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Durham, Andrew Everett, 1882-1954

"Epistles from Pap: Letters from the man known as 'The Will Rogers of Indiana'"

We docked after 7 p.m. We had started in
about 9:30 a.m.
Now, for my advice. Go through it once by all means. Then never
repeat. It becomes very monotonous and very hot. At times we only
crept. The high temperature yesterday was 89. The low last night
77.
We went down the gang plank alone and unattended and into the
early night and the arms of customs. He slapped on five blobs of
glue, five stickers at the few remaining places for stickers and
added five banker's initials and pronounced us pure and
undefiled.
A Grace Line representative called and made a reservation for us
at the Washington Hotel. An eager taxi cab driver loaded us and
off we went.
All along I had been amazed at the size of the linen in South
American hotel rooms. Some bath towels were as long as I was. At
the Washington Hotel we got out of the 5x6 foot bath towel area.
The cotton manufacturers hereabouts must have lost control over
the Legislature.
We hied ourselves to the shopping rendezvous, with Aura May in
the lead. With true feminine instinct and bird dog accuracy she
never faltered a step as we hotfooted it down to the "shopping
district" of a strange town. She said, "They should be right
along about here.


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