He was yet wrestling with this knotty
problem when he heard muffled knocks at the front door, which, being
opened, disclosed the object of his thoughts.
"Why, Geoff," he cried gladly, "I thought you wasn't coming. Say, what
you got there?" he enquired, for Ravenslee's arms were filled with
sundry packages and parcels.
"Come and see!" said Ravenslee mysteriously. "Catch this one before I
drop it!"
"Why--hello," said Spike, sniffing at the package in question as he led
the way into the parlour, "it smells good! It sniffs like--Holy Gee,
it's a roast turkey! And--oh, say, Geoff--she's a beaut!"
"Precisely what Mr. Pffeffenfifer assured me," said Ravenslee,
depositing his other burdens on the table. "Mr. Pffeffenfifer is
a man educated in eats, a food fancier, an artist of the appetite!
Mr. Pffeffenfifer is fat and soulful! Mr. Pffeffenfifer nearly wept
tears over the virtues of that bird--pledged his mortal soul for its
tenderness, vowed by all the gods it had breast enough for twins! Mr.
Pffeffenfifer seemed so passionately attached to that bird that I feared
he meant to keep it to gloat over in selfish secrecy.
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