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[[preprinted]] [[double line]] Monday, May 10, 1909 [[line]] [[/preprinted]] So so. Meanderin' along in our own quiet little way. Rising at ssar mmoja and turning in at tatu na nuss, and keeping on the water-wagon generally. Very simple and unexciting, but still, it agrees with one wonderfully out here. With the exception of the Roosevelt dinner, I don't think I've been over in the club [[strikeout]] ^[[three times]] since I joined. I'm a damsite better off for it, too. Old Bwana Stewart was the man for that. He was a rare mixer, and [[strikeout]] wasn't bitterly set against a pre-dinner mellowness. However, excuse me. I like something thicker for dinner, myself. [[end page]] [[start page]] [[preprinted]] [[double line]] Tuesday, May 11, 1909 [[line]] [[/preprinted]] Been reading Washington Irving's "life of Mahomet." Rather interesting. Say, but old Mahom was hell with the wimmin. After every fight he used to pick up a couple of delectable "hareem" and lock 'em up in his stables. If it was only a little barroom brawl or a skirmish, he used to pick up, say one, but any middlin' sized battle was good for two new wives, anyway, if not more. I tell you, what with his prayers, and his fightin', and his simple and idyllic home life, old Mahomet was a busy gent. He wuz that.