146 A COLLECTING TRIP 
has asked us to the club this evening at nine and we 
are going. Tom has met a very interesting bug man, 
a Mr. Muir, who lives in Honolulu; he is now after 
a certain parasite to kill the leaf hopper that eats 
sugar cane. He says that he has often heard of Uncle 
Fred Bowditch. 
I am glad the silks and everything arrived all 
right and that you liked them. By this time I suppose 
James wears all the fancy-colored silks made into 
ties, and I am glad if he does. You will laugh when I 
tell you that Tom wears a moustache, a most measly 
affair, pale yellow and verging on the silky. I have 
just persuaded him to have it cut off. He will feel 
quite lost without it, as he has had it almost three 
months. Speaking of hair, this is the first time in over 
two months since his hair was cut by a professional; I 
tried it once but did not succeed very well. 
(Was interrupted here.) 
Sunday, March 24. 
Well, we went to the club, I all togged out in my 
best things and wearing my ring and diamond watch 
and feeling aglow with jewels. We are put up there 
for a month, both of us. It is a very nice place, all 
white marble. There were a great many women and 
their husbands dancing; we chatted and drank the 
whole evening and had a very nice time. One of the 
drinks we had was Malang coffee and it was simply 
delicious. They make coffee in a very curious way 
out here : they grind the beans up very fine and put 
the dust into a kind of sieve, the finest mesh you could 
possibly imagine, and pour cold water over it; it takes 
twelve hours to drip through into a china receptacle 
below, and then it is drunk, pure essence of coffee, as 
