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94
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Tuesday, July 14, 1908
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We tore down the Bastile over at Besse's tonight, all right. We cert'n'y did. We had more or less of an untamed evening by the time we'd gotten through. I may say we kept a few of our immediate neighbors slightly awake, but that's a minor detail. Smith rode a champagne bottle over hill and dale (after emptying the bottle first) for a couple of hours, vainly trying to light a cigarette bottle meanwhile I'll bet money he'll have saddle sores tomorrow morning. He was slightly sprung, as far as I could judge. Otherwise he surely never would have mistaken that dog for a [[strikeout]]?[[/strikethrough]] ^[[basket]] ball.

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Wednesday, July 15, 1908 
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Wear old Yeomanry days, Smith! They must have given you a cross between a volcano and a bucking broncho to ride last night. Feel that way this morning, huh? And Winchester twenty miles away!

As for me I lay in the arms of Morpheus until eleven thirty and then decided to cut out tiffin. It sure do beat hell.

Macdonald told me he didn't believe there was much sleep in the Crater last night. And you know where Mac's bungalow is!