I have been with Charlie from midday to midnight. He has just left me. First we went to his studio, and Dick came along with us to see “The Kid” which I had never seen. He had it put on for me in his studio theatre, and now I realize the whole world of possibilities in films. Just as a “movie” can be stupid, boring, badly done, and irritating, as any bad bit of work must be, so too it can be very fine and very beautiful. Charlie has produced an exquisite story. It might so easily have been “soppy” and full of false sentiments--but it is not. It is simple, human and full of pathos. Dick reacted to it in the most stirring way. When the moment came that the Kid was to be taken from Charlie and put in an orphan asylum, Dick clung round my neck and cried and sobbed. He said “I can’t bear it, I can’t look till the end.” He got so hysterical that Charlie was quite alarmed and had to reassure him by saying that it wasn’t true. “It’s only a play Dick! It will all come right in the end!” Charlie too was quite affected by Dick’s emotion. Whenever we came to the pathos parts, Charlie tiptoed to the harmonium and played an accompaniment and when the lights went on Dick and I were shamefacedly mopping our eyes! When we went up to his house and lunched, it was half past three! The house which is not his, but is rented, is Moorish and fantastic in design, the tortuous unsimplicity of which disturbs Charlie. But he loves the quiet of it and the isolation on a hill top with the panorama of the town extending for miles below to the sea. At night, as he says, it is just a fairy twinkling world when the town lights up. Later we went for a walk round the hilltop, and the air was hot and full of evening insect sounds. Dick scrambled wildly up the sloping banks, while Charlie and I more sedately walked round and round by the winding climbing path. He was trying to tell me what he thought was the ultimate aim of all our effort. He maintained that no artist would do great work until all petty ambition was obliterated.