Out of Character

Ingrid Bergman, passing through Manhattan on a war bond tour, said her next stop was Minnesota where "if I can't sell bonds in English. I'll sell them in Swedish." She divulged that she had dreamed for two and a half years of a Schrafft's hot fudge sundae, found they were no longer served because of the war. She planned to see Mae West's Catherine Was Great on Broadway, explained: "I want to see if there's anything I can learn from her. It may come in handy sometime."

General Henry H. ("Hap") Arnold, visiting Detroit, was greeted by Aircraft Builder Henry Ford, caught by a photographer in powerful and unusual profile (see cut).

In the Doghouse

Bob Hope, ski-nosed favorite of U.S. doughboys, who returned two months ago from a 30,000-mile tour of the South Pacific, was suspended by Paramount for failure to show up for work on a new picture, promptly announced that he had '"suspended" Paramount because "the boys come first. ... If somebody'll suspend the war, I'll be very happy to start another picture. . . . I'll give the country a nice rest How often can people stand to look at my kisser?"

Noel Coward was as unwelcome in Brooklyn as the New York Giants: Brooklynites had discovered that his new book, Middle East Diary (TIME. Nov. 6), made frightened men of Brooklyn soldiers. Wrote Coward: "I was less impressed by . . . mournful little Brooklyn boys ... in tears . . . with nothing worse than a bullet wound in the leg or a fractured arm."

Ann Sheridan, dressed in old clothes, posed on a Hollywood street and got a free facial--in blackface--from ace cinemakeup man, Perc Westmore. She then drove down Hollywood Boulevard in an open car to fulfill her election bet with Democrat Westmore. Hollywood bets led to other antics:

Andy Devine, fat, gravel-throated comedian, was shaved by singing starlet Susanna Foster, Republican.

Hedda Hopper, gossip-columnist, paid off by filling a day's column for her rival Sidney Skolsky.

Dorothy Brett, brown-eyed, bustling, British-born artist who painted eleven eerie portraits of Leopold Stokowski for which he never sat (TIME, May 8), was refused permission by her subject to hang them in Manhattan's City Center. Said Stokowski: "They are too, too fantastic--too imaginative for the Center." But he admitted he liked them, consented to have them displayed for art lovers at Manhattan's Norlyst Gallery.

Thomas Franklyn ("Tommy") Manville, for the moment a lonely bachelor veteran of seven marriages, put up for sale the complete furnishings (estimated value, over $100,000) of the 29-room house on his five-acre. $400,000 estate, Bon Repos, in New Rochelle, N.Y., announced he had not made up his mind whether he would sell the rest. Meanwhile he is making his home in the eight-room guest house.

In the Chips

John P. Marquand, shy, tongue-in-cheek, best-selling satirist, explained that he had changed from hacking out Satevepost serials to a novel-a-year pace to escape high income taxes, only to find that his system had backfired and he had to pay higher taxes than ever.* But he defended the one-a-year system anyhow, declared: "Few people realize how much good writing can be traced to the income tax."

Baron Henri de Rothschild, elegant physician, playwright, perfumer, essayist, vintner and banker, who has been a man without a country since 1940, had his French citizenship restored by the French Council of State. Rothschild, who left France for the U.S. when the Vichy Government was formed (and was charged with flight from his native land), also received the right to claim all possessions confiscated by Vichy.

Johannes Vilhelm Jensen, dour, dignified, 71-year-old Danish author (The Long Journey, The Fall of the King). won the 1944 Nobel Prize for literature, thus becoming the third Dane to get it. Jensen, who has written some 60 volumes of belles-lettres, has visited the U.S. several times; two of his novels are set in Chicago.

Technical Sergeant Charles E. ("Commando") Kelly, shock-haired, Congressional Medal of Honor winner, finally heard a public explanation of why he had overstayed leave from Fort Benning, Ga., gotten a go-day confinement to camp (TIME, Aug. 28). The explanation was made by 19-year-old Jo Louise Elliott, of Charleston, W.Va., who was wearing his engagement ring. Added she: "I like long engagements--15 or 16 years."

*His dramatic adaptation of his Bostonian novel, The Late George Apley, had its first night before a blue-blooded Boston audience. Columnist Lucius Beebe, up from Manhattan to cover the event, wisecracked: "[The play] ... is set in 1912, and it might ... be entitled 'Boston in Modern Dress!' "

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