"What's that?"

"You heard what I said. She's to be settled for--dressed." "Good Lord,
she isn't a chicken!"

"Nobody said she was. It is fit and proper that her garments should be
weighed with her. Hang it all, man, I'm marrying her clothes as well
as anything else."

"I will not agree to that. It's preposterous."

"I don't mean her entire wardrobe. Just the going-away gown and hat.
You can't very well ask her to weigh herself without any--But as
gentlemen we need not pursue the matter any farther. You shall have
your way about it."

"She has a fine pair of scales in her bedroom. She weighs herself
every night for her own gratification. I don't see why she can't do it
once or twice for my sake."

"But women are such dreadful liars about their own weight. She'll be
sure to lop off fifteen or twenty pounds in the telling. Hang it, I
want witnesses."

The General assumed a look of distress. "Remember, sir, that you are
speaking of your future wife. You'll have to take her word."

Eddie slumped down in his chair, muttering something about
niggardliness.