Frightened. Have lost two hundred pounds since last wire, now weigh only two hundred. If lose two hundred more will weigh nothing. Have resumed potatoes and water. Love to Gubby.
That same afternoon the negro brought Mr. Gubb another telegram, on which he collected seven dollars and fifty cents. This telegram contained these words:—
Am indeed frightened. Have resumed bread diet, soup, fish, meat, and cereals, but have lost fifty pounds more. Weigh only one hundred and fifty. Taking tonic. Hope for the best. Tell Gubby I think of him as much as when I weighed half a ton.
A MAN WHO LOOKED LIKE NAPOLEON BONAPARTE GONE TO SEED
Mr. Gubb was much distressed. He had no doubt that his Syrilla would rapidly recover a part of her lost weight, but he felt as if at the moment he had lost Syrilla. He could not picture her as a sylph of one hundred and fifty pounds. He was worried, indeed, as he sat eating his lunch in Mrs. Pilker’s mansion. It was then he heard a voice:—
“Say, are you the feller they call Bugg?”
Mr. Gubb looked up. In the dining-room door stood a man who looked like Napoleon Bonaparte gone to seed.
“If the party you are looking for to seek,” said Mr. Gubb with somewhat offended pride, “is Mister P. Gubb, him and me are one and the same party. My name is P. Gubb, deteckative and paper-hanger.”