I lunched with Griffen Barry and Kenneth Durant at the Brevoort. Jo
Davidson came in with a party; he came and talked to us. Whenever I am
with Kenneth I meet Jo Davidson! He attacked me about it--he said I was
always with Bolsheviks! He knows I like them, and I know he likes them
too! It is a great joke.
After lunch I went up to the Numesmatic Society; as it was a beautiful
afternoon, five hundred people appeared!
I’d like a picture of rather stout middle-aged ladies, in high ostrich
plumed hats, scrutinizing closely and carefully through lorgnettes the
unflinching bronzes of the Soviet leaders.
One man came who looked exactly like Trotzky, though with a shaven
chin, but he had the same profile, the keen eye, the clear skin,
and the stand-up hair. I introduced myself to him and said, “Do you
know who you look like?” He smiled, “Yes, I have seen myself in the
glass--I know.” He told me he was Russian, and I saw he was a Jew. He
said he hoped to go back to his country some day and help. The man
was a dormant Trotzky, the sort of man who if roused, or in similar
conditions, might evolve into anything.
I dined with the Ralph Pulitzers,--they have some nice things,
including one or two good Rodins. He was a real appreciator of good
things. Laurette Taylor and her husband were there, and the Swopes.
Laurette Taylor has great charm, talks well, and seems to have more
vision and to be less self-centred than the usual people of the
stage--and I like her husky voice.
I sat next to Frank P. Adams, whose modern “Pepys’ Diary” I have read
from time to time. Goodness knows if he meant to be interesting or was
really indifferent. He told me he had been invited to meet me half a
dozen times, but had refused. Exactly why he had refused, I was unable
to make out. But short of saying, “You are the divinest woman I’ve ever
met, and I’ve been following you three-quarters of the way round the
world to make your acquaintance,” he could hardly have said anything
more arresting to a woman’s attention.