There was a bounteous spread on the table and for the first time in days there were no guests. Obviously everyone was respecting a family’s desire for privacy on this holiday and Edith was grateful.
The big turkey that old Davis, the gardener, had fattened in a little pen, feeding it corn and all the scraps from the kitchen, stood brown and beautiful at the head of the table and Theodore sharpened the carving knife on the steel with a ringing noise.
“Only two drumsticks,” he remarked, slicing away, “so somebody has to be content with the second joint.”
The expected shrill protests arose, Kermit insisting that he had never had a drumstick since he could remember.
“You can’t remember long then,” declared Ted, “for you had one at Thanksgiving.”
“We’ll settle this.” Roosevelt took an envelope from his pocket and tore it into strips, two longer than the others. “The long pieces get the drumsticks and no more said about it.” He folded them carefully in his hands with the ends visible and passed them around the table.
Ethel and Archie won and squealed with delight, while Alice remarked philosophically, “I’d rather have breast, anyway. Drumsticks are dry and tough.”
Before the dessert was served, the maid approached the head of the table.
“Three gentlemen to see Mr. Roosevelt,” she announced.
“Ask them in to the fire and invite them to sit down and wait,” said Theodore. “Are they elderly gentlemen?”