TOO FAT TO FIGHT
[Illustration]
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BOOKS BY
REX BEACH
THE WINDS OF CHANCE
LAUGHING BILL HYDE
RAINBOW’S END
THE CRIMSON GARDENIA AND OTHER
TALES OF ADVENTURE
HEART OF THE SUNSET
THE AUCTION BLOCK
THE IRON TRAIL
THE NET
THE NE’ER-DO-WELL
THE SPOILERS
THE BARRIER
THE SILVER HORDE
GOING SOME
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HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK
[ESTABLISHED 1817]
[Illustration: “PLATTSBURG. ONE WAY”]
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TOO FAT
TO FIGHT
_By_
REX BEACH
_Author of_
“THE WINDS OF CHANCE” ETC.
_with Illustrations by_
T. D. SKIDMORE
[Illustration]
Harper & Brothers Publishers
New York and London
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TOO FAT TO FIGHT
Copyright, 1919, by Harper & Brothers
Printed in the United States of America
Published January, 1919
A-T
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CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. “PLATTSBURG. ONE WAY” 11
II. DIMPLES TRIES THE Y. M. C. A. 22
III. “ONE MAN TO EVERY TEN!” 39
IV. HILL TWO EIGHTY-FIVE 43
V. DIMPLES TAKES PART IN A CEREMONY 47
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ILLUSTRATIONS
“PLATTSBURG. ONE WAY” _Frontispiece_
OCCASIONALLY HE ORDERED HIS FAVORITE DISH,
CORN-STARCH PUDDING _Facing p._ 24
HE HAD GAINED A POUND! “ 28
A ROTUND, MIRTH-PROVOKING SPECTACLE IN HIS
BULGING UNIFORM, WITH HIS TINY OVERSEAS
CAP SET ABOVE HIS ROUND, RED FACE LIKE
THE CALYX OF A HUGE RIPE BERRY “ 42
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TOO FAT TO FIGHT
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TOO FAT TO FIGHT
CHAPTER I
“_Plattsburg. One Way._”
“Plattsburg. One way,” Norman Dalrymple told the ticket-agent. He named
his destination more loudly, more proudly than necessary, and he was
gratified when the man next in line eyed him with sudden interest.
Having pocketed his ticket, Dalrymple noted, by his smart new
wrist-watch with the luminous dial, that there was still twenty minutes
before train-time. Twenty minutes—and Shipp had a vicious habit of
catching trains by their coat-tails—a habit doubly nerve-racking to one
of Dalrymple’s ponderous weight and deliberate disposition. That
afforded ample leeway for a farewell rickey at the Belmont or the
Manhattan; it was altogether too long a time to stand around. Mr.
Dalrymple—his friends called him “Dimples”—had long since concluded that
standing was an unnatural posture for human beings, and with every pound
he took on there came a keener appreciation of chairs, benches, couches,
divans—anything and everything of that restful pattern except hammocks.
Hammocks he distrusted and despised, for they had a way of breaking with
the sound of gun-shots and causing him much discomfiture.
Next to standing, Dimples abhorred walking, for the truth is he shook
when he walked. Therefore he chose the Belmont, that haven of rest being
close at hand; but ere he had gained the street his eye was challenged
by a sight that never failed to arrest his attention. It was the open
door of an eating-place—the station restaurant—with idle waiters and
spotless napery within. Now, drink was a friend, but food was an
intimate companion of whom Dimples never tired. Why people drank in
order to be convivial or to pass an idle quarter of an hour, the while
there were sweets and pastries as easily accessible, had always been a
mystery to him. Like a homing pigeon, he made for this place of
refreshment.
Overflowing heavily into a chair, he wiped his full-moon face and
ordered a corn-starch pudding, an insatiable fondness for which was his
consuming vice.
As usual, Shipp made the train with a three-second factor of safety in
his favor, and, recognizing the imposing bulk of his traveling
companion, greeted him with a hearty:
“Hello, Dimples! I knew you’d come.”
When they had settled themselves in their compartment Dalrymple panted,
breathlessly:
“Gee! How I hate people who paw at departing trains.”
“I made it, didn’t I? You’re getting fat and slow—that’s what ails you.
A fine figure of an athlete you are! Why, you’re laying on blubber by
the day! You’re swelled up like a dead horse.”
“I know,” Dimples nodded mournfully. “I’ve tried to reduce, but I know
too many nice people, and they all have good _chefs_.”
“Boozing some, too, I suppose?”
“Oh, sure! And I love candy.”
“They’ll take you down at Plattsburg. Say! It’s great, isn’t it? War!
The real thing!” Shipp’s eyes were sparkling. “Of course it came hard to
give up the wife and the baby, but—somebody has to go.”
“Right! And we’re the ones, because we can afford it. I never knew how
good it is to be rich and idle—did you? But think of the poor devils who
want to go and can’t—dependents, and all that. It’s tough on them.”
The other agreed silently; then, with a smile, he said:
“If they’re looking for officer material at Plattsburg, as they say they
are, why, you’ve got enough for about three. They’ll probably cube your
contents and start you off as a colonel.”
