“Who’d have thought turkeys could have ripped up strong wire like that?” cried the enraged market man, pointing to the shattered door.
“I guess Dan’l began the mischief,” said Homer soberly; “he’s awful strong.”
“I’m sorry I ever laid eyes on Dan’l!” exclaimed Mr. Richards. “I’ll hate to see Finch. He’ll be in on the 4.20 train. He’s conservative; he never had any use for the turkey show.”
“When did you find out that they—what had happened?” asked Homer timidly.
“At five o’clock. Two of the men got here early. They telephoned me. I never saw such destruction in my life. Your turkeys had sampled most everything in the store, from split peas to molasses. What they didn’t eat they knocked over or tore open. I guess they won’t need feeding for a week. They’re chuckful of oatmeal, beans, crackers, peanuts, pickles, toothpicks, prunes, soap, red herrings, cabbage—about everything their crops can hold.”
“I’m awfully sorry,” faltered Homer.
“So am I,” said Mr. Richards resolutely. “Now, the best thing you can do is to take your flock and clear out. I’ve had enough of performing turkeys.”
Homer and his mother waited at the depot for the 11 o’clock train. Beside them stood a crate filled with turkeys that wore a well-fed, satisfied expression. Somebody tapped Homer on the shoulder.
“You’re the boy who does the stunts with turkeys, aren’t you?” asked a well-dressed man with a silk hat, and a flower in his buttonhole.
“Yes,” answered the boy, wonderingly.