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4 over and he was so shocked at the situation in my story of the extraction, that he said he'd take over right then. I recall thinking wryly that the only good thing I got out of the whole affair was a prescription from Ralph for a bottle of whiskey since it was still prohibition and that was the only legal way you could get it. But it was good stuff and I think Willie got it at a drugstore--a bottle of bonded bourbon like Old Grand-Dad--but unfortunately only a pint as I recall it. I don't remember all the details but my gum, jaw and throat became badly infected all over again and the swelling continued to worsen until finally, after about a week, the thing opened into my mouth and began draining and from then on I improved. But I lost about ten pounds in three days and had a case of temporary lockjaw or something like six weeks wherein I couldn't get my front teeth more than an eighth of an inch apart thanks to the unmerciful beating Hapgood had given me during the extraction. This condition made eating very difficult until the condition gradually cleared up. I was out of the office for two weeks or more and then worked only part time for another spell until I could get my strength back. One thing the experience did for me was to make me appreciate life more than I had in a long while and make me determined to do a better job of living in the future. It was a siege of pain, illness and worry such as I've never experienced before and I was never to forget it. I would look at Babbie and realize how very fortunate we were to have her. She was a darling--the prettiest, happiest, brightest Little person imaginable, and, although a care, she was a constant joy to Willie and me. Everyone who saw her, commented on what a beautiful child she was. As perhaps never before, I appreciated the beautiful spring we were having in 1931. We took rides into the country and drank up the loveliness of the cherry and peach trees which painted the landscape pink and white over a background of a myriad delicate shades of green of the leafing trees. It had been a rainy spring and everything looked wonderfully fresh. We inhaled the fragrance of the fruit blossoms as we drove along the East Lake Road through the orchards, at the same time viewing the vast blue expanses of the lake. The whole countryside seen so well-cultivated and prosperous-looking that it seemed almost incongruous at what we fondly thought was the very bottom of the worst business depression in history. It gave one hope to look at the beauty and glory of it all and it made one contemplate with great wistfulness how wonderful it would be if one could just live forever. Unfortunately, in fact in one case, tragically, all was not good that spring. The tragedy was the death of Clark Baker, head of the automatic substation group, a leukemia. He died May 11th after a brave but hopeless battle against his dread disease. According to my diary, he was sick only three weeks. It seems strange that he could be dead. His memory was so