QUITE THE COCKLE-DOODLE-DO

Behold the fowl. See how proudly he struts among his brother and wife fowl. How scornfully and derisively he crows at the barnyard turkeys. How arrogantly he pecks at his beans and his cabbage. How sneeringly he looks upon the swine, how snubbingly upon the kine. But well should he be proud; it the recent Hotel Exposition he was elected the nation's most popular dish. Every day more diners choose him for their pieces de resistance than any other man, bird, or beast in the country. He is the chief mouth-waterer and gastrician of the land.

Chicken in every form-a recent glossary of American for English tourists defines "chicken" as a "fowl of any age"-fried, fricasseed, roasted, burnt, or raw, won the day above all comers. Turkey, sliding along on grease, captured second; pork and beans, with the solid support of the Boston delegation, came in a good third; and corned beef and cabbage finished fourth. Water came in last, making, however, a game fight with ice water. Never was a more conclusive victory won. Long live King Fowl!

Following the example of the Hotel Exposition, it is rumored that the annual convention of the Milling Association will elect the national flour. With the aid of the radio this rumor was broadcasted throughout the land. The convention's judiciary committee has been deluged with recommendations from local granges and Audubon societies. So far, from forty-eight states and one territory (Guam), forty-nine suggestions have been received. The ylang-ylang was Guam's choice for the national flour, while that of Massachusetts was the dandelion. Apparently the radio, being audible and not visible, has mixed flower with flour. In ordinary circumstances a thorough mixing of flour is essential for good results, but it is another matter when the flours are election issues. After due consideration the judiciary committee has postponed the balloting indefinitely.

Meanwhile Sunday is approaching, and all the roadside inns are sending out hurry calls for fowl. The King of the barnyard senses impending disaster from the look on the farmer's face. He loses his swagger and droops off in a corner. A turkey with an understanding heart remarks sympathetically, "It's great to be popular, ain't it?"