Mr. Popper's Penguins (2 page)

“
Sh!
” commanded Mr. Popper, laying his ear close to the radio.

There was a buzz, and then suddenly, from the South Pole, a faint voice floated out into the Popper living room.

“This is Admiral Drake speaking. Hello, Mamma. Hello, Papa. Hello, Mr. Popper.”

“Gracious goodness,” exclaimed Mrs. Popper. “Did he say ‘Papa’ or ‘Popper’?”

“Hello, Mr. Popper, up there in Stillwater. Thanks for your nice letter about the pictures of our last expedition. Watch for an answer. But not by letter, Mr. Popper. Watch for a surprise. Signing off. Signing off.”

“
You
wrote to Admiral Drake?”

“Yes, I did,” Mr. Popper admitted. “I wrote and told him how funny I thought the penguins were.”

“Well, I never,” said Mrs. Popper, very much impressed.

Mr. Popper picked up his little globe and found the Antarctic. “And to think he spoke to me all the way from there. And he even mentioned my name. Mamma, what do you suppose he means by a surprise?”

“I haven’t any idea,” answered Mrs. Popper, “but I’m going to bed. I don’t want to be late for the Ladies’ Aid and Missionary Society meeting tomorrow.”

W
HAT WITH THE
excitement of having the great Admiral Drake speak to him over the radio, and his curiosity about the Admiral’s message to him, Mr. Popper did not sleep very well that night. He did not see how he could possibly wait to find out what the Admiral meant. When morning came, he was almost sorry that he had nowhere to go, no houses to paint, no rooms to paper. It would have helped to pass the time.

“Would you like the living room papered over?” he asked Mrs. Popper. “I have quite a lot of Paper Number 88, left over from the Mayor’s house.”

“I would not,” said Mrs. Popper firmly. “The paper on now is plenty good enough. I am going to the first meeting of the Ladies’ Aid and Missionary Society today and I don’t want any mess around to clean up when I get home.”

“Very well, my love,” said Mr. Popper meekly, and he settled down with his pipe, his globe, and his book of
Antarctic Adventures.
But somehow, as he read today, he could not keep his mind on the printed words. His thoughts kept straying away to Admiral Drake. What could he have meant by a surprise for Mr. Popper?

Fortunately for his peace of mind, he did not have so very long to wait. That afternoon, while Mrs. Popper was still away at her meeting, and Janie and Bill had not yet come home from school, there was a loud ring at the front door.

“I suppose it is just the postman. I won’t bother to answer it,” he said to himself.

The bell rang again, a little louder this time. Grumbling to himself, Mr. Popper went to the door.

It was not the postman who stood there. It was an expressman with the largest box Mr. Popper had ever seen.

“Party by the name of Popper live here?”

“That’s me.”

“Well, here’s a package that’s come Air Express all the way from Antarctica. Some journey, I’ll say.”

Mr. Popper signed the receipt and examined the box. It was covered all over with markings. “UNPACK AT ONCE,” said one. “KEEP COOL,” said another. He noticed that the box was punched here and there with air holes.

You can imagine that once he had the box inside the house, Mr. Popper lost no time in getting the screw driver, for by this time, of course, he had guessed that it was the surprise from Admiral Drake.

He had succeeded in removing the outer boards and part of the packing, which was a layer of dry ice, when from the depths of the packing case he suddenly heard a faint “
Ork.
” His heart stood still. Surely he had heard that sound before at the Drake Expedition movies. His hands were trembling so that he could scarcely lift off the last of the wrappings.

There was not the slightest doubt about it. It was a penguin.

Mr. Popper was speechless with delight.

But the penguin was not speechless. “
Ork,
” it said again, and this time it held out its flippers and jumped over the packing debris.

It was a stout little fellow about two and a half feet high. Although it was about the size of a small child, it looked much more like a little gentleman, with its smooth white waistcoat in front and its long black tailcoat dragging a little behind. Its eyes were set in two white circles in its black head. It turned its head from one side to the other, as first with one eye and then with the other, it examined Mr. Popper.

Mr. Popper had read that penguins are extremely curious, and he soon found that this was true, for stepping out, the visitor began to inspect the house. Down the hall it went and into the bedrooms, with its strange, pompous little strut. When it, or he — Mr. Popper had already begun to think of it as he — got to the bathroom, it looked around with a pleased expression on its face.

“Perhaps,” thought Mr. Popper, “all that white tiling reminds him of the ice and snow at the South Pole. Poor thing, maybe he’s thirsty.”

Carefully Mr. Popper began to fill the bathtub with cold water. This was a little difficult because the inquisitive bird kept reaching over and trying to bite the faucets with its sharp red beak. Finally, however, he succeeded in getting the tub all filled. Since the penguin kept looking over, Mr. Popper picked it up and dropped it in. The penguin seemed not to mind.

