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Bob, Jim, Tex Dowden and I spent the evening in my room at the Taft, Tex making out the sheets for tomorrow's run. Of course, a few stories were passed and Bob said the best dirty story he ever heard was told him by a woman who was his next deck chair neighbor going to Europe. He described her as a well known writer, and while he didn't give her name, he said she was descendant of Andrew Jackson and writes a lot for the Satevepost. So I jump at conclusion it is Margaret Weymouth Jackson. Bob says she has a fund of dirty stories, all of her own concoction.

And my room here #406, is I think the same one I had on that memorable night Bill Brown of Cooper Bessemer, brought a woman to my room and then left her here on the pretext of going to his hotel for a few moments to bring back some liquor. He never did come back, meeting another girl downstairs, and I had to put her in a taxi about two hours later, the girl so hopping mad she couldn't see straight.

For dinner tonight, or rather with it, Bob started with a Scotch and soda, had a beer in the middle and ended with a Benedictine, which he says is a standard procedure for [[underlined]] luncheon [[/underlined]] in England; Bob hasn't smoked for a week now and I think he looks somewhat better - more color particularly.

New Haven.
Tuesday, Sept. 20, '38
When we left Cedar Hill this morning with 16 "battleships" of coal and 43 empty boxes, 2050 tons, it was raining so hard a flood threatened. The tracks were under water in spots at New Haven station. But we walloped 'em in good shape until we hit Hell Gate. We started up the west approach at 29 MPH on account of the speed restriction, began slipping, tripped the JR, slipped again

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