ys of his youth and wondered if the
shape of his knees had changed much since the last time he saw them.

Yes sir, no matter what Doctor Hutchinson says, I contend that the slim
man has all the best of it in this world. The fat man is the universal
goat; he is humanity's standing joke. Stomachs are the curse of our
modern civilization. When a man gets a stomach his troubles begin. If
you doubt this ask any fat man--I started to say ask any fat woman, too.
Only there aren't any fat women to speak of. There are women who are
plump and will admit it; there are even women who are inclined to be
stout. But outside of dime museums there are no fat women. But there are
plenty of fat men. Ask one of them. Ask any one of them. Ask me.

This thing of acquiring a tummy steals on one insidiously, like a thief
in the night. You notice that you are plumping out a trifle and for the
time being you feel a sort of small personal satisfaction in it. Your
shirts fit you better. You love the slight strain upon the buttonholes.
You admire the pleasant plunking sound suggestive of ripe watermelons
when you pat yourself. Then a day comes when the persuasive odor of
mothballs fills the autumnal air and everybody at the barber shop is
having the back of his neck shaved also, thus betokening awakened social
activities, and when evening is at hand you take the dress-suit, which
fitted you so well, out of the closet where it has been hanging and
undertake to back yourself into it. You are pained to learn that it is
about three sizes too small. At first you are inclined to blame the
suit for shrinking, but second thought convinces you that the fault lies
elsewhere. It is you that have swollen, not the suit that has shrunk.
The buttons that should adorn the front of the coat are now plainly
visible from the rear.

You buy another dress-suit and next fall you have out-grown that one
too. You pant like a lizard when you run to catch a car. You cross your
legs and have to hold the crossed one on with both hands to keep your
stomach from shoving it off in space. After a while you quit crossing
them and are content with dawdling yourself on your own lap. You are
fat! Dog-gone it--you are fat!

You are up against it and it is up against you, which is worse. You are
something for people to laugh at. You are also expected to laugh. It
is all right for a thin man to be grouchy; people will say the poor
creature has dyspepsia and should be humored along. B