He shook his head mournfully. "Don't want to jog the turkey."
"Nonsense," I objected.
"It's not nonsense," he retorted. "How would you like to be shut up in a bag?"
It was obviously no use arguing, so I gave in. Going outside, we summoned a seedy-looking growler and plodded off towards the restaurant. Pitman took the turkey out of the bag and placed it on the seat opposite us.
"Beautiful bird," he said thoughtfully.
"Magnificent," I agreed.
Then he lay back and went to sleep.
I woke him up when the cab stopped. "Come along," I said; "here we are. You sling on to the turkey. I'll pay the man."
I followed him into the hall, and found him standing there with the basket under one arm and the turkey under the other.
"Put those things in the cloak-room," I whispered hurriedly. "Everyone is laughing at you."