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

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he seldom spotted interlopers, to his great regret. On one memorable afternoon he brought into focus a whole party of men running across his front yard. His first instinct was to shout a bloodcurdling warning and then, if they persisted, to reach for his gun. But something in their faces, a strain of desperation, caused him to turn and dash down his stairs. For a big man, Fields could move with surprising rapidity when he chose ; he scrambled to the bottom of the bowl-like slope just as the party were lifting twoyear-old Christopher Quinn, the son of Anthony Quinn and the grandson of Cecil B. De Mille, from his lily pond, upon whose surface they had seen him floating. White and shaken, Fields sat down and held his head in his hands as Quinn heartbrokenly tried to revive him. Fields, the parents, the De Milles, and several others kept a sad vigil beside the pond long into the twilight, while the police tried vainly to return the child to consciousness with a pulmotor. The next day, Fields took out the toy sailboat, of which he had been extremely proud, and burned it in his incinerator. Then he drained the water from the pond and never went near it again as long as he lived in the house. 281