Delphi Complete Works of Thorne Smith (Illustrated), page 313
“Who wants to be the man overboard?” asked the Captain.
Again there was a dead silence. No one wanted to be the man overboard.
“Thanks!” said the Captain bitterly. “If so many of you volunteer, I’m afraid I won’t have any crew left.”
“We’ll hurl the pillow over,” cried a penguin, lifting the Captain’s pillow above his head.
“Stop!” screamed the Captain. “Stop! It will get all wet, and I hate wet pillows. Use a bit of wood.”
So a piece of wood was tossed overboard, and after a long wait a boat was lowered to pick it up. When the boat came back one of the penguins handed the bit of wood to the Captain and said, “Here is the Man Overboard.” Then the Captain said, “Thank you very much indeed,” and the drill was over. The penguins cheered, the Captain made a short speech of welcome, and the members of the crew hurried busily to their places. The Captain retired to his stateroom and took a nap. He felt that he deserved it. When they last saw him he was hurrying to his cabin, fiercely straining his pillow to his heart. He had been able to save that, at least, from the perils of the deep.
Peter had been watching the penguins closely. He found them very amusing, with their short little waddling walk, their dignified bearing, and their little, peering, nearsighted eyes. He decided that something should be done about penguins and that no time was like the present. Without word or warning he stood up and recited this poem which he called:
SLIGHT OBSERVATIONS ON THE MANNERS
AND MOODS OF PENGUINS
By Peter (Why More?)
“When a penguin’s feeling chilly
For a cover, willy-nilly —
Do not ask the question, silly —
It will snatch it.
It will creep upon your blanket,
It will haul at it and yank it.
If you try to rise and spank it,
You won’t catch it.
“When a penguin’s feeling happy
You might think that it was scrappy,
But it’s merely that it’s snappy
In its bearing.
It will strut and it will swagger
Like a boulevarding bragger.
It will even wear a dagger
When it’s daring.
“When a penguin’s feeling dreary
It will call you ‘dear’ or ‘dearie’
And proclaim that it is weary,
Also, tearful.
You will have to run and get it,
Put it on your lap and pet it,
And you mustn’t once forget it
Till it’s cheerful.
“When a penguin’s feeling brutal
It will flap its flips and tootle.
It is all so very futile,
All so fruitless.
If you say, ‘Please don’t be foolish,’
It will try to look so cruelish
And succeed in looking mulish,
It is bootless.
“When a penguin has no dinner
You should hear the little sinner Scream,
‘I’m getting thin and thinner,’
Till you feed it.
It will gulp and it will gobble,
It will swallow food and hobble
Till it isn’t fit to wobble —
You must lead it.
“When a penguin’s in a hurry
It will fuss and it will worry,
It will rush about and scurry,
It will splutter.
Through its silly little eyes
It will frown and look so wise
While it utters feeble cries
All aflutter.”
“You’re wrong!” cried a passing penguin, white with anger. “You’re just like all the others — always picking on penguins.”
“In what am I wrong?” asked Peter.
“We don’t steal blankets,” replied the penguin bitterly. “Why, many’s the time I’ve given my last blanket to a friend. And I heard of other penguins doing the same thing, especially in the Summer. Another thing, a penguin never gulps or gobbles his food unless he’s in a great, great hurry or other penguins are around. We are very dainty eaters, really. And remember this: we are not brutal. We never attack another penguin unless there are at least a couple of dozen of us to see that the unpleasant affair is quickly finished.”
By this time the penguin was sobbing and gasping hysterically. His face was bathed in tears. They gathered in a pool at his feet.
“There,” he whimpered, “I’ve gone and gotten my feet all wet. If I catch a cold and fall down dead it will be your fault. Why, oh, why did I ever follow the sea? Why did I ever run away from home? Lend me a handkerchief, somebody, or a blotter, or even a coat sleeve.”
