were good actors ; I knew I could do good work
with them.
247
"That is the offer as it stands," he concluded.
"Half a million dollars in salary, another half-
million, probably, in royalties. That depends
on the amount of film the Lone Star company
turns out. We'll give you every facility for
producing it; the Mutual will handle the re-
leases. We will be ready to start work as soon
as you sign the contract."
"Then," I said pleasantly, "we need only
decide the amount of the bonus to be paid me
for signing it."
"Frankly, Mr. Chaplin, I am not authorized
to offer you a bonus," he replied. "We don't
do that. And we feel that in organizing your
own company, building studios, giving you
such a supporting cast, we are doing all that
is possible, in addition to the record-breaking
salary and royalties we are willing to pay you."
248
"On the other hand, you must consider that
I have other offers," I answered. "Frankly,
also, I imagine the size of the bonus paid me
will decide which company I choose. I want
two hundred and fifty thousand. We both
know I am worth it to any company."
It was a deadlock. The old thrill of my
dealing with Carno came back to me while we
talked. In the end he left, the matter still
undecided.
There were many interviews after that. I
still believe that it might have been possible,
by holding out longer, to get that amount, but
I was eager to begin work again, and besides,
as Mr. Caulfield pointed out, the sooner we
began releasing films the sooner the royalties
would begin coming in.
In the end we compromised on a cash bonus of
one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and
an agreement on my part to secure the com-
pany for that payment by allowing them to
insure my life for half a million dollars. We
made application for the insurance policy and
I was examined by the insurance company's
physician, so that there might be no delay in
closing the arrangements with the Mutual and
beginning work.
"Fit as a fiddle, sir; fit as a fiddle !" the
doctor said, thumping my chest. He felt the
muscles of my arms approvingly. "Outdoor life,
outdoor life and exercise, they're the best
medicine in the world. What is your occupation,
sir, if I may ask?"
"I'm a sort of rough-and-tumble acrobat,"
I said. "A moving-picture actor."
"Well, bless my soul! Chaplin, of course!
I didn't get the name. Yes, yes, I see the
resemblance now. I'm glad to meet you, sir.
That last comedy of yours — when you fell
into the lake — " He chuckled.
In great good spirits, then, we set out for
New York, where the contract was to be signed
by Mr. Freuler and myself and the final de-
tails settled.
Ten years ago I had been a starving actor on
the Strand, a precocious youngster with big
dreams and an empty stomach. Now I was on
my way to New York and a salary of five hun-
dred and twenty thousand dollars a year. Then
I had been hungry for the slightest recog-
nition ; I had schemed and posed and acted
a part with every one I met, craving a glance
of admiration or envy to encourage my really
tremulous hopes of one day succeeding; I had
deceived myself with flattery to keep up my
spirits. Now my name was known wherever moving
pictures were shown throughout the world; a
million hearty laughs applauded me every day.
I felt that I had arrived and I was happy.
250
From New York I hastened to cable my mother
the dazzling news — my poor, pretty little
mother, older now and never really strong
since the terrible days when we starved
together in a London garret. She can not
come to America because she can not stand
the sea trip, but from the first I had
written her at great length about my
tremendous success, and when my comedies
appeared in England she went for the first
time to the cinema houses, and wrote that
it was good to see me again and my comedy
work was splendid ; she was proud of me.
...
We were to sign the contract in the offices
of the Mutual company in New York. When we
stepped into that suite of richly furnished
rooms, to be ushered at once into the presence
of the president of this multi-million-dollar
parent corporation, I had one fleeting thought
of myself, ten years before, wearily tramping
the Strand from agent's office to agent's
office, the scorn of the grimiest cockney
office boy.
251
The curious twists and turns of chance in
those old days should have prepared me for
the shock I received when I met Mr. Freuler,
but they had not done so. I felt so secure,
so satisfied with myself and the world as I
stepped into his private office.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Chaplin," he said when Mr.
Caulfield had introduced us and we were
seated. "I'm afraid there will be a hitch in
the paying of that bonus. The insurance company
has refused to issue your policy."
CHAPTER XXXIII
In which I realize my wildest dreams of fortune;
ponder on the comedy tricks of life and conclude
without reaching any conclusion.
"REFUSED to issue — impossible!" I cried, start-
ing in my chair. With the swiftness of a knife
stab I saw myself stopped at the very moment
of my greatest success, fighting, struggling,
hoping — and dying swiftly of some inexorable,
concealed disease. Why, I had never felt bet-
ter in my life !
"Yes, we received their refusal only this
morning. On account of your extra-hazardous
occupation they will not carry a policy for
such a large sum," said Mr. Freuler. "I'm
sorry, but I'm afraid it will hold matters
up until we have found a company which will
insure you or distributed the amount among
a number of companies."
