It was only when the glistening brown turkey was carried to the dinner table the next day that the boys had any relief from the constant barrage of kidding they had been receiving all morning.
“I never thought I’d have to urge the menfolks of my family to put their minds on food,” Mom said, “but that is exactly what I’m doing. The boys have had enough teasing. After all, they’re not always wrong.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Sandy said, sliding into his chair.
“All the same,” Ken said, “I still—”
“If you start all over again, Ken,” Mom warned, “I won’t be responsible.”
Ken smiled at her. “O.K., Mom.”
Dinner conversation was limited to murmured comments about the food, which Richard Holt insisted was better than any he had ever had in the most famous restaurants of the world. And after dinner a he