Mary gave the heartbroken penguin her handkerchief. It had three little rabbits embroidered in one corner, and the penguin became so absorbed in looking at them that he forgot to use the handkerchief.
“It’s a pretty thing,” he said, with a sigh, as he passed it back to Mary.
“Would you like to have it?” asked Mary.
“Oh, so much,” breathed the penguin. “I’d be the envy of the ship.”
When Mary gave him the handkerchief the poor little penguin became so excited he couldn’t stand still.
“What are those?” he asked, pointing a trembling flipper at the rabbits.
“They are little rabbits,” Mary explained.
“Nice-looking animals, those,” murmured the penguin. “Nice, neat-looking animals. Splendid ears. I’ve always been a great admirer of ears — ears and elbows. Well, good-bye. What did you say their name was?”
“Rabbits,” replied Mary.
“Rabbits,” repeated the penguin under his breath, and waddled off whispering to himself: “Rabbits, rabbits, rabbits. When they ask me I’ll just say, ‘Rabbits’.”
“Crazy, plumb crazy,” commented the Queen. “They all are. I knew his father.”
Peter, Mary, and Floret were enjoying the trip hugely. So were the others. The dolls were delighted with everything and Queen Elizabeth was in one of her playful moods. Three times she had raised the penguins to a higher rank of nobility. They were now all dukes. She had to be content with that because she could not make them kings.
In the middle of luncheon a terrible storm arose and the ship was immediately plunged into a great state of confusion. It rolled and tossed and shivered and pitched. Spray drove across the decks and great, grinning waves showed their white teeth all around them.
The Twins were in a terrible condition. They were unable to stand on their feet.
“Is this to be the end?” moaned Albert.
“No,” chattered Rudolph. “The sinking part is the end.”
Queen Elizabeth was cheering and catcalling. She loved the storm.
The Captain dragged himself sleepily from his cabin.
“Looks to me like a storm,” he remarked to Mr. Budge. “I’d better issue an order.”
He yawned and stretched and then shouted furiously: “Penguin the rail! Penguin the rail!” Turning to Mr. Budge, he asked, “Does that sound like a good order? I have lots of others.”
“Then issue them,” pleaded Albert. “Issue all the orders you have and think up a couple of new ones.”
“May I borrow your newspaper?” the Captain quietly asked Mr. Bingle. “I always read the paper at a time like this. It keeps my mind off the storm.”
Mr. Bingle let the Captain have his paper. He sat down and began to read.
“What shall we do?” cried the penguins. “What shall we do?”
Presently the Captain looked up over the edge of the newspaper and frowned impatiently.
“Don’t annoy me,” he shouted. “How on earth should I know what to do? The way you penguins go on, you’d think I’d made this storm. Do something. Do anything, but leave me alone. Haven’t seen a paper in a week. I’m doing a pleasant word puzzle. Never could abide the cross ones.”
Not being able to get any sense out of their Captain, the penguins began to flap their flippers nervously, and in a short time the ship rose from the tossing waves and sailed away high into the sky.
“Keep to your course!” shouted a big black cloud as the ship approached it.
“I beg your pardon,” replied the Captain.
“Keep to your course,” repeated the cloud in an angry voice.
“Now what on earth does he mean by that?” the Captain asked Mr. Budge. “We’re not eating.”
“Then tell him so,” suggested Mr. Budge.
“But won’t he know it already?” asked the Captain, nervously.
“It won’t matter,” said Mr. Budge.
“We’re not eating,” called the Captain.
“Oh, fish!” exclaimed the cloud, scornfully.
“Not even fish,” the Captain replied. “Nothing at all.”
“What a lark!” shrieked the Queen.
“You know,” said Albert to his brother, “sometimes I could hate that woman. She thinks this is a lark. Imagine!”
“I’m going to rain all over you,” screamed the cloud.
This made the Captain angry. He carefully folded up the newspaper and returned it to Mr. Bingle, thanking him courteously for the use of it. Then he began to dance in a perfect frenzy of rage up and down the deck.
