“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.  But no—­base coin seduced him, did the trick and—­here it is.  Also we have a loaf!” and from beneath one arm Ravenslee dropped a package that resolved itself into a Vienna roll.  “Also, ham—­”

“Hey, Geoff,” said Spike in awe-struck tones, “are all these eats?”

“Certainly.  I should have brought more if I could have carried ’em.”

“More?”

“Most decidedly.  When I buy eats, my lad, I buy everything in sight that looks worth while—­if Mr. Pffeffenfifer sells.  Mr. Pffeffenfifer sells in such a soulfully seductive way that eats acquire virtues above and beyond their own base selves.  Mr. Pffeffenfifer can infuse soul into a sausage.  Behold now, eats the most alluring.  See, what’s this!  Ah, yes, here we have, item:  Salmi, redolent of garlic!  Here again a head cheese, succulent and savoury; here’s ham, most ravishingly pink—­and a Camembert cheese.”

“But, Jiminy Christmas—­you bought such a lot of each.  Who’s goin’ t’ eat all these?”

“We, of course!”

“But we can’t eat ’em all!” sighed Spike.

“Can’t we?” said Ravenslee, beginning to view the quantity of the numerous viands with dubious eyes.  “They do seem rather a lot now I see ’em all together.  But I’m ravenous, and if we can’t manage ’em, we’ll find some one who can.”

“Y’ see, Geoff, I shan’t be able t’ eat any o’ the rest when I’m through with the turk’!” sighed Spike, a little reproachfully.  “My, but I’m hungry!  Strange how hungry cold turkey makes a guy!”

“Why, then,” said Ravenslee, pitching his hat into a corner, “sit down, comrade, and ’let mirth with unconfin_ed_ wing’—­” Ravenslee yawned.

“I guess we’d better wait a bit, Geoff.”

“What for?”

“Hermy.”

“Is she—­do you mean she’s back?” enquired Ravenslee, sitting up.

“Yes, she didn’t stay at Englewood; she’s down-stairs, doctoring Tony’s kid.”

“But what will she think of all these confounded messes?”

“Messes!” cried Spike indignantly.  “Cheese it, Geoff—­look at that turk’!”

“But—­do you think she’ll—­mind?” enquired Ravenslee uneasily.

“Mind?” said Spike, staring.  “Not on your life—­why should she?  Besides, it’s kind o’ lucky you happened to blow in with this free lunch; she’s a bit shy on the dollar question this month—­an’ Mulligan comes t’morrow.  An’ oh, say, Geoff—­she’s dead set on findin’ out how I met you an’—­an’ where.”