“Why, you don’t expect to be able to carry a great box each on your head, do you, through such a country as you’ll have to travel. Never thought of that, I suppose?”
“I’m afraid I did not,” I said.
“Of course you did not. Look here, while I think of it. Have you both got blankets?”
“No,” I said. “I thought we need not buy them till we built a house.”
“And don’t you want to go to sleep till you’ve built a house? My good lads, a thoroughly well made thick blanket—a dark-coloured one—is a man’s best friend out here. It’s bed, greatcoat, seat, cushion, carpet-bag, everything. It’s even food sometimes.”
“Go on,” cried Esau, laughing. “You can’t eat your blanket.”
“There was a snake at the Zoo once thought differently,” said Gunson, laughing. “No, you can’t eat your blanket, but you can roll yourself up warm in it sometimes when there’s no food, and have a good sleep. Qui dort dine, the French folk say.”
“But do you mean to say that up there we shan’t get anything to eat sometimes?” cried Esau, who looked aghast.
“Yes, often. A man who wants to get on in a new country must not think of eating and drinking. Why, I went three days once with nothing but a drop of water now and then, and a bit of stick to chew, so as to keep my mouth moist.”
I burst out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, and Gunson looked annoyed.