Aunt Nancy laughed until her side curls shook.
“Oh, you dreadful gourmand! Not a bit like a turkey. How mortified you will be when you find out! Go and stand in the corner, sir, with your face to the wall. Now, Major, it’s your turn.”
Fitz began to protest that he ought to have another chance, and that it had slipped out before he knew it, since he had never forgotten a brother of that same bird, one that he had eaten at her own table; but the little lady wouldn’t hear another syllable, and waved him away with great dignity, whereupon Fitz buried his fat face in his hands, and said that life was really not worth the living, and that if anybody would suggest a comfortable way of committing suicide he would adopt it at once.
When my turn came, I, remembering the buttons on “Jeems,” guessed a livery for Chad, at which the dear lady laughed more merrily than before, and Fitz remarked in a disgusted tone that the dense stupidity of some men was one of the characteristics of the time.
“No; it’s nothing to eat and it’s nothing to wear. It’s a most charming young lady who at my earnest solicitation has consented to dine with us, and to whom I want you two young gentlemen (Fitz is forty if he’s a day, and looks it) to be most devoted.”
“Pretty?” asked Fitz, pulling up his collar—prinking in mock vanity.
“Yes, and better than pretty.”
“Young?” persisted Fitz.
“Young, and most entertaining.