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W. C. Fields
were elated when the show's juggler found himself, in addition to his working materials, with a case of measles on his hands. Fields, through almost tearful persuasion, succeeded to the post, even though his equipment was stored in a New York loft. He juggled alone for three weeks, then he was joined by the stricken performer, who had dropped the measles. After that they juggled together. One time, trying to recall those days for an interviewer, Fields said that his act had centered on his juggling a lamp, a silk hat, a cigar, two white mice and an orange. He added that in some New Jersey city the S.P.G.A. had made him give up the mice. He was always loyal to old friendships, he said, and he freed the mice near the elephant pen.
It was getting along toward the cold weather now, and the show holed up. Without much reluctance Fields returned to New York. He liked the circus' air of unqualified fraud, but he thought that for a juggler the business was a dead end. In later years, however, he set up as an authority on both circuses and carnivals and used material from them in his work. In doing the stage show Poppy, which had a carnival story, and in making the pictures Sally of the Sawdust and Poppy, both of which grew out of the play, Fields was a terrible nuisance about expounding carnival lore. When he first walked onto the movie set of Poppy, he examined an equestrian ring suspiciously and called for a yardstick. Then he took the ring's diameter and yelled, "This thing's a yard too wide. Pull it in." The production group went into annoyed conference. "The diameter of circus rings in ancient Rome was fourteen yards, nine inches," Fields said testily. "That size has prevailed everywhere in the world since then, and we're not going to depart from it. It's a matter of universal superstition. When the corrections are finished, you'll find me in my dressing room." A group of disgusted carpenters rebuilt the ring, and the cast reconvened.
Fields' untriumphant re-entry into New York found him no
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