"But fat does n't run in my family," I protested, my helpless,
single-handed condition being plainly manifest in my tone.

"No matter," he rejoined, "look at me! Six feet three, and thin as a
lath. I 'm what you might call a walking skeleton, ready to disjoint,
as the poet says, and eat all my meals in fear, which I would do if 't
wa'n't for this little 'Friend.' I can't eat without it. I miss it
more when I am eatin' than I miss the victuals. I carry one with me
all the time. Awful handy little thing. Now--"

"But--" I put in.

"Certainly," he continued, with the smoothest-running motor I ever
heard, "but here's the point of the whole matter, as you might say.
_This_ thing is up to date, Professor. Now, the old-fashioned way of
tying a knot in the corner of your napkin and anchoring it under your
Adam's apple--_that's_ gone by. Also the stringed bib and safety-pin.
Both those devices were crude--but necessary, of course, Professor--and
inconvenient, and that old-fashioned knot really dangerous; for the
knot, pressing against the Adam's apple, or the apple, as you might
say, trying to swallow the knot--well, if there isn't less apoplexy and
strangulation when this little Friend finds universal application, then
I 'm no Prophet, as the Good Book says."

"But you see--" I broke in.

"I do, Professor. It's right here. I understand your objection. But
it is purely verbal and academic, Professor. You are troubled
concerning the name of this indispensable article. But you know, as