“Homer, Homer, come here, quick!”
Down the frozen path through the yard came Mrs. Tidd, with the little brown shaw! wrapped tightly about her head. She fluttered a yellow envelop in her hand.
“Homer, boy, it ’s a telegraph come, I can’t read it; I’ ve mislaid my glasses.”
Homer was by her side in a minute, tearing open the flimsy envelop.
“It’s from Finch & Richards, mother,” he cried excitedly. “They say, “Take the first train to town without fail.”
“What do you s’pose they want you for?” asked Mrs. Tidd, with an anxious face.
“P’r’aps the store ’s burned down,” gasped Homer, He brushed one rough hand across his eyes. “Poor Dan’l Webster an’ Gettysburg! I did n’t know anybody could set so much store by turkeys.”
Maybe ’t ain't nothin’ bad, Homer,” Mrs. Tidd laid her band upon his shoulder. “Maybe they want you to give an extra early show or somethin’.” She suggested it cheerfully.
“Maybe,” echoed Homer, “But, mother, I ’ve got to hurry to catch that 7.30 train.”
“Let me go with you, Homer.”
“You don’t need to,” ericd the boy. “It probably ain’t nothin’ serious.”
“I’m goin’,” said Mrs. Tidd, decisively; you don’t s’pose I could stay here doin’ nothin’ but waitin’ an’ wond'rin’?”
Mrs. Tidd and Homer caught a car at the city depot. Five minutes later they stood in front of Finch & Richards’s big market.
“Mother,” whispered the boy, as he stepped off the car, “mother, my turkeys! They ’re not there! Something ’s happened. See the crowd.”
They pushed their way through a mob that was peering in at the windows and through the windows of locked doors. The row of plump turkeys was not hung this morning under the big sign; the magnificent window display of fruit and vegetables had been ruthlessly demolished.
“What do you s’pose can have happened?” whispered Mrs. Tidd, while they waited for a clerk to come hurrying down the store and unlock the door.
Homer shook his head.
Mr. Richards himself came to meet them.
“Well, young man,” he cried, “I ’ve had enough of your pesky bird show, There 's a hundred dollars’ worth of provisions gone, to say nothing of the trade we are turning away. Two days before Thanksgiving, of all times in the year!”
“Good land!” whispered Mrs, Tidd. Her eyes were wandering about the store. It was scattered from one end to the other with wasted food. Sticky rivers trickled here and there across the floor, A small army of clerks was hard at work sweeping and mopping.
“Where ’s my turkeys?” asked Homer,
“Your turkeys, confound them!” snarled Mr. Richards. “They ’re safe and sound in their crate in my back store, all but that blasted old gobbler you call Dan’l Webster. He ’s doing his stunts on a top shelf. We found him there, tearing cereal packages into shreds, For mercy’s sake, go and see if you can’t get him down, He has almost pecked the eyes out of every clerk who has tried to lay a finger on him. I ’d like to wring his ugly neck!”
Mr. Richards’s face grew red as the comb of Dan’l Webster himself.
Homer and his mother dashed across the store. High above their heads strutted Dan’l Webster with a slow, stately tread. Occasionally he peered down at the ruin and confusion below, commenting upon it with a lordly, satisfied gobble.
Dan'l Webster,” called Homer, coaxingly, “good old Dan’l, come an’ see me.”
The boy slid cautiously along to where a step-ladder stood.
“Dan’l,” he called persuasively, “would ’t you like to come home, Dan’l?”
Dan'l perked down with pleased recognition in his eyes. Homer crept up the ladder. He was preparing to lay a hand on one of Dan’l’s black legs when the turkey hopped away with a triumphant gobble, and went racing gleefully along the wide shelf. A row of bottles filled with salad-dressing stood in Dan'l’s path. He cleared them out of the way with one energetic kick. They tumbled to a lower shelf; their yellow contents crept in a sluggish stream toward the mouth of a tea-box.
“I ’ll have that bird shot!” thundered Mr. Richards. “That ’s all there is about it.”
