THE LOST OYSTER SUPPER
Thanksgiving came and went its turkey-lined way rather lonesomely. Christmas preparations also lacked their usual zest.
“Everything seems to have caved in round where Ernest was,” Chicken Little confided to Marian. “You see, we always talked everything over and planned our Christmas together. Sherm takes Ernest’s place in lots of ways, but, of course, he isn’t interested in what I’m making for Mother, or in helping me make $5.25 go clear round the family and piece out for Katy and Gertie besides.”
“If sympathy is all you need, Jane, I can lend you a listening ear.” Marian crocheted another scallop.
“I’d be thankful for a few suggestions, too, I can’t think of anything to send Ernest. When he 316has to have everything regulation, and the government furnishes him with every single thing it wants him to have, why–it’s awful.”
“Yes, I agree with you–I’ve been racking my brains for Ernest, too. Mother is patiently knitting him a muffler, which I know he won’t be permitted to wear, but I haven’t the heart to discourage her–she gets so much comfort out of it. Uncle Sam should be more considerate of fond female relatives. He might at least tolerate a few tidies and hand-painted shovels or a home-made necktie.”
“Or a throw or a plush table cover with chenille embroidery. Mamie Jenkins is making one for Mr. Clay. He will be too cross for words. He loathes Mamie, though he tries not to show it, and plush is his special abomination. He says it reminds him of caterpillar’s fuzz.” Chicken Little’s eyes danced maliciously.
Marian looked at her young sister-in-law meditatively.
“Mamie doesn’t seem to be dear to your heart just now. Is she too popular or too affected or too dressy?”
“Oh, she’s just too utterly too too all around. I do have lots of fun with her–she can be awfully nice when she wants to be, but—”