"_Mon Dieu!_" I exclaim. "_Bogomi_!" (Serbian--'For the love of Allah!')
"This is no mirror," I mutter. "This is one of those musee things that
make you look like a Tony Sarg picture of Irvin Cobb."

"What's irritating you, Dockie?" asks one of the girls, coming up and
standing back of me. I look at her reflection. She does not look like
Irvin Cobb!

"Peggy," I say tragically, "Peggy, do I look like my reflection?"

"Yes, dear, we have all noticed how stout you have been getting. Aren't
you supposed to be some shark on the subject of ideal weight?"

And the bitter truth is borne in upon me--no matter how hard I work--no
matter how much I exercise, no matter what I suffer, I will always have
to watch my weight, I will always have to count my calories.

This is what I did then:

I stopped going to the breakfast table. I kept some canned milk and
coffee in my room, and made me two cups of coffee. For lunch I ate
practically what I wanted, limiting myself to one slice of bread or one
potato (we had no butter), with fruit for dessert. For dinner I came
down only when the dessert was being served, and had a share of that
with some coffee. I was jeered and derided. You know how in community
life we all are as disagreeable as we like, and still love each other.
Did not I know the desserts were the most fattening part of the meal? I
was some authority on how to reduce, I was!

In vain I told them that it did not matter so long as my total caloric