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to go to the mountain.  It was a two-and-a-half mile climb to the top, through absolutely untouched jungle, and Vi had to make his way along game trails, crouching to get through the vines and underbrush, sometimes practically on his hands and knees where the ascent was steep.  Anyway he got to the top, the first white man ever to do this, and found that it was a narrow ridge, 2042 feet above sea level.  The Firestone Company had hoped that this, as the nearest mountain in the country, would be a suitable place for a rest house or hill station, but Vi reports that it is too narrow to be used.  There would be room for a large bungalow, and perhaps tennis courts, but no golf course.  He left Bobo at a stream 900 feet altitude, and here Bobo collected until Vi and his half dozen companions returned.

About seven o'clock we got word from the District Commissioner, Watson of Kakata, that we could not go to the Polish Plantation tomorrow.  The President is going to be there, and then the Secretary of the Treasury taking inventory of the now-abandoned establishment.  This is the second time that old buzzard has stopped us from going up country after all our plans were made, and we are furious, but finally decide to be diplomatic and call on him tomorrow.

April 23-

We left the plantation at ten o'clock, and were in Kakata in the house of the District Commissioner before noon.  We found Watson a slender, elderly negro, with a quiet, rather formal manner, and a big black cancer on his lower lip.  He has been offered the post of Secretary of the Interior, but has not yet accepted it, the reason being (says the report) that he has seventeen women in his establishment in Kakata, and it would not do to move them all to Monrovia.  He suggested that we go to other parts of the country first, Saneyeh or Gbanga, and see the Polish Plantation later on.

We had taken sandwiches with us for lunch, and went into the trading company of the Cavalla River Company, and asked our friend in there, Mr. Burkenhagen, if we could have some beer to wash down our sandwiches with.  He took us upstairs into his own quarters, and we had a pleasant luncheon.  Then we went out to Henry Cooper's, because Bill had heard of a famous "Snake Man" out there.  Cooper is a former Secretary of the Interior, a Howard University graduate, and a plump and genial soul.  He offered us whisky soda, graham crackers and cheese, and we had a pleasant visit with him.  One of his employees brought in a nice little civet cat which we bought.  The Snake Man produced two enormous rhinoceros vipers, which he handled casually - even Bill, to prove that he, too, was a Snake Man, held one of the fat, ugly, triangular-headed reptiles while I shuddered for him.  I was mortally afraid Bill would buy them and we would have to take them, in an open box, in the car with us, but they were not for sale.

Farther down the road we bought a beautiful Diana monkey from a native woman.  It is a little more than half-grown, tame as a kitten and twice as lively.  It was tremendously interested in its first automobile ride, and sat in the window with its head out,

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