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We tried to get Ernie to go to Woodsville with us but he wanted to stay with Mac and return to Boston in the morning. So about 5 PM, Neil and I hopped off in his new Plymouth, expecting to meet Buckpitt up there this evening. We ran west to Williamstown, north to Bennington, and then east over the mountains to Brattleboro. We saw plenty of snow again up high. At Brattleboro, we dined at the Brooks Hotel and pushed on northward through Bellow's Falls and toward White River.  Somehow in the dark, we missed the road and after a full half hour's running found ourselves passing a point we had passed before! Unknowingly we had crossed a toll bridge into New Hampshire, run south, crossed back into Vermont and run back up the same old route again - a complete circle! A little later we gave a girl a lift - she said she was going to a dance up the line, hitchhiking on a dare from her girl friend who had passed out shortly before in a predance drinking bout. This youngster was pretty, uneducated, worked in some mill, Lithuanian going to a Polish dance. She told us some stories - one, she said, wasn't really very dirty - and then she told the story about "custard, mustard and you!" Another concerned Pat and Mike (the banana and pineapple story) and their penances - she said their "penetentiaries." We carried her about 10 miles, dropped her at the dance hall, where she hailed the cop with, "Hello, Slug!"

We got to Wells River about 11:30 PM. According to Hale's Tavern, Buckpitt was registered but out so we went searching for #112 and discovered her down in the "hole". It was cold and we tried to drive as nearly as we could to the yard office down there - which happened to be along the edge of a plowed field over to a point near the railroad embankment. Then we got out, climbed