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If You Look That Way
It’s oft been said that woman is a mystery to us that we will never quite see through, no matter how we fuss. It’s said that woman is a book forever closed to man, though now and then she condescends slightly to lift the ban. It’s oft been said we cannot hope to fathom womankind and to that fact the other sex might well make up its mind. But we have called the libel out and dragged it in the dirt. We see right through her now with ease—thanks to the modern skirt.
Movie Skeletons
America is blessed with a flock of motion picture magazines, some of them with real stories of the public performances of the screen folk, and some of them a collection of press agent yarns at so-much per column. The Whiz Bang won’t invade their sacred field. We’ll bar the press agents and, instead, will endeavor to give our readers some inside dope direct from Hollywood and Universal City, written by our own staff author whose position within the sacred circle at Hollywood makes it necessary for him to transcribe under the nom de plume of “Richmond.” All right, director, let ’er shoot—
By RICHMOND
Reel One. At last hearing “Doug” Fairbanks and Mary Pickford were living here happily in their little grey home in the west, on top of a big Beverly hill. Every day or so appears a dispatch that the Nevada authorities intend to dissolve the partnership but this is taken to be the final, spasmodic throb of a dying determination.
Doug thinks he’s married to Mary. Mary believes she is married to Doug. Owen Moore, Mary’s former hubby, is quite certain he isn’t married to Mary and what the state of Nevada thinks isn’t causing any particular excitement. If Nevada proved a convenient place to arrange the legal break and figures her dear judges or lawmakers were slip-shoddy she should get some new judges and lawmakers. What is done is done.