Jasper County Democrat, Volume 18, Number 67, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 November 1915 — Every One Chases the Turkey at This Time [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Every One Chases the Turkey at This Time

“Giva da turk." grins the red shawled little Italian •woman, picking her way through the wet alleys of the city market place. She reaches the stalls where live birds are being sold to these hardy souls who are equal to the task of carrying their* purchases home, squawking and struggling, through the city streets. Madonna Bella does not hesitate, however. She picks out the fiercest bird in the whole pen and runs her capable lingers through his feathers to feel if he really is as fat as he looks. Then she waits, her broad smile growing broader every minute, as the dealer weighs her treasure. The men and boys, to whom the day before Thanksgiving is one of the most entertaining in the whole calendar, stand around, shouting their glee, and finally Madonna Bella reaches out a strong hand, seizes her bird by the legs and thrusts it into the folds of her apron, departing proudly down the street. Next after her is a delegation of mirthful, rosy cheeked boys from the settlements come to buy “a good one” for Miss Sallie. It requires many moments of heated discussion before they can all agree upon just whfela one is good enough, and then more consultation before they decide that the association funds are being used to the best advantage in the purchase of the bird that is chosen. Thanksgiving teaches one thing—namely, that there is no need for a universal language. When there is a universal need the words take care of

themselves. Italian, Greek, Norwegian, Russian and German, they know “toik” or ~t urk.” All day long the procession fills the streets. Boys with live birds under their arms, followed by shrieking crowds of children until they disappear in some dingy doorway; women with big bundles done up in burlap or old newspaper, which Sherlock Holmes, at least, can tell easily are turkeys by the size of the claws sticking out; limousines rolling noiselessly to the doors of shining emporiums where the democratic national bird costs at least 10 cents more than it does if you take it home alive from the public market, but it isn’t half as much fun; beautifully dressed women selecting the finest for the family feast of Dives; tired commuters rushing into the market and dashing out again, spilling nuts and celery and cranberries, but clutching without possibility of error the fattest -|urkey there is left in the market—this is the day before Thanksgiving in the big city. Nobody cares what the price is. It may be 25 cents or it may be 30. It makes very interesting reading two weeks beforehand. Father especially —and mother, if she is a member of the Housewives' league and feels a moral responsibility in these matters—likes to know whether lie’ll have to pay 5 cents more this year or only 3 more than he paid last year. But do you think the cost matters on the day before Thanksgiving? Does it matter to you?—New York Tribune.

Thanksgiving day ought to mean much to churchgoers. It is the one day in the year on which sectarians sink all their differences and unite in a common worship before God.

INTRODUCING THE THANKSGIVING BIRD.