“Would you?” said the chipmunk. “Well, all right if you say so.” And he ran off.
“My, my!” said Jinx. “Aren’t we noble! It’s easy to see it wasn’t your head that got bumped, Freddy.”
“Keep still, Jinx,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “See here, Freddy; did you get some sort of a card from Aunt Effie?”
“Yes, an invitation to the teaparty.”
“That’s what we thought it was,” said the cow. “But it had some letters on it, and we didn’t know what they meant. We came down to ask you.”
“You mean R.S.V.P.?” asked Freddy, who knew perfectly well that she did, for he too had been wondering what they meant, and had nearly torn his dictionary apart trying to find them.
“Of course we do,” said Jinx. “Quit stalling, Freddy. What do they mean?”
“Why, they’re—goodness, everybody knows that! They’re an—an abbreviation.”
“Yeah? And what’s that?”
“Well, if instead of writing my name all out—F-r-e-d-d-y, like that, I just wrote an F, that would be an abbreviation.”
“You mean the letters stand for four words, is that it?” said the cat. “Well, don’t take all day. What are the words?”
Freddy laughed easily. “My goodness,” he said, “don’t you know? Why, I thought anybody knew that! Dear, dear, to think you don’t know a simple little thing like that!”
“Come on, Freddy,” said Mrs. Wurzburger. “Do you know?”
“Certainly I do.”
“Well, then, tell us.”
“Why it—it means …” Freddy broke off. “Have you got your card with you? Yours might be different, you know. I wouldn’t want to tell you wrong.”
“Here,” said Mrs. Wogus, and put her card down in front of him.
“H’m,” said Freddy. “R.S.V.P. Yes, it’s the same. Why it’s—let me see. R. That’s—er—that’s—why, it’s refreshments. Yes, that’s what it means. See? It’s as simple as that.”
“It’s like pulling teeth to get this out of you,” said Mrs. Wiggins, “but we’re going to have the rest of it. There are three more letters, Freddy.”
“So there are,” said the pig, looking surprised. “Well, well. Refreshments served—yes, served—very—let me see. Oh, yes. Refreshments served very promptly,” he brought out triumphantly. “That’s what it means. Goodness, to think you didn’t know that!”
“So that’s it?” said Mrs. Wiggins. “Now that’s the kind of invitation I like to get. Well, come along, girls. We might as well go back to the pasture and practice a little politeness ourselves. Because the politer you are at a party, the more you can eat without anybody noticing it.”
Chapter 13
All the animals on the farm, and even some who lived up in the woods, had been invited to the party. The Snedekers had been up at dawn, baking pies and cakes and cookies, and cutting sandwiches, and by half-past three everything was ready. Aunt Effie, in her best black silk dress and a new bonnet, was presiding over the teatable in the parlor, and Uncle Snedeker, in a new blue suit much too tight for him, was hurrying about, putting the finishing touches to everything, arranging chairs for the larger animals and footstools and garden benches for the smaller ones, so that there would be no crowding and confusion.
Outside in the barnyard the animals had gathered, and they stood around in little groups, practicing their company manners until it was time to go in. At last Freddy, who had been watching the clock through the kitchen window, turned around and waved his forelegs for attention.
“All right, animals,” he shouted. “It’s five minutes of four. Time to go in. No crowding, please. And when you get inside remember, this is a party, not a football game. And for goodness’ sake, don’t grab!” Then he turned to Hank. “I hope everything’ll go all right,” he said. “Some of these animals have never been in the house before, and you know how curious squirrels are. I hope they won’t get snooping around upstairs.”
“Don’t know as I’ve been in there more than once myself,” said the horse. “Mrs. Bean took me in to see the new wallpaper, last time the parlor was papered. Right pretty ’twas, too. But I dunno; I guess I won’t go in today. I feel kind of out of place in a parlor, Freddy, and that’s the truth.”
“Nonsense!” said the pig. “You’d be an ornament to any parlor, Hank. You’re too modest.”
