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[[preprinted]]Friday, October 15, 1909[[/preprinted]]

Thank heaven Ramadan is over. The gun fired a little before six this evening. Now I suppose we'll be busy all tomorrow morning dealing out.

There isn't one darned thing doing all these days. There might have been the other day, for there was a report all over town that Parr had died in Zanzibar. However, he didn't accommodate us in the least, – like Mark Twain, the report was "greatly exaggerated," and now we're in the same old state of ennui. Wish it was Massachusetts

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[[preprinted]]Saturday, October 16, 1909[[/preprinted]]

Sikuku today.

The dasturi down here is that all the boys who have been in one's employ over a year get a whole month's wages, and all the others get half. Not only is that to be coughed, but everyone else's boys come around, together with all the coolies, Post office boys, and a crowd you've never laid eyes on before, – all wanting baksheesh. I kept a pail of water alongside my desk for the more obstinate ones. 

This baksheeshin' custom is too much of a shi tayyeb.

I cut out old Tejpar this trip, and he's sore. Gettin' rather tired of him, to tell the truth.