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would have what he has were it not for his father and father-in-law. Got the 10:30PM out of Hobokens and about 12:30AM was in bed at the Commodore, and my insides still feeling not so good in spite of Citrate of Magnesia. Wish I could go home. Albany, N.Y. Sunday, Dec. 11, 1938. I think today has been unquestionably, one of the most miserable I've spent in years. I felt rotten all day but it seemed to get worse as the hours passed. I spent the morning in my room at the Commodore, writing letters. I hadn't any appetite for lunch but ate a little down in the Union News just as a matter of form. Took the 3:30PM for Albany, riding a coach which was stuffy and full of crying babies and general disturbance. The farther we went the worse I felt - my guts just seemed on fire. I went into the diner and ate a big dinner of roast beef to see if that would help. When I got to Albany I felt so [[?pumk]] and nervous, I thought I was going to lose my grip altogether and spent a full hour walking the street trying to decide to go on home tonight and see Dr. McCallum tomorrow and get straightened out. The more I thought about it, the more certain I was of almost certain cancer or stomach ulcers at the least. Finally I felt slightly better and decided to stick it out. I hated to go home because I knew it would scare Mother to death, and also, I hated to quit in the middle