“ ’Tain’t modesty,” said the horse. “It’s my shoes. ’Tain’t right for me to go clumping around on Mrs. Bean’s nice carpets with these things on. And it’ll be pretty crowded in there, and if I was to step on somebody’s toe—”
“They’d let you know all right,” said Freddy. “Well, you must suit yourself. I must be getting in.” And he joined the line that was filing in the front door, like the animals into the ark.
Uncle Snedeker greeted the animals at the door, and they went on into the parlor to pay their respects to Aunt Effie. When they had shaken hands with her, they found places on chairs and benches along the wall, where they talked in low voices about the weather and such other topics as they thought suited to teaparties, and tried not to look too greedily at the platters piled up with cakes and sandwiches. It was probably one of the politest teaparties ever held in New York State.
Freddy went up to the teatable and bowed low over Aunt Effie’s hand. “Good afternoon, madam,” he said. “I trust I find you in good health?”
“Excellent,” said Aunt Effie. “So nice of you to come.”
Freddy sat down on the pink ottoman. In a rocking chair next to him was Mrs. Wiggins.
“A lovely day for a party,” said Freddy.
The cow put up one hoof and spoke behind it. “There’s Webb up there on the picture frame,” she whispered. “Do you suppose he got an invitation too?”
From where Freddy sat he could see out into the front hall. Charles, followed by his wife, Henrietta, and their twenty-seven children, had just filed through the front door. “Charles is coming late so he can have an audience for his grand entrance,” said the pig. “Oh, look!”
Charles had evidently planned to lead his family into the parlor, but just as he started through the door with his most pompous strut, Henrietta rushed up and with several sharp pecks on the ear, drove him back. “Ladies first, you dope!” she said crossly, in a voice that everybody in the parlor could hear. There was a subdued clucking and cackling for a moment, and then at the head of her family the hen marched in and up to the table, where she held out a claw to Aunt Effie. “Good afternoon,” she said. “May I present my daughters? This is Dinah, and this is Cackletta, and this is Calpurnia …” She went through the whole list, and Aunt Effie shook hands with each. At the end Henrietta paused, then said with a sniff: “And this is my husband.”
But Charles, though he had brought up the tail of the procession, was not going to be robbed of his chance to make a speech. “I cannot tell you, madam,” he said, “what a pleasure it is to me to be present on this auspicious occasion. An occasion, I may say, which is without parallel in the annals of Bean. Yes, I believe I can truthfully say, without fear of contradiction—”
But he got no further, for at that moment Hank, who had finally decided to come in, entered the room. He was rather nervous and held his head high as he clumped up to the table, and so did not see Charles, who gave one frightened squawk as a big hoof thumped down within an inch of his tailfeathers, and fluttered up to a perch on the sofa.
“Why, this is very nice,” said Aunt Effie. “I’m glad you came, Hank.”
“Well, so’m I, ma’am,” said the horse. “At least, I guess I am. I better not shake hands with you, I guess. If it ain’t polite to shake hands with gloves on, as I’ve heard Mrs. Bean say, why it certainly ain’t, to shake ’em with shoes on. I’ll just move over here in the corner out of the way.”
“It’s funny how something always seems to interrupt Charles’s speeches,” said Mrs. Wiggins to Freddy.
“It isn’t so queer,” said the pig, “when you remember that he’s
practically always making a speech, and so everything that happens is bound to be an interruption.”
“That’s so,” said Mrs. Wiggins with a laugh, and then she said: “My land, I mustn’t get to laughing, or I’ll shake this chair to pieces. Don’t you say anything funny, Freddy.”
Uncle Snedeker had come in and was passing around the refreshments.
“Sakes alive, Freddy,” whispered Mrs. Wiggins, “I can’t manage a teacup. What’ll I do?”
“Ask Uncle Snedeker to put it on the table beside you. Then you can sip a little every now and then. Nobody ever comes to a teaparty to drink tea, anyway. Golly, look at Charles. He’s trying to show off. I hope he doesn’t drop it.”
The rooster had picked up his teacup in one claw. He dipped his beak into it with a very refined air, and then turned to Aunt Effie. “Delicious, madam, delicious,” he said. “Where do you get your tea, may I ask?” But before she could answer, the handle slipped in his claw, the cup turned upside down, and the tea splashed down onto the sofa.
