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likeable and trying so hard to keep things going and people acquainted with one another. Rose's one sin was a bit too much loquaciousness in that soft drawl of Carolina. But Rose meant well. Rose was in the dog house the night Sidney Bamford smacked Bab with the ping pong paddle and Rose let him get away with it. But that wore off and we decided after all, she has a hell of a job trying to keep in the good graces of everybody.

The Bowers: ^[[ →(Frank C. Bowers 122 E 42nd St.)]] Collis Bowers and his wife were our next cabin neighbors. He is Asst. Counsel for the New York Transit Commission, a N.Y. State body with authority for regulating the transportation agencies in New York City. Smoothe, bald, deep voiced, about 42, a crack bridge and tennis player, but somewhat in awe of his attractive wife whose clilpped New York accent was always a source of wonder to us. "Yes - yes - yes." They were very friendly and we enjoyed their company very much. Mr. Bowers and I got in considerable tennis, mostly doubles. He won't play much singles any more - too strenuous and a couple of years ago, a companion died of a heart attack during a match, which shook him considerably. Mrs. Bowers has a heart condition which forces her to take it easy. They had a 12 year old boy, only child I think, at a nearby camp, and he seemed to be their greatest interest, particularly hers. Live in Bronxville. They say his father was a prominent politician in New York, U.S. Internal Revenue Collector for the district and I judge considerable money although they drove an old Chrysler Air Flow.

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