The Wonderful Case of the Mullenhausers, Who Bathed at Coney Island.
The familiar figures of Mr. Germain Mullenhauser and his wife are no longer seen daily braving the surf at Coney Island. They have returned to their Brooklyn residence, where their ablutions are made in the bath tub, and it is very doubtful whether any of the seaside resorts will ever see them again. An estrangement has grown up between them, and they are not happy.
Their story is a strange eventful history. Two months ago Mrs. Mullenhauser could readily turn the scales at 210 pounds, while her husband weighed about the ninety pounds necessary to aggregate 300. They were proud of their proportions, viewed collectively, and neither was jealous of the other. But in an evil hour a friend told Mr. Mullenhauser that he was beginning to look like a scarecrow, and slightingly nicknamed him "Praise-God Bare-Bones," in pointed and scornful recognition of the office of deacon in a Brooklyn church. Mr. Mullenhauser consulted a doctor with the view of gaining flesh.
About the same time an attenuated female acquaintance told Mrs. Mullenhauser that if she grew any fatter she would stand a chance of bursting, and would certainly become dropsical. The stout lady was alarmed, and she too, sought the advice of a medical practitioner relative to the best method of shedding some of her superfluous tissue. Neither husband or wife cared to take counsel with the family physician. They stated their cases to different doctors, and only told each other what they had done when their courses had been mapped out for them.
"Dr. Jones seems to be a very intelligent person," said the lady. "He says that by surf bathing I can reduce my weight at the rate of fourteen pounds a week."
"Why, he must be an imbecile," exclaimed her husband, hotly. "If you go wallowing, like a whale, in the ocean it will add just two pounds a day to your bulk. That is what Dr. Brown promises that sea bathing will do for me, and I am going to begin to try it to-morrow."
"Germain, you have been imposed upon by an ignorant quack," replied Mrs. Mullenhauser, severely. "If you risk your light body in those great rollers at Coney Island you will be swept away. Be contented with your small proportions and try to show that you make up in mind what you lack in matter."
"I won't," cried the small man, angrily. "I'll take Dr. Brown's advice, and I'll soon be as fat as you are now. Though Lord knows what size you'll be then, if you follow the directions of that ass, Jones," he added sarcastically.
Thus was made between them the fissure that has since been widening daily. They went down to Coney Island together and engaged board and lodging. They kept up a show of friendliness before the public to save appearances, but they ate their meals in silence and bathed at different parts of the beach.
The other frequenters looked at them with amazement, for a great change was soon perceptible in each. Drs. Brown and Jones were both right. At the end of sixty days their joint weight was still 300 pounds, but Mr. Mullenhauser now tipped the scales at 210 pounds and was threatened with dropsy, while his wife could only turn them at 90 pounds, looked like a scarecrow, and feared to breast the waves, as she had formerly done, lest they should sweep her away.
They fled by different trains from the seaside and tried to consult the slighted family physician, but he refused to be consulted, and advised them, cynically, to see Drs. Jones and Brown. Mrs. Mullenhauser is half a foot taller than her spouse, and much better adapted, anatomically, to carry the heavier burden of flesh. She looks like a greyhound, and he like a puncheon standing on its end. It is likely that before the bathing season returns, Brown, the ignorant quack, will prescribe for the lady, and Jones, the ass, for her husband.
—N. Y. Sun.