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[[preprinted]] Thursday, June 17, 1909 [[/preprinted]] The glorious 17th,- the day the British got theirs over Charlestown way. Of course it wasn't celebrated out in Mombasa. In fact I don't believe one Britisher in a hundred ever heard or read of Bunker Hill. It's one o' them things they discreetly leave out of their school histories. I believe I did nothing today but perch on my gluteus maximus in the office downstairs, and order half a dozen shirts from me bloomin' Goanese haberdasher. [[end page]] [[start page]] [[preprinted]] Friday, June 18, 1909 [[/preprinted]] One more call off my mind, and that's the Mrs. German Consul. I met her in Aden,- she came out to the house for dinner, on her way through there about a year ago. Everybody body seems to be surprised when I calmly declare preference for that "terrible oven" over Mombasa, but if it isn't a hundred per cent better than this dump of a joint, I'll eat my shirt without salt or pepper. I will that.