“A good bit of the Estados Unidos is represented here, I see,” Chubby said with a laugh. “The East, Middle West, and Southwest. I suppose you’re just lookin’ around?”
“For the present, yes,” Mr. Wallace returned, and then related the events that led to their being in Cartagena.
The fat youth listened intently.
“You may be wantin’ more of South America, but I don’t,” he said when the naturalist had finished. “I’ve been here a year and have got all I want of it. I’m longin’ to see the old Gulf Building, back in Houston. Dad’s office is there. He’s a lawyer.”
“And you—what are you doing here, just seeing the country?” inquired Bob.
“I’m seein’ too much of it to suit me,” Chubby answered. “Came here to look around and to get rid of some fat. But doggone it, I’m fatter now than I ever was. Guess I’ll have to cut out adventurin’ and take back my old job in the office, if I want to get skinnier.”
A burst of laughter followed.
“You’re hopeless, all right,” chuckled Bob. “I never saw a case like yours before. Why, I weighed a hundred and eighty before I left the States, and I’ll bet I don’t weigh much more than a hundred and seventy now. If exploring would do that to me, why won’t it do it to you?”
“That’s what I’ve been tryin’ to figure out for the last year,” Chubby returned. “Funny, but I used those same figures, but I just switched them around. Went from a hundred and seventy to a hundred and eighty. That’s away too much weight for a bozo my size to carry around.”