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

W. C. Fields "It isn't as though he'd selected Pondicherry Nell," he said. "Oh, no ! She's already wind broke. Nothing but the best, he says, and points out Sadie. Tell you what," he added ferociously, lowering his nose to a point an inch or so from Fields', an unfortunate juxtaposition that placed him at a lively disadvantage, "I think he's putting her to commercial use. If I find out he's been drawing and hauling I'll " Fields left before learning the nature of the revenge likely to be visited upon Hoskins. It was good, he reflected, to get back to the earth, to shake off, for a while, the problems of artificiality and reacquaint himself with the burdens of his audience. And always, as he proceeded, he studied the foibles of the race, taking mental notes, storing up for the future. He passed the house whose basement he had occupied on the nights when the first glacial blasts of winter had proved the inadequacy of the blacksmith's. There was a new basement window ; the prohibitive boards were gone, and the house had a fresh coat of paint. Fields was momentarily tempted to come back, window or no window, and spend the night sleeping in the woodbox. He felt the old urges; for a space he had the sharpest curiosity about the housewife's current store of preserves. But the hard-won luxury of clean sheets prevailed. He put down the rising, deodorized tide of old sensations and continued on his way. He was at last, he decided, almost civilized, and he returned to his waiting bride. "I remember seeing him at the old Keith's Union Square, not long after the marriage," a distant relative says. "Hattie was helping him out in the act. She was dressed in pretty white tights and she looked ravishing. As Claude — we all called him Claude — did his tricks, Hattie handed him the equipment, standing by and smiling, you know, the way they do. We went around to the stage door and he came out, keyed up and perspiring but very polite. 112