Skiddoo! | Page 4

would believe them to be filet Mignon, with Pommery sauce, and then
she started in to fool the Beef Trust and put all the butchers out of
business.
Dinner time came and we were all expectancy.
The first course was mashed potatoes, which we just dabbled with
gingerly.
The second course was potato chips, which we nibbled slightly while
we looked eagerly at the butler's pantry.
The next course was French fried potatoes with some shoestring
potatoes on the side, and I began to get nervous.
This was followed by a dish of German fried potatoes, some
hash-browned potatoes and some potato sauté, whereupon my appetite
got up and left the room.
The next course was plain boiled potatoes with the jackets on, and
baked potatoes with the jackets open at the throat, and then some
roasted potatoes with a peek-a-boo waist effect, cut on the bias.
I was beginning to see the delights of being a vegetarian and at the
same time I could feel myself fixing my fingers to choke Ollie.

The next course was a large plate of potato salad, and then I fainted.
When I got back Ollie was standing near the table with a sweet smile
on each side of her face waiting for the applause of those present.
"Have you nothing else?" I inquired, hungrily.
"Oh, yes!" said Ollie. "I have some potato pudding for desert."
When I got through swearing Ollie was under the stove, my wife was
under the table, the dog was under the bed, and I was under the
influence of liquor.
No more vegetarianism in mine.
Hereafter I am for that lamb chop thing, first, last and always.
But let's get back to that Thanksgiving dinner.
My wife invited Mr. and Mrs. William T. Hodge, Joe Coyne and his
wife, and their daughter, Cuticura; Mr. and Mrs. Frank Doane, and their
son, Communipaw; Mr. and Mrs. Jack Golden, and their niece,
Casanova; and Mr. and Mrs. Riley Hatch.
Charlie Swayne was the referee.
My wife was so worried about the cook that before dinner time arrived
she had an attack of nervous postponement.
As a matter of fact, we were both in fear and trembling that Ollie would
send a tomato salad from the kitchen and before it reached the table it
would become a chop suey.
Anyway, the guests arrived promptly, and I could see from their faces
that they would fight that dinner to a finish.
The ladies began to chat pleasantly while they sized up our furniture
out of the corners of their eyes, and the men glanced carelessly around
to see if I had a box of cigars which would require their attention after

dinner.
Pretty soon dinner was announced and they all jumped to their feet as
though they had stepped on a third rail.
I believe in being thrifty, but the way some of those people saved up
their hunger for our dinner was too penurious for mine.
I took Mrs. Hodge in and she took in my wife's dress to see if it was
made over from last year's.
Young Communipaw Doane tried hard not to reach the table first, but a
plate of Dill-pickles caught his eye and he won from old man Hodge by
an arm.
The first round was oyster cocktails and everybody drew cards.
This was Ollie's maiden attempt at making oyster cocktails and she had
original ideas about them, which consisted of salad oil instead of
tomato ketchup.
The salad oil came from Italy, so the oysters were extremely foreign to
the taste.
After eating his cocktail Riley Hatch began to turn pale and inquired
politely if we raised our own oysters.
But just then little Cutey Coyne upset a glass of water and changed the
subject, and the complexion of the tablecloth.
The next round was mock turtle soup, and it made a deep impression,
especially on Charlie Swayne, because little Casanova Golden upset
her share in his lap when he least expected it.
Charlie was very nice about it, however.
He only swore twice, then he remembered once a gentleman always a
gentleman and he did not strike the girl.

After a while we all convinced Charlie that the laugh was on the soup
and not on him, and when the fish came on he forgot his troubles by
getting a bone in his throat.
When Charlie began to talk like a trout, old man Hodge grabbed the
bread knife and begged to be allowed to carve his initials on
somebody's wishbone.
But Joe Coyne finally pacified him by a second helping of Bermuda
onions.
I opened a third bottle of Pommery just to show I wasn't stingy.
Then came the Thanksgiving turkey, and this is where that Swede cook
of ours won the blue ribbon.
My wife