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Edited by a Spanish and World War Veteran and dedicated to the fighting forces of the United States
Drippings From the Fawcett
Ye Editor is now touring these great and glorious United States in quest of the Famed Pedigreed Bull, and in this issue we are intending to give a wider variety as a result of our visits to the East, South and the golden West.
We had the pleasure of spending an afternoon at the New York studio as a personal guest of D. W. Griffith, in addition to peeping behind Broadway’s scenes, and at this writing we are “courting Satan” in the domain of Fatty Arbuckle et al., California’s movie camps.
If we seem to carry too much gossip in this issue from Hollywood and Los Angeles, please pardon us. We’ll be leaving soon for the deer hunting grounds in Minnesota, but in the meantime, of course, we will have to go to San Francisco, “The City of Health, Wealth and Beauty,” for first-hand information on Movieland’s latest and biggest sensation!
Well, Kind Readers, I woke up the other morning with a grouch and the reason for it is just this: Gus, the hired man, jumped his job and I had to do the morning chores myself. At that moment I could waft forth onto the silvery air the sweetest scent you ever scented. To make matters all the worse, one of the cows kicked over the milk pail when I was half through the job. She also added insult to injury by swishing her mucky old tail in my face.
But to get back to Gus. Really, I don’t think he played exactly fair. After he had enjoyed several aeroplane rides and a wonderful trip to New York and Atlantic City, he became obsessed with the idea that the sun rose and set in his face—that it was his bounden duty to hang up the moon and take down the sun each evening. Really, Fellow Soaks, I couldn’t get him even to feed the pet monkey which I gave him as a present for assumed faithfulness. Previously I had a confidential talk with him regarding a boat which was badly in need of a coat of white lead and tar. He became quite haughty at the idea that I should expect him to act as Indian guide and hired man at the same time, so he threw his hands in the air and yelled: “I’m through.” And I guess he is through, for the last time I saw him that morning he was spinning away to Minneapolis.