To Editor Good Housekeeper Magazine, who keep cheerful in spite of Holidays.

Dear Sir:—While annual yearly date of Thangsgive approach up, I enjoy pain in connection with my memory. Americans act so peculiar when thankful that I am not insured what to do. For instancely, I tell you what collapsed to me last Thanksgive Thursday:

I were employed for Gen. Cookery at domestic kitchen of Mrs. & Mr. Romeo Goober, East O’Rora, Ill.

“Togo,” say Hon. Mrs., approaching up to me, “tomorrow shall be Thanksgive Day.”

“What are origin of this joy?” I ask to know.

“Pilgrim 4 Fathers first invented it,” she report. “In historical time of 1492, Hon. Miles Standish were setting on Plymouth Rock. ‘We have no foods,’decry Hon. Miles. ‘I have no appetite,’ snuggest Hon. Jno. W. Alden, assistant Pilgrim. ‘We should be thankful for that!’ negotiate Hon. Miles, so Thankful Thursday were manufactured from that date.”

“How you shall celebrate this patriotic festival?” I require.

“By eating it,” decrop Hon. Mrs. “The more we eat, the more patriotic we become. On that Thursday date America are thankful about all sorts of calamities, while families group themselves around turkey to express gratitude and cramberry sauce.”

“My heart stands upright to think of such cheerfulness!” I resort. “I shall rejoice tomorrow for to observe one American dinner where Kick & Peev are not invited.”

“Tomorrow we expects to celebrate as usual,” she report for sweetly smiling. There will be 8 to dinner, to include my fattish Uncle Seth who equal 3 more. All my relatives is most sneerful particular about foods. So now will you please elope immediately to market for buy one turkey-chicken of 26 lbs. complete tenderness, 4 qrts. cramberries of delicious sourness, 6 bunches celery-weed, and sufficient punkens to construct 2½ pies?”

I go. At Gouge Bros. Market where was I observe sign, “FAT TURKEY 35c.” To see this, I feel very humorous about that High Cost of Life.

“Such delicious cheapness of bird!” I negotiate to Hon. Butcher who was there. “At such rates, how much would 2 turkies cost?”

“$22.80,” he report for immediate arithmatic.

“Do you not promise fat turkey for 35c?” I rake off.

“35c per lb.,” he snagger financially.

“I should like one (1) lb., please!” This from me.

“We do not sell broken sections. You must purchase complete bird, price $9.80.” This from him.

“At such rates, folks can get rich by starving,” I snagger.

No response from him. He go to ice-box and fetch forth one enlarged fowel without any clothing on.

“This are nice fresh turkey,” he satisfy.

“How you know he fresh?” I snuggest.

“Have he not been constantly on ice for 2 yrs.? Nothing could be more fresher than that,” depose Hon. Butch. I buy.

He sell me expensive celery-bouquet, price 75c per cluster. It seem disrespectful to eat such valuation. Also precious cramberries, price $1 for seldom quantities, added to $2.50 worth punkens for pie. I promenade homewards, carrying this valuable butchery and hoping no burglar would see me.

While I was thusly straggling along with burdened back, one assorted dog, name of Hon. Fido, snux up behind of turkey and made smiling sniff-nose.

“Shoo!” I report. Hon. Fido stood waggishly saying nothing, but looking at Hon. Turkey with flirting eye. I was joyful to observe this, because Hon. Shakespeare say, “Them what dogs loves must have many tender qualities.”

Date of Thankful Thursday arrive up. By early a.m. of dawntime I arose up and commenced. All a.m. that assorted dog, Hon. Fido, set outside screen door. I permit him. I arrange Hon. Turkey to polite position and stuff his surprised interior with decorated crumbs. I satisfy him with salt & pepper.

About time of afternoon p.m., I could hear several thanksgivers scraping their footprints on rug. Their feet sounded quite hungry, yet I could not hear any words spoken more cheerful than Sunday. Hon. Turkey now send forth smiling smell of bakery, and I was glad to assist his importance.

Pretty soonly all take set-down to table.

“We got much to be thanksgiving for,” report Hon. Goober with sharp knife. “Dinner is late as usual.”

“Too bad weather are so full of dishagreeable qualities!” grubble Aunt Hannah with golden teeth.

“It were not thusly when I was a boy,” report Uncle Seth with grone. “Please pass the celery.”

He make smack-taste of this foods, then flop it back with snubbed expression.

“I have tasted no respectable celery since 1841!” he holla baffably.

All enjoy depression by this report.

