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[[preprinted]] Saturday, September 17, 1910 [[/preprinted]]

The Cap'n of the "Pundua" stood up the chikula tonight. Morton is a nice little old chap,-too good to be an Englishman, so he's Scotch. I've found that most all the good Britishers [[underlined]] aren't [[/underlined]] Englishmen. Well, after dinner I was pretty continuously employed at the agony box until about ten, then we went up on deck and the skipper turned on his gramophone. Left entirely sober, all hands, including two Scotchmen at about half past eleven. 

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[[preprinted]] Sunday, September 18, 1910 [[/preprinted]]

Another domestic occurrence. Mrs. Cocktail, (nee Whisky-Gin) presented her husbands with a bunch of pups. I've not counted 'em yet. Bitters' pups have got their eyes opened now, all except the two biggest ones. I suppose it's because they've been putting all their energies into pushing the other ones away from the lunch counter, instead of trying to get their shutters open. Forbes' pup is certainly a little peach. In fact, [[strikethrough]] theyre [[/strikethrough]] there's only one ugly one in the whole lot. Couldn't do better myself.

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