Yet even
this mockery of a weighing-machine is preferable to the emotional type
of scales which simultaneously gives you a false weight, tells your
fortune in utter disregard of age and sex, and plays a tune that cannot
be recognised. When such a machine has registered a German matron's
weight at 115 pounds and informed her that she will some day be
President of the United States, it is ludicrous to have it break into a
tinkle of self-appreciation, like a spaniel barking his own approval
after walking across the room on his hind legs.
As for the ordinary street thermometer, there is this to be said for it:
It may deceive, but it gives pleasure in deceiving. When a person is
sagging beneath the heat of an August midday, it is a distinct source of
comfort and pride to have the thermometer register 98 degrees. Even when
we are fully aware that the mercury is too high by three or four
degrees, it is easy enough to make one's self believe for the moment in
the higher figure. If it were not for this spiritual stimulus, I should
be inclined to regard all thermometers as a nuisance.
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