“One hundred and fifty-three pounds,” said the doctor, noting it down on his tablets.
“Am I too heavy?”
“Why, no, Mr. Kennedy!” said Joe; “and then, you know, I am light to make up for it.”
So saying, Joe, with enthusiasm, took his place on the scales, and very nearly upset them in his ready haste. He struck the attitude of Wellington where he is made to ape Achilles, at Hyde-Park entrance, and was superb in it, without the shield.
“One hundred and twenty pounds,” wrote the doctor.
“Ah! ha!” said Joe, with a smile of satisfaction And why did he smile? He never could tell himself.
“It’s my turn now,” said Ferguson—and he put down one hundred and thirty-five pounds to his own account.
“All three of us,” said he, “do not weigh much more than four hundred pounds.”
“But, sir,” said Joe, “if it was necessary for your expedition, I could make myself thinner by twenty pounds, by not eating so much.”
“Useless, my boy!” replied the doctor. “You may eat as much as you like, and here’s half-a-crown to buy you the ballast.”