We walked some way together.
Thursday, March 10, 1921.
Kenneth Durant arrived to take me out to dinner, and with him came Mr. Humphries, whom I’d last seen in Moscow where he was working in Tchicherin’s office. He left two days before I did, but went over the Trans-Siberian to China and thence to Honolulu where his wife lives. We meet in New York, having between us encircled the world!
I asked him laughingly, what he thought of my having become an authority on Russia! He said that he had to take it rather seriously when he read extracts from my Moscow diary in the Chinese papers!
After dinner we went to Crystal Eastman’s. She edits the Liberator and her husband, whose name is Fuller, is on the Freeman. I liked them. I liked her particularly. She is good looking, and extremely decorative. She sails into a room with her head high and the face of a triumphant Victory. The atmosphere was such as I recall in Moscow—hospitality that was simple and friendly, and discussions that were interesting and humorous. I feel so proud that this sort of people are nice to me. It is easy enough to be received by what is vulgarly called the “upper ten.” They open their doors to breeding or money, but among these others one can only get in through accomplishment.
Friday, March 11, 1921.
Mr. Pulitzer called for me at midday in his car and we went out to Barnard’s studio. Mr. Pulitzer had never been there. At first Mr. Barnard thought my companion was an Englishman and talked as perhaps he would not if he had known he was talking to the owner of The World.
Mr. Pulitzer is so calm, so restrained, and Mr. Barnard is so overflowing with enthusiasm! I led the way to the lovely cloister and Barnard joined us there and gave us an archaeological discourse, much to the edification of two American tourist ladies who pretended not to listen, but were secretly enthralled.
The American verger was terribly in evidence, and at the end, when he poses and demands one should view him from two different points, he first of all firmly closed the door on Mr. Barnard who waited outside; but who went out, I thought, a little too readily. It is a terribly put-up job, and I’m afraid Barnard connives! It spoils everything and makes the beautiful cloister laughable.
Mr. Pulitzer dropped me at the Pierpont Morgans for tea. Florrie Grenfell and her husband are staying there, and have been yachting with them in the Indies.