120 JUNGLE PEACE 



laughed loudly again and again and started 

 homeward. We chaffed the coolies until they 

 were embarrassed; we slid into the deepest holes 

 we could find. We made set speeches on the 

 dampness of sugar-plantations, on tropical 

 weather, and especially on the veracity of the 

 indentured inhabitants of India. It was all as 

 good-natured as it sounded, for, after all, had 

 we not already found the birds themselves and 

 obtained our notes and photographs? 



Then we discussed the psychology of rain and 

 of getting wet, and I arrived at the following 

 conclusions, which are true ones. Once drenched 

 to the skin in the tropics, all discomfort is gone. 

 One simply squdges around in the blissful knowl- 

 edge that all the mud and water in the world 

 can now arouse no feeling of discomfort. One 

 has simply been translated to a new world of 

 elements, a new cosmos of sensation. And as 

 with most such transmigrations, it is only the 

 shifting which is disagreeable. As long as a 

 shred of clothing is dry, we think of it and 

 worry about it, and endeavor to keep it dry, 

 and shrink from the clammy touch of partly 

 sodden foot-wear. Once we slip into a trench, 

 the rain becomes only a pleasant tapping on 



