Every week or so a San Francisco man named Morrell comes south, and they say he visits Katherine. The couple are engaged, it is said, and when her two-year contract is up, intend to marry and quit business for good. Friends say they are both saving carefully toward that day.
The arithmetical problem is this: If Morrell earns “X” salary and Katherine $40,000 per picture or about $240,000 a year, how much salt and pepper will Morrell’s savings buy two years from now? How many steaks and cream puffs can Katherine buy?
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In a recent issue we dealt somewhat with the male sissy whose devastating inroads have made themselves particularly felt in this Egyptianesque hotbed of art, near art and the no end of things for which poor art is blamed—Hollywood.
Our readers will recall that some months ago a very noted “heavy” of the films, a man nearing the fifties and with a wealth of apparent masculine comeliness, was arrested in company with another male person after a perfectly inquisitive detective had watched them through a keyhole of the film star’s home.
Broken in the prime of life, an object of scorn and with others fearing to be seen in his company, even for business purposes, his plight is a sorry one. More seldom as the months pass does his white head and Romanesque profile appear upon the screen.
There is grim humor in the plight of this man. The name of an immensely rich woman was mentioned in connection with his arrest. It was intimated that he had grown cold in his attentions to her and that the detective who trapped the two men was well paid with feminine gold. She must have suspected something.
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Wedding bells and hopeful love of man and woman seems to have broken out afresh in the picture world. Wasn’t it in an issue four months back that we confidentially confided to our readers that Charlie Chaplin was openly adoring a sweet young thing of seventeen? Just about four months after we cheered you with this item, the daily papers declaimed that all signs and portents were to the effect that May Collins was to become the second bride of the comedian.
Needless to say, Miss Collins by this time has been “interviewed.” With the awe-striking wisdom of seventeen—some say she is younger—the girl sets forth, or so she is quoted, a panacea for marriage ills. She did not admit she was going to marry Charlie but she wasted no space in praising anyone but him. It appears that if May marries Charlie that the path of true art will not be tampered with and if Charles wishes to remain out on business, or otherwise further his picture activities, that May will not offer hindrance.