“‘You want such a turkey as never was, my lord?’ says he. ‘And you want to take and fatten him, and watch him fattening, and enjoy him in anticipation, do you?’ he says. ‘But turkeys is queer beasts,’ says he; ‘and whited sepulchres to them as doesn’t know their tricks.’ “‘How do you mean “whited sepulchres?”’ asks the Mayor of Bantam. “‘_Bones_, when all’s told,’ says Huggins, shaking his head darkly, ‘_if_ you don’t know the trick of inducing of ’em to swell.’ “‘Well, what is the trick?’ says the mayor. “‘Flattery, my lord,’ says Huggins. And then he pointed to a bird. “‘Do you see him?’ says he. ‘There’s the proudest, healthiest cock in my yard--one as, if humoured, would fill a whole corporation, down to its hungriest kitchen gal on two and six a week and what she could pick up, with the marrer of deliciousness. A dream, he is.’ “‘A nightmare, by the looks of him,’ says the mayor, ‘There’s more of sepulchre than of meat about him,’ he says. “‘Ah!’ says Huggins; ‘and that shows your ignorance. It’s just slighting that keeps him in his place till he’s wanted. If I was to flatter that bird, sir, he’d puff himself out that amazing with self-importance, he’d burst in a week and anticipate his own market. You take him home, and feed him judicious on admiration and little else, and you’ll have such a feast of him in the end as you never dreamed.’ “‘How much for him?’ says the mayor. “‘Not a penny less than two guineas,’ says Huggins. “‘Preposterous!’ says the mayor. “‘O, very well!’ says Huggins. ‘I’d as lief you refused. He shall be three to the next customer.’ “Well, the mayor allowed himself to be persuaded; and he had the bird sent home and put in a coop. And every day, and half a dozen times a day, he’d go down and praise the creature to its face till its very wattles turned purple with pleasure. There’s nothing too fulsome for a turkey to swallow. The very ‘gobble-gobble’ of him set the mayor’s jaws going with a foretaste of delight. “‘Gobble-gobble! I could eat you, my beauty!’ says he, just as a rapturous mother talks to her child. “You should have seen the turkey ruffle and swell to be called beauty. “‘Put up your tail,’ says the mayor, ‘and the dear little pope’s nose! There’s no Juno’s peacock can spread such a fan!’ says he. “The cage would hardly contain the bird at that. He expanded at the very sound of the mayor’s footstep afterwards; and he discarded his food almost entirely, as something too gross for the consideration of a better than Juno’s peacock. The mayor wondered; but he couldn’t discount the evidence of his own eyes. “‘That Huggins is a cunning one,’ he thought. ‘He knows what he’s about’--which was very true. “Well, at length the festive day arrived, and the mayor went to take a last look at his beauty before consigning him to his cook. He was almost in tears. He’d been starving himself for a week, in anticipation of the feast, and perhaps that was the reason.