Percifer's, for
instance, in Park Avenue! Here no one turns the head to look at it.
I told Tom he need make no concessions to the fact that he is to have
two fairly well-dressed women along. We will go as they go, without any
fuss, or they may leave us at home. I despise those condescending,
make-believe-rough-it trips, with which men flatter women into thinking
themselves genuine campaigners. Consequently our outfit is a big, bony
ranch-team and a Shuttler wagon with the double-sides in; spring seats, of
course, and the bottom well bedded down with tents and rolls of blankets.
We don't go out of our way to be uncomfortable; that is the tenderfoot's
pet weakness. The "kitchen-box" and the "grub-box" sit shoulder to shoulder
in the back of the wagon. The stovepipe, tied with rope in sections, keeps
up a lively clatter in concert with the jiggling of the tinware and the
thumps and bumps of the camp-stove, which has swallowed its own feet, and,
by the internal sounds, doesn't seem to have digested them.
I spent last evening covering the canteens with canvas. The maiden was
quite cheerful, sorting her drawing-materials and packing her colors and
sketch-blocks.
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