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AMONG THE LILLIPUTIANS 15 The offhand reference to emergency storing of drinking water struck Fields in another light. "My God, Cease," he cried, "can't we have a blackout without one of your bathtub scenes?" The first phase of DeMille's day was usually devoted to company affairs at the house office. These concluded, he de- parted for the studio. The distance was roughly two miles, negotiable by a prudent driver in ten minutes. DeMille made it in less, often as little as five minutes—an element that was important to us because of the ceremony attendant upon his arrival at Paramount. The home-to-studio run was noted with precision by the secretaries at either end; at the moment DeMille headed his car down the winding private roadway a call was made to the studio—"Mr. DeMille is on his way." Apart from giving the staff a chance to steel itself for the imminent arrival, the information served other purposes. Sub- ordinates could be summoned from nearby coffee shops or sound stages. In the event DeMille had sent word in advance that he wished to see a staff member "this morning/' it was imperative to know the exact moment of arrival. "This morning" meant only one thing—"instantly upon arrival." This nervous selectee seated himself outside DeMille's door, DeMille nodding him in as he strode into the chambers. Too, Mr. DeMille's progress from garage to his office was unimpeded, the staff being extraordinarily solicitous. The street door to the bungalow was propped open, an assistant taking a stand at the garage entrance across the street to seize Mr. DeMille's inevitable valise as he stepped from the car. The small boxlike, single-story building sat with quiet dig- nity in a corner of the vast Paramount studio grounds, safely removed from the secular activities in other parts of the lot. They called it "the bungalow," for no apparent reason, perhaps, other than that its severe white stucco exterior was softened into a measure of amiability by climbing roses and rows of trim