This spirit of opposition only stimulated Sophy, and the subtle Josh had calculated on it to a nicety. He knew that the seed was now in fertile soil and he calmly awaited the harvest.
In a month he came again, and incidentally mentioned that his friend who wrote him about the Himalayan white turkeys had arrived in New York. He had started home with three birds, but two of them had been sickened by the roll of the ship on the way over, and had died just before getting into port. The one that survived the voyage was the remarkable gobbler that was in the picture he had shown on his last trip to the store.
“This bird’ll cause a lot of excitement in this country,” he declared. “They call ’im Hyder Ali, an’ ’e’s named after a famous Mohametan general that fought in Asia a good many years ago. This man Hyder Ali pretty nearly cleaned the English out of India once an’ they had a hot time getting ’im canned. There’s been ships an’ perfumery an’ race horses an’ brands o’ cigars an’ lots of other things named after ’im. He was one of the most famous men that ever lived in that part of the world.”
By degrees the imaginative and romantic Josh succeeded in creating an atmosphere of avid interest in everything relating to Hyder Ali, the marvellous fowl from beyond the briny seas, and he intended to intensify this atmosphere to the point of precipitation at the proper time.
A couple of weeks later Varney told Posey that he had bought the Himalayan gobbler from his friend, but did not know what to do with him for a week or ten days, as the man that was going to take care of it for him was away. It was arranged that the gobbler was to be brought to the store and temporarily installed in the chicken yard near the barn.
On the following Saturday afternoon, when Josh well knew that there would be a full attendance at Posey’s, that gay and debonair gentleman came in a light spring wagon. He was accompanied by a young man with a thick “O’Merican” accent, who drove the rig, and whom he introduced as Mr. Flaherty. Interest immediately centered on the big box, perforated with many auger holes, that stood in the wagon back of the seat.
The vehicle was followed by the agitated and curious crowd, as it was driven back to the chicken yard. The box was tenderly removed and placed inside the wire netting enclosure by Varney and Flaherty.
The appearance of Hyder Ali had been skilfully timed. The composite effect of Varney’s discourses on the subject of this wondrous bird had been to produce psychologic conditions that he considered quite perfect for his dark purposes. He knew that the halo of prestige and romance, that had been patiently made to glow around Hyder Ali, would become still brighter when that peerless bird burst dramatically upon the rustic stage.
Out of the opened door of the box there came, with delicate mincing steps and regal mien, what, to that crowd, was almost a celestial vision. He was an enormous bird. With the exception of his eyes, he was pure white, even to his carunculated neck wattle and comb. The eyes were of a deep pink, and gleamed like iridescent opals in their snowy setting. The slender comb dangled and hung jauntily on one side, like the tassle on a Turkish fez, and it imparted a rakish oriental air. The head was crowned with a dainty little wisp of airy feathers that would have fluttered the heart of the most obdurate of hen turkeys. The shifting light revealed pearly half-tones in the snowy raiment. He was immaculate and would hardly have seemed out of place on a pedestal. Many strange and queer things have stood on pedestals in this world, both in fact and fancy, and Hyder Ali would have ranked very far from the lower end of the scale.
He paused on being released from what to him must have been a humiliating confinement, looked disdainfully at his surroundings, and nonchalantly acquired a fat green tomato worm that decorated a nearby leaf.