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Belly Blylhe, her Shcban majesty, was on her tray to New York. William McAdoo and his party were on the same train. Their presence impressed the regal Betty. When she got off at a station for a little stroll she noted they were observing her. Her bearing accordingly look on an added slateliness. With regal
Never told tales about
/N interviewer is in much the same class as a lion tamer. L He's a hero who never gets any credit. Spectators will \ be interested, even thrilled, when the lion tamer puts ^ his head in the lion's mouth, but after it's all over they will declare the whole thing was a fake. The animal was probably a doped and toothless old soul.
After reading an interview, over which I have writhed as conscientiously as George Washington over the cherry tree he wronged, some one invariably wants to know what I really thought of the person interviewed.
I've found it's no use to say that I thought exactly what I wrote; so now I merely smile enigmatically, like the Lothario who could, if he would, ruin the reputation of a lady, but won't because he's such an honorable gent.
Then there are those who consider the interviewer as a sort of literary Anatol whose life is just one fall after another. If you seem to praise a lovely lady these worldly-wise swains, or possibly damsels, slyly ask how long you've had a crush on her and whether or not she reciprocates the passion.
All in all, the interviewer's position is just about as tempting as that of the colored gentleman who puts his head through the canvas as a target for baseballs. Everybody takes a crack at him. If he depicts a star unfavorably he is accused of having a personal grudge and may be threatened with a libel suit. If he finds the star charming and amiable he is hypnotized, bribed or afraid to tell the truth. In any case he's a gol-darned liar.
Mv best friends — those who have remained loyal despite the
20
nature of my trafficking — are always hoping for my regeneration.
"It's too bad you have to write such bunk," they condole sympathetically. "If you could only say what you think about stars, but of course you can't. Why don't you try fiction?"
I certainly envy the license of the fiction writer. He can paint characters as he pleases. He may say that his heroine is as pure and virginal as the snow and she is accepted as such. But just let an interviewer describe a movie actress as pure and virginal and the whole world hoots. Or the storyteller may choose to depict a lady devoid of intelligence, and it's perfectly all right. Let the interviewer call a star a dumbbell and he has the choice of black bread and Russia or sod and daisies. Inasmuch as I am going to Russia anyhow I shall exhume certain passages from my note-book which were deemed impolitic by editorial persons who had my welfare at heart. I shall be just as independent as — as F. Scott Fitzgerald.
CONSIDER the intriguing title of Mr. Fitzgerald's latest novel, — "The Beautiful and Damned." Can you imagine what would happen to an interviewer who used a heading like that over an interview with some sweet star? I can. I also have the imagination to realize what would follow if I used Mr. Fitzgerald's descriptive passage —
"She was waiting on the dark veranda in a cheap white
dress "
A libel suit with the white dress displayed in court.