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W. C. Fields
some more salt" and "I wish he'd quit leaving magazines in here." Also on his desk (which was the apple of his eye) Fields had a spyglass, with which to sweep the lawn for trespassers, his horse pistol, with which to shoot them if they proved intractable, writing materials, a stack of newspapers, and a pot of paste and a pair of scissors. He spent a great deal of time at his desk, creating an atmosphere of bustling importance. Periodically he would step out on the balcony, taking his spyglass and pistol, and search carefully for felons. On one such occasion, after a quiet morning with the dictaphone, he actually spotted a formidable boarding party headed his way down the red-tile path. It was a meek group of nuns distributing pamphlets urging some worthy charity, but Fields, springing into action, mustered all possible strength to repel them. He decided on Plan D, involving use of the dictaphone, whose door-stoop branch he switched on immediately. Holding the microphone close to his mouth, he launched a hair-raising and profane domestic argument, taking the parts of both husband and wife and touching on the most delicate aspects of marriage. The nuns hitched up their skirts and ran like rabbits, jettisoning pamphlets right and left, to add that marginal soupcon of acceleration which so often means the difference between freedom and capture.
Fields was always courteous to religious people unless their broadsides were aimed in his direction. It was a maxim of his life. The paste pot and scissors on his desk were for deleting and affixing to letters pertinent items from his newspapers, most of which were house organs of well-known penitentiaries. The comedian liked to keep up with the prison news; he pretended that he was following the careers of many old friends. When he encountered a squib that amused him, he would clip it and mail it, with some appropriate comment, to one of his unincarcerated companions. Fields kept his friends posted about all sorts of devel
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