NEW YORK Day by Day by O.O. McIntyre NEW YORK. Diary of a modern Pepys Betimes to Reubens for cheesecake and flagon of coffee and later talking to Lee Olwell and George Buckley of our sorrow over the passing of that rare soul, Morris Aleshire. Then home and found Judge and Teal Potter and Mike and Alice Hogg, newly from Houston. Laboured until sundown and with my wife to the William Seamans tea party in their Waverly place pent house. And there were three orchestras. Chic Endor and Charlie Farrell improvised some waggish lyrics and never have I see so many celebrities. Clara Walsh and Vincent Lopez to dinner and off to a play filled with Cockney talk, which I enjoyed mightily. And later to a night club where among others sat Carol Wainwright, George Carpentier, Steve Hangan, Sophie Tucker, Maury Paul and Beth Leary. Home very late and very tired. My night club visits are few and far between. But when I do what astonishes me is the persistence of regulars. I see many faces I used to see at Bustanobys, Rectors and Healys in days of their opulence. It is a crowd that sits in a studiously stilted indifference not rounders in an alcoholic sense, but largely those in eternal quest of a thrill they rarely experience. For them all glamour has been squeezed out of what was once considered a recund folly. With Buddha like boredom they sip innocuous drinks, puff cigarets, never laugh, and confine conversation to monosyllabic clicks. It has the ghostly monotony of the death watch. In the nocturnal haunts surviving the economic eclipse one feature is noticeable. Provocative maids no longer try to sell customers those gangling legged Parisian dolls and other souvenirs of a night out. Wine flushed gentlemen used to respond generously to such sales advances. But not any more. I was interested in fragments of a conversation drifting from a near