Diary

Perhaps Helen Wills is keeping a diary of what she does these sunny days at Cannes. It is rumored that she makes entries every evening in a large notebook bound in red morocco and fitted with a silver clasp-lock, whose contents a U. S. publisher has contracted to bring out in the fall. If Miss Wills is really writing a diary, her many admirers are likely to read it more for its probable charm than in the expectation of finding out anything new about her, for the newspapers have reported her activities so elaborately that what she puts in that red morocco notebook (if such a thing exists) can be pretty well surmised. Last week, for instance, her entries must have run much like this:

Tuesday. Won three easy matches in the Gallia tournament--one in the singles against a little girl named Bendit (6-1, 6-0) and two in the mixed doubles. Jack Hilliard (British) was my partner. Quite attractive, but he wore ugly shoes. The reporters came up. I wouldn't let them photograph me because I had on my oldest sweater and I just told them the truth about it. "Gentlemen," I said, "don't take my photograph today. Wait until Wednesday. I am getting some new French dresses made and they will be delivered Wednesday. I want my California friends to see how good I look in French models."

Wednesday. I know all these women are watching what I wear, and my dresses didn't come today. Insufferable people, dressmakers. Mlle. Lenglen had on an elaborate thing on Monday, which gives her the idea that she's getting ahead of me. . . . She asked me to have tea with her at the Imperial Club at Nice. Her idea of tea was a bottle of champagne. We drank each other's healths. Not a word about tennis. She showed me the centre court where she beat Molla Mallory in 1923. I had on lavender and blue.

Thursday. Two set-ups in the singles today. In the morning the sun made me feel so well I simply couldn't bear to concentrate, but in the afternoon it turned raw. Lillie Cadle (British) was playing against me. I wanted to get it over quickly and played as hard as I could. She took three games in the second set. Critics said that I was better in this match than in any other here so far. . . . Suzanne Lenglen said that "circumstances over which she had no control might prevent her meeting me in the tournament at Nice." Well, if she doesn't play me then, she must in the Carleton Hotel tournament here on Feb. 8.

Friday. It was raining when I woke up. Heard that Jones W. ("Messy") Mesereau (President of the U. S. Lawn Tennis Association) is fussing because I am writing for French newspapers. He thinks it affects my amateur standing, but I don't think he interprets the player-writer rule correctly. . . Spent the morning writing an article supposed to be an analysis of Suzanne Lenglen's style. What these editors like is a few measured generalities. . . . Rain cleared in the afternoon. Tea at the Casino.

Saturday. Such a day! Had a rotten cold. More messages from home about the everlasting player-writer rule. I told the reporters that the American people could judge for themselves, when my first article is published next week, whether or not I am a professional. Had difficulty pulling myself together to beat Mrs. Haylock of England in singles, but with Jack Hillyard did better in the mixed doubles this afternoon. I announced that I would not play in the singles over at Nice. They are going to use those slow English balls that you cannot drive. That means my match with Suzanne is off whether she plays or not. Maybe I'll meet her in the Olympic games at Amsterdam in 1928!

Sunday. Such another day! Allister McCormick, that rich Chicago boy that Mary Baker left waiting at the altar, played with an awfully pretty English girl, Elaine Petchell, against Jack [Hillyard] and me. We won the first set, 6-1. Then McCormick went "crazy." He covered the whole court, smashed everything, found the corners. Tall and strong though he is, Jack could not stop him, and my shots got pretty wild. They won the last two sets, 6-4, 7-5, and the match. The crowd smothered them with congratulations and I slipped off quietly with Mother for tea with some French officers. Heigho, but I'm in the singles finals. Beat Peggy Saunders two love sets. . . . Suzanne now says she will play at Nice after all and has made them hold a new drawing. Folks are calling her prima donna tactics "disgusting." Wonder what they think of me?

Monday. Well, I am paired with Miss Bennett to play Suzanne and Mrs. Aeschleman, in doubles at Nice. In the mixed doubles I'm to play with Mr. Aeschleman. He's the Swiss champion, of course. And Suzanne was rather put out because Jacques Brugnon, who was going to play with her against us has decided to sail for the U. S. instead. . . . They do say that Suzanne is terribly out of sorts about it, but she played at top form today--took all her doubles matches in love sets. I won the finals of the Gallia Tournament (singles) myself, today, (6-3, 6-2) from Miss Contoslaves.