Screenland (Sept 1922–Feb 1923)

30 JUJywooA SCREENLAND Gm£ y Trip Abroad Cfcarlic Cftaplin'5 Own Remarkable Story HE hotel next day is teeming with activity. My secretaries are immersed in mail and, despite the assistance of six girls whom they have added temporarily to our forces, the mailbags are piling up and keeping ahead of us. In a fit of generosity or ennui or something, I pitch in and help. It seems to be the most interesting thing I have attempted on the trip. Why didn't I think of it sooner? Here is drama. Here is life in abundance. Each letter I read brings forth new settings, new characters, new problems. I find myself picking out many letters asking for charity. I lay these aside. I have made up my mind to go to France immediately. I call Carl Robinson. I tell him that we are going to France, to Paris, at once. Carl is not surprised. He had been with me for a long time. We decide that we tell nobody and perhaps we can escape ceremonies. We will keep the apartment at the Ritz and keep the stenographers working, so that callers will think that we are hiding about London somewhere. We are going to leave on Sunday and our plans are perfected in rapidfire order. We plunge about in a terrible rush as we try to arrange everything at the last minute without giving the appearance of arranging anything. A, k.ND in spite of everything, there is a mob at the station to see us off and autograph books are thrown at me from all sides. I sign for as many as I can and upon the others I bestow my "prop" grin. Wonder if I look like "Doug" when I do this? We meet the skipper. What does Something vibrant — the tempo of life is faster. The springs in its mechanism are wound taut. This is the comedian's impression as his ship approached Calais. He was fleeing from London "to rest." But a crowded dock awaited him — waving hats, kisses, cheers. "Twice I was kissed, but I was afraid to look around to see who did it," Charles has written, in this attractive installment of his exciting memoirs. one ask skippers? Oh, yes, how does it look for crossing? As I ask, I cast my weather eye out into the channel and it looks decidedly rough to me. But the skipper's "just a bit choppy" disarms me. I am eager to get on the boat, and the first person I meet is Baron Long, owner of a hotel in San Diego. Good Hon6"8' ?>nV ever S£t away fr°ni Hollywood? I am glad to see him, but not now. He is very clever, how TTl 5e„Sen,S>es the sit«ation, smiles quick hellos," and then makes himself scarce. In fact, I think he wanted to get away himself. Maybe he was as anxious for a holiday as I. I AM approached on the boat by two very charming girls. They want my autograph. Ah, this is nice. I never enjoyed writing my name more. How I wish that I had learned French. I feel hopelessly sunk, because after about three sentences in French I am a total loss as far as conversation is concerned. One girl promises to give me a French lesson. This promises to be a pleasant trip. I am told that in France they call me Chariot. We are bV this time strolling about the boat and bowing every other minute. It is getting rough and I find myself saying I rather like it that way. Liar. She is speaking. I smile. She smiles. She is talking in French I am getting about every eighth word. 1 cant seem to concentrate. French is so difficult. Maybe it's the boat. I am dying rapidly. I feel like a dead weight on her arm. I can almost feel myself get pale as I try to say