“If you do,” he shouted at the cloud, “I’ll drive my ship clean through your bloated body.”
“Bah!” yelled the cloud.
“I’ll teach you to say that to me,” cried the Captain, and he steered the ship right through the center of the cloud.
The cloud uttered a wild cry and began to rain heavily on the ship.
“It’s raining! It’s pouring! The old cloud is roaring,” the penguins spluttered.
“Back to the dock!” ordered the Captain. “Back to the dock! Steward! My umbrella. Quick!”
In a twinkling the ship was back at the dock. The penguins rushed to their cabins and returned with bath towels, with which they rubbed themselves vigorously. Already a number of them were sneezing. They felt much better after Queen Elizabeth had made them all princes. So did Queen Elizabeth. Albert and Rudolph were glad to leave the ship.
“How did you enjoy yourselves?” asked Mr. Budge.
“Miserably, thank you,” said Albert.
“Not quite as much as Queen Elizabeth,” was Rudolph’s answer.
CHAPTER 14. The Twins Leave Home
“WOULD YOU?” RUDOLPH asked earnestly of his brother.
The Twins were lying on the front lawn of their new home. They were resting after no exertion behind a row of bushes which screened them from the road and chance observation. It was a favorite sport of the Twins. Albert was always upset by chance observation. One never could tell whether people were thinking up a Friendly Act or a Hostile Act. And there was a vast difference between the two, Albert had found.
“Would you?” repeated Rudolph.
“Would I what?” lazily inquired Albert.
“Would you have, of course?” Rudolph was a little impatient.
“Still I don’t quite see,” remarked Albert, “and the ‘of course’ point doesn’t make it any easier. Would I have what, Rudolph?”
“The courage,” snapped his brother. “Under the circumstances would you dare?”
“Oh,” said Albert, looking disturbed. “Oh, that,” he repeated. “What sort of circumstances, Rudy?”
“The circumstances surrounding us,” replied Rudolph.
Albert looked even more disturbed. He greatly disliked being surrounded by circumstances. One never could be sure about circumstances. Albert much preferred to be surrounded by safety.
“Rudolph,” he said at last, “you are making yourself somewhat clearer, but still I don’t quite see my way to the end of your sentence. Much remains obscure. Even more seems to be implied. But, of course, if it is a question of courage and daring there is no need to ask. I have plenty of both and to spare — that is, let me add, within reason. I have always disliked rashness, Rudolph, always. Shall we change the subject? This one is not comfortable.”
Rudolph looked severely at his brother, who was idly admiring his highly polished toenails.
“I forgot,” remarked Rudolph. “You don’t know.”
“Should I know, Rudolph?” inquired Albert, delicately elevating his eyebrows.
“Perhaps not,” said Rudy slowly. “You see, I was only thinking about something, but if it hasn’t struck you—”
“Rudolph,” interrupted his brother emphatically, “say no more. If it is a matter of striking or of being struck, then I most assuredly don’t dare. Free your mind of all such vulgar thoughts. In the first place, I can’t bear even the thought of being struck, and in the second place, I invariably miss and fall on my nose whenever I strike back. The Good Book says, turn the other cheek. Rudolph, I say, keep both cheeks well out of everything.”
“You may be right,” replied Rudolph, “but just the same when a lion’s honor is involved—”
“I say, save the lion and let the honor go,” Albert once more interrupted. “One live lion without honor can lick any ten dead ones with. There are lots of amusements open to a thoroughly dishonored lion so long as he keeps himself alive and in good health. Why not use a little tact? Tact, Rudolph, is a priceless possession. It saves so much wear and tear.”
“Just the same,” persisted Rudolph, “it is rather trying, this business of not being appreciated. I can stand almost anything but that. One hates to be undervalued — to be taken, as it were for granted.”
