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Moped around the bar before supper (it's wide open here on Sunday). Had a beer and a bottle of Black House ale, reminding me of the Quebec trip in 1934. There were plenty of people all around me but not a soul I knew. I can't seem to even get going on this job properly (or so it seems to me) because I've been so glum since I got here, I try to tell myself I must for the children's sake - when I lose, they lose with me and when I win, they win too. But jab myself as I will, it's a hard job to get going on it.

Boston, Mass.
Monday, Dec. 5. 1938.

With the passing of the weekend, my extreme glumness seemed to pass too. Today Harrison and I set out in his car for Salem. It was very foggy and we had to do considerable groping around and inquiring before we finally located the yard headquarters, a ricketty two story tower like affair off on the outskirts of town. So in we marched to be assailed by a terrible stench of unhousebroken cat and to find a lone man and a cute tiger kitten holding down the place. We inquired if the yardmaster was around and the reply was: "He hasn't been around for fifteen years. My name's Nutting, assistant chief clerk. Can I do anything for you?" So we told him our story and he gave us all the dope on the Salem yard engines, apologizing intermittently for the cat's bad manners. From there we proceeded to Laurence where, after a long hunt, we

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