WHY, NO, THE NAME IS NOT HERE!
Genius of Thanksgiving. Why, how comes that? (Looks over a long list of names.) No, the name—what is it, Forrester?—is not here. Well, that's a sad omission. No, ma'am, it's not too late. Sprites, you must hustle and bustle, and get up a first-class dinner for the Forresters. Do you hear?
Sprites all. We hear—we will.
Genius of Thanksgiving. Are we all present? No. [Impatiently taps on the floor.]
Enter Purveyor of Turkeys, strutting. He gobbles.
Purveyor of Turkeys. Good-evening, master, and you, Fairies.
Genius of Thanksgiving. Sirrah, Purveyor of Turkeys, you're late. Have you a fine fat turkey left?
Purveyor of Turkeys. I have, sir. The demand was terrible this year, but I have laid by a few, thinking they would be wanted for late dinners.
Genius of Thanksgiving. Save us a good one, then—twelve-pound weight. Is that big enough, Fairies? The family is small, I believe.