They hide my character."
Flannigan looked puzzled, but he did not ask an explanation. He
demanded that Jim shed the bath robe, which he finally did, on my
promise to watch the sunset. Then for fully a minute there was no
sound save of feet running rapidly around the roof, and an
occasional soft thud. Each thud was accompanied by a grunt or two
from Jim. Flannigan was grimly silent. Once there was a smart
rap, an oath from the policeman, and a mirthless chuckle from
Jim. The chuckle ended in a crash, however, and I turned. Jim was
lying on his back on the roof, and Flannigan was wiping his ear
with a towel. Jim sat up and ran his hand down his ribs.
"They're all here," he observed after a minute. "I thought I
missed one."
"The only way to take a man's weight down," Flannigan said dryly.
Jim got up dizzily.
"Down on the roof, I suppose you mean," he said.
The next proceedings were mysterious. Flannigan rolled the barrel
into the tent, and carried in a small glass lamp. With the
material at hand he seemed to be effecting a combination, no new
one, to judge by his facility. Then he called Jim.
At the door of the tent Jim turned to me, his bathrobe toga
fashion around his shoulders.
"This is a very essential part of the treatment," he said
solemnly. "The exercise, according to Flannigan, loosens up the
adipose tissue.
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