SO MR. POPPER, with Captain Cook, Greta, Columbus, Louisa, Nelson, Jenny, Magellan, Adelina, Scott, Isabella, Ferdinand, and Victoria, was bundled into the patrol wagon and hustled off to the police station.
None of his pleas could move the desk sergeant.
“That theater manager is pretty mad at the way you busted into his theater, so I’m holding you. I’m going to give you all a nice quiet cell — unless you furnish bail. I’m putting the bail at five hundred dollars for you and one hundred dollars for each of the birds.”
Of course Mr. Popper did not have that much money about him. Neither did Mrs. Popper when they telephoned her at the hotel. The hotel bill was paid for several days ahead, but she had no cash. The check for the final week’s salary was not due until the end of the week. Indeed, it now looked as if the Poppers would never see that check, since they could not get the penguins out of jail long enough to put on their act at the Royal Theater.
If only they could have got in touch with Mr. Greenbaum, Mr. Popper knew, that kind man would have got them out. But Mr. Greenbaum was somewhere in Hollywood, out on the Pacific Coast, and the Poppers had no idea how to reach him.
It was very dull for the birds in jail. Wednesday came and there was still no word from Mr. Greenbaum. Thursday, and the birds began to droop. It was soon apparent that the lack of exercise, combined with the heat, might prove too much for them. There were no more tricks or merry games. Even the younger birds sat all day in dismal silence, and Mr. Popper could not cheer them up.
Mr. Popper had a feeling that Mr. Greenbaum would probably turn up by the end of the week, to see about renewing the contract. But Friday passed, without any news of him.
Saturday morning Mr. Popper got up very early and smoothed his hair. Then he dusted off the penguins as well as he could, for he wanted everything to look as presentable as possible, in case Mr. Greenbaum should appear.
About ten o’clock there was a sound of footsteps in the corridor, and a jingling of keys, and the door of the cell was opened.
“You’re free, Mr. Popper. There’s a friend of yours here.”
Mr. Popper stepped out into the light with the penguins.
“You’re barely in time, Mr. Greenbaum,” he was about to say.
Then, as his eyes became accustomed to the light, he looked again.
It was not Mr. Greenbaum who stood there.
It was a great, bearded man in a splendid uniform. Smiling, he held out his hand to Mr. Popper.
“Mr. Popper,” he said, “I am Admiral Drake.”
“Admiral Drake!” gasped Mr. Popper. “Not back from the South Pole!”
“Yes,” said the Admiral, “the Drake Antarctic Expedition ship returned yesterday. You should have seen the reception New York gave us. You can read about it in today’s paper. But I read about the trouble you were having over the penguins, and so here I am. I have a long story to tell you.”
“Could we go to the hotel and talk about it?” asked Mr. Popper. “My wife will be anxious to see us back.”
“Certainly,” said the Admiral. And when they were all settled in the Popper rooms at the hotel, with the penguins clustering round to listen, Admiral Drake began:—
“Naturally, when I knew that I was coming back to America, I often thought about the man to whom I had sent the penguin. It takes us a long time to hear things, down there, and I often wondered how you and the bird were getting along. Last night, at the Mayor’s dinner for us, I heard about the wonderful trained penguin act you had been putting on all over the country. This morning I picked up the paper, and the first thing I read was that Mr. Popper and his twelve penguins were still being held in jail. But twelve penguins, Mr. Popper — how on earth—”
Then Mr. Popper told how Greta had arrived to keep Captain Cook from being lonely, and how the little penguins had grown, and how the clever little band had saved the day for the Poppers, when things looked bad.
“It’s amazing,” said Admiral Drake. “I’ve seen a lot of penguins in my time, but never such educated ones as these. It certainly shows what patience and training can do.
“But now to get to my real point, Mr. Popper. You probably know that I have explored the North Pole as well as the South Pole?”
“Oh yes,” said Mr. Popper respectfully, “I have read books about both your Arctic and your Antarctic expeditions.”
“Well, then,” said the Admiral, “maybe you know why we explorers prefer the South Pole?”
“Could it be on account of the penguins, sir?” asked Janie, who had been listening very hard.
Admiral Drake patted her head. “Yes, my dear. Those long Polar nights get pretty dull when you have no pets to play with. Of course, there are polar bears up there, but you can’t play with them. Nobody knows why there are