"Pitman," I said pathetically, "you have not come out half a mile on a snowy morning to try and be funny. Out with it."
"Have you got any whisky?" he inquired.
"I thought there was some good reason. There it is behind you. Aren't you allowed to have it at home?"
"Not before lunch, and quite right, too; but that isn't the real reason why I came."
"Have a cigar?" I suggested.
"No," he replied. "I came to give you some information. You are coming up to town with me by the four o'clock train."
"What are we going for?" I inquired.
"We are going to buy a turkey," he said quietly.
I looked at him in amazement. "Going to buy a turkey! Why, you can get a much better one here."
He smiled. "Much better, but my wife thinks otherwise. You see, she was brought up in London, and she is still under the impression that you can get nothing fit to eat outside. She made up her mind long ago to buy the Christmas turkey in town, and she was going up to-day to choose one. However, this morning the infant suddenly developed a pain in its tummy, and she decided she couldn't leave it. So I volunteered, and was accepted."