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Sunday, August 9, 1908
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The mail saved our lives today. I've been afflicted with chronic "onwer" all the week, and I needed this to turn over my liver.

Terrible weather nowadays. A terrific cloud-boist of a couple of bathtubs' capacity descended on the unsuspecting town the other day. We needed it. We won't get half a hay crop this year, and the [[strikeout]] ^[[strawberries]] are simply burned up.

Say, Bond told me he got a letter from some Yank house wanting to know if there was any market here for lawn mowers and fences. Can you beat it?

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91
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Monday, August 10, 1908
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This diary business is gettin' on the fritz. If you can fill it up on this kind of a life you can have ye Editor's job gratis and with thanks. Don't all speak at once.