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

stopped, embarrassed. "Oh, excuse me, Fathers," he said, and added, "Come in, come in, Greg." For a few minutes his manner was quite stiff, as it often was with strangers, but the priests were so appreciative, and so entertained by everything he said, that he thawed out and, making a circuitous approach to his upstairs wine closet (to confound spies), he came down with one of his best bottles of whisky. "I hope your orders won't prevent you gentlemen from having a friendly snort," he said. "The afternoon's drawing on and there's a chill in the air." He was delighted when the priests, disclaiming total abstinence as part of their vows, praised his whisky like genuine connoisseurs. Fields unbent as his household had not seen him do for months. Even La Cava, an intimate, was surprised at the range and warmth of his conversation. Toward dinnertime, Fields arose and said, "All of you will dine with me at Chasen's — I insist on it." He ordered out his best car — at that point a $7000 Lincoln with a silver-plated engine— and they repaired to his favorite restaurant. Their arrival caused a sensation. Habitues of the place, who knew him as irreligious and often blasphemous, sat with mouths agape as the procession made its way through the crowded rooms. Fields seemed proud of his guests ; he stopped at several tables and introduced them to celebrities. "Father Foley and Father O'Connor are visiting me for a while," he said at one table. La Cava, bringing up the rear, looked sad and resigned. Perhaps the most shocked of the diners was Billy Grady, Fields' old agent and companion, a devout Catholic, who immediately construed the priests as fakes and the parade as one of Fields' inexplicable urges for comedy. He was infuriated. As the party filed to an upstairs room, he followed along and as soon as they were seated he burst in. Looking at Fields, and pointing a shaking finger, he said, "You 249