The screen writer (Apr-Oct 1948)

E MULTI-COPY SERVICE Specializing in TYPING AND MIMEOGRAPHING TREATMENTS SCREEN PLAYS MANUSCRIPTS RADIO SCRIPTS Your Rough Draft Put in Presentation Form By Experienced Personnel Speed • Accuracy Courteous Service 1347'/2 NO. HIGHLAND AVE. HUdson 2-1341 BUSINESS MANAGEMENT A-l RATING INCOME TAX LEGAL • INSURANCE 16 years' experience Business Counselor for 35 motion picture and radio writers. CHRIS MAUTHE 8006 Sunset Blvd. • Los Angeles 46 Hillside 6012 * Membership Meeting 8:15 p.m. Monday September 13th at the Beverly Hills Hotel F. Hugh Herbert (Continued from Page 7) agreed with her. He was, as previously recorded, devoted to Mrs. Brill, and he was getting fed up to the back teeth with his failure to make the columns of Time. Tears of remorse and chagrin dimmed his eyes. Bravely, albeit with a certain diffidence, he confided to Mrs. Brill the strange obsession which had bedevilled him. Mrs. Brill patted his cheek affectionately and told him he was a silly old darling. Why should he bother his silly old head because a silly old magazine refused to print his wonderful letters? Mr. Brill said she was absolutely right and he was going to cancel his subscription immediately and just forget about the goddam magazine. Mr. Brill blew his nose on a sheet of Kleenex and felt much better. He said that he felt as if an incubus had been exorcised from him. Mrs. Brill did not quite know what this meant but she was glad he felt better. Suddenly Mr. Brill jumped up and asked Mrs. Brill for the key to the attic. "I have a complete file of Time from the very first issue," he said, "and it must be worth hundreds if not thousands of dollars. I'm going to sell it." "Oh dear," said Mrs. Brill. "I wouldn't do that if I were you." Mr. Brill said that he most certainly was going to do that very thing. Until all traces of Time were removed from his house, and, let her bear in mind, at a handsome profit, he would not feel free of his obsession (or incubus). \yfRS. BRILL, stalling for time, ■*~* -^-said that she didn't know where the key to the attic was. This was a palpable lie. Mrs. Brill was a meticulous housekeeper and always knew where everything was and Mr. Brill knew that she always knew. Mr. Brill testily demanded the key and Mrs. Brill, after pretending to look in the little drawer of the bureau where the stamps were kept, finally gave it to him. She planned, after Mr. Brill had discovered that there were conspicuous lapses in the file of Time, to pass the buck to the upstairs maid. She figured, accurately, that Mr. Brill would raise all kinds of hell, and she planned to recompense the upstairs maid for the bawling out she would receive by raising her salary ten dollars a month, an increase which had been promised her since Christmas anyway. This plan she hastily explained to the upstairs-maid as soon as Mr. Brill went upstairs. Haste was mandatory, since Mr. Brill would undoubtedly discover the incompleteness of his files almost immediately. Only last week Mrs. Brill had thrown out Time for 1934 through 1941. She needed the cartons for that lovely set of Limoges china the Kentons had given them for their anniversary. She had barely concluded her bargain with the upstairs-maid when Mr. Brill, his voice hoarse with emotion, bellowed from the attic. "Coming, dear," said Mrs. Brill and hurried upstairs. She found Mr. Brill, his face flushed with anger, rummaging among the neatly packed boxes, barrels and cartons. "Where the hell are all my Times?" said Mr. Brill. "I don't know, dear," said Mrs. Brill. "Aren't they there?" "You know goddam well they're not there." said Mr. Brill, pacing up and down in a fury. This was an unfortunate gesture, because he missed his footing and fell down the attic steps breaking his neck in the descent. Mrs. Brill screamed and had to be given sedatives. The following week Mr. Brill, who had failed to do so in life, finally made Time under the heading of "Milestones." DIED — Balding, bellicose Arnold Brill, 57, wealthy putt-puttycoon (see Business) of a broken neck sustained in a fall from attic stairs (see Housing.) The difference between a moral man and a man of honor is that the latter regrets a discreditable act even when it has worked. — H. L. Mencken, Prejudices IV 28 The Screen Writer, September, 19 + S MM