“Here, chick, chick,” called Mrs. Pepper, remembering her hungry flock. “No, I don’t suppose you intend to do any damage. But the time Carrie had the Conundrum Club at our house, it took me a week to get the place to rights again; and some of the grease spots never did come out of the rug.”
Jess opened her mouth to say that the Riddle Club didn’t spill grease on any one’s carpets, but she thought in time that that might sound as though she were criticizing the Conundrum Club.
“What a nice turkey!” she said instead.
“He will be nice,” admitted Mrs. Pepper, “when I get him fattened up, if I ever do. I can’t abide a turkey for Thanksgiving that I don’t fatten myself. I bought this cheap, because he’s so skinny, but I aim to have him as fat as butter by Thanksgiving morning.”
Jess went on with the rug she was carrying, but she had to stop on the side steps of the Marley house, for the three boys were getting the table up the stairs with much noise and some laughter.
“What would they do if they had really to move!” said Polly, joining Jess on the steps. “And to think we’ll have to go through with this again in the spring. Did you see Mrs. Pepper’s turkey?”
“Yes, she says she’s getting it fat,” responded Jess, absently. “Say, Polly, has your mother said anything about Thanksgiving yet?”
“No, she hasn’t.” Polly’s reply was prompt. “She hasn’t said a word. And last year by this time we knew where we were going, didn’t we?”
Unless one of the families was going away over the holiday or had invited relatives, it was the custom of the Marleys, the Larues, and the Williamsons to have Thanksgiving dinner together at one of their homes.
“I think it’s kind of queer,” said Jess, soberly.