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[[preprinted]] Sunday, February 7, 1909 [[/preprinted]]

Stuart came up the stairs at the lick this morning, back from up-country. Gee whiz, but I never saw such a change before in three short weeks. He was as brown as a pail of walnut juice, sun-burned to beat the band, his lips were blistered from the wind and sun in an ungodly manner, - at least, Stew said it was the wind and sun, although judging from Stew's amorous nature I strongly suspect they are cold sores, especially when I reflect that Mrs.[[blank line]] and Stew had tea several times together in Nairobi, according to his account.

He says it's a wonderful country up there. 

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[[preprinted]] Monday, February 8, 1909 [[/preprinted]]

We entertained a Mr. Ingraham of New Haven, Los Angeles, and Vienna, Last night, - he was a fine old gentleman, - and tonight we supped with him on board the "admiral". He thought our little hut was "ideal", - it really isn't so bad now that we've been tinkering on it. What will. H.O. say? But that's two months away, at least, and meanwhile we'll live in the style in which we're accustomed to be supported (by the firm.).

Josephs, of the opposition show, arrived in town yesterday. He's not a bad old sport, even if he is agin us.