Poor old Nath! I love him, but am afraid of him. His pockets always bulge contracts. We could be such good friends if he were not a lawyer. And I am sure that there must be times when he is delightful company. I might fire him and then get acquainted.
A very dull day with him. Interrupted by 'phones, invitations, parties, theatre tickets sent to me, people asking for jobs. Hundreds of letters camouflaged with good wishes and invariably asking favours. But I like them.
Calls from many old friends who depress me and many new ones who thrill me. I wanted some buckwheat cakes. I had to go three blocks to a Childs' restaurant to get them.
That night I went to see "Liliom," the best play in New York at the time and one which in moments rises to true greatness. It impressed me tremendously and made me dissatisfied with myself. I don't like being without work. I want to go on the stage. Wonder if I could play that part?
I went back behind the scenes and met young Skildkraut. I was amazed at his beauty and youth. Truly an artist, sincere and simple. And Eva Le Gallienne, I recall no one else on the stage just like her. She is a charming artist. We renewed our acquaintance made in Los Angeles.
The next morning provided a delightful treat. Breakfast for me, luncheon for the others, at the Coffee House Club, a most interesting little place where artists and artizans belong—writers, actors, musicians, sculptors, painters—all of them interesting people. I go there often whenever I am in New York. It was a brilliant party, Heywood Broun, Frank Crowninshield, Harrison Rhodes, Edward Knoblock, Condé Nast, Alexander Woolcott—but I can't remember all the names. I wish all meals were as pleasant.
I received an invitation to dine with Ambassador Gerard and then go for a ride in the country. The motor broke down, as they usually do on such occasions, and I had to 'phone and disappoint. I was sorry, because I was to meet some brilliant people.
I had luncheon next day with Max Eastman, one of my best friends. He is a radical and a poet and editor of The Liberator, a charming and sympathetic fellow who thinks. All of his doctrines I do not subscribe to, but that makes no difference in our friendship. We get together, argue a bit, and then agree to disagree and let it go at that and remain friends.
He told me of a party that he was giving at his home that evening and I hastened to accept his invitation to attend. His home is always interesting. His friends likewise.
What a night it was for me! I got out of myself. My emotions went the gamut of tears to laughter without artificiality. It was what I had left Los Angeles for, and that night Charlie Chaplin seemed very far away, and I felt or wanted to feel myself just a simple soul among other souls.