paired daily to the Astor Library where we copied soldiers' diaries and letters and read histories of the period until sufficiently imbued with the spirit of 1776. "War" is still in the manuscript stage with the exception of the Valley Forge bits which came to life in Mr. Griffith's film "America"; for Mr. Griffith turned to the spectacle very early in his career, though he little dreamed then of the medium in which he was to record the great drama of the American Revolution.
We met Perriton Maxwell again. Extended and accepted dinner invitations. Our dinner was a near-tragedy. Before the banquet had advanced to the salad stage, I had to take my little gold bracelet to a neighboring "Uncle." The antique furniture necessitated placards which my husband posted conspicuously. For instance, on the sofa—"Do not sit here; the springs are weak." On a decrepit gate-legged table—"Don't lean; the legs are loose."
At the Maxwells' dinner our host gathered several young literati who he thought might become interested in Mr. Griffith and his literary efforts. Vivian M. Moses, then editor of Good Housekeeping and now Publicity Manager for The Fox Films, was one, as was Jules E. Goodman, the playwright. But a "litry" career for Mr. Griffith seemed foredoomed. A poem now and then, and an occasional story sold, was too fragile sustenance for permanency. Some sort of steady job would have to be found, and the "litry" come in as a side-line.
David Griffith was ready for any line of activity that would bring in money, so that he could write plays. He always had some idea in his inventive mind, such as non-puncturable tires, or harnessing the ocean waves. In the mornings, on wak-
