elf 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. After a touch of sun there's
nothing picks you up better than a mouthful of fizz. It's used as a
medicine, not a drink, you understand."

The American reflects again that this is the other fellow's game, and
that the other fellow has been playing it for some time, and that he
ought to know. But he cannot yet see why the one hundred and fifty men.
Again the Englishman explains. There is the Headman to run the show.
Correct: we need him. Then there are four askaris. What are they? Native
soldiers. No, you won't be fighting anything; but they keep the men
going, and act as sort of sub-foremen in bossing the complicated work.
Next is your cook, and your own valet and that of your horse. Also your
two gunbearers.

"Hold on!" cries our friend. "I have only two guns, and I'm going to
carry one myself."

But this, he learns, is quite impossible. It is never done. It is
absolutely necessary, in this climate, to avoid all work.