“Dear boy,” said his brother, “I hadn’t thought you’d noticed. I have, of course, but then I’m so sensitive. It’s been going on for some time, and it’s discouraging. Quite.”
“It is,” replied Rudy gravely. “Not every family can lay claim to a couple of real live lions.”
“Not nice lions,” added Albert.
“Certainly not to lions of our refinement and distinction,” put in Rudy.
“Few lions have our accomplishments,” agreed his brother.
“None has our social background,” went on Rudolph.
“Or our little ways,” replied the other.
“Or our charm,” put in Albert. “If there’s anything we have, it’s charm, Rudolph.”
“And we instinctively know what is smart and comme il faut!” declared Rudolph. “They’re too crude to realize what treasures they have in us. Bingle, Budge, that great bear and his scamp of a Squirrel — all crude characters, unappreciative.”
“And Peter and Mary are too young to realize, and Floret is too head over heels in love with Bingle to notice anything,” said Albert. “You’re right, Rudolph. You’re right, dear boy. How seriously do you think our honor is involved?”
“I’m afraid it’s terribly tarnished,” said his brother.
“Then I think I have the courage and the daring,” replied Albert after a pause. “But what shall we do, Rudolph?”
“Run away,” said Rudolph presently.
Albert started violently and turned pale beneath his tan.
“That would require no end of courage and daring,” he observed. “There seems hardly enough of either in all the world to drive me to such a desperate act, but I’ll try, Rudolph, I’ll try. Couldn’t we bring it to their attention in some less dangerous and fatiguing manner?”
“They wouldn’t understand,” retorted Rudolph, “and that would be even more humiliating. No, we must run away. You wait here for a moment. I must see about something.”
When Rudolph returned, Albert was looking as if he had been trying without success to collect all of the courage and the daring in the world. Rudolph himself was looking rather odd, especially about the mouth. It was puckered slightly, giving its owner a much sillier expression than he suspected.
“What’s wrong with your mouth?” asked Albert. “I certainly will not run away with you if you’re going to wear a mouth like that.”
At this Rudolph proudly stuck out his tongue, on the end of which was a large gold coin. Then, being unable to speak with his tongue so impeded, he carefully placed the coin on a nice clean leaf and turned to his brother.
“We must have some money,” he explained. “Can’t get along without money. There it is.”
“Did you—” began Albert rather nervously. “Did you simply walk in there and stea — I mean, is it ours?”
“Certainly it is ours,” declared Rudolph stoutly.
“I can see that,” remarked Albert, “but what I really mean is, if we are running away to save our honor we don’t want to lose it before we start. We don’t want to — you know, Rudolph — to take things.”
“That money is rightly ours,” protested Rudy. “It’s our regular weekly spending money.”
“Yes, yes, I know that,” Albert hastened to reply. “I know it seems so to you, but you see, Rudolph, you’re so rash. We don’t want to give the wrong impression, and I’d hate to be arrested for a common thief — that is, for the sake of only one coin. If you had taken the whole bag now, but of course . . .”
Albert paused as if trying to clear his mind. He looked archly at Rudolph, then lowered his eyes. “We are not entitled to our weekly spending money for two days — Saturday, that would be — and if we are not here on Saturday the question is, are we entitled to money today we will not be present to receive two days hence?”
“We are merely hypothecating it,” asserted Rudy.
“What’s that?” inquired Albert.
“It’s the counting your chickens before they’re hatched,” his brother replied, with a vague wave of his paw.
“What chickens?” demanded Albert.
“There aren’t any chickens,” said Rudolph.
“Then why should we count them before they’re hatched?” insisted Albert.
“But you can’t count chickens before they’re hatched,” protested Rudolph. “That is, not really.”
“You just said we could,” replied Albert.
“I didn’t say we could,” explained Rudolph. “I said it was like that.”
“I don’t think it’s like that at all,” declared Albert.
“Like what?” asked Rudolph.
“I don’t know,” replied Albert.
“Do you know what we are talking about?” asked his brother.