“Anyway, you’re not shy,” said Mr. Popper. “I guess you’ve got sort of used to playing around with those explorers at the Pole.”

When he thought the penguin had had enough of a bath, he drew out the stopper. He was just wondering what to do next when Janie and Bill burst in from school.

“Papa,” they shouted together at the bathroom door. “What is it?”

“It’s a South Pole penguin sent to me by Admiral Drake.”

“Look!” said Bill. “It’s marching.”

The delighted penguin was indeed marching. With little pleased nods of his handsome black head he was parading up and down the inside of the bathtub. Sometimes he seemed to be counting the steps it took — six steps for the length, two steps for the width, six steps for the length again, and two more for the width.

“For such a big bird he takes awfully small steps,” said Bill.

“And look how his little black coat drags behind. It almost looks as if it were too big for him,” said Janie.

But the penguin was tired of marching. This time, when it got to the end of the tub, it decided to jump up the slippery curve. Then it turned, and with outstretched flippers, tobogganed down on its white stomach. They could see that those flippers, which were black on the outside, like the sleeves of a tailcoat, were white underneath.

“
Gook! Gook!
” said the penguin, trying its new game again and again.

“What’s his name, Papa?” asked Janie.

“
Gook! Gook!
” said the penguin, sliding down once more on his glossy white stomach.

“It sounds something like ‘Cook,’ ” said Mr. Popper. “Why, that’s it, of course. We’ll call him Cook — Captain Cook.”

“C
ALL WHO
C
APTAIN
C
OOK?”
asked Mrs. Popper, who had come in so quietly that none of them had heard her.

“Why, the penguin,” said Mr. Popper. “I was just saying,” he went on, as Mrs. Popper sat down suddenly on the floor to recover from her surprise, “that we’d name him after Captain Cook. He was a famous English explorer who lived about the time of the American Revolution. He sailed all over where no one had ever been before. He didn’t actually get to the South Pole, of course, but he made a lot of important scientific discoveries about the Antarctic regions. He was a brave man and a kind leader. So I think Captain Cook would be a very suitable name for our penguin here.”

“Well, I never!” said Mrs. Popper.

“
Gork!
” said Captain Cook, suddenly getting lively again. With a flap of his flippers he jumped from the tub to the washstand, and stood there for a minute surveying the floor. Then he jumped down, walked over to Mrs. Popper, and began to peck her ankle.

“Stop him, Papa!” screamed Mrs. Popper, retreating into the hallway with Captain Cook after her, and Mr. Popper and the children following. In the living room she paused. So did Captain Cook, for he was delighted with the room.

Now a penguin may look very strange in a living room, but a living room looks very strange to a penguin. Even Mrs. Popper had to smile as they watched Captain Cook, with the light of curiosity in his excited circular eyes, and his black tailcoat dragging pompously behind his little pinkish feet, strut from one upholstered chair to another, pecking at each to see what it was made of. Then he turned suddenly and marched out to the kitchen.

“Maybe he’s hungry,” said Janie.

Captain Cook immediately marched up to the refrigerator.

“
Gork?
” he inquired, turning to slant his head wisely at Mrs. Popper, and looking at her pleadingly with his right eye.

“He certainly is cute,” she said. “I guess I’ll have to forgive him for biting my ankle. He probably only did it out of curiosity. Anyway, he’s a nice clean-looking bird.”

“
Ork?
” repeated the penguin, nibbling at the metal handle of the refrigerator door with his upstretched beak.

Mr. Popper opened the door for him, and Captain Cook stood very high and leaned his sleek black head back so that he could see inside. Now that Mr. Popper’s work was over for the winter, the icebox was not quite so full as usual, but the penguin did not know that.

“What do you suppose he likes to eat?” asked Mrs. Popper.

“Let’s see,” said Mr. Popper, as he removed all the food and set it on the kitchen table. “Now then, Captain Cook, take a look.”

The penguin jumped up onto a chair and from there onto the edge of the table, flapping his flippers again to recover his balance. Then he walked solemnly around the table, and between the dishes of food, inspecting everything with the greatest interest, though he touched nothing. Finally he stood still, very erect, raised his beak to point at the ceiling, and make a loud, almost purring sound. “
O-r-r-r-r-h, o-r-r-r-h,
” he trilled.

“That’s a penguin’s way of saying how pleased it is,” said Mr. Popper, who had read about it in his Antarctic books.

Apparently, however, what Captain Cook wanted to show was that he was pleased with their kindness, rather than with their food. For now, to their surprise, he jumped down and walked into the dining room.

“I know,” said Mr. Popper. “We ought to have some seafood for him, canned shrimps or something. Or maybe he isn’t hungry yet. I’ve read that penguins can go for a month without food.”