BEATING THE DOCTOR

Dominion, Volume 11, Issue 91, 10 January 1918, Page 7

BEATING THE DOCTOR

A GENTLE CONSPIRACY

CONCERNING SEVEN POUNDS

UNDER-WEIGHT

This Ls tho story of a _ conspiracy against Uncle Sara—a patriotic plot to be sure, for it is concerned with tho son of a Spanish War veteran who was rejected for service in Undo Sam's Navy becauso he was soven pounds shy of weight for height, the said son's up-and-down dimension being full six feet. It is a story of superfeeding conducted while tho young man was skilfully kept a prisoner—albeit a willing one, but just to guard against his "jumping his feed"—by placing nis nether garments carefully under locK and key. The New York "Sun" tolls tho tale and its happy outcome. It happened in this way: Young Walter Francis everlastingly did want to get into the Navy and stop this U-boat nonsense once and for all. Wherefore last Saturday bright and early Potential Admiral Francis took his bearings from the compass he wears on his watch chain, ' yelled, "Ship ahoy!" to the skipper of a passing Brooklyn trolley-car, boarded a starboard seat well aft in tho car, and then set sail ovor tho waves of. Brooklyn asphalt toward tho recruiting plant of tho Second Naval Battalion of Brooklyn at the foot of Fifty-second Street, Bay Ridge. . . "Step on," directed tho examining surgeon to young Mr. Francis, indicating tho scales in his office. - Step olt. Now step out—you're seven pounds sny for a six-footer." ■ . Half an hour later. Walter Francis., dejected and forlorn, appeared before his father. ' . ■ . ~ „ . " 'Smattor, son?" inquired the Spanish War vet. '"Sniatter, poP , There's seven pounds the matter I Uncle Sam can do without mo." . Mrs. Francis came into the room and heard the depressing news or Her short-weight son, and straightway conspiracy stalked silently upon the scone. Says the writer in tho "Sun :

Tho Creat Idea. A. moment later a significant look passed between father and mother above and back of the bowed head of their son. Mr. and Mrs. Francis withdrew to tho kitchen for ft cou ,loll ot war. Then Spanish-American War \cceran Joe Francis walked into the front room again and stood before bis underweight offspring. ~ "Take off your pants, Walter," said . Francis, senior. "And. give me yourdon't sit there staring at me; get busy —eivo mo your shoes. Ma, catch tlio 'boy's Pants when I throw 'em out to you. Lock his pants and shoes up with all his other pants and then start in cooking. Cook up everything you got in the houso. And when you got a chance run down to Gilhgan s an toll him to send up five pounds of dried aP "l'm' on, pop!" suddenly shouted Embryo Admiral Walter Irancw, springing to his feet alive once more. weight. Gosh, you're there with the bean, pop-1 nover woulda , thought of the soheme." ' "For (a oouple of weeks!" cried Parent Francis scornfully. -I'or.a couple of days, you mean, son. Come on into tho dining-room and start right in to .. No, stay right where you aro Don't move from now on. unless you havo to or you might lose another ounce. You just siMMS" there all day. Ma will do the cooking and I'll be'the waiter. And if you're not up to weight inside of three days then I'm a German spy. And don't weaken. Just keep in mind that even if you do it wont ■get you anything. For I'm going to Weep tho key to all your pants right in my pocket till you cripple tho weighing scales. So all you're going to do from now on is stick around arid eat." , , . • Already Mrs. Francis had passed into tho room a nightshirt and a threequart pitcher brimming with sparkline Croton. Without a pause Parent Francis had filled a tumbler and passed it on to his offspring, who eagerly drained tho glass. lumbler after tumbler of water was tumbled into the digestive system of the underweight linotyper, while steadily, from tho kitchen came tho happy, sizzling of four pork chops and fast-frying potatoes with trimmings. Twenty-ono glasses of water disappeared into young Walter Francis before Saturday's sun had set together with all tho pork chops, the fried potatoes, thick slices of buttered bread, and some other snacks.

The Orgy Continues. The Sunday treatment included fourteen glasses of water and a genera packing-in of fattening fodder, until dinner-timo arrived, when son Walcn , was fed up on two_ pounds of steak smothered in boiled potatoes with trimmings of stewed corn and mashed turnips, all resting on a solid foundation of well-buttered bread and rooted with a generous slab of apple pie. And thon: ', . One and one-quarter pounds ot mutton chops merely formed the architectural approaches to the breakfast Walter francis found staring him in the face when he arose heavily on Monday morning. Ham and eggs Ml groups—salty ham which hadn t boon parboiled, thus retaining its thirstarousing properties—was the centrepiece around which the luncheon Mrs. Francis had prepared that day for her son was draped. A dinner that ran. all the way from soup to nuts (the time was growing short if Parent Francis was to make good on his promise) followed on Monday night, the big noise of tho Monday dinner being a sirloin steak. _ . . ~ j And just before Son Francis decided to call it a day and waddlo to beet Spanish-American AVar Veteran l< rands had a final happy thought. Father fed son 'a plentiful supply of dried apples, and then unleashed a growler and went down to the corner and got a quart of collarless beer. Walter Francis flooded the dried apples with the entiro quart of beer, cried Wool I'm a hippopotamus I" , and collapsed into bed. ■ , Tuesday morning last Father and Mother Francis personally helped thenson toward the street-door after ho had breakfasted on five pork-ohops, two cups cf coffee, and four rolls Once more he was about to set sail for tho Second Naval Battalion recruiting office at the foot of Fifty-Second Street, whore three days earlier he had been turned down as hopelessly shy on tonnage. Parent Francis helped his bouncing boy aboard the trolloy-car, shouting a last word of caution to walk, not run, to the nearest entranco to tho recruiting station. "I told you Jioforo you were many pounds underweight, young man,' said the surgeon. "It's utterly useless for you to come around here when " "But that was away last week, Doc," wheezed young Mr. Francis. "Givo me another try at your scales. "Heavens!" cried tho surgeon, glancing at the scales. "On Saturday you were seven pounds under-woight and to-day you're a pound over-weight I How'd yuli over do it?"