APPENDIX 



anywhere. He — and I am thinking emphatically 

 of him — would avidly devour the details of the 

 proper outfit for the gentle art of hunting the to- 

 tally extinct whiffenpoof. 



Let us begin, first of all, with: 



Personal Equipment — Clothes. On the top of your 

 head you must have a sun helmet. Get it of cork, 

 not of pith. The latter has a habit of melting unob- 

 trusively about your ears when it rains. A helmet 

 in brush is the next noisiest thing to a circus band, so 

 it is always well to have, also, a double terai. This 

 is not something to eat. It is a wide felt hat, and 

 then another wide felt hat on top of that. The ver- 

 tical-rays-of-the-tropical-sun (pronounced as one 

 word to save time — after you have heard and said 

 it a thousand times) are supposed to get tangled and 

 lost somewhere between the two hats. It is not, 

 however, a good contraption to go in all day when the 

 sun is strong. 



As underwear you want the lightest Jaeger wool. 

 Doesn't sound well for tropics, but it is an essential. 

 You will sweat enough anyway, even if you get down 

 to a brass wire costume like the natives. It is 

 when you stop in the shade, or the breeze, or the 

 dusk of evening, that the trouble comes. A chill 

 means trouble, sure. Two extra suits are all you 

 want. There is no earthly sense in bringing more. 



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