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.
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