“Some of the big athletes say they’re vegetarians,” said Manny.
“There are individual cases,” admitted the Health Master; “but in the long run it doesn’t work. A vegetarian race is, generally speaking, small of stature and build, and less efficient than a meat-eating race. The rule of eating is solid food, sound food, plenty of it, and a good variety. Give your stomach a fair chance: don’t overload it, don’t understock it, and don’t let it get bored.”
For some time Miss Bettina had been conducting a quiet and strategic advance upon the Health Master, and now by a sudden onslaught she captured his knee and, perching herself thereon, put a soft and chubby hand under his chin.
“You want something, Miss Toodles,” he accused with a formidable frown. “None of your wheedling ways with me! Out with it!”
“Candy,” said the child, in no way impressed by his severity.
“Candy, indeed! When?”
“Now. Any time. Lots of it. Lots of sugar, too.”
“Betty’s developing such a sweet tooth!” mourned her mother. “I have to limit her rigidly.”
“Why?”
“You wouldn’t let the child stuff herself on sweets all the time,” protested Grandma Sharpless, scandalized.