I laughed. I felt that Fate had shot her last
bolt at me and missed. Extra hazardous, of
course! I had grown accustomed to the staff
of nurses waiting at every large studio during
thrilling scenes. I had trained myself by long
practise to come comically through every dan-
gerous mishap with as little danger of broken
bones as possible. That was part of the work
of being funny.
"Oh, very well," I said. "What shall we do
to arrange the matter?"
253
It was a question which occupied our thoughts
for several days. No large company would
insure my life against the hazards of my
comedies. We did, however
, finally hit upon a
way of solving the problem, and at last, worth
nearly half a million dollars to the Mutual
company if I died and much more if I lived, I
signed the contract and received my check for
one hundred and. fifty thousand dollars.
...
I did it, as was fitting, to the sound of a
clicking camera, for the Mutual company, with
great enterprise, filmed the event, that audi-
ences the world over might see me in my proper
person, wielding the fateful pen. It was a
moment during which I should have felt a de-
gree of emotion, that moment at which the pen
point, scrawling "Charles Chaplin," made me
worth another million dollars. But the click-
click-click of the camera as the operator
turned the crank made the whole thing unreal
to me. I was careful only to register the
proper expression.
254
" Well — it's finished. What about your half-
million now?" Sidney said affectionately when,
my copy of the contract safely tucked into my
breast pocket, we set off down the street to-
gether. "You'll quit, will you, with half a
million! You'll never leave the moving pic-
tures, my lad!"
"Have it your own way, old scamp," I said.
"You would, anyway. Just the same I would
like to write a book. I wager I could do it,
with half a chance. By the way, there's
another thing I'd like to do — "
Then I had all the pleasure and delight of
feeling rich, of which the camera had robbed
me while I signed my contract. At last I had
an opportunity to repay Sidney the money part
of the debt I have owed him since he came to
my rescue so many times when we were boys.
He could not refuse half of the bonus money
which he had worked so hard to get for me, and
that check for seventy-five thousand dollars
gave me more pleasure than I can recall receiv-
ing from any other money I have ever handled.
255
So I came back to the Pacific coast to begin
my work with the Mutual company. I am now
an assured success in moving-picture comedy
work and I am most proud of it. There is
great cause for pride in keeping thousands of
persons laughing. There is the satisfaction,
also, of having attained, through lucky chance
and accident, the goal on which I set my eyes
so many years ago.
But I have no golden rule for such attain-
ment to offer any one. I have worked — yes,
to the limit of my ability — but so have many
other men who have won far less reward than I,
Whether you call it chance, fate or providence,
to my mind the ruling of men's lives is in
other hands than theirs.
If Sidney had not returned to London I might
have become a thief in the London streets.
If William Gillette had brought me to America
I might have become a great tragic actor.
If the explosion in the glass factory had
been more violent I might have been buried in
a pauper's grave. Now, by a twist of public
fancy, which sees great humor in my best work,
and less in the best work of other men who are
toiling as hard as I, I have become Charlie
Chaplin, "the funniest man in America," and
a millionaire.
256
What rules our destinies in this big comedy,
the world? I do not know. I know only that
it is good, whatever happens, to laugh at it.
...
Meantime, I am working on a new comedy.
I am always working on a new comedy. I have
a whole stage to myself, a stage of bare new
boards that smell of turpentine in the hot
sunshine, covered with dozens of sets —
drawing-rooms, bedrooms, staircases, base-
ments, roofs, fire-escapes, laundries,
baker-shops, barrooms - — everything.
...
As soon as the light is strong enough I arrive
in my big automobile, falling over the steps
when I get out to amuse the chauffeur. I coat
my face with light brown paint, paste on my
mustache, get into my floppy shoes, loop my
trousers up about my waist, clog-dance a bit.
Then the camera begins to click and I begin
to be funny. I enjoy my comedies; they seem
the funniest things on earth while I am
playing them. I laugh, the other actors laugh,
the director fans himself with his straw hat
and laughs ; the camera man chuckles aloud.
257
Dozens of ideas pop into my mind as I play ;
I play my parts each with a fresh enthusiasm,
changing them, inventing, devising, accident-
ally producing unexpected effects, carefully
working out others, enjoying every moment
of it.
When the light falls in the evening I may sit
a while, for coolness, in the basement set,
where the glare of the reflectors has not beat
all day. Then sometimes I think of the tricks
fate has played with me since the days I clog-
danced for Mr. Hawkins, and I wonder why and
what the meaning of it all may be. But I never
decide.
THE END
Charlie Chaplins Own Story Page 18