By the end of three months I had taken off thirty-five pounds.  It was coming off well, too.  My face wasn’t haggard or wrinkled.  I looked fit.  My eye was clear and my double chin had disappeared.  Also, I had conquered my fight with my appetite.  I had won out.  I was satisfied with the smaller quantities of food and I felt better than I had in twenty years—­stronger, fitter—­and was better, mentally and physically.  After that it was a cinch.  I kept along, eating everything on the bill-of-fare, but in small quantities.  I didn’t vary my diet a bit, except for the eggs at breakfast.  If I wanted pie I ate a small piece.  If I wanted ice cream I ate a small dish.  If I wanted pudding I ate some of that.  I ate fat meat and lean meat and spaghetti, and everything else interdicted by the reduction dietists—­only in small quantities!  And I kept on getting smaller and smaller.

The fat came off from everywhere.  I had been incased with it apparently.  My waist decreased seven inches.  A big layer of fat came off my chest and abdomen.  My legs and arms grew smaller but harder.  Even my fingers grew smaller.  My excess of chin evaporated.  And at the end of the fifth month I had taken off fifty-five pounds.  I weighed then one hundred and ninety-five pounds, which is what I weigh today.

Every person, I take it, has a normal weight; and if that person gives his body a chance, and ill health does not intervene, the body will find that normal and stay there.  I take it that my normal weight, on account of my big frame and bones, is about one hundred and ninety-five pounds, at the age of forty-three.  At any rate, it has stayed at a hundred and ninety-five since the first of last July, and in that time I have loafed for two months and ridden on Pullman cars for two other months, and have not taken any exercise to speak of; but I have maintained my schedule of eating and I have not taken any alcohol.  I figure I can stay where I am indefinitely on that program—­and that is my program indefinitely.

There are certain economic phases of a campaign of this kind that should be mentioned.  It is expensive.  Not one item of clothing, save my hat, socks and shoes, which fitted me last January is of the slightest use to me now.  I didn’t get to cutting down clothes until I was sure I would stick.  Since that time the tailors have had a picnic at my expense.  My shirts were too big.  Instead of wearing a seventeen-and-three-quarters collar, I now wear a sixteen-and-three-quarters.  My waist is seven inches smaller.  I even had to have a seal ring I wear cut down so it would not slip off my finger.  While in the transition stage I looked like a scarecrow.  My clothes hung on me like bags.