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[[preprinted]] Tuesday, May 19, 1908 [[/preprinted]]

We christened our new golf links on the isthmus today by a terrific foursome, in which Messrs. Bond & Dom'sky 'skinned the Messrs. Slipp & Smith alive. Four up and two to play in nine holes.  We are the people, and we don't care [[underlined]] who [[/underlined]] know it. 

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[[preprinted]] Wednesday, May 20, 1908 [[/preprinted]]

By gum, but business is rotten.  It's getting worse every blamed day. I can see nothing but restful and [[strikethrough]] [[?]] [[/strikethrough]] slothful slumber ahead for the rest of the year. And exchange! Worse and worse. We're losing three dibs a bale on every draft ^[[here]]. Lord help us if that Indian monsoon doesn't pan out this year, that's all.  We've got six weeks to pray for rain in - then we'll know the woist. 

Happy was I before I knew what exchange consisted of.  I have no peace of mind now.