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[[preprinted]] Thursday, April 8, 1909 [[/preprinted]]

I was busy hacking away at one of those tusks this afternoon, when the damned knife slipped, and took a slice off my left forefinger about an inch long. It hung on by about a quarter of an inch, and bled like hell. Took it over to "old ^[[Dr.]] Macdonald, for over 35 years at 171 W. 12th St", — no I'm getting mixed up there, — I mean old Mac up the Ndia Kuu here, — he put the piece back in place, and bound up my hand. I'll probably have that bandage on ten days or two weeks. It's damned annoying. 

Ngoma at Jo's tonight.

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[[preprinted]] Friday, April 9, 1909 [[/preprinted]]

"Cavaliere" Frigerio, Belgian Consul, held a reception this morning, — it's that old swine Leopold's geburtstag. Friggie is a damned sight better chap than that old buck, sure, and we all turned out for his sake. All the local Consulaire and nabobs turned out in their tin swords, British especially. By gum, the way the swords and medals fly around out here is a caution. H. to G. the local Registrar of Deeds had an official uniform and a sword hanging from his belt!

Can you beat it?

I never was so damned glad in my life that the American's, Ambassador or Vice-Consul uniform is his own everyday clothes. 

Oct. 14th — It's a mistake. The representative of the USA should be uniformed. Mark Twain explains it very clearly.










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