W. C. Fields : his follies and fortunes (1949)

W. C. Fields "If you'll pardon us a moment, your worship," said Fields, withdrawing to the sidewalk, "my associate and I will confer." They put their heads together, and a few moments later Fields looked up and said, "If it will patch things up with the Lord, these boxes never contained tobacco — they were made especially for me." The deacon thought it over, then admitted them. In the course of the evening, following recitations of "Crossing the Bar" and "The Gypsy's Curse" by a daughter of the organist, Fields did his juggling. Afterward, catching the deacon loading up at the refreshment table, he asked for his thirty cents. "Not now," said the deacon. "Later." Four additional times in the next two hours, Fields caught up with the deacon, tugged at his frock, and requested payment. The answer was always, "Not now. Wait till after the benediction." Finally, a little impatient, and determined to limit his future church work to Baptists, Fields got his stooge and went out to the foyer, which was filled with umbrellas. Nobody noticed the boys, as a basso was rocking the building with a rendition of "Asleep in the Deep." "Let's collect our wages," said Fields, and began to load up. Between them they carried out thirty-one umbrellas. Fields was considering a second trip, but the stooge maintained that the head deacon, though overweight, had the rangy build of a stepper, and they decided not to take a chance. An hour later they sold the thirty-one umbrellas at a downtown hockshop for a total of a dollar twenty cents. Then they boarded a streetcar, rode to the end of the line, entered a restaurant, and had the following meal for fifteen cents apiece: Steak, chicken, potatoes, beans, applesauce, peach pie, cheese, milk and coffee. Fields could never tell this anecdote often enough. When he reached its end, he would dwell lovingly on the itemized dinner. 36