"Nonsense," I objected.
"It's not nonsense," he retorted. "How would you like to be shut up
in a bag?"
It was obviously no use arguing, so I gave in. Going outside, we
summoned a seedy-looking growler and plodded off towards the
restaurant. Pitman took the turkey out of the bag and placed it on
the seat opposite us.
"Beautiful bird," he said thoughtfully.
"Magnificent," I agreed.
Then he lay back and went to sleep.
I woke him up when the cab stopped. "Come along," I said; "here we
are. You sling on to the turkey. I'll pay the man."
I followed him into the hall, and found him standing there with the
basket under one arm and the turkey under the other.
"Put those things in the cloak-room," I whispered hurriedly.
"Everyone is laughing at you."
"Let 'em laugh," he replied, looking round defiantly. "You 'member
what Sol-Solomon says about thorns under a pot. The turkey's coming
in to dinner with me."
"Pitman," I said, "I'm ashamed of you."
He walked up to the cloak-room, and deposited his coat, hat, and
stick. Then he put the turkey into the basket.
"Shall I take that, sir?" inquired the attendant.
"No," said Pitman haughtily; "leave him alone."
"That will be all right," I interposed, giving the man a shilling. I
was curious to see what would happen.
Pitman marched downstairs to the grill-room, carrying the basket.
The place was crowded.
"I want a table for three," he said to the waiter.
The latter looked at him curiously.
"Shall I take that outside, sir?"