BY MARION HOLLYWOOD, beautiful little suburb of Los Angeles and famous as America’s leading movie hot-house, is running pretty nowadays with its many wondrous autos and, Oh! those numerous and naughty little, palpitating bungalow intrigues. The Mary Pickford-Doug Fairbanks romance, is almost old stuff with Mary and Doug on a bit of a honeymoon in New York and London, while forty eleven representatives of the daily papers accompanied them as far as Arizona to watch the Moki Indians get their first glimpse of the screen. One of the merriest rumors just now extant regards another member of the Pickford family, to-wit, Lottie. Lottie is a live wire in the parlance of the country clubs and cafes. In southern California, until the “prohis” bore down, the word “country club” meant one of the nightly places of revelry, stretched all the way from Vernon to the beach. These places are somewhat on the blink now, but it has been known that a stray “shot in the arm” has been seen to take effect. In fact a wagon load recently was taken to the police station from Vernon. But getting back to Lottie. For a considerable number of moons the night black eyes of Mary’s sister beamed favorably upon a certain handsome Apollo of the screens. It wasn’t a case of, wherever Mary went the boy was sure to go. It was a case of, wherever Lottie went she took the boy along. At ball games, country clubs, bungalow dances, midnight revelries, Lottie and her lad were together. Then came dame rumor, and she is a busy dame in these parts. Lottie’s man was playing with another. So far as the public was concerned that was about all there was to it. But know ye, that Fatty Arbuckle, Roscoe he wishes to be called of late, rented the handsome home on West Adams street, formerly occupied by Theda Bara. In fact it is said that Fatty sleeps in the vampire’s bed, which may or may not, weave his dreams with vampires and their dangerous moods. Fatty recently gave a party. He gives a lot of them. There were picture girls galore and the wine flowed red and every other way, for Roscoe is no derelict of a host. It didn’t take twenty-four hours for Dame Rumor and her children to scatter the news that “there was some ruction among the ‘Janes’ out to Arbuckle’s joint last night.” Just how it started was lost in the hurry of getting down to the absolute certainty that Lottie Pickford and another girl staged one of the prettiest scraps seen since Charlie Chaplin tried to lick his wife’s manager at the Alexandria hotel recently. In fact the efforts of Charlie as a pugilist are said to have been nil compared with the flavor that Lottie and her rival put up. It wasn’t exactly Lottie’s rival either, so the story goes.