Mr. Popper's Penguins

clearly.“
    “Then listen,” roared Mr. Popper, now completely outraged. “If you folks at the City Hall don’t even know what penguins are, I guess you haven’t any rule saying they have to be licensed. I will do without a license for Captain Cook.”
    “Just a minute, Mr. Popwell. Our own Mr. Tread-bottom of the Bureau of Navigation of Lakes, Rivers, Ponds, and Streams, has just come in. I will let you speak to him personally. Perhaps he knows this Benjamin Cook of yours.”
    In a moment a new voice was speaking to Mr. Popper. “Good morning. This is the Automobile License Bureau. Did you have this same car last year, and if so, what was the license number?”
    Mr. Popper had been switched over to the County Building.
    He decided to hang up.

     

CHAPTER VII

Captain Cook Builds A Nest
     
    ERY RELUCTANTLY, Janie and Bill had to leave Captain Cook and go to school. Mrs. Popper was busy in the kitchen, rather belatedly doing the breakfast dishes; and while she dimly realized that the penguin was going in and out the refrigerator pretty frequently, she thought nothing of it at first.
    Meanwhile Mr. Popper had abandoned his telephoning and was now busy shaving and making himself neat in honor of being the owner of such a splendid bird as Captain Cook.
    But the penguin, though thus neglected for the moment, was by no means idle.
    With the unusual excitement, and having to go to market earlier than usual, Mrs. Popper had not yet got around to straightening the house. She was an excellent housekeeper. Still, with two children like Janie and Bill and a husband with such untidy ways, there is no denying the fact that she had to pick up the place rather frequently.
    Captain Cook was now attending to the picking up.
    Into the corners of every room he prowled and poked and pecked with a busy thoroughness; into every closet he stared with his white-circled eyes; under and behind all the furniture he crowded his plump figure, with little subdued cries of curiosity, surprise, and pleasure.
    And each time he found what he seemed to be looking for, he picked it up in the black end of his red beak, and carried it, waddling proudly on his wide, pink feet, into the kitchen, and into the icebox.

    At last it occurred to Mrs. Popper to wonder what on earth the busy bird was up to. When she looked, she could only scream to Mr. Popper to come quickly and see what Captain Cook had done now.
    Mr. Popper, himself looking rather remarkable, as Mrs. Popper noticed later, joined her in staring with astonishment into the refrigerator.

    Captain Cook came up, too, and helped them look. “Ork, ork,” he said with triumph.
    Mrs. Popper laughed, and Mr. Popper gasped as they saw the results of Captain Cook’s trips through the house.
    Two spools of thread, one white chess bishop, and six parts of a jigsaw puzzle ... A teaspoon and a closed box of safety matches ... A radish, two pennies, a nickel, and a golf ball. Two pencil stubs, one bent playing card, and a small ash tray.
    Five hairpins, an olive, two dominoes, and a sock ... A nailfile, four buttons of various sizes, a telephone slug, seven marbles, and a tiny doll’s chair...
    Five checker pieces, a bit of graham cracker, a parchesi cup, and an eraser ... A door key, a buttonhook, and a crumpled piece of tinfoil... Half of a very old lemon, the head of a china doll, Mr. Popper’s pipe, and a ginger-ale cap... An inkbottle cork, two screws, and a belt buckle...
    Six beads from a child’s necklace, five building blocks, a darning egg, a bone, a small harmonica, and a partly consumed lollipop. Two toothpaste lids and a small red notebook.
    “I guess this is what you call the rookery,” said Mr. Popper. “Only he couldn’t find any stones to build his nest with.”
    “Well,” said Mrs. Popper, “those penguins may haveheathen ways at the South Pole, but I declare I think this one is going to be quite a help around the house.”
    “ Ork, ” said Captain Cook, and strutting into the living room, he knocked over the best lamp.
    “I think, Papa,” said Mrs. Popper, “that you had better take Captain Cook outside for a little exercise. Good gracious, but you’re all dressed up. Why, you look almost like a penguin yourself.”
    Mr. Popper had smoothed down his hair and shaved off his whiskers. Never again would Mrs. Popper have to reproach him for looking as wild as a lion. He had put on a white shirt with a white tie and white flannel trousers, and a pair of bright tan,