ore several hours had passed, however, we decided to hire
a social secretary. I phoned my publisher for a recommendation. 'Dear
Tubby,' he said, 'what you need is a publicity agent, not a social
secretary. I'll send you the best New York can offer immediately. It was
careless of me not to think of it before. You seemed to have a genius for
that sort of thing yourself.'

"The publicity agent is difficult to explain. He is somehow connected with
an American game which originated in the great northwest, and which is
called log-rolling. He stands between you and the public which is
clamouring for a glimpse of you. The difference between a social secretary
and a publicity agent seems to be that the former merely answers
invitations, while the latter makes sure that you are invited. He writes
your speeches for you, sometimes even goes so far as to write your novels,
and, in a strange place, will impersonate you at all public functions
unless your wife objects.[3]

"Mr. Vernay arrived, fortunately, in time to sort our invitations.
'First,' he said, 'just you and Terry' (he was one of those brusque new
world types and Theresa rather enjoyed his familiarity--'so refreshing,' I
remember she said) 'sit right down and I'll tell you all about literature
in this here New York.'"

... I have always been meaning to read Tubby's novels--so like those of
Archibald Marshall and Anthony Trollope, I understand--but have never got
around to it. Now I feel I simply must.

-----

[1] The relationship was on my husband's father's side. The
Turbots
were never so closely connected with the bourgeoisie.

[2] We, of course, had entree to all the best Fifth Avenue
homes, but
since we have now become literary folk, we
hose to remain so. We therefore avoided the better
classes.

[3] Indeed Mr. Vernay was a most accomplished gentleman, and
I never
objected to him. I only remarked once that I was glad
Timothy was
not so attractive to the ladies as Mr. Vernay. This, I
did
not consider an objection.
=v=

Such an expert judge as Franklin P. Adams has considered that the ablest
living parodist in verse is J. C. Squire. Certainly his _Collected
Parodies_ is a masterly performance quite fit to go on the shelf with Max
Beerbohm's _A Christmas Garland_. In _Collected Parodies_ will be found
all those verses which, published earlier in magazines and in one or two
books,