ot on him, and when the fish came on he forgot his troubles by
getting a bone in his throat.

When Charlie began to talk like a trout, old man Hodge grabbed the
bread knife and begged to be allowed to carve his initials on
somebody's wishbone.

But Joe Coyne finally pacified him by a second helping of Bermuda
onions.

I opened a third bottle of Pommery just to show I wasn't stingy.

Then came the Thanksgiving turkey, and this is where that Swede cook of
ours won the blue ribbon.

My wife had told her to stuff it with chestnuts, but Ollie thought
chestnuts too much of an old joke, so she stuffed it with peanut
brittle.

Ollie had noticed some other things about the kitchen which looked
lonesome, so she decided to put them in the turkey, too.

One of these was the corkscrew.

When I went to carve the turkey I found a horseshoe which Ollie had put
in for luck.

It made my wife extremely nervous to see the can-opener, a pair of
scissors, and nine clothes-pins come out of that turkey, but Jack
Golden said that their last cook tried to stuff their last turkey with
the garden hose, so my wife felt better.

The next round was some salad which Ollie had dressed in the kitchen,
but the dress was such a bad fit that nobody could look at it without
blushing.

Then we had some home-made ice cream for desert.

The ice was very good, but Ollie forgot to add the cream, so it tasted
rather insipid.

Every time there was a lull in the conversation Charlie Swayne kept
yelling for a Bronx cocktail, and the only thing that kept him from
getting it was the fact that Riley Hatch wanted to tell the story of
his life.

Anyway, the dinner came to a finish without anybody fainting, and the
guests went home, a little hungry but unpoisoned.

The next morning my wife spoke bitterly to Ollie and she left us,
followed by the Thanksgiving prayers of all those present.

The only thing about the house that loved Ollie was a pair of earrings
belonging to my wife, and they went with her.

CHAPTER III

JOHN HENRY ON PATRIOTISM

Uncle Peter spent the Fourth of July at his old home in Ohio. I must
show you a letter he wrote me a few days after that noisy event.

Dear John:

We had a nice quiet time on the Fourth with the exception of my ankle,
which was somewhat dislocated because my foot stepped on an infant
bombshell which same exploded for my benefit.

I like the idea of the Fourth with the exception of the noise.