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Boston Wednesday noon to see Abraham Lincoln, the play written by John Drinkwater being played at the Hollis Theatre.  I put up lunches to eat on the train and we had a good time.  The girls thought the play exceedingly good and I did too but Lincoln as played was not as I imagine him.  I suppose it would be hard to depict Lincoln's character.  Miss O'Connell and Miss Putnam went shooting off down Washington Street after the play and Melba and I lost sight of them after they passed Filene's.  The mystery is not yet explained for they went on as far as the Old South and waited for us and we did the same for them.  At last M. and I went back to Filene's, crossed over, went up Winter Street and down Tremont, Hanover and Canal to find them at last waiting for us in Hood's Creamery where we had spoken of getting a bite. 

It seems as though everybody thought Boston was the only place to live in; all seem to want to be in the same place at the same time.  Thank goodness I don't have to go there often!

Melba asked Mr. Bates about our getting off 25 min or so early Wed.  He seemed willing and was going to ask Mr. Millington for us, but as usual didn't do it and it went on from day to day unsettled.  The girls wanted to know before they went home last Fri. so at last Mr. B. consented to let us broach the