* * * * *
II.--_From Joshua Stodmarsh._
DEAR OLD SPORT,--It won't do--really it won't. I've been doing my best to
give your plan of food rations a fair run, and every week I've found myself
on the wrong side of the fence. I have never considered myself a large or
reckless eater, though I own to having had a liking for a good breakfast
(fish, kidneys and eggs, with muffin or buttered toast and marmalade) as a
start for the day. Then came luncheon--steak or chop or Irish stew, with a
roly-poly pudding to follow, and a top-up of bread-and-butter and cheese.
Tea, of course, at five o'clock, with more buttered toast, and then home to
a good solid dinner of soup, fish and _entree_ and joint and some sort of
sweet. This just left room for an occasional supper--say three times a
week. It doesn't sound out of the way, now does it? And you must remember
that I'm not one of your thin, dwarfish, anaemic blokes that you could feed
out of a packet of bird-seed. No, I stand six foot, and I don't weigh an
ounce under seventeen stone.
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