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

Record Details:

Something wrong or inaccurate about this page? Let us Know!

Thanks for helping us continually improve the quality of the Lantern search engine for all of our users! We have millions of scanned pages, so user reports are incredibly helpful for us to identify places where we can improve and update the metadata.

Please describe the issue below, and click "Submit" to send your comments to our team! If you'd prefer, you can also send us an email to mhdl@commarts.wisc.edu with your comments.




We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.

Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.

W. C. Fields "I'm going to play it, Gene," he told Fowler a couple of weeks later. "It'll make a wonderful picture." Following his instinct and his often-repeated vow, Fowler declined, with thanks, and tried to change the subject, but Fields persisted. "I finally got the impression that he really wanted the book," Fowler says, "and naturally I could use the money. So we arranged a meeting." When they got together, at Fields' home, they settled a few details, and Fowler said, "Now about the money, Bill. I think we ought to work out a fair percentage split." Fields began to take on a vacant, faraway look; he muttered indistinctly about some new hollyhocks he had in the side yard. Then he arose and wandered away from the disturbing table. Since the meeting seemed unlikely to return to its announced topic, Fowler went home. A few days later Fields called up and said, "About that book of yours — the one you were trying to sell me for a movie." Fowler began an indignant protest, but Fields broke in. "The only way I work," he said emphatically, "is cash on the barrelhead!" "Why, you miserable old devil!" Fowler cried. "I don't give a damn whether you " "Cash on the barrelhead," yelled Fields, drowning him out. "Cash on the barrelhead." He hung up before he heard Fowler's next comment, which, all things considered, was probably just as well. 202