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it ran into the left hand end of the job (by "job", I mean the casting I was machining), and ripped a chunk out of that at the point indicated by the arrow. All of that happened in the space of about two seconds (literal -- Standard Time). At the end of the second second (Eastern Standard) I had reached the driving clutch lever and stopped the machine. I can truthfully say that it was an awful sensation to suddenly see something go radically wrong like that on a big machine. After that incident Saturday, I began to wonder if there is any particular significance to the fact that they keep two stretchers on the wall directly beside my "No. 5 Cincinnati." I hope not!

[[image: detailed, hand-drawn, labelled diagram illustrating a side-view of the machine, a flat bed milling machine showing the casting bolted to the table, a cutter above]]

..... To write this letter to you, Willie, I passed up hearing Prof. V. Karapetoff's lecture on "Relativity Shown Graphically", so I hope you feel duly flattered.

[[underlined]] To Willie, July 29, 1924: [[/underlined]] Freddie (Thalman) came down here and spent last weekend with me. On Sunday, we went up to Lake George and took the boat trip to Sabbath Day Point, an appropriate place, where we landed, to climb a nearby mountain to a point high up and overlooking the lake. We sat up there for about two hours just drinking in the marvelous view and the wonderful mountain air. Then we descended, ran a quarter mile, and scuttled onto the returning boat just as they were about to haul in the gangplank. The ride of thirty miles back to the head of the lake, where now stands the village of Lake George on the site of old Fort William Henry, was as beautiful as the ride out, but we were on the way home -- that clouded the sky a little. They call that boat trip "the most beautiful one-day trip in America," and I can believe there are very few rides that can actually beat it. It was almost to beautiful to be true. In case you have never seen Lake George, it runs, long and narrow, for almost forty miles between wonderful ranges of high, wooded mountains whose slopes run right down to the water's edge in many places. There are hundreds of little bays and islands all along the lake, and everywhere the water reflects the blue and green of sky and mountains. It really is a gem of a lake. When you get to Switzerland next summer, you'll probably see such lakes