In the matter of Eddie's reading, however, I was not wholly satisfied.
When we had been leaving the little hotel, he had asked me, suddenly,
what I would take for reading in the woods. He added that he always read
a little at night, upon retiring, and from his manner of saying it, I
assumed that such reading might be of a religious nature.
Now, I had not previously thought of taking anything, but just then I
happened to notice lying upon the table a copy of "Alice in Wonderland,"
evidently belonging to the premises, and I said I would take that. I had
not foregathered with Alice and the White Rabbit for a good while, and
it seemed to me that in the depths of an enchanted wood I might properly
and profitably renew their acquaintance. The story would hardly offend
Eddie, even while he was finding solace in his prayer-book.
I was only vaguely troubled when on the first night of our little
reading exercise I noticed that Eddie's book was not of the sort which I
had been led to expect, but was a rather thick, suspicious-looking
affair, paper-bound. Still, I reflected, it might be an ecclesiastical
treatise, or even what is known as a theological novel, and being
absorbed just then in an endeavor to accompany Alice into the wonderful
garden I did not investigate.
What was my surprise--my shock, I may say--next morning, on picking up
the volume, to discover that it was printed in a foreign language, and
that language French--always a suspicious thing in print--and to learn
further, when by dint of recalling old school exercises, I had spelled
out the author's name and a sentence here and there, that not only was
it in that suspicious language, but that it was a novel, and of a
sort--well, of course there is only one thing worse than an English
translation of a French novel, and that is a French novel which cannot
be translated--by any one in this country, I mean, who hopes to keep out
of jail.
I became absorbed in an endeavor to unravel a passage here and there
myself. But my French training had not fitted me for the task. My
lessons had been all about the silk gloves of my uncle's children or of
the fine leather shoes of my mother's aunt, and such innocent things. I
could find no reference to them in Eddie's book. In fact I found on
almost every page reference to things which had nothing to do with
wardrobe of any sort, and there were words of which I had the deepest
suspicion. I was tempted to fling the volume from me with a burning
blush of shame. Certainly it was necessary to protest against the
introduction of the baleful French novel into this sylvan retreat.
I did so, later in the day, but it was no use. Eddie had already gulped
down some twenty pages of the poison and would not listen to reason.
There was a duchess in the book, and I knew immediately from the lame
excuses he made for this person that she was not at all a proper
associate for Eddie, especially in this remote place. I pleaded in vain.
He had overtaken the duchess on the third page, and the gaud of her
beauty was in his eyes. So it came to pass that while I was following
gentle little Alice and the White Rabbit through a land of wonder and
dreams, Eddie, by the light of the same candle, was chasing this
butterfly of folly through a French court at the rate of some twenty
finely printed pages every night, translating aloud here and there,
until it sometimes became necessary for me to blow out the candle
peremptorily, in order that both of us might compose our minds for
needed slumber.
Perhaps I am dwelling unnecessarily upon our camp detail, but, after
all, the tent, with its daily and nightly round becomes a rather
important thing when it is to be a habitation for a period of weeks of
sun and storm; and any little gem of experience may not be wholly
unwasted.
Then there is the matter of getting along without friction, which seems
important. A tent is a small place, and is likely to contain a good many
things--especially in bad weather--besides yourselves. If you can manage
to have your things so the other fellow will stumble over them as
infrequently as possible, it is just as well for him, and safer for you.
Also, for the things. Then, too, if you will make your beds at separate
times, as we did, one remaining outside, or lying in a horizontal
position among his own supplies while the other is in active operation,
you are less likely to rub against each other, which sometimes means to
rub in the wrong direction, with unhappy results. Of course forbearance
is not a bad asset to have along, and a small measure of charity and
consideration. It is well to take one's sense of humor, too, and any
little remnant of imagination one may have lying about handy at the
moment of starting. Many a well-constructed camp has gone to wreck
during a spell of bad weather because one or more of its occupants did
not bring along imagination and a sense of humor, or failed to produce
these articles at the critical moment. Imagination beautifies many a
desolate outlook--a laugh helps over many a hard place.