THE FATTENING OF PAT
The general opinion seemed to be that the amiable lady's story was
innocuous in every detail, while it commended itself as being absolutely
true to human nature, that great essential in a narrative of any sort.
There were the feminine instinct as to the matching of colors, inbred
throughout each latitude, and the masculine instinct in relation to
stockings, existent in every longitude, each indicated with all
assuredness and delicacy. The account, it was declared by the Young
Lady, was a veritable "Idyl of an Outing," and no one disagreed with
her. Then came renewed expression of the now constant anxiety and
curiosity regarding the progress of the rescuers and Stafford went
forward to learn the situation, and report.
"We're in 'in a hole,' literally," came, the reply to Stafford's inquiry
of the engineer in charge of the relief train; "That's all we make, at
first, merely a hole, when we charge into the big drift ahead of us
now. It's thirty feet deep and we can't do much more than loosen up
things, just here, and let the shovelers do the rest. It will be better
when we get through this cut. We've sent men on ahead and they find the
thing not nearly so bad half a mile from here. We're getting along."
"But, how fast are you getting along?" queried Stafford impatiently.
"When are you going to reach us?"
"I can't tell. I'm getting a little doubtful about the fourth day, now.
Still, we may make it. How are you fixed for heat and provisions?"
"All right yet, I guess. I'll find out and let you know later," and
Stafford went back to the sleeper.
The bearer of unpleasant news is seldom received with an ovation and
Stafford proved no exception. There were the usual plaints, but he did
not notice them. Somehow, he had no interest in deliverance. He was
satisfied to be where he was. He was living entirely in the present and
what was near him. He looked about for the Far Away Lady, but she was
not visible, and he indulged in a fit of moodiness, like a boy. He
lingered with the company until the time for retiring came and then
went forward to the smoking compartment, where the usual group of the
gregarious were enjoying themselves. Here he found relaxation of
thought, at least, and, to a degree, amusement.
He entered as there was being related an incident of politics. It was
told by a man portly, ruddy-faced and wearing a gold watch chain,
weighty enough for a small cable, from which depended the emblems of two
or three of the great secret fraternities. Though in the drawing-room
gatherings he had appeared somewhat less in his element than here, he
had become rather a favorite because of his unfailing good nature and
evident shrewdness and sense of humor. He was known as a "commissioner"
of something in one of the large cities, a typical city politician. He
was relating the difficulties experienced in what he called
THE FATTENING OF PAT
Pat, who was an excellent janitor, in charge of a big bank building,
with men under him, had aspirations. He wanted to become a policeman.
The place he held was a good one and most men of his class would have
been contented, but Pat was not. He was dissatisfied with the monotonous
indoor life and decided that to be on the "foorce" was the only thing
for him. He was a fine fellow, overflowing with energy and full of
persistence, he would not, however advised, abandon the idea. He was a
tall, muscular man and, aside from the qualities already mentioned, was
possessed of good sense and was of excellent habits. He had friends
among the tenants of the big structure over the care of which he
presided and when, realizing that to attain the object of his desire
some strong alliance would be necessary he appealed for aid to an
occupant of one of the offices in the building, a young man, who, if not
in politics as a business, knew something of the game, he met with no
discouragement.
"I'll do what I can, Pat," said Wheaton.
The Municipal Civil Service Commission had just been established in the
City and was yet "wobbly" and, to a degree, swayed by political
influences. Under the direction of Wheaton, who decided to see fair
play, Pat underwent the usual preliminary examination, passed admirably
as to all questions and would have passed physically, as well, but for
his weight, or rather the lack of it. The required weight for a
policeman of his height was one hundred and sixty-five pounds; Pat
weighed only one hundred and fifty, for he was as gaunt as an
Australian. Other men lacking as many pounds of the weight nominally
demanded had secured places with no difficulty, but Pat was not desired
by those in authority. His political views were not of the right sort
for the examiners and his manner showed his independence. Fortunately
for him, the first examination was only a preliminary--(A delay allowed
the politicians time to select their men among the many)--and a second
and final one was announced to take place four weeks after the first.
Pat came to his friend almost with tears in his eyes:
"Oi'm done fur," said he.
"What's the matter?" demanded Wheaton.
"Oi'm fifteen pounds short," said Pat.
"How long before the next examination?"
"Four wakes."
"Pshaw," said Wheaton. "We'll fix it, yet. I'm not going to let those
fellows squeeze you out. Will you do just as I tell you?"
"Oi will, begobs!" was the sturdy answer.
"Well you must begin to-morrow morning. You've got two sub-janitors,
haven't you?"
"Oi have," said Pat.
"You can make them do all the work, if you want to, can't you?"
"Oi can that!"
"Then what I want you to do is this--and, mind, I'm going to take charge
of the whole thing and foot the bills; they won't be much--I don't want
you to do a lick of work for the next four weeks. I want you to stay in
your room about all the time: you mustn't even walk about much. I want
you to eat nothing but potatoes and bread with about a quarter of an
inch thick of butter and sugar on it. Eat lots! You can have meat, too,
if it's very fat. And--you're a sober man and I don't believe you'll get
a fixed habit in four weeks--I'm going to send a keg of beer to your
room in the morning, and another whenever one is finished. You're to
drink a big mug of it every hour."
"Blazes," interjected Pat, "Th' ould lady'll murther me. Oi'll be drunk,
sure, an' me breath will breed a peshtiliench."
"No it won't. You'll soon get used to it. We begin to-morrow."
And the next day Pat began, resolutely, though with fears. Wheaton
visited him frequently and encouraged him in every way; "I'll get you
all the newspapers and teach you to play solitaire--it's a fine game
with cards when you're alone. You're a goose," he said "and I'm training
you for _pate de fois gras_," but Pat did not know what that meant. He
only knew that times were queer. He was afraid of the "ould lady."