Next course was oysters, served with considerable rawness. Cousin Fred’rck make jab to these shelled fish.

“Don’t!” holla Aunt Eliz, making horror with her nose.

“Why should not?” require Cousin Fred’rck while he swallow up.

“You are so young and yet dead already!” ollicute Aunt Eliz. “Toe-main poison are sure to resume from this.”

“Food contained less poison when I was a childhood,” negotiate Uncle Seth.

“Bygone days has went!” extract Aunt Eliz with si & grone.

I go to kitchen for bring in delicious mulligantawny soup what I bought. While I were pouring this hot beveridge in plates, I notice slight smell of burn. It was Hon. Turkey in oven, becoming too feverish. So I took him out and put him by window where he be more comfortable.

I fetch soup in plates to all those thanksgivers.

“Canned!” they yellup together with voice of sad chorus girls, while thrusting away plates.

“Nothing is real any more!” narrate Uncle Seth with dyspepsia. “Even turkies is deceptive. When boyhood days elapsed, I can remember how we was accustomed, on Thanksgive morning, to salute Hon. Turkey by chopping him in kneck with ax. We knew he was good to eat, because we seen how fresh he acted. But no more. Today, turkies lives like Eskimos—spending their old age on ice before meeting civilized persons. No respectable bird-dog would eat them.”

I enjoy considerable alarm for this thanksgiving speech. Then, courageous like a Samurai, I retreat to kitchen for fetch forth Hon. Turkey. Hope thrilled my wrists and elbows as I entered kitchen for escort that sublime turkey—but O!!! I stand gast. I look to window where I left that sacred bird. Such things could not! And it was. Empty pan stood there, seeming entirely vacuum. Hon. Turkey had flewed away!!

I rosh by window and look earnestly to back yard. Yes!! With thankful expression of tail, there stood Hon. Fido abducting Hon. Turkey across alley by wing.

“Come backwards!” I yellup. Hon. Fido show no impression from my talk. I lep through window 7½ feet to outside. Quickly reassuring my legs, I retreat after that slyly doggish annimle, but he scromble up fence with hooked claws resembling cats. Too late for me! Turkey had escaped from my Bulgarian catch-up.

Mr. Editor, heroes is most brave when reporting failures. I do this considerably. So I drag together my soul and encroach toward dining-room, where I could hear those 8 thanksgivers complaining about everything. I walk in there carrying empty pan. Uncle Seth were just saying,

“Turkey are not what he used to be in 1868!”

“It are painful to look one in face!” report Aunt Eliz, while all agree.

“Banzai!” I holla, poking forth vacant dish. “Your digestion shall avoid this agony.”

“What is?” all exclam while leapting to their feetware.

“You should all be very thanksgiving,” I snuggest. “You have been rescued from considerable preserved poison by one patriotic dog what sacrifice himself by eloping with Hon. Turkey before he could be ate.”

“Kill the dishonest mammal!” all gollup with thankless expression.

“Why you should want I kill dog for stealing turkey you do not require?” I ask with Teddy Roosevelt voice. “He should be gave medal of Pilgrim 4 Fathers for eating a bird you would not dare to bite.”

“Then you mean we shall have no turkey?” snagger all.

“You shall be spared that calamity,” I say off.

“How lonesome Thanksgive dinner seem without him!” mone Uncle Seth.

“How can we fill his vacant platter?” sobb Hon. Mrs. “I should be thankful for Hon. Turkey, however tough!”

Just while she say this—crashy!! Loud sound of approaching dog heard from kitchen window, and Hon. Fido with waggish tail trott into dining-room, carrying that enormalous bird in his careful teeth. He lay that absent fowel reverently a.m. feets.

“Hon. Fido do not care for this enlarged chicken, so he bring him back,” I report.

“Dinner are now spoilt!” decry Hon. Mrs.

“How could you speak it?” I research. “When turkey go, you say, ‘Dinner ruined!’ ‘When he come back, you say, ‘Dinner spoilt!’ I am impossible to understand about American customs.

“You have Thanksgive dinner so you can set around making bewails. So foolish to do! Why you no choose this date for to kick out Misfortune?”

“I shall do so!” abrupt Hon. Goober, arising upwards. “First Misfortune to kick will be in your direction.”

Next he rejected me through window by force of Swedish jiu-jitsu. Hon. Fido arrive by next kick, and Hon. Turkey flew afterward, striking me on hair so earnestly he left me quite brainless.

Hoping you are the same,

Yours truly,
Hashimura Togo.