Dear Liz: Three cheers, kiddo! Hoorayeureka! I’ve discovered the place
where they bury the bodies. The secret is mine. Within six months,
dearie, I’ll be drawing down a thousand a week and owing more money than
the national debt. I’m going to be one of the big, bigger, biggest
directors.
Don’t laugh, sweetie. I know I’ve been piking my way making good
pictures for a slim three hundred a week for so long that you won’t
believe I can step out. But listen—I’m going to be a big leaguer if I
have to wear a pillow slip on my coat lapel. Watch my errors, Liz.
I’ve diagnosed my own case—and do you know what has been responsible for
the anaemia of the bankroll that has afflicted me all these years? My
early training was all wrong. Every time I spend a dollar I squeeze it
till the birdie cuckoos “One hundred cents!”