The third morning he came down beaming. "It's quare," he announced. "Oi
belave th' ould lady do be fallin' in love wid me over agin, she does be
that foine an' carressin' wid me. 'Pat!' says she, 'you're the new mon
intoirely! You do be as gentle as a lamb an' it's good to see ye so
playful wid the childer' says she. 'Oi'm in love wid ye, Pat' says she.
An' Oi all the toime falin' loike a baste, for I knew well 'twas only
the mellowness av the beer in me. But it's given me a lesson it has.
Oi'll be betther tempered after this."
"Good idea," said Wheaton.
At the end of the first week Wheaton took Pat out and weighed him,
undressed--four pounds gained.
"We must do better than that," commented Wheaton. "We'll barely pull
through at this gait, and it will be harder work getting on flesh the
last two weeks. Do you take your beer every hour?"
"O'm beginning to spake Dutch," said Pat.
"Well, keep on with it and eat--eat like a hobo! We'll make it! Don't
exercise, don't even wink, if you can help it."
Pat took his instructions literally and obeyed them. He stayed in his
room and gorged. His eyes became a trifle heavy and his face flushed,
but at the end of two weeks he weighed only one hundred and fifty-nine
pounds. Somehow, the next week he didn't do so well, gaining only three
pounds more. Dame Nature, in mistaken kindness, was trying to adjust him
to his new diet. Wheaton was becoming excited--only one hundred and
sixty-two pounds, and only a week to gain something over three more in!
"We must hump ourselves!"
And Pat did "hump" himself, ate and drank with an assumed voracity, and
had a slight attack of indigestion. This didn't help matters. The night
before the examination he weighed only one hundred and sixty-four pounds
and four ounces--three quarters of a pound short!
Wheaton was anxious but not despairing. "The examination begins at
ten," he said. "Meet me here at four o'clock in the morning. We'll have
six hours left."
At the hour named in the morning came Wheaton, carrying a big jug. "Have
you had any beer, yet, Pat?" he asked.
"No sor."
"Then don't take any. You must be clear-headed when you go before the
Commission. Here's a gallon of water, good water it is. You must drink
it all before ten o'clock."
Pat looked dismayed. "Oi'll try sor."
Then began the struggle. Pat washed down his breakfast at once, very
salt-broiled mackerel--which Wheaton had brought,--with the usual
potatoes and a big beefsteak. After that every five minutes, Wheaton
forced the poor fellow to drink a glass of water. At half-past nine the
gallon was done. Pat, like the tea-drinkers of Ebenezer Chapel, "swelled
wisibly." But Wheaton made him drink more water.
"Oi feel loike a fishpond, sor," he complained.
They hurried to the nearest Turkish bath and Pat stripped and got upon
the scales. He weighed one hundred and sixty-five pounds and three
ounces. Pat was perspiring violently.
"If you sweat, I'll murder you!" said Wheaton.
They appeared before the Commission, Wheaton watching everything like a
hawk, his heart in his mouth as the weighing test came. One hundred and
sixty-five pounds and one ounce! There was no getting around it!
"Pat," said Wheaton, later, "You're on the force now and you've had a
lesson in practical politics. You ought to be a sergeant in no time."
"Politics is aisy," said Pat, "but Oi'm thinkin' Oi'll be changin' me
diet. Oi'm forninst beer and bread and butther forever--an'" he added,
reflectively, "Oi dunno but wather, too!"
"He's making a good policeman," concluded the Commissioner.
So ended the relation of Pat's experience, and, a little later, the
laughing group in the smoking room dissolved itself. Stafford sought his
berth, largely recovered from his discontent and more like his reliant
self. But he was not assured as to his dreams. Would his conscience be
with him still? Could the line of conventional demarcation between him
and the Far Away Lady be rigorously preserved, even in them?
But no dreams came to him at once. He could not sleep at first but
struggled with himself. He was tumultuous and impatient with his
environment and obligations, all, seemingly, standing in the way of his
happiness. He was lost, utterly, in the old conflict which comes with
the hesitation between the recognized right and wrong, the accepted
thing at the time in the age of the earth in which he lived? To his aid,
he quoted to himself the sayings of the keen thinkers, the abstract
reasoners: he thought of Anatole France: "What is morality? Morality is
the rule of custom and custom is the rule of habit. Morality is, then,
the rule of habit. Morality changes, continually with custom, of which
it is only the general idea." He thought of the others, too, of one who
reasoned from the fact that there were a Jewish morality, a Christian
morality, a Buddhist morality, and all that. In his half sleep he
mumbled; "Why, Reason is the thing," and then he added mumblingly and
reflectively, "but then we have learned that there is a right and reason
must end by being right. There is a right--we know that; we feel it--and
we know what it is. It is, largely, a subordination, a regard for
others. We cannot quite justify ourselves for any selfishness by quoting
some great law of nature. Conscience, somehow, has become the greatest
of these laws."
And so, vaguely and jumblingly, as his senses oozed into sleep, he
quoted failingly, the cold thinkers. Then the real dreams came to him,
but they were misty and bizarre. He was with the Far Away Lady, but the
surroundings were all strange and she was most elusive. They were in a
great house and he could hear her voice but he could not find her,
though he searched from room to room. Then they were in a forest where
there were many flowers and tall trees and she was a bird somewhere up
in the trees and he could hear her singing, but he could not see her
amid the foliage. And, finally, they were where there was much shrubbery
and where he could see her plainly enough, but she was at a distance and
as he followed she would disappear among the roses down some garden
path. All was most tantalizing and fantastic. And so his night passed.