I expect my smile was kind of a sickly performance, for the last person I'd have wanted to be in on the obsequies was Auntie. I will say, though, that she don't try to rub it in. No, she tells of similar cases she's known of when she was a girl, about whole flocks bein' poisoned by something they'd found to eat.
"The only thing to do now," says she, "is to save the feathers."
"Eh?" says I, gawpin'.
"The long tail and wing feathers can be used for making fans and trimming hats," says Auntie, "while the smaller ones are excellent for stuffing pillows. They must be picked at once."
"Oh, I'm satisfied to call 'em a total loss," says I.
Auntie wouldn't have it, though. She sends Leon for a big apron and a couple of baskets and has me round up Joe to help. When I left they were all three busy and the turkey feathers were coming off fast. All there was left for me to do was to go in and break the sad news to Vee.
"As a turkey raiser, I'm a flivver," says I.
"But I can't see that it's your fault at all," says Vee.
"Can't you?" says I. "Ask Auntie."
If the next day hadn't been Sunday, I could have sneaked off to town and dodged the little talk Auntie insists on givin' about the folly of amateurs tacklin' jobs they know nothing about. As it is I has to stick around and take the gaff. Then about ten o'clock Basil Pyne has to show up and reopen the subject.