The Argosy — page 294: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

236 Camping Out. 10 A WEEK later found Tom Candlish gently sculling down stream, ever and anon casting glances of fond admiration on his canvas covered possessions—everything a man could wish for. He re proached himself that even the lack of a wife did not dim the horizon of his tranquil happiness. The first available place for erecting all the patent protections against weather which he possessed caused real excitement. A charming bit of meadow, which in the evening light seemed far from any habitation. ‘ Delicious sense of solitude!” soliloquised the young man, as he unpacked his treasures in the gentle silence. ‘‘ What a rest after the Babel of last night !” The tent was fixed up manfully. ‘Splendid! As firm as a rock!” pronounced the owner, warm and admiring. Then there was the air-bed to inflate—Oh! ad he forgotten the bellows? An agonized search, during which he mentally questioned if all the breath in his body would fill the flat indiarubber object lying on the turf. At last, rolled up in a flannel shirt—the bellows ! “ That’s all right,” contentedly, proceeding to blow vigorously. Then, our Oxford friend objected to bathing in the river, and had brought a large portable bath, which -he now took from its case and drew into position by certain necessary tyings. “T'll fill it over night,” said he, ‘‘ and have nothing to do but plunge in the first thing to-morrow morning.” For this purpose he had a large tin jug which he filled many times. Having seen the inflated bed, some fine Scotch rugs, and the well filled bath all in readiness in the small apartment made by his tent, our young friend went outside it and cooked a steak in a manner which, if a cook had done it, would have been strongly objected to, but as a first personal effort was regarded as atriumph. Munched with a roll, a dash of pickle and a healthy appetite, our hero was right in saying he had supped “ like a prince.” The moon rose, and with a lingering look at the romantic sur- roundings, Tom Candlish betook himself for the first time to his rest under canvas, vowing he could understand gypsies enjoying their freedom—as many a man has done before him. He was very tired, and sleep needed no second beckoning. He had meant to see the sun rise, but that feat had been performed three hours before his waking. When he did wake his sensations were curious and his remarks, uttered aloud, incoherent. “It’s been raining after all, then! What a cheat that tent fellow is! Horribly wet everything is!” Rubbing his eyes impatiently, Tom raised himself with a cramped CONNEC MOOOKS.CO