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Saturday, July 18, 1908
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Vialle, - one of Uncle Dwight's old friends - has been in town and goes tomorrow, so the Slipps had an American dinner tonight. He comes from Boston, by the way. Not the dinner, - oh no, we'd have beans in the Hub tonight, and [[strikeout]] they were conspicuous by their absence this Saturday night. 

How I would like a tub of that much-ridiculed leguminous fruit, with fish spheres on the side! I'd sell my soul for it, gladly! 

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Sunday, July 19, 1908
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I hope to G - we've seen the last of that circus wallah and his rope-walkin' female. They were up here again, bright and early, but I put my time to good use before lunch with a fat sleep through it all. I had to butt in at lunch, but beat it on the plea of tennis as soon as I got the chance. It only goes to show what a man will chase after after twenty years of Aden. By gum, I wouldn't [[strikethrough]] come within [[/strikethrough]] get in her clutches for hire. 
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