“Eh, she gets it all over the sofa, evidently,” said Uncle Snedeker, rushing up with a napkin. “Clumsy critter! Eh, that’s what comes of asking poultry to a party. If I had my way—” “That’ll do, Snedeker,” said Aunt Effie. “He didn’t do it on purpose. Leave him alone. There, there,” she said to Charles, who, to hide his confusion, was trying to crawl under the sofa, “come out, Charles, and let me pour you another cup. Accidents will happen. You mustn’t let it spoil the party for you.”
“You—you’re very kind, ma’am,” said the crestfallen rooster. He climbed back on the sofa, keeping his head turned away from Henrietta, who was glaring angrily at him. “No more tea, thank you,” he said. “If I might just have one of these little cakes—”
Some of the animals had shown an inclination to giggle, and Little Weedly, who was sharing a saucer of milk with Jinx, choked and had to be whacked on the back, and finally led outside. But most of them were much impressed with Aunt Effie’s good nature.
“My goodness, she certainly was nice about it,” said Mrs. Wiggins to Freddy. “Maybe you’re right about her, after all.”
“Well, she’s the hostess,” said the pig, “and she’s not going to let anything spoil the party. There’s something to be said for politeness, all right. You know, I never exactly thought about it before, but Mrs. Bean’s pretty polite. She’d do anything rather than hurt anybody’s feelings.”
“ ’Tisn’t the same kind of politeness,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “Mrs. Bean’s polite all the time. But Aunt Effie’s only polite when her etiquette book says she ought to be, and that’s when she’s having a party, or maybe when somebody else is being polite to her. I guess with her it’s just manners, and not real politeness.”
“Maybe,” said Freddy. “But just the same, it gives me an idea.” He was thoughtful for a minute.
“What is it?” asked the cow.
Freddy shook his head. “Maybe it wouldn’t work, at that. Just the same,” he said, “I’m going to try to keep the Snedekers here until the Beans come home. Why, they’ll be back in about three weeks more.” He got up and walked over to the teatable.
Aunt Effie, who had been chatting with the two ducks, turned to him. “May I offer you a cookie?” she said. “Alice and Emma,” she went on, “have been telling me that you’re going to give a play.”
Freddy sat down and told her about it. They were going to have it, he said, in about two weeks. Aunt Effie was interested and was asking some questions when Peter, the bear, came up to say he must be getting home. “It’s a very nice party you’ve given us, ma’am,” he said, “and I’m sure we’re all very grateful.”
“That’s very kind of you,” said Aunt Effie. “But won’t you stay a while longer? And did Snedeker give you that jar of honey? I got it specially for you at the store today.”
“I’m sorry,” said Peter, “but I really must be getting along. Perhaps I can have the honey some other time.”
“You must take it with you, then,” said Aunt Effie, and she had Uncle Snedeker get the honey and put it in a paper bag, so Peter could carry it.
Most of the animals thought this was pretty nice, but Henrietta, who had been talking to Jinx, gave a sarcastic cluck and said to the cat: “Trying to get on the right side of us! Well, she needn’t think she can get the teapot that way.”
But Aunt Effie had overheard the remark. She straightened up very stiff and stared angrily at the hen for a minute, then her expression softened, and she said: “I’m sorry you feel that way about my party, Henrietta. I would like to say to you, and to all the animals, that I gave you the party because I like to give parties, and not to get on the right side of anybody. Freddy understands this, I am sure,” and she looked at the pig, who nodded agreement. “There are certain differences of opinion between us,” she went on, “but I see no reason why these should be brought up in a purely social gathering.”
The other animals looked reprovingly at Henrietta, and even Jinx muttered: “Pipe down, can’t you? Don’t spoil the party.”
But Henrietta was not easy to stop. “I’m sorry you heard my remark,” she said, “but since the subject has been brought up—”
“Just a minute,” interrupted Mrs. Wiggins in her deep booming voice, and Henrietta, who respected Mrs. Wiggins more than any other animal on the farm, stopped. “We all know how you feel, Henrietta,” she went on, “and we agree with you. But my land, there’s a time and place for everything. Aunt Effie, in giving this party, and we, in coming to it, agreed to forget about our differences for the afternoon. If you can’t do that, what did you come for?”
