They climbed up into the warm and lighted car, and after the baggage-man
in charge had given them a sour nod of recognition the first thing that
David noticed was his own and Father Roland's property stacked up near
the door. His own belongings were a steamer trunk and two black morocco
bags, while Father Roland's share of the pile consisted mostly of boxes
and bulging gunny sacks that must have weighed close to half a ton. Near
the pile was a pair of scales, shoved back against the wall of the car.
David laughed queerly as he nodded toward them. They gave him a rather
satisfying inspiration. With them he could prove the incongruity of the
partnership that had already begun to exist between him and the
Missioner. He weighed himself, with Father Roland looking on. The scales
balanced at 132.
"And I'm five feet nine in height," he said, disgustedly; "it should be
160. You see where I'm at!"
"I knew a 200-pound pig once that worried himself down to ninety
because the man who kept him also kept skunks," replied Father Roland,
with his odd chuckle. "Next to small-pox and a bullet through your
heart, worry is about the blackest, man-killingest thing on earth,
David. See that bag?"
He pointed to one of the bulging gunny sacks.
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