Dimples’s round, good-natured face had become serious; there was a
suggestion of strength, determination, to the set of his jaw when he
spoke.
“Thank God, we’re in at last! I’ve been boiling ever since the Huns took
Belgium. I don’t care much for children, because most of them laugh at
me, but—I can’t stand to see them butchered.”
Plattsburg was a revelation to the two men. They were amazed by the
grim, business-like character of the place; it looked thoroughly
military and efficient, despite the flood of young fellows in civilian
clothes arriving by every train; it aroused their pride to note how many
of their friends and acquaintances were among the number. But, for that
matter, the best blood of the nation had responded. Deeply impressed,
genuinely thrilled, Shipp and Dalrymple made ready for their physical
examinations.
Dimples was conscious of a jealous twinge at the sight of his former
team-mate’s massive bare shoulders and slim waist; Shipp looked as fit
to-day as when he had made the All-American. As for himself, Dimples had
never noticed how much he resembled a gigantic Georgia watermelon. It
was indeed time he put an end to easy living. Well, army diet, army
exercise would bring him back, for he well knew that there were muscles
buried deep beneath his fat.
“Step lively!” It was an overworked medical examiner speaking, and
Dimples moved forward; the line behind him closed up. As he stepped upon
the scales the beam flew up; so did the head of the man who manipulated
the counter-balance.
“Hey! One at a time!” the latter cried. Then with a grin he inquired,
“Who’s with you?” He pretended to look back of Dimples as if in search
of a companion, after which he added another weight and finally
announced, in some awe:
“Two eighty-five—unless I’m seeing double.”
“‘_Two eighty-five!_’” The chief examiner started, then to Dalrymple he
said: “Step aside, sir. Fall out.”
“What’s the idea?” Dimples inquired, with a rose-pink flush of
embarrassment.
“You’re overweight. Next!”
“Why, sure I’m overweight; but what’s the difference?”
“All the difference in the world, sir. We can’t pass you. Please don’t
argue. We have more work than we can attend to.”
Shipp turned back to explain.
“This is Norman Dalrymple, one of the best tackles we ever had at
Harvard. He’s as sound as a dollar and stronger than a bridge. He’ll
come down—”
“I’m sorry; but there’s nothing we can do. Regulations, you know.”
“Sure!” The man at the scales was speaking. “Two eighty-five isn’t a
weight; it’s a telephone number.”
Dalrymple inquired, blankly:
“Do you mean to say I can’t get in? Why, that’s too absurd! I _must_ get
in! Can’t you fix it somehow?”
“You’re holding up the others. Won’t you please step aside?”
Shipp drew the giant out of line and said, quietly:
“Don’t argue. Get into your duds and wait for me. It will be all right.
We know everybody; we’ll square it.”
But it was not all right. Nor could it be made all right. Weary hours of
endeavor failed in any way to square matters, and the two friends were
finally forced to acknowledge that here was an instance where wealth,
influence, the magic of a famous name, went for naught. They were told
politely but firmly that Norman Dalrymple, in his present state of
unpreparedness, could not take the officers’ intensive-training course.
Dimples was mortified, humiliated; Shipp felt the disappointment quite
as keenly.
“That’s the toughest luck I ever heard of,” the latter acknowledged.
“You’ll have to reduce, that’s all.”
But Dimples was in despair.
“It’s healthy fat; it will take longer to run it off than to run the
Germans out of France. The war will be over before I can do it. I want
to get in _now_. Too fat to fight! Good Lord!” he groaned. “Why, I told
everybody I was going in, and I cut all my ties. Now to be _rejected!_”
After a time he continued: “It knocks a fellow out to reduce so much. If
I managed to sweat it off in a hurry, I’d never be able to pass my
physical. That sort of thing takes _months_.”
Shipp silently agreed that there was some truth in this statement.
“Tough? It’s a disgrace. I—I have _some_ pride. I feel the way I did
when I lost our big game. You remember I fumbled and let Yale through
for the winning goal. I went back to the dressing-room, rolled up in a
blanket, and cried like a baby. You and the other fellows were mighty
decent; you told me to forget it. But I couldn’t. I’ve never forgotten
it, and I never shall.”
“Pshaw! You made good later.”
“I fell down when it was my ball. It’s my ball now, Shipp, and I’ve
fallen down again. I’ve led a pretty easy, useless life, these late
years, but—I feel this thing in Europe more than I thought I could feel
anything. I’ve contributed here and there, let my man go, and economized
generally. I’ve adopted whole litters of French orphans, and equipped
ambulance units, and done all the usual things the nice people are
doing, but I was out of the game, and I wanted—Lord! how I wanted to be
in it! When we declared war, I yelled! I went crazy. And then along came
your wire to join you in this Plattsburg course. Good old Shipp! I knew
you’d get on the job, and it raised a lump in my throat to realize that
you were sure of me. I—was never so happy”—the speaker choked
briefly—“as while waiting for the day to arrive. Now I’ve fumbled the
pass. I’m on the sidelines.”
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