Mrs. Ashley telephoned the headquarters of the infantry near Great Oaks, her
ancestral home. "This is Mrs. Chauncey
Ashley the Third, and with Thanksgiving coming up, I thought it would be
nice for us to invite some of the young soliders to our holiday feast. We
have enough space that we can easily seat ten young men."
"That's very kind of you, Mrs. Ashley."
"There's only one thing--I'm sure you understand: my husband and I prefer
not to have any Jews..."
"Madam, I quite understand."
When her front doorbell rang on Thanksgiving Day, Mrs. Ashley, dressed to
the nines, hurried to the door herself. She flung it open. "Welcome to
Great..." She stopped, aghast. Under the great portico stood ten smiling
"Omigod," gasped Mrs. Ashley. "There has been a terrible mistake!"
The black sergeant said, "Oh no, ma'am. Captain Finkelstein never makes a