My dear Miss Gish:
I don’t care to tell you all the beautiful things I’d like to say about you and your exquisite work in our picture....
Between the acts, last week, a distinguished young man of letters—editor of a great magazine—found me in the lobby, dragged me one side and whispered “For God’s sake, tell me quick, who is the glorious little girl playing Elsie?” I answered, “Miss Lillian Gish.” “I want to meet her right away! Where is she?” he gasped.
He’s only one of many hundreds. How can I ever thank you for such work? Believe me it belongs to the big things in life for which money never pays. I am your debtor for services, for which I not only could never pay but don’t know how to thank you....
Sincerely,
Thomas Dixon.
Dorothy fortunately had no part in “The Birth of a Nation”—fortunately, because she was overtaken by an accident when the picture was well under way. Of course, it was just a coincidence that a fortune-teller, only a little while before, had warned her against an automobile accident. Anybody could do that. Nevertheless, he had warned her—and she would walk across the street where automobiles were passing. On that particular day—it was Thanksgiving—she had been lunching with Griffith and Mae Marsh and Miriam Cooper, and coming out of the restaurant, held to Griffith’s coat, demanding that he buy her something.
“Oh, Mr. Griffith, please buy me some candy, Mr. Griffith. Please buy me some chewing gum. Oh, Mr. Griffith—please——”
They were crossing a street just then, the Boulevard, crowded with cars—the others a little way in advance of Dorothy. She never knew quite what happened, but in the wink of an eye, she was down on the ground on her face; a car that had struck her in a variety of places—was standing with its front wheel between her feet, one of which it had crushed.
Dorothy’s disaster was not all sorrow. Lillian was with her most of the time. Friends were willing to entertain her steadily. Griffith had a miniature screen installed, with a projection machine, and gave her a private view of so much of “The Birth of a Nation” as was then complete. No damaged young queen had ever been so royally entertained. In a reasonably brief space, she was on her feet—limping for a time, but otherwise as well as ever.