140 BOOK OF A HUNDRED BEARS 



the lake trip, and, selecting the largest, we secured 

 our seats and waited for the start. Waited? Yes, 

 and then waited and waited some more. Finally 

 we perceived the cause of our delay. 



A fat man came slowly out of the dining room, 

 picking his teeth, and leisurely lit his cigar. A 

 thin woman followed. The fat man stopped to 

 explain something to her. The captain tooted 

 his whistle. The fat man paid no attention. He 

 put on his overcoat and started down the hill. We 

 began to hope. All at once he stopped and, by 

 his gesticulation, was evidently telling a long 

 story to the thin woman. We began to hate him. 

 The captain rang the bell and blew his whistle. The 

 fat man acknowledged the attention and con- 

 tinued to dribble down the hill at the pace of a 

 nonogenarian snail. 



At last, he came near enough so we could see 

 him, and then we hated him worse than ever. I 

 have no personal feeling against obesity,' but this 

 man was young. George Ade says that a harelip is 

 a misfortune and a club foot an affliction, but that 

 side whiskers are a man's own fault. I hold to the 



