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Tuesday, May 4, 1909
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It's mighty dull here these days. That is, as far as things to write about go. Of course, we're busy pretty well all the time, though this is the first german this year that I haven't got a shipment to NY. on. Have got the stuff in the godown, but [[strikethrough]] [[/strikethrough]] couldn't finish the deal in time to ship. However, I sent off sixteen bangles to London,- some I'd bought here out of a consignment from up country. 'Course, I don't know a thing about small ivory,- and precious little about large,- but I got the stuff so cheaply that they probably won't lose unless I made some mighty bad mistakes. We must sit and wait for ^[[the]] news.

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Wednesday, May 5, 1909
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Beautiful cook I've got. [[strikethrough]] [[/strikethrough]] My boy asked me to go down into the kitchen the other night, along about quarter past eight, and there was than [[mombafo?]] lying flat on his back, dead to the world, so pi-eyed he couldn't tell a pail of soup from last night's left-over beefsteak. (which he always enters in his book the next morning for a fresh ten annas). I roused him after a fashion, and he sent up something alleged to be edible, but it is no joke, nor was, when I say that I went to bed this night with an empty sensation and couldn't tell whether the pain was a [[strikethrough]] [[/strikethrough]]stomach-ache, or a back-ache. Somebody ^[[in this house is]] going to lose his job, not mentionin' no names.