men are bad enough. I know that I was.




CHAPTER IV

_I Become The Panting Champion_


Month after month, through the cycle of the revolving seasons, I went
along deceiving myself, even though I deceived none else, coining new
pleas in extenuation or outright contradictions to meet each new-arising
element of confirmatory proof to a state of case which no unprejudiced
person could fail to acknowledge. The original discoverer of the alibi was
a fat man; indeed, it was named for him--Ali Bi-Ben Adhem, he was, a
friend and companion of the Prophet, and so large that, going into Mecca,
he had to ride on two camels. This fact is historically authenticated. I
looked it up.

In the fall of the year, when I brought last winter's heavy suit out of
the clothes-press and found it now to hug o'ersnugly for comfort, I
cajoled my saner self into accepting a most transparent lie--my figure had
not materially altered through the intervening spring and summer; it was
only that the garments, being fashioned of a shoddy material, had shrunk.
I owned a dress suit which had been form fitting, 'tis true, but none too
close a fit upon me. I had owned it for years; I looked forward to owning
and using it for years to come. I laid it aside for a period during an
abatement in formal social activities; then bringing it forth from its
camphor-ball nest for a special occasion I found I could scarce force my