"Oh, by the way," says he, "how are the turkeys this morning? Are they still practicing that wonderful duck walk you were telling me about?"
Auntie has just fixed an accusin' eye on me, and I was wonderin' if it would be any sin to take Basil out back somewhere and choke him, when in rushes old Leon with a wild look on his face. He's so excited that he's almost speechless and all he can get out is a throaty gurgle.
"For the love of soup, let's have it," says I. "What's gone wrong now?"
"O-o-o la la!" says Leon. "O-o-o la la!"
"That's right, sing it if you can't say it," says I.
"Parbleu! Nom de Dieu! Les dindons!" he gasps.
"Ah, can the ding-dong stuff, Leon," says I, "and let's hear the English of it."
"The—the turkeys!" he pants out.
And that did get a groan out of me. "Once more!" says I. "Say, have a heart! Can't anybody think of a more cheerful line? Turkeys! Well, shoot it. They're still dead, I suppose?"
"But no," says Leon. "They—they have return to life."