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were many gay, interesting evenings. Beaus often took me to the theater, and that happened to be a marvelous season on Broadway. "Outward Bound," an interesting play, had a special meaning to me because I had known Sally Flavin, the wife of the author, in the school in San Jose. My diary notes that Alfred Lunt and J. M. Kerrigan played the male leads. I saw Lucille Laverne in "Sunup," and Ruth Chatteron and Henry Miller in "The Changelings." Peggy Hopkins Joyce, the femme fatale of that day, was in Earl Carroll's "Vanities." John and Lionel Barrymore appeared together in a performance of "Hamlet," thelike of which I have never seen since. Imagine being among the 5,000 people who crowded into the Metropolitan Opera House to salute Eleanora Duse. I often wakened in the morning still under the spell of these great moments in the theater.

Because my cousin, Louise Phoebe, continually and unnecessarily worried about me, I was introduced to the finest restaurants in the city. Louise had the impression that I was not getting enough to eat. Her husband, Tom, would order