THE LAST FRONTIER 



bit you'll go. YouVe got to do yourself well, down 

 here, rather better than you have to in any other 

 climate. You need all the comfort you can get; 

 and you want to save yourself 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, point- 

 ing 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 on* 

 of those boxes." 



418 



