the manager, desperately: “I ’ll cut an’ run right off as soon as I set eyes on folks.” Perhaps he drew courage from the anxious gaze in his mother’s eyes. Hers was the only face he saw in the great audience. Perhaps it was the magnificent aplomb of the turkeys that inspired him. They stepped serenely, as if walking out on a gorgeously lighted stage was an every-day event in their lives. Anyhow, Homer threw up his head and led the turkey march round and round past the footlights, till the shout of applause dwindled into silence. The boy threw back his head and snapped his fingers. The
turkeys retreated to form in line at-the back of the stage.“Gettysburg,” cried Homer, pointing to a stately plump hen. Gettysburg stepped to the center of the stage. “How many kernels of corn have I thrown you, Getty?” he asked.
The turkey turned to count them, with her head cocked reflectively on one side. Then she scratched her foot on the floor.
“One, two, three, four, five!”
“Right! Now you may eat them, Getty.”
Gettysburg wore her new-won laurels with an excellent grace. She jumped through a row of hoops; slid gracefully about the stage on a pair of miniature roller-skates; she stepped from stool to chair, from chair to table, in perfect time with Homer’s whistle and a low strain of melody from the orchestra, She danced a stately jig on the table, then, with a satisfied cluck, descended on the other side to the floor, Amanda Ann, Mehitable, Nancy, and Farragut achieved their triumphs in a slow dance made up of dignified hops and mazy turns. They stood in a decorous line awaiting the return of their master, for Homer had dashed suddenly from the stage. He reappeared, holding his head up proudly. Now he wore the blue uniform and jaunty cap of a soldier boy; a gun leaned on his shoulder.
The orchestra put all its vigor, patriotism, and wind into “Marching through Georgia.” Straight to Homer’s side, when they heard his whistle, wheeled the turkey regiment, ready to keep step, to fall inline, to march and countermarch. Only one feathered soldier fell. It was Dan'l Webster. At a bang from Homer’s rifle he dropped stiff and stark. From children here and there in the audience came a cry of horror. They turned to ask in frightened whispers if the turkey was “truly shooted.” As if to answer the question, Dan’l leaped to his feet. Homer pulled a Stars and Stripes from his pocket and waved it enthusiastically; then the orchestra dashed into “Yankee Doodle.” It awoke some patriotic spirit in the soul of Dan’l Webster. He left his master, and, puffing himself to his stateliest proportions, stalked to the footlights to utter one glorious, soul-stirring gobble. The curtain fell, but the applause went on and on and on! At last, out again across the stage came Homer, waving “Old Glory.” Dan’l Webster, Gettysburg, Amanda Ann, Nancy, Mehitable, and Farragut followed in a triumphal march. Homer’s eyes were bent past the footlights, searching for the face of one little woman. This time the face was one radiant flush and her hands were adding their share to the deafening applause.
“Homer, boy,” she said fondly. This time she spoke aloud, but nobody heard it. An encore for the “Extra ‘Turn” was so vociferous, it almost shook the plaster from the ceiling.
