When they came to their tents he went into hers, slung her hammock
properly, shook a scorpion out of her slippers, and set his heel on it;
drove a non-poisonous but noisy puff-adder from under her foot-rug, the
creature hissing like a boiling kettle and distending its grey and black
neck.
Terrified but outwardly calm, she stood beside him, now clutching his
arm very closely; and at last her tent was in order, the last spider and
lizard hustled out, the oil cook-stove burning, the tinned goods ready,
the aluminum batterie-de-cuisine ranged at her elbow.
"I wonder," he said, hesitating, "whether I dare leave you long enough
to go and dig some holes with a crow-bar."
"Why, of course!" she said. "You can't have me tagging at your heels
every minute, you know."