Ten thousand curses for the man that invented 'ats! You are my friend—'ave you a pistol? Yes, I will be calm. I will 'ave a drink. I will restrain myself. Merci, monsieur.
My sleeves are of a sleekness; and my 'at——My 'at, I look at 'im. 'E is—w'at you call 'im?—on the boom! I contemplate 'im sadly. I regard 'im with reproach. 'E is ridiculous. 'E look like 'e been kicked. With such a 'at, who can enact the lover? With such a 'at, who can win 'imself a widow? I fly into a rage. I tear from my 'air. I shake my fist at the nose of fate. I become terrible. I dash my 'at upon the floor, and jump upon 'im with fury. Then I look at 'im with 'atred. 'E look back at me with sorrow in 'is wrinkles. And, Voilà!—as I look at 'im I 'ave a thought. The 'at, 'e straighten out from my jump. W'en my feet is off, 'e rise a little way from 'is wrinkles where I crush 'im. 'E lift 'imself slowly like a jack-in-the-box up from 'is disgrace. And I 'ave an idea.
Monsieur, we Frenchmen are a people of resource!
I take my thought to an agent of the advertising profession. I say I 'ave come to the place where I am willing to degrade my genius for gold. I wish to eat more often. I wish to marry the widow I love. I will forget my art; I will make some dollars; I will degrade myself temporarily. The agent of advertising 'e say 'e 'ave no need of any degradation, to take 'im somewhere else. But I explain, and behold! I am engaged to go to work. They furnish me with clothes of a design the most fashionable, and with a 'at of which I am myself the architect, and I go to work. I 'ate it, but I go to work.
The manner of my work is this. The 'at, 'e does it all. (Accursed 'at!) 'E is so built that on the outside 'e look like any other silk 'at. But 'e 'ave 'is secrets. 'E 'ave 'is surprises. On 'is inside there is a clockwork and a spring. At intervals 'e separate 'imself in two in the middle, and the top part of 'im go up in the air, slowly, one inch, two inch, three inch, four inch, five inch, six inch—like a telescope that open 'imself out. And w'at 'ave we then? Voila! We 'ave a white silk place, and on it is printed in grand letters:
YOU ARE TOO FAT!
DR. BLINN
WILL MAKE YOU THIN
You see, my friend? It is now my profession, every afternoon for three hours, to join the promenade; to display my 'at; to make fast in the minds of the people 'ow fortunate a discovery is the anti-fat of Monsieur Blinn.
Monsieur, I am always the gentleman. Am I forced into a vulgar role? Well, then, there is something about me that redeems it from vulgarity. I am a movable advertisement, but none the less I am an advertisement of dignity. Those clothes they furnish, I 'ave made under my own direction. I adorn my foot in the most poetical of boots. Only a Frenchman might 'ave created my coat. My trousers are poems. I am dressed with that inspiration of elegance which only a man of my imagination might devise.