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[[preprinted]] Wednesday, October 9, 1907 [[/preprinted]]

Half speed today. Finished up the home mail and beat it at three. Smith and I walked up to the Tanks, just for a still.

Schirmer is tearing his shirt about the telephone. Being a healthy 200 pounder a little singing on the  wire naturally annoys him, and he complains he's so nervous he can't read on account of the din. He will tear it down presently, is it?

There goes that Hardly Able Quartette again over in the Bank. When they get together there isn't a night passes but what about two gross of defunct composers turn over in their graves, and the living have chills.

Get th' hook.

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[[preprinted]] Thursday, October 10, 1907 [[/preprinted]]

Nothing to write of today except that I travelled over the hot and dusty road to the point, inspected a few babs at Corvasjee's wharf, and paid a visit to the Port Trust. If they made all this damned fuss about landing a box of freight into Boston or New York, landing charges, import tolls, port trusts, and  all that damned rot, they'd run up a few to a nearby lampost and things would move a little more smoothly. They need the same kind of oil here.