I rummaged the things up into much the same state
that they must have been before the world was created, and when chaos
reigned. Of course, I found George's and Harris's eighteen times over,
but I couldn't find my own. I put the things back one by one, and held
everything up and shook it. Then I found it inside a boot. I repacked
once more.
When I had finished, George asked if the soap was in. I said I didn't
care a hang whether the soap was in or whether it wasn't; and I slammed
the bag to and strapped it, and found that I had packed my tobacco-pouch
in it, and had to re-open it. It got shut up finally at 10.5 p.m., and
then there remained the hampers to do. Harris said that we should be
wanting to start in less than twelve hours' time, and thought that he and
George had better do the rest; and I agreed and sat down, and they had a
go.
They began in a light-hearted spirit, evidently intending to show me how
to do it. I made no comment; I only waited. When George is hanged,
Harris will be the worst packer in this world; and I looked at the piles
of plates and cups, and kettles, and bottles and jars, and pies, and
stoves, and cakes, and tomatoes, &c., and felt that the thing would soon
become exciting.
It did. They started with breaking a cup. That was the first thing they
did.
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