I told him that almost the skinniest human being I ever knew had been one of the largest eaters.

I was speaking now of John Wesley Bass, the champion raw-egg eater of Massac Precinct, whose triumphant career knew not pause or discomfiture until one day at the McCracken County fair when suddenly tragedy dire impended.
He did not overextend himself in the gustatory line--that to one of John Wesley Bass' natural gifts and attainments well-nigh would have been impossible; but he betrayed a lack of caution when, having broken his former record by eating thirty-six raw eggs at a sitting, he climbed upon a steam merry-go-round, shortly thereafter falling off the spotted wooden giraffe which he rode, and being removed to the city hospital in an unconscious condition.
That night later when the crisis had passed the doctors said that as nearly as they could figure out a case so unusual, Mr.Bass had had a very close call from being just naturally scrambled to death.

I spoke at length of my former fellow townsman's powers, dwelling heavily upon the fact that, despite all, he never thickened up at the waistline.

Throughout the narrative, however, the doctor punctuated my periods with derisive snorts which were disconcerting to an orderly presentation of the facts.
Nevertheless, I continued until I had reached what I regarded as a telling climax.
"Piffle!" he rejoined.

"One hoarse raucous piffle and three sharp decisive puffs for your arguments! I tell you that what ails you is this: You are now registering, the preliminary warnings of obesity.