Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1897-11-21
THANKSGIVING STORY.
It's Little Early. But That Matters Not
when the Tale Relates to an Inciden! o

It's Little Early, But That Matters Not
when the Tale Relates to an Inciden. o
a Few Years Ago.
William T. Smithers is a Chicago
merchant who believes in the good
things Of life. The money that other
men put into whisky or the board OF
trade, he puts into things to eat or
things to wear He has a cozy home
and chubby wife and some chubby
babies. Smithers is the KIND OF man
who sees something that he fancies in
a grocery window and stops on his
way home and has it wrapped up in I.
bulky paper-covered package, which
he carries under his arm. Everybody
knows the type.
Even now Smithers is making pre-
parations for Thanksgiving. He has
bought his turkey, which ne keeps IN
a coop on his back gallery, and the
family stuffs the unhappy bird all day
long. 1t is so fat now that it is bare
ly able to stand, and it is the proud
boast of the Smithers brood that the
sides OF the turkey will show an inch
of yellow deposit when killing time
comes.
The clucks and gobbes of the tur-
key have disturbed the next door
neighbCrs little bit. Dwelers in the
city arGi not used to the sounds of the
farmyard. They VIII sleep through
the rattle and crash of boiler factory.
but birds twitter will keep them
awake all night. But they have not
complained. Some of them expect to
: be hidden to the feast. Smithers
knows q tnn
him special order of cranberries, and
hidden away in the cellar of Smithers
rs some unimpeachable claret.
1t belonged to Smithers' father, who
was colonel in the army and has
been dead 10 years. The Smithers folk
are New England folk, and to them
thanksgiving is the festival of the
year. Christmas occupies an entirely
secondary place.
AS each thanksgiving comes around
Smlthers grows reminiscent and reGec-
tive. His face wears slight tinge Of
melancholy, and he is likely at such
times TO branch out into a somber-hued
recital OF the chief catastrophe of his
life. | is all about a goose, a dream of
a goose that was and is not.
The eyes of Smithers have been
known TO flll with tears when ne talked
of that goose. His sorrows has been
softened by time into a gentle regret
that it half pleasure and half pain, but
as mother will sometimes bring to
light baby shoes that belonged to some
lost one, SO Smithers delights to win
the sympathy of friends by talking
about his goose.
1T happened but five years ago" he
will say; five long years ago. My, my
1t seems but yesterday. / had made I'D
my mind TO celebrate Thanksgiving in
style. Things had gone we'll with me. |
heard of man in Milwaukee who had
a wonder of goose, and | got on a
train and went up to see him. Rumor
had not exaggerated the worth of that
bird. Language could not eXaggerate
it,
1T was yearling, plumb and grace
q full and white, with noble breast and
the thighs of a Colossus. | patted its
plump sides and my mouth watered.
The fellow saw that he had me hooked
and he put up the price, but | paid it
without qualm. If the goose was
handsome in life, it was phantom of
delight when dressed. Literally it was
the color of the finest creamery butter.
Its outlines were set in Hogarth's curve
of beauty. Its flesh yielded to the pres
sure of the finger with a soft, yet firm
tenderness
1T weighed 20 pounds-just enough
for my wife, two friends and myself.
Two pounds of sage had been sent me
by my old mother who lives in Yer
mont | spent a day in running down
the finest Bermuda onions to be found
in Chicago. The goose hung for five
days in temperature that was ten de-
grees below freezing Every morning
/ looked at it before l got into my
clothes. Every night l gazed at it be-
fore retiring. 1t grew in perfection.
Il came to love that goose with ten
der ardor that cannot convey to you
in words The refrigerator in which it
hung was rigidly locked and | slept
with the0key under my pillow.
4 Twas the night before Thanksgiv-
Ing. and Iall through the house not
creature was stirring hot even mouse
was heard. | reposed with perfect con-
fdence ii the joys the morrow was to