“Has he bought your Thanksgivin’ turkeys?”
“He hain’t bought ’em for Thanksgivin’.”
“Well, what are you so set up about, boy?”
“He’s rented the hull flock. He’s to pay me three dollars a day for them, then he’s goin’ to buy them all for Christmas.”
“Land sakes! Three dollars a day.” Mrs. Tidd dropped one side of a pan of apples she was carrying, and some of them went rolling about the kitchen floor.
Homer nodded.
“For how long?” she asked eagerly.
“For a week.” Homer’s freckles disappeared in the crimson glow of enthusiasm that overspread his face.
“Eighteen dollars for nothin’ but exhibitin’ a bunch o’ turkeys! Seems to me some folks must have money to throw away.” Mrs. Tidd stared perplexedly over the top of her glasses.
“I’ll tell you all about it, Mother.” Homer took a chair and planted his feet on the edge of the oven. “Mr. Richards is goin’ to have a great Thanksgivin’ food show, an’ he wants a flock o’ live turkeys. He’s been drivin’ round the country lookin’ for some. The postmaster sent him here. He told him about Dan’l Webster’s tricks.”