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with no teeth worthy of the name, but it unquestionably would have raised hob with her skin. The girl's shrieks, as she lay strapped to the plank, were heart-rending; more than once the audience thanked heaven it was all in fun.
Receiving, as he did, $125 a week, a gigantic sum for a boy of nineteen in those days, Fields was vexed with his old trouble about idle cash. He already had one bank account, in California, but to go out and back was obviously too long a trip to make a deposit. Worried and remembering his unhappy experience with the gold, he finally devised a scheme. He would open a bank account everywhere he went. He began with the large cities, placing twenty dollars here and ten there, and worked on down to banks that occupied, perhaps, a corner of a feed store in a crossroads village. Sometimes he hopped off trains and opened an account while an engine took on water. He piled the bankbooks in a corner of his wardrobe trunk, and, for the most part, forgot them. As it turned out, it was a curious program, for the time was never to come, as long as he lived, when Fields was to need any of the deposited money. On two or three occasions only, he went over the books, cleaned out many accounts, and concentrated the money in larger banks, but he never changed the system as a general savings plan. At one time he had, he said, 700 accounts in banks all over the world. After his death his executors located thirty accounts. Some of his friends, such as Dave Chasen, Gene Fowler, and Billy Grady, who acted as Fields' agent for fourteen years and is currently casting director for Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, think that thousands of dollars of Fields' money today lies fallow in banks under spurious names. "I think he lost at least $50,000 in the Berlin bombing," Fowler says. "He had bank accounts, or at least safe-deposit boxes, in such cities as London, Paris, Sydney, Cape Town, and Suva. I do not know this for a fact, but I think that much of his fortune still rests in
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