“He works and fasts until six in the evening, when I then turn him loose and let him nibble. I lay off once a week to spend my week’s earnings, and turn him out to grass for the day, when he fills up.”
“I have it at last,” I exclaimed so suddenly that he gave a little start. “I have been seeking a cure for obesity for years, and you have found it and demonstrated it. I’ll make my fat patients fast and work all day, let them nibble after 6 P. M. and once a week turn them out to golf, which includes both the grass and the filling up.”
“What a queer country yours is,” he said, “I should think that people would make fun of each other all of the time.”
“They do. Scheming for each other’s money and then making fun of the losers, keep them busy and happy. But why do you tire yourself beating your horse?”
“I’m working, or being worked, I hardly know which.”
“And what is the horse doing? If he could only take the whip!”
“He’s shirking, sir. I’m giving him the whip.”
“Well, it’s about time for him to shirk. He probably wants to do it once more, and has no time to lose. If the poor brute could only talk, as we do.”
“That’s one bad quality he doesn’t share with us, sir.”
