"Oh, don't worry about that," says Vee. "We shall be eating one every week or so."
"Then don't let me know when the executions take place," says I. "As for me, I shouldn't feel like tellin' Joe to kill one without an order from the High Sheriff of the county."
And say, if I'm ever buffaloed into buyin' any more live turkeys, I'm going to demand a written guarantee that they're Prohibitionists.
CHAPTER VII
ERNIE AND HIS BIG NIGHT
I'm kind of glad I was with Ernie when he had his big night. If I hadn't been I never would have believed it of him. Not if he'd produced affidavits. No! It would have been too much of a strain on the imagination.
For somehow it's hard to connect Ernie with anything like that, even when I've seen what I have. You could almost tell that, just by his name—Ernest Sudders. And when I add that he's assistant auditor in the Corrugated offices you ought to have the picture complete. You know what assistant auditors are like.
Ernie ran true to type. And then some. I expect there was one or two other things he might have been; such as manager of a gift shop, or window dresser for the misses' department, or music teacher in a girls' boarding school. But I doubt if he'd ever been such a success as he was at the high desk. Seemed like he was born to be an assistant auditor. He was holding the job when I first came to the Corrugated as sub office boy; he still has it, and I can think of only one party that could pry him loose from it—the old boy with the long scythe.