human
Yes, Marny, I'm sorry to say it, but the fact is you eat too much and you eat the wrong things. If you knew anything of the kinds of food necessary to nourish the human body, you would know that it should combine in proper proportions proteid, fats, carbohydrates and a small percentage of inorganic salts--these are constantly undergoing oxidation and at the same time are liberating energy in the form of heat.
gpt
Hear the bloody bounder!
human
Silence!
gpt
Now, if you're stupid enough to stuff your epigastrium with pork, you, of course, get an excess of non-nitrogenous fats, and in order to digest anything properly you must necessarily cram in an additional quantity of carbohydrates--greens, potatoes, cabbage--whatever Tine shoves under your nose. Consult any scientist and see if I am not right--especially the German doctors who have made a specialty of nutrition. Such men as Fugel, Beenheim and--
human
Order, gentlemen! from Marny.
gpt
Don't waste that slab of proteid. The learned Bean is most interesting and should not be interrupted.
human
Better out than in, continued Joplin, brushing the crumbs from his plate.
gpt
Bread--fresh bread particularly--is the very worst thing a man can put into his stomach.
human
And how about pertaties? shouted Malone.
gpt
I s'pose ye'd rob us of the only thing that's kep' us alive as a nation, wouldn't ye?
human
I certainly would, 'Loney, except in very small quantities. Raw potatoes contain twenty-two per cent. of the worst form of non-nitrogenous food, and seventy-eight per cent. of water. You, Malone, with your sedentary habits, should never touch an ounce of potato. It excites the epigastric nerve and induces dyspepsia. You're as lazy as the devil and should only eat nitrogenous food and never in excess. What you require is about one hundred grams of protein, giving you a fuel value of twenty-seven hundred calories, and to produce this fifty-five ounces of food a day is enough. When you exceed this you run to flesh--unhealthy bloat really--and in the wrong places. You've only to look at Marny's sixty-inch waist-line to prove the truth of this theory. Now look at me--I keep my figure, don't I? Not a bad one for a light-weight, is it? I'm in perfect health, can run, jump, eat, sleep, paint, and but for a slight organic weakness with my heart, which is hereditary in my family and which kills most of us off at about seventy years of age, I'm as sound as a nut. And all--all, let me tell you, due to my observing a few scientific laws regarding hygiene which you men never seem to have heard of.
gpt
Bedad, you're right, Joppy, he said with a wink at Marny--
human
behind the Groote Kerk a mile away--were at work in the old shipyard across the Maas at Papendrecht. Marny was painting a Dutch lugger with a brown-madder hull and an emerald-green stern, up on the ways for repairs. Pudfut had the children of the Captain posed against a broken windlass rotting in the tall grass near the dock, and Malone and Schonholz, pipe in mouth, were on their backs smoking.
gpt
It wasn't their kind of a mornin',
human
Got to sit on Joppy some way or we'll be talked to death, and he squeezed a tube of color on his palette.
gpt
Getting to be a bloody nuisance.
human
Only one way to fix him,
gpt
How?
human
Scare him to death.
gpt
Go for him about his health, I tell you,
human
But there's nothing the matter with him, answered Marny.
gpt
He's as skinny as a coal-mine mule, but he's got plenty of kick in him yet.
human
You're dead right, Marny, answered Stebbins,
gpt
Niver cracked his jaw to me about it,
human
No, and he won't. I don't jump on him as you fellows do and so I get his confidence. He's in my room two or three times every night going over his symptoms. When his foot's asleep he thinks he's got creeping paralysis. Every time his breath comes short, his heart's giving out.
gpt
That's hereditary! said Marny;
human
Hereditary be hanged! Same with everything else. Last night he dug me out of bed and wanted me to count his pulse--thought it intermitted. He's hipped, I tell you, on his health!
gpt
That's because he lives on nothing, rejoined Marny.
human
Tine puts the toast in the oven over night so it will be dry enough for him in the morning--she told me so yesterday. Now he's running on sour milk and vinegar--'blood too alkaline,' he says--got a chalky taste in his mouth!
gpt
Well, whatever it is, he's a rum-nuisance, said Pudfut,
human
Yes, retorted Stebbins,
gpt
Don't you do anything of the kind, protested Marny.
human
Joppy's all right--best lad I know. Let him talk; doesn't hurt anybody and keeps everything alive. A little hot air now and then helps his epigastric.