Photoplay (Apr - Sep 1918)

Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section us Griffith's Boy — Bobby (Continued from page 22) was sick — everyone, that is, with the exception of three passengers, and he was not one of the three. He admitted that he was so sick he wanted to die and, as if that wasn't bad enough, he has been kidded to death about itlever since. "A lot depends on what you happen to be in," he said in explanation. "We went over to Catalina in a launch. And when it's choppy on the li'l old Pacific and you're in a launch, you know it. There may be more roll on the Atlantic, but then the ship we went on was as big as this — " his gesture embraced the whole Los Angeles Athletic Club where he lives. "Not to change the subject at all," he went on, "we landed at Liverpool and 1, for one, went through a regular third degree. And I knew that one wrong answer would result in my being shipped right back again. Most of the questions were posers. For instance, I was asked if I had been invited to come or had come of my own accord. I took a chance and answered that Mr. Griffith sent for me. It turned out to be the right answer. If I'd said that I had come of my own accord, they would have ended the interrogation right there. Then I was asked why Mr. Griffith had sent for me and not for someone else? Was I, then, absolutely indispensable to Mr. Griffith, and, if so, why? Couldn't someone already in England do the same work I was brought over to do? Why not — it was awful. "Of course, I knew that women were doing everything in England. But one thing that gave me a shock, was that, just as we stepped off the train in London, a young woman ran up to me and, touching the little visored cap she wore, said, 'Carry your grip, Sir?' "Coming back, the ship we were on was camouflaged — painted in green and grey blotches to make it indistinct — and exactly the same secrecy was observed as we had going over. For instance, whenever we mentioned the name of the ship, even to each other, it was always in a whisper. We didn't even know exactly when we were to sail until almost the last minute. When I went to see about my passport, the room was full of people, so when the official asked me the name of the ship I was going to sail on, I leaned clear across his desk and whispered, 'Adriatic' 'ADRIATIC he bawled in a voice loud enough to carry a block, 'When does she sail?' " He made a valiant attempt to curl the ends of a very diminutive moustache. He was able to get hold of it, and that was about all. "How do you like my moustache?" he asked. "I'll tell you what I was going to do: I was going to get a lot ot English clothes, with a cane and a monocle and all that stuff, and walk into the club here just as I've seen other fellows do after a trip 'Abrohd,' " he put on a very supercilious expression to illustrate — "and I was going to keep it up, accent and all, for about three days until I had everybody saying, 'Well, will you look at that?' and 'What do you think he thinks he is?' but I couldn't do it. The first person I met was Jack Pickford and we've been chums for so long that it was too much for me. Perhaps I'll do it next time only a little differently. I'll miss this club when I go to war, but it would be fun to walk in here with a waxed up military moustache and a long beard. That's exactly what I'm going to do!'' With a flash of inspiration, "Just after peace is declared — no, better still — I'll have the ruling powers inform me of that event in advance so I'll have plenty of time; I'm going to grow a beard. Then I'll strut in here with a good long one, to say nothing of the moustache, a member of the 'military caste,' don't you know?" He wore his own moustache in "Intolerance." "It's the only way to do," he said. There was just a suggestion of pride that he was able to grow one at that time. "Not even actors — fellows who ought to have known better — thought it was my own. There's a man up here who can make such good ones. But any kind of a false moustache is hard to get on, and if you don't take it off at lunch time, you're always eating hair." The little moustache evidently brought out a resemblance to his father none of the family had noticed before. "I had always thought that I looked a little like both my parents. It was a big surprise to me when my father told me that a woman had stopped him on the street — that was in New York — and said T beg your pardon, but aren't you Mr. Harron?' He admitted that he was, and she explained, T recognize you by your son on the screen.' "Do people often come up and speak to you on the street?" he was asked. "Oh, no, not often," he answered. "Those who do are mostly middle-aged women. It's different with Chaplin, though. Everybody recognizes him. We used to run around quite a bit together and wherever we'd go someone would be sure to say, 'Oh, look, there's Charlie Chaplin,' and kids would run up to him and say, 'Hello, Charlie.' "I'd like to be a comedian — wouldn't vou?" At the Movies In one evening we now see Sixteen announcements of forthcoming attractions. Forty-eight close-ups of the leading-lady. Twenty-two close-ups of the leading man. Six eternal triangles. Six hundred and twenty people get into automobiles. Six hundred and twenty people get out of automobiles. Eight poor girls married to lords. Three murders. One hanging. Sixty-two pies. And vet theater proprietors are going to make us pay an additional seat tax! — Judge. 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