After two months on the road we received our two weeks’ notice. For half Mr. Griffith’s salary, Mr. Dixon had engaged another leading man, who, he felt, would adequately serve the cause. So, sad at heart and not so wealthy, we returned to the merry little whirl of life in the theatrical metropolis of the U. S. A. We had one asset--the play. Good thing we had not frivoled away those precious summer weeks in seeking cooling breezes by Coney’s coral strand! Late that fall my husband played a small part in a production of “Salome” at the Astor Theatre under Edward Ellsner’s direction. Mr. Ellsner was looking for a play for Pauline Frederick. Mr. Griffith suggested his play and Mr. Ellsner was sufficiently interested to arrange for a reading for Miss Frederick and her mother. They liked it; so did Mr. Ellsner; and so the play was sent on to Mr. James K. Hackett, Miss Frederick’s manager at that time. * * * * * [Illustration: Linda Arvidson (Mrs. Griffith), David W. Griffith and Harry Salter, in “When Knights were Bold,” Biograph’s version of “When Knighthood was in Flower.” (_See p. 34_) ] [Illustration: Marion Davies, Forrest Stanley, Ruth Shepley and Ernest Glendenning, in Cosmopolitan’s production of “When Knighthood was in Flower.” (_See p. 34_) ] [Illustration: Advertising Bulletin for “Balked at the Altar,” with Harry Salter, Mabel Stoughton, Mack Sennett, George Gebhardt and Linda Griffith. The release of all Biograph movies was similarly announced. (_See p. 40_) ] It was Christmas eve--our first. Three thousand miles from home, lonesome, broke. In the busy marts of dramatic commerce poor little “D” was dashing hither and yon with his first-born. Even on this day before Christmas he was on the job. The festive holiday meal I had prepared was quite ready. There were some things to be grateful for: each other, the comfortable two rooms, and the typewriter. The hamburger steak was all set, the gravy made, and the potatoes with their jackets on, à la California camp style, were a-steaming. The little five-cent baker’s pie was warming in the oven and the pint bottle of beer was cooling in the snow on the window ledge. And some one all mine was coming. We sat down to dinner. Couldn’t put the plates on the table right side up these days, it seemed. Had no recollection of having turned my plate over. Turned it right side up again.