For, mark you, he could take the same things into
the Sierras or the North-by paying; but he doesn't.
I repeat, it is the inalienable right of any man to travel as
luxuriously as he pleases. But by the same token it is not his
right to pretend that luxuries are necessities. That is to put
himself into the same category with the man who always finds some
other excuse for taking a drink than the simple one that he wants
it.
The Englishman's point of view is that he objects to "pigging
it," as he says. "Pigging it" means changing your home habits in
any way. If you have been accustomed to eating your sardines
after a meal, and somebody offers them to you first, that is
"pigging it." In other words, as nearly as I can make out,
"pigging it" does not so much mean doing things in an inadequate
fashion as DOING THEM DIFFERENTLY. Therefore, the Englishman in
the field likes to approximate as closely as may be his life in
town, even if it takes one hundred and fifty men to do it. Which
reduces the "pigging it" argument to an attempt at condemnation
by calling names.
The American temperament, on the contrary, being more
experimental and independent, prefers to build anew upon its
essentials. Where the Englishman covers the situation
blanket-wise with his old institutions, the American prefers to
construct new institutions on the necessities of the case. He
objects strongly to being taken care of too completely. He
objects strongly to losing the keen enjoyment of overcoming
difficulties and enduring hardships. The Englishman by habit and
training has no such objections. He likes to be taken care of,
financially, personally, and everlastingly. That is his ideal of
life. If he can be taken care of better by employing three
hundred porters and packing eight tin trunks of personal
effects-as I have seen it done-he will so employ and take. That
is all right: he likes it.
But the American does not like it. A good deal of the fun for him
is in going light, in matching himself against his environment.
It is no fun to him to carry his complete little civilization
along with him, laboriously. If he must have cotton wool, let it
be as little cotton wool as possible. He likes to be comfortable;
but he likes to be comfortable with the minimum of means.
Striking just the proper balance somehow adds to his interest in
the game. And how he DOES object to that ever-recurring
thought-that he is such a helpless mollusc that it requires a
small regiment to get him safely around the country!
Both means are perfectly legitimate, of course; and neither view
is open to criticism.
