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

locating the sprain, an ailment which, like beauty, sometimes exists largely in the eye of the sprainee, so to speak. "It may be going into something else, such as pneumonia or lockjaw," said the doctor. He added that he would make a report right away, with the usual recommendations, and he left, with a worried look. Fields got up again, threw off his robe, and said to Grady, "Now, damn you, let's get back at that handball." He served, and the game resumed. At this point the doctor threw the door open and yelled, "Aha! I thought so, you faker!" He ducked back as Fields threw a lamp at him, then fled down the stairs. "Bill was hopping mad for days," Grady says. "He took the attitude that he'd been defrauded. About a week later he said, 'I knew that insurance company was no good the minute I stuck my head in their door.' " Fields' reaction to things was sometimes hard to figure out, according to Grady. Once when he was making out his income tax — an operation that put him in a blistering humor — Grady came in and looked over the papers. "Why, you can't deduct those things, you crook!" Grady said. "They'll put you in jail. How the hell can I make a living representing an inmate of a federal penitentiary?" Fields ordered him out of the room and continued to sift the air for deductions. "He was too stingy to hire a lawyer," Grady says. "Besides, he was pretty sure the lawyers were secretly working for the government. I went in my room and sat down, but I was concerned. He was including things like depreciation on vaudeville houses where he'd played, salaries for ball rackers, and donations to churches in the Solomon Islands." Fields completed his return, filed it with a look of satisfied pride, and continued with his engagements. "A few months later," says 159