“You should have seen the turkey ruffle and swell to be called beauty.
“‘Put up your tail,’ says the mayor, ‘and the dear little pope’s nose! There’s no Juno’s peacock can spread such a fan!’ says he.
“The cage would hardly contain the bird at that. He expanded at the very sound of the mayor’s footstep afterwards; and he discarded his food almost entirely, as something too gross for the consideration of a better than Juno’s peacock. The mayor wondered; but he couldn’t discount the evidence of his own eyes.
“‘That Huggins is a cunning one,’ he thought. ‘He knows what he’s about’—which was very true.
“Well, at length the festive day arrived, and the mayor went to take a last look at his beauty before consigning him to his cook. He was almost in tears. He’d been starving himself for a week, in anticipation of the feast, and perhaps that was the reason.
“‘Darling!” he said, ‘my whole being craves for you! There never was such a beautiful turkey in the world!’
“Bang! went the bird. It was like a paper bag exploding. And there before the mayor’s eyes was just a little sack of bones and feathers. The creature’s pride had been nothing but wind; and that was a turkey all over.
“It was Christmas Day, not a market open, and Huggins was avenged.”
The lecturer ended amidst shouts of laughter and applause. In the midst, he sat down to the “Seraphine,” and was fingering out the first bars of a new hymn, when some one coming up on to the platform whispered to him. He rose hurriedly, and, listening a moment or two, as hurriedly left the room. The audience, including ourselves, relaxed, at his going, into a babble of talk and merriment.
“Prime, isn’t it, Mr. Pilbrow?” said Harry, grinning and rubbing his hands.