We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.
Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.
"Meet Mr. Lewis, my scenario writer," said Doug Fairbanks. "They say he travels with me because I use good cigars; while Bennie here" — Mr. Zeidman was perched gravely on the lop of the chaise-longue — "travels with me because -I eat well. Lewis is paid five-hundred a week to dream out an idea, while the person who puts it into perfect mechanical scenario form gets about
fifty, I guess. But that's life. ■ It isn't the people who are most painstaking and accurate that are worth the most in this world. It's the dreamers. The men who dream and „ dream hugely are the
* , fathers of big projects,
(c) Underwood & Underwood
DOUGLAS FAIRBANKS and cigaret smoke will always be inseparable in my mind. Cigaret smoke that, having an aroma of the Orient, curls heavily about the head of the smoker. Cigarets that come from Cairo and cost ten cents apiece.
The scene of this entr'acte was Mr. Fairbanks' temporary suite in the Biltmore Hotel, New York City. Th< time eleven-thirty a. m.
Douglas Fairbanks stood uneasily at the door to greet me. After a preliminary handshake, we contemplated each other seriously like a couple of inmates of the Zoo.
I was offered a seat and, accepting, proved the exception to a Fairbanks rule.
Young Douglas Fairbanks, Jr., aged ten or thereabouts, added a quaint and original note to the prelude by periodically climbing out of one window and in at the other, thereby emulating his well-known father's eccentricities ; altho he hastened to assure me in his sweet childish treble that he wasn't going to be an actor when he grew up; that was, he didn't think so. He wanted to be a clown, he assured me seriously, but he was still undecided between a pink uniform and a blue one.
The little brown man who danced about in fr>->nt of me, was, I knew, Douglas Fairbanks — any one with a grain of intelligence would have known that. I didn't quarrel over his identity, only I wished he would register "attention" for a moment.
Finally, "Would you mind sitting down?" I asked.
"Er — I beg yottr pardon?"
A gurgle of half-suppressed laughter arose from the direction of the bed. There, sitting on the dash-board or end-board or whatever you call it, dangling his feet \ and chuckling heartily, was
'«30
while the little men out their ideas."
All this time, .Mr. Fairbanks had been energetically parading up and down the room, hands in his pockets, a slender-hipped figure ; restless, nervous, fidgety.
I felt as if he was a bomb, whose time fuse was set, and if I failed to stand up and parade around too, he'd go off.
Rather helplessly, I looked at little Bennie Zeidman, who has seen to it that Fairbanks is the best advertised name in America, wondering if he didn't know the combination
Douglas Fairbanks, a figure of restless endeavor, energetic ambition, indefatigable energ}', is 100 per cent. American
<J