making of a movie is as full of red-blooded romance, human interest, excitement, comedy, drama and the unexpected as the letters of the defendant in a breach of promise suit!
How do I know? I helped make one—a picture, not a defendant!
This escapade came to pass, as they say in Patagonia, right after me and Hazel returned from abroad. After we got back again to the Land of the Spree and the Home of the Rave, we both settled down to the old routine. Hazel was kept busy doing her chores at the show shop with ample matinées and the regular evening exhibitions, while I tried not to die of yawning from the constant and monotonous "Number please?" For a change, romance was temporarily conspicuous by its absence as far as we were concerned. That unfortunate experience in Paris with William the wicked waiter, had made Hazel a man-hater for the time being and she was scrupulously steering clear of any petting parties with the exacting sex.
But I still continued to exchange wise cracks with the boys who hungrily hover around the switchboard. I also went on taking boxed and verbal confectionery, occasionally making dinner engagements with the cream of the entries and rejecting moonlight auto ride propositions from the others. If I didn't clown a little I'd go cuckoo. All work and no play makes Jack a
