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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