ing, he would lie in bed and work out plots for dramas, scene bits, or even mechanical ideas. After an hour of apparent semi-consciousness, his head motionless on the pillow, he would greet the day with "I hate to see her die in the third act"; or, "I wonder if that meat dish could be canned!" meaning, could a dish he had invented and cooked—a triumph of culinary art—be made a commercial proposition as a tinned food, like Armour's or Van Camp's beans and corned beef.
Pretty good field of activity, canned eats, and might have made David W. Griffith more money than canned drama!
