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; an