Q. Was this defendant in Room 502 at the time of the fire? A. Yes.
Q. How do you know? A. If she wasn’t, she’d of been burned. (Violins, violoncellos, etc., pizzicato.)
Q. Have you ever seen any of these corespondents? A. Yes, all of them.
Q. Where? A. In the writing room of the hotel.
Q. What were they doing? A. Co-responding. (Cries of “Goodness!” and “Touchdown! Touchdown!”)
Judge Ogle: “It seems to me that this defendant proved herself a woman of extraordinary acumen in selecting the only fireproof room in the hotel. If she had used half as sound judgment in choosing a husband, the less said about it the better. The court finds for the defendant, awards her $12.00 per week alimony, a Colonial house within walking distance of a golf course, half a mile from the railroad station, five master bedrooms, three baths, four servants’ rooms with bath, three-car garage, electricity, water and gas, and might add that if she has no engagement for this evening, why neither has the court.”
Thus ended my first marital venture and I will state here that I bear no ill will toward Hugga, who, I am told, is doing very well as an elevator starter at the Olympic Games.
XXV
Even Judge Ogle Smiled
In recounting the trial I forgot to include a couple of examples of the sparkling repartee between counsel for the opposing sides, which, I believe, are well worth publication. At one stage of the proceedings, my lawyer, Attorney Dumb, made the remark that Hugga’s lawyer, Mr. Wheedle, looked as if he had forgotten to shave that morning.
“So do you!” replied Attorney Wheedle without an instant’s hesitation.
“I’ll bet your wife wishes she was single,” said Attorney Dumb.
“Yours is!” retorted his opponent.
Not long after this tour de force Mr. Wheedle objected to Mr. Dumb’s habit (amounting almost to a knack) of snapping the various court attendants’ suspenders. It really was annoying, both to the attendants and the rest of us; the noise was deafening.54
“If the court pleases,” said Mr. Wheedle, “I believe this trial could be gotten through with a great deal more pleasantly if counsel for the plaintiff would pay less attention to the attendants’ suspenders.”
“I presume counsel for the defense wears a belt,” retorted Mr. Dumb sarcastically.
“I would like to belt you in the jaw!” exclaimed Mr. Wheedle.
“You look like a horse!” said Mr. Dumb.
“Is that why you keep riding me?” asked Mr. Wheedle.
Even Judge Ogle could not suppress a smile, but quickly recovered his dignity and pounded on his desk with dental floss.
This badinage probably had no effect on the outcome of the trial, but as a result of it, the two attorneys were later persuaded to give up the profession of law and join the staff of the Harvard Lampoon.
Like Jack Dempsey, I became popular in defeat and when I returned to New York I found awaiting me an invitation to attend an exclusive luncheon at the Plaza in honor of the Queen of Romania. Those excluded were the assistant bell captain and Joe Muriosi of the men’s washroom.
I found Marie a woman of a ready quick wit, a woman who spoke Romanian with only a trace of accent. She was plainly dressed in a Mother Hubbard and Plus Fours.
“Po’k chops; dat’s ma dish,” she said to the waiter. “Bring me some o’ dem po’k chops and sweet potato. An’ make de po’k chops nice an’ brown. Nice, brown po’k chops is somethin’ Marie don’t like nothin’ else but.”
“The watermelon is good today,” suggested the waiter.
“Oh, dat watahmelon! Oh, dat watahmelyon hangin’ on de vine!” sang her majesty, beating time with an oyster opener.
After dessert, the head porter introduced Col. William Grenfall, who helps open taxi doors at the Fifty-eighth Street entrance.
“Friends,” said Col. Grenfall, “it is a coincidence that royalty should visit America in this year of all years, the year of the Sesquicentennial Exposition as well as the hundredth anniversary of the Youth’s Companion. This reminds me of a story told me last night by my good friend Junius Gabbett who calls trains at the Grand Central Station.”
“What does he call them?” interrupted the Queen.
“Trains,” replied Col. Grenfall with an amused smile. “You will stop me, I trust, if you have heard the story before. It seems there were—”
Col. Grenfall was paged at this point; it developed there was a taxi at the Fifty-eighth Street entrance and the door stuck.55
The Queen, responding, said the only disturbing feature of her trip had been the announcement of the athletic break between Harvard and Princeton, which had apparently plunged the entire country in gloom and which she called the most important event in United States history since Marc Connelly, playing alone at Coldstream, missed a putt that would have given him a 124.
XXVI
I Revolutionize Theatre Business
My memoirs are now drawing to a close. (Cries of “Touchdown! Touchdown!” and “We want Borah!”) But it would be little less than criminal were I to complete the story of my life without explaining why I selected Great Neck, Long’s Island, as the place to end my days. My second wife, a tall, gangling Swiss girl named Emma Geezle, whose father had made his money in Alpine stock, said she had lived all her life in a little haunch at the corner of Broadway and Forty-second street and she was sick of the bright lights.
“Take me,” she said, “to some town where we won’t be dazzled by the lights.”
So I asked a prominent realtor to recommend a town where there would be no danger of being blinded by electricity.
“Great Neck,” was his reply. “You will find that some of the people out there get lit up quite often, but the houses hardly ever. If the weather report reads ‘Cloudy,’ or ‘Light southwest winds,’ the current becomes so
