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

immaculate Lincoln, pulled up at Sennett's Keystone Studios. He was carefully groomed, carrying his cane, and "seemed," Sennett says, "to have regained all his old pomp." He was crackling with authority as he warped around several outbuildings and into Sennett's office. He didn't bother to remove his hat. "I had the impression that he could only stay a minute," Sennett remembers. They held a conference, which Fields dominated. "You'll act, of course," said Sennett at one point, and Fields, giving him a keen look, replied, "I hadn't counted on it — act?" and he mused for a moment, a little troubled in his mind. "Well, if I act," he said finally, "we'd better have a talk about the money." His ensuing behavior was singular for a man whose principal motive was getting back to work. "Right off, he demanded $5000 a week," says Sennett, "and he asked several questions about my solvency. Then he said he would prefer to write his own contract. I had an idea that Bill and I could make some successful comedies, so I told him to go ahead." Two days later Fields returned with a document that is believed to have been without parallel in show business. He had stuck to his guns about the $5000, Sennett noted with relief, but he had added a number of clauses that broke new ground with contracts of that kind. Chief among them was the intelligence that, of his weekly $5000, he must be paid $2500 on Monday morning and the other $2500 on Wednesday. "I inspected the papers," says Sennett, "and said, Tt looks like a first-rate piece of work, Bill.' " "It will hold water," said Fields mysteriously. They signed the historic articles and prepared for production. And now began a series of arguments that occupied a good portion of each working day as long as the two were together. It was the old trouble about who knew what was funny. To keep the ball 215