Bob. Altered. I suppose you refer to my weight. “How are the mighty fallen!” Well, I flatter myself I have altered, and for the better. It’s a deused sight more comfortable; and there’s no end to the money saved. Provisions have sensibly lowered in price, and the tailors look decidedly gloomy, since I’ve donned this slender habit. I’ll tell you how it came about. When I presented myself to my respected parent on my return from school, his first exclamation was, “Good gracious! how fat that boy grows!” followed by a lengthy survey of my by no means diminutive person. “This will never do, boy: you must travel.” Being of an obedient disposition, and being plentifully supplied with funds, I did travel. I first attempted to cross the ocean, was shipwrecked, and for twenty days skimmed the cold ocean in an open boat, my daily food being one biscuit. It would naturally be supposed that a loss of superabundant flesh would follow. It didn’t. I increased in weight. Finally, after much tribulation, I reached England. I was blown up on the Thames: not an ounce of my flesh forsook me. I was smashed up on a railroad. Flesh still immovable. Paraded Paris, rushed into Russia, sighed in Siberia, peeked into Pekin, leaned against the Leaning Tower at Pisa, roamed in Rome, swam in Greece, picked a bone in Turkey, and finally brought up in California, weighing twenty pounds more than when I left home. Just my luck! But here Providence befriended me. I started for the mines. Domesticated myself in a little place called Leankin, was persuaded to run for office, and, by the time the campaign was over, I was run with a vengeance,—run out of pocket, run off the track by my opponent, and run down to my present slender proportions.
Dilly. O Bob! you’ve been unfortunate. I’m so sorry!
Bob. Unfortunate!—not a bit of it. When I’d lost all my money, I fell in with my partner,—a glorious fellow my partner. We worked in the mines together till we had amassed a snug little capital, then started business in San Francisco; and to-day there is no more successful firm in California than that of Winders & Co.
Dilly. I’m so glad! But, Bob, have you no tidings of our Harry?
Bob. Harry! Why, Harry’s here, isn’t he?
Dilly. Have you forgotten the events of five years ago?
Bob. Oh, I remember! Harry ran away to escape being jugged by old Butts.
Dilly. And you know nothing of him?
Bob. Me! Why, bless you! how should I know any thing about him? Hasn’t he been heard of?
Dilly. Since that day we have never heard of or from him. His poor father has been very ill, and now is almost bereft of reason.