The Waterbury Democrat., 1934-10-29
In New York
By PAUL HARRISON

New York.-Clever. this rip- snorting team of Ben Hecht and Charles Macarthur. They not only write and direct movies, but they're actors as well. Or could be.
 After they'd dined in Dinty Moore's the other evening, they fell into an argument so loud ana bitter that it brought the propri- Ietor to their table. I'm going to pay this check, you Scotch so-and- so!". shouted MacArthur.
 "Gentlemen, gentlemen" sooth- ed MT Moore.
 "If you take a nickel of this guys money" declared Heciit, "I'll never come into your restau- rant again."
 "And I'll never come here again." promised Macarthur. ii you take cent of Hecht's money.
 Dinty Moore is a diplomat. He took the checks of his, two valued customers and observed that ther" was only one way to settle 1t. He tore up the checks.
 MT Hecht and MT Macarthur, beaming, arose and shook hands. Well, Charley" said Ben. Tit worked again."
 Acting to Remove an Obstacle
 Speaking of off-stage acting, there's another yarn (probably d fable, because it has been attribut- ed to several well known stars) about a man who had been wait ing to look up a telephone number in a corner cigar store. woman was using the only directory, and for five minutes she had been la boriously copying from it a long list of names.
 Becoming completely out of pa- tience, the actor disarranged his hair assumed a wild-eyed look, and began mumbling to himself: T hated to kill the guy, but he asked for it =. Couldn't double cross me and get away with it. .. Blood on my hands; blood on my soul!. >. But maybe he ain't dead yeti. should have cut his head off, instead of just slittin's his throat. He was scared. He knew was goin' to get him. Heh- heh-heh!. ..."
 The woman was gone by that time.
 Non Comprc Mcntis A man whose name you'd know, if you heard it, got himself rath- CT squiffed the other afternoon while entertaining an out-of-town business acquaintance. They went to the Athletic club, and the Friar's club. and Leon and Eddie's. and Tony's, and to Twenty-One The New Yorker got to his apartment rather late. but hazily decided that he had time for nap before dress ing for dinner party to which he was invited that evening. When he awOke, still feeling pretty awful. he was mortified to find broad daylight outside. It was 9 a. m. He dressed. dashed off an apologetic note. and sent the note with large box of roses to the lady who had given the party the night before. Later sha telephoned him; seemed mystificd about the flowers and the scrib. bled apology.
 "It was this way" he explain ed: I've been working too hard lately, and was so nervous yes. terday afternoon that took sed- ative. l lay down for a nap and didn't open an eye until this morn ing. I wouldn't have missed your dinner for anything. but" Charles" interrupted the lady reproachfully. you may have been a little tight last night, but you didn't miss anything. You were the life of the party" Conversational Revenge
 Then there's the Ginner-table in- cident of the stolid businessman who had to sit for an entire eve- ming between two voluble and horsey society matrons. They talk. ed about steeple-chasing, fox-hunt. inE, horse-breeding. colt-training, stable building, coaching, horsc- feeding ard horse shows. Finally one of them asked the man if he were interested in riding. He said no.
 And what, then, do you do for diversion?" asked one of the la- dies.
 "I'm a big-game hunter" lied the harasscd fellow. Really! And what do you like to shoot?"
 Horses"