At the merriest moments of the feast the
question of the corner in which they could be secreted or the
aperture out of which they could be thrust had hung over him like
a veritable sword of Damocles.
But now he knew there was only one way to solve the problem. And
that was to wrap the remains carefully together, tie them up, and
make his escape down through the quiet house into the midnight
street. There the ever-damnatory parcel could be casually dropped
into a near-by ash barrel or tossed into a refuse can, and he
could aimlessly round the block, like a sedentary gentleman
enjoying his belated airing.
II
Trotter crept down through the quiet house with all the
trepidation of a sneak-thief. His one dread was the apparition of
Mrs. Teetzel; she would naturally surmise he was making away with
the bedroom stoneware, or the door knobs, or even the lead
piping.
He felt freer when he had once gained the street. But no peace of
mind could be his, he knew, until he had utterly discarded those
carefully wrapped turkey bones. It would be easy enough to toss
them into an areaway, if the worst came to the worst.
He looked up and down the street for a garbage can.
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