Henrietta all at once looked pretty ashamed of herself. Few people have seen a hen look ashamed, and certainly none of the Bean animals had ever seen Henrietta look that way. But then they had never heard Mrs. Wiggins rebuke anyone so strongly before, for she was one of the mildest cows that ever lived, and cows as a class are extremely mild.
There was silence for a minute while Henrietta tried to think of something to say, and then to everyone’s surprise Charles hopped down from the sofa and walked boldly over to her side. “There may be a time and a place for everything,” he said angrily to Mrs. Wiggins, “but I feel that you have selected them very poorly for doing a gross injustice to my wife. A gross injustice and a public injustice. Yes, I repeat. My poor little wife—”
“… there’s a time and a place for everything”
“Oh, shut up!” snapped Henrietta, turning on him suddenly in a fury. “Your poor little wife indeed! I never heard such nonsense. And don’t you dare to criticize Mrs. Wiggins. She is perfectly right!”
“Well, but—but—” stammered the bewildered Charles. The animals were beginning to snicker, and the snicker grew to a giggle, and the giggle to a roar of laughter, in which after staring at each other for a moment both Charles and Henrietta joined.
The hen walked slowly over to the teatable. “I wish to apologize—” she began.
“No, no,” said Aunt Effie, who was laughing herself. “No apologies. It’s all forgotten. Here, I think you haven’t tried one of my seed cakes. —And now, animals,” she continued as the laughter subsided, “I want to say this to you. I only hope that you are enjoying this party half as much as I am.”
Jinx jumped on a chair. “Three cheers for Aunt—” he began, but got no further, for Robert pulled him down.
“You can’t cheer at a teaparty!” said the dog. “Didn’t Freddy tell us to remember this isn’t a football game?”
“Eh?” said Jinx. “Oh, I get you. Fellow animals,” he said, “let’s give Aunt Effie a great big hand.” And he clapped his paws together, and all the other animals did the same. I don’t suppose anybody had ever seen Aunt Effie look so happy before. She was so happy that when she took a sip of tea she forgot to stick her little finger out. And over in the doorway, where he was bringing in two big cakes, Uncle Snedeker said: “Well, perfume my handkerchief! Eh, Effie, you don’t look a day over sixteen!” Whic
h of course wasn’t strictly true, but it pleased Aunt Effie some more.
So the party got going again after that, and they ate up the two cakes and all the sandwiches and cookies and pie, and told stories and jokes, all in the politest way imaginable, and then they shook hands with Aunt Effie and Uncle Snedeker and said what a good time they had had, and went home.
Chapter 14
After the party the silver teapot remained in full view on the teatable in the parlor. But there was no way for the animals to get it. The parlor door was locked, and Aunt Effie had the key. Every day she went in twice; once in the morning to dust and see that everything was all right, and once in the afternoon to have tea. Sometimes she invited Uncle Snedeker to tea, and sometimes one of the animals. The animals really enjoyed it. As Robert said: “It isn’t as much trouble as I would have supposed, being polite for half an hour. It’s sort of like a game, really. And there’s always something good to eat.”
Aunt Effie enjoyed it, too. “I wish our friends out in Orenville could see what nice manners these animals have,” she said to Uncle Snedeker. “They’d be put to shame, that’s what they would. Why that Freddy is downright courtly.”
But the animals did not relax their watch on the teapot. Day and night, the Webbs stood guard on the frame of Washington Crossing the Delaware, and under the parlor floor one or another of the mice was always ready to gallop out and give the alarm if the Snedekers started to go. The mice, indeed, had made one gallant attempt to rescue the teapot. Late one night, after the Snedekers were in bed, they had started to gnaw a hole in the floor under the sofa. It was good stiff gnawing, for the Bean house was well built, but they had figured that by early morning they could have a hole large enough to slide the teapot through. But four mice gnawing make a good deal of noise in the middle of the night. Aunt Effie heard them. She came downstairs, found the hole, which was about as big as a dime, put a scuttle of coal over it, and in the morning Uncle Snedeker patched it with a piece of tin.
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