![Transcription Center logo](/themes/custom/tc_theme/assets/image/logo.png)
This transcription has been completed. Contact us with corrections.
[[preprinted]] [[double line]] Friday, April 30, 1909 [[line]] [[/preprinted]] Felt pretty good again this mornin', Allah karim, as far as my little fever went, but I discovers I am cutting another one of those foolish teeth on my left hand lower jaw. Holy smoke, those things are tender. It hurts to even whistle, let alone replenishing my inner mau[[?]] with delectable concoctions of this boldly cotton cook I've got downstairs. Maybe, at some time or other in my ungodly life, I have done something to deserve having a curse like that cook visited upon me, but honest, I can't think of it, upon my soul I can't. It must be one o' them there inscrutable things from Rhode Island that your read about. [[end page]] [[start page]] [[preprinted]] [[double line]] Saturday, May 1, 1909 [[line]] [[/preprinted]] May day agin. I suppose in dear old Pares[[?]] it's a regular Donnybrook fair, over something or other. They always seem to pick out a fair innocent day like this, to start up their rough-houses. These Frenchies are funny chaps. Well, anyway, out here it's clam enough. Just like Washington, where, if you'll believe Georgemcohan, "Each Senator uses his desk for a bed, and if it wasn't for the snoring you'd think they were dead;" though by the way, Wm. H. has promised to stir 'em up on the tariff, and everything may not be so doggone quiet along the Potomac, after all. But, as I started to remark, it was middlin' slow out here. That's the main idea this page wishes to impress upon you.