“Now, look yere,” said Julius Caesar, who had conquered. “We’re goin’ to be squar’. He wath your egg, but who brought ’im up? Me! Who’th got a friend to kill ’im? Me! Who’th got a fire to cook ’im? Me! Now you git up and we’ll kitch ’im. Ef you thay another word about your egg I’ll jeth eat ’im up all mythelf.”
Jericho Bob was conquered. With mutual understanding they approached the turkey.
“Come yere; come yere,” Julius Caesar said, coaxingly.
For a moment the bird gazed at both, uncertain what to do.
“Come yere,” Julius Caesar repeated, and made a dive for him. The turkey spread his tail. Oh, didn’t he run!
“Now, I’ve got her!” the wicked Jericho Bob cried, and thought he had captured the fowl; when, with a shriek from Jericho Bob, as the turkey knocked him over, the Thanksgiving dinner spread his wings, rose in the air, and alighted on the roof of the freight-car.
The turkey looked down over the edge of the car at his enemies, and they gazed up at him. Both parties surveyed the situation.
“We’ve got him,” Julius Caesar cried at last, exultantly. “You git on the roof, and ef you don’t kitch ’im up thar, I’ll kitch ’im down yere.”
With the help of the wash-tub, an old chair, Julius Caesar’s back, and much scrambling, Jericho Bob was boosted on top of the car. The turkey was stalking solemnly up and down the roof with tail and wings half spread.