"Great Scot!" he cries, "I want to go camping; I don't want to
invade anybody's territory. Why the army?"
He discovers that these are porters, to carry his effects.
"What effects?" he demands, bewildered. As far as he knows, he
has two guns, some ammunition, and a black tin box, bought in
London, and half-filled with extra clothes, a few medicines, a
thermometer, and some little personal knick-knacks. He has been
wondering what else he is going to put in to keep things from
rattling about. Of course he expected besides these to take along
a little plain grub, and some blankets, and a frying pan and
kettle or so.
The English friend has known several Americans, so he explains
patiently.
"I know this seems foolish to you," he says, "but you must
remember you are under the equator and you must do things
differently here. As long as you keep fit you are safe; but if
you get run down a bit you'll go. You've got to do yourself well,
down here, rather better than you have to in any other climate.
You need all the comfort you can get; and you want to save
yourself all you can."
This has a reasonable sound and the American does not yet know
the game. Recovering from his first shock, he begins to look
things over. There is a double tent, folding camp chair, folding
easy chair, folding table, wash basin, bath tub, cot, mosquito
curtains, clothes hangers; there are oil lanterns, oil carriers,
two loads of mysterious cooking utensils and cook camp stuff;
there is an open fly, which his friend explains is his dining
tent; and there are from a dozen to twenty boxes standing in a
row, each with its padlock. "I didn't go in for luxury,"
apologizes the English friend. "Of course we can easily add
anything you want but I remember you wrote me that you wanted to
travel light."
"What are those?" our American inquires, pointing to the locked
boxes.
He learns that they are chop boxes, containing food and supplies.
At this he rises on his hind legs and paws the air.
"Food!" he shrieks. "Why, man alive, I'm alone, and I am only
going to be out three months! I can carry all I'll ever eat in
three months in one of those boxes."
But the Englishman patiently explains. You cannot live on "bacon
and beans" in this country, so to speak. You must do yourself
rather well, you know, to keep in condition. And you cannot pack
food in bags, it must be tinned. And then, of course, such things
as your sparklet siphons and lime juice require careful
packing-and your champagne.
"Champagne," breathes the American in awestricken tones.
"Exactly, dear boy, an absolute necessity.
