not mind;--and you
prepare for amusing adventures.

The realization of your external unworthiness, however, brings to your
heart the desire for a hot bath in a porcelain tub. You gloat over the
thought; and when the dream comes to be a reality, you soak away in as
voluptuous a pleasure as ever falls to the lot of man to enjoy. Then
you shave, and array yourself minutely and preciously in clean clothes
from head to toe, building up a new respectability, and you leave
scornfully in a heap your camping garments. They have heretofore
seemed clean, but now you would not touch them, no, not even to put
them in the soiled-clothes basket, let your feminines rave as they may.
And for at least two days you prove an almost childish delight in mere
raiment.

But before you can reach this blissful stage you have still to order
and enjoy your first civilized dinner. It tastes good, not because
your camp dinners have palled on you, but because your transformation
demands its proper aliment. Fortunate indeed you are if you step
directly to a transcontinental train or into the streets of a modern
town. Otherwise the transition through the small-hotel provender is
apt to offer too little contrast for the fullest enjoyment. But aboard
the dining-car or in the cafe you will gather to yourself such
ill-assorted succulence as thick, juicy beefsteaks, and creamed
macaroni, and sweet potatoes, and pie, and red wine, and real cigars
and other things.

In their acquisition your appearance will tell against you. We were
once watched anxiously by a nervous female head waiter who at last
mustered up courage enough to inform me that guests were not allowed to
eat without coats. We politely pointed out that we possessed no such
garments. After a long consultation with the proprietor she told us it
was all right for this time, but that we must not do it again. At
another place I had to identify myself as a responsible person by
showing a picture in a magazine bought for the purpose.

The public never will know how to take you. Most of it treats you as
though you were a two-dollar a day laborer; some of the more astute are
puzzled. One February I walked out of the North Country on snowshoes
and stepped directly into a Canadian Pacific transcontinental train. I
was clad in fur cap, vivid blanket coat, corded trousers, German
stockings and moccasins; and my only baggage was the pair of snowshoes.
It was the season of light travel. A singl