He urged me to carry it.
I declined, saying:
“Nobody fans in cool November!”
18th—We had a laugh.
Ada, my sweet singer of “My Gal’s a High-Born Lady,” accompanied me to a matinée of one vaudeville.
This is the age of quick turn, sudden flashes.
The long show has ceased to be the fashion. Modern people are tired of the slowness of old times which was once supposed to be seriousness.
Could anything be prouder than the face of the acrobat retiring after a perilous performance?
Woman tumbler!
I wondered how Meriken ladies could enjoy looking at such a degeneration of woman.