Screenland (Sept 1922–Feb 1923)

or Babies By Myrtle Gebhart little Marmoset which she tucks into her voluminous cuff when going teaing. She thinks so much of her pet that she even permits him to share her photographs — and there are very few stars who will grant that glory even to their babies. Of course, Edith is unmarried, but just must express her maternal instinct by having some cherub about the house to pet, and therefore has chosen little Marmo. Of course there is no law prohibiting Edith's adopting a poor little orphan from some asylum — but there is this difference between a monkey and a child : when you tire of the former you can give him to the local zoo, thereby acquiring a lot of extra publicity. But I don't know of any zoo that takes secondhand babies as gifts. Dogs take the place of monkeys with some film stars. Anita Stewart must believe that, children and art do not mix, as no small, happy voices gurgle unintelligible cries about the lovely home in which she lives with her husband, Rudolph Cameron. "King Casey," a big bulldog with a face that would never make him a star, is, however, decidedly among those present and accompanies Anita almost everywhere she goes. And though the Charles Rays are exceedingly fond of "Whiskers," his wire-haired fox terrier, no baby voices echo among the stately tiled corridors of their palatial Beverly Hills home. Betty Blythe, though married to Paul Scardon, has been heard to state her belief that a career and babies would not mix, but plans to retire some day whenwell, we'll wait and see. Among the famed dogs of filmdom — not those who perform for the camera but upon whom is lavished the love of the ladies of the silversheet — may be mentioned Shirley Mason's "Pete," a Boston terrier, and "Prince," a big police dog. Yes, Shirley is married . . . V I have noticed — and this presages well for the future — that few of the younger cinemese bother with lapdogs or monkeys. Though Patsy Ruth Miller, Mildred Davis, Gloria Hope and others have canines, they keep the purps in their place — out in the yard. And mostly, as in the instance of Patsy Ruth's "Rags," the dog is really the pet of a small brother. Helen Jerome Eddy has a canine with a face, as Carter de Haven feelingly describes it, "like a wilted chrysanthemum" ; but, though he sometimes accompanies Helen for a drive in her big car, he isn't allowed any liberties, and when he injectsthe tiniest bark into the conversation is quickly squelched with a good, hard slap. So those of us who wear roseate spectacles may endure in patience the present influx of dogs and monkeys into babies' cribs and look to the future when the young girls now growing up with the screen shall become present almost junct to glory; monkey. Not all of our cinemese accept these substitutes for the little clinging arms of babies, however. Consider the Vidors, for instance. Little four-year-old Suzanne, a tiny bit of blonde lovableness, is constantly in her mother's thoughts and, if that unhappy time should ever come when Suzanne should be ill or otherwise need her, I can't picture the maternal Florence hesitating a moment between the call of fame and her baby. "I find," she once told me, "that marriage and career mix beautyfully. At least they have for me— partly due to the fact that the interests of both Mr. Vidor and myself are in the motion pictures. We work stars minus the indispensable ada pet Pom or a harmony and have found that double harness makes for the best results. Home and children add to a woman's vision, give her an added insight into character, make her much more capable of feeling and thus inevitably enlarge whatever gifts she may possess as an actress. But if the two ever should clash, I should give up my career, for, after all, our babies have the first call on us." O ne of the nicest sights of Hollywood .is Florence Vidor sitting in a great-winged wicker chair upon the sloping green of her lawn, reading to baby Suzanne. Their home is a sprawling English manor of brown, set amid a grove of giant eucalypti and backed against the rugged grandeur of the hills. And there Florence sits of an afternoon when she escapes early from the studio — which, somehow, she usually makes a point of doing — and, weaves the magic of fairy tales for small Suzanne. And when some other member of the glittering congregation breezes by in her limousine with her Simian pet by her side, Florence only smiles. Incidentally I believe that motherhood has been the making of Miss Vidor. She has now that facial mobility which gives a tensely human aspect to her silversheet characterizations. Dorothy Phillips is another actress with whom home has a prior claim. She and her husband, Allen Holubar, and their little girl who is about ten, live in a substantial, but by no means showy, home at 41