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[[preprinted]] Thursday, November 24, 1910  [[/preprinted]]

Thanksgiving day.  And a hell of a fine one it is out here, I don't think.  The less said about it the better.

Got a good mail from home, though,- heard from Uncle Dwight for the first time in over a year (he's one peach of a correspondent).  I couldn't tell you all that he said, 'cause I'm too bloody modest, but among 'em he says "Jones always speaks well of you, except to casually remark that you're a bit of a crank, to which I silently agree."

Sure I'm a crank.  Lots of ways.  It pays, so I've found out.  So why not?

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[[preprinted]] Friday, November 25, 1910  [[/preprinted]]

Not much doing in the office these days.  Rains have put back the skins, there's practically no ivory in sight, and the "Khalif" is still over in Daressalaam with 400 bales for us on board.  There will be plenty enough to do when those come over, though. 

Forbes was over tonight.  The conversation, as usual, started with "Only three and a half months more."  "Do you know I haven't done a thing about my speech yet?"

Ah! the expected has happened!  Our pals across the street have gone in to buy for their November contracts.  Cloves is a dangerous commodity.  And they got theirs!