"Names make news." Last week these names made this news:

Arriving in New Orleans to open a three-day engagement in The Constant Wife, Ethel Barrymore wheeled on a young woman newshawk, snapped: "I don't give interviews, especially to little whelps who don't know anything."

Said her interviewer: "You can't talk to me like that."

Boiled Miss Barrymore, digging her nails into the young woman's chin: "The hell I can't, you little wart! . . . You little rat! ... You little bitch!"

Paying his first visit to the U. S., British Novelist James Hilton (Lost Horizon, Goodbye, Mr. Chips,) announced: "I want to see the obvious things in America." Driving down Manhattan's Park Avenue next day he nearly ran over a policeman with a drawn revolver, was warned to keep his distance because there might be "some shooting." Popeyed, Novelist Hilton watched more policemen closing in, heard that bandits had just robbed swank Pickslay Co.'s jewelry store of $15,000 in loot.

Swooping down on the annual charity performance of the Society of Illustrators, Manhattan police found five naked girls prancing on the stage, hung coats over them, bundled them off to jail for indecency. The male audience, including Herbert Bayard Swope, Courtney Ryley Cooper, Rube Goldberg, Otto Soglow and Arthur William Brown, at first thought the police were actors, laughed uproariously when they announced the show was closed. Then, indignant, many an illustrator traipsed off to court, asked why he should not see nude girls in a show when he painted the same nude girls daily in studios.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.