FISHERMAN JONES CATCHES MILTIADES
The new barn had taken the last of the money for that year, and there would be no more income until January first.
But one must have a turkey for Thanksgiving, and there was Miltiades. To catch Miltiades became the household problem,
and the inventor set wonderful traps for him, which caught almost everything but Miltiades, who easily avoided them.
Eph used to go out daily before breakfast and chase Miltiades. The turkey scorned him, and grew only wilder and tougher.
The day before Thanksgiving it looked as if there would be no turkey dinner at Todd's, but here Fisherman Jones came to the rescue.
It was a beautiful Indian summer day, and he hobbled out into the field for an afternoon's fishing.
Here he sat on a log, and began casting his line about. Near by, under a juniper bush, Miltiades lay hidden.
By and by Fisherman Jones kicked up a loose bit of bark, and saw beneath it a fine, fat, white grub,
of the sort which turns into June beetles with the coming of spring. He was not so blind but that he saw the grub, and with a chuckle,
he baited his hook with it. A moment after, Eph Todd, coming out of the new barn, heard the click of a reel,
and was astonished to see Fisherman Jones standing almost erect, his eyes blazing, his rod bent, his reel buzzing,
while at the end of a good forty feet of line was Miltiades, rushing in frantic strides for the woods. Good land! said Eph, it's the turkey! Hold him,
he yelled. Don't let him get all the line on you! He's hooked ! Hold him ! Eph Todd! gasped Fisherman Jones,
this is the whoppingest old fish I ever hooked on to yet. Beeswax, how he does pull! And with the words Fisherman Jones went backward over the log,
waving the pole and a pair of stiff legs in the air. The turkey had suddenly let up on the line. Give him the butt!
Give him the butt! roared Eph, rushing up. The fisherman blood in Fisherman Jones responded to this stirring appeal,
and the rod bent in a tense half circle. Then began a race such as no elderly fisherman was ever the center of before.
Round and round went Miltiades, with the white grub in his crop, and the line above it gripped tightly in his strong beak;
and round and round went Eph Todd, his outstretched arms waving like the turkey's wings. In the center Fisherman Jones,
too near-sighted to see what he had hooked, had risen on one knee and was turning with the bird,
his mind full of one idea, to keep the butt of his rod aimed at the whirling turkey.