties, theatre tickets sent to me, people asking for jobs. Hundreds of letters camouflaged with good wishes and invariably asking favours. But I like them.

Calls from many old friends who depress me and many new ones who thrill me. I wanted some buckwheat cakes. I had to go three blocks to a Childs' restaurant to get them.

That night I went to see "Liliom," the best play in New York at the time and one which in moments rises to true greatness. It impressed me tremendously and made me dissatisfied with myself. I don't like being without work. I want to go on the stage. Wonder if I could play that part?

I went back behind the scenes and met young Skildkraut. I was amazed at his beauty and youth. Truly an artist, sincere and simple. And Eva Le Gallienne, I recall no one else on the stage just like her. She is a charming artist. We renewed our acquaintance made in Los Angeles.

The next morning provided a delightful treat. Breakfast for me, luncheon for the others, at the Coffee House Club, a most interesting little place where artists and artizans belong—writers, actors, musicians, sculptors, painters—all of them interesting people. I go there often whenever I am in New York. It was a brilliant party, Heywood Broun, Frank Crowninshield, Harrison Rhodes, Edward Knoblock, Condé Nast, Alexander Woolcott—but I can't remember all the names. I wish all meals were as pleasant.

I received an invitation to dine with Ambassador Gerard and then go for a ride in the country. The