Nevertheless, in memory of the set of Oscar Wilde's works presented to my
roommate twelve years ago one Christmas morning by Queen Bess, and in
memory of the six world-famous oaths this great lady invented--here goes.
Let Bess roar in her grave. There's one thing she can't do and that's call
me a liar.
* * * * *
It was Thanksgiving day and years ago and my roommate Ned and I were
staring glumly over the roofs of the town.
"I've got an invitation for Thanksgiving dinner for both of us," said Ned.
"But I feel kind of doubtful about going."
I inquired what kind of invitation.
"An engraved invitation," grinned Ned. "Here it is. I'll read it to you."
He read from a white card: "You are cordially invited to attend a
Thanksgiving dinner at the home of Queen Bess, ---- Street and Wabash
Avenue, at 3 o'clock. You may bring one gentleman friend."
"Why not go?" I asked.
"I'm a New Englander at heart," smiled Ned, "and Thanksgiving is a sort of
meaningful holiday. Particularly when you're alone in the great and wicked
city. I've inquired of some of the fellows about Queen Bess's dinner. It
seems that she gives one every Thanksgiving and that they're quite a
tradition or institution.
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