It took nine tailors (1948)

13 : Just an Old Meanie iC^H UCCESS is a funny thing; it's like a woman buying shoes. v^OTjklf size four is flattering to her feet, she'll try on a three and |^j/'one"na^ and finally buy a size three. I had once thought that, if I could ever earn $100 a week every week, that would be all the money I'd ever need in life. But when I found myself making $350, I discovered that even that wasn't enough. That patrician Cadillac was partly to blame; with my income, I couldn't support it in the manner to which it had been accustomed. I had three alternatives— to trade in my car, to trade in my wife, or to earn more money. Eventually I did all three, but for the time being I concentrated on getting more wampum. That is one of Hollywood's most fascinating games— blackjacking the studios into disgorging your share of their fabulous profits. For several months I was stumped because I couldn't get the right kind of parts. I was given roles that were either spinach puree or crushed raspberry sundae. Somebody else was getting all the meat— and the gravy, too. My third year in Hollywood started off with a little cantata called Arabian Love, noteworthy only because it was John Gilbert's first starring vehicle. It was one of the cycle of desert sagas that resulted from the success of The Sheik. Gilbert had been everything from a dress extra to a juvenile and had even tried directing before he was finally signed by William Fox as a leading man. Later Fox let him go, which was a serious mistake because Jack became Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer's most popular male star. Following the Gilbert picture I did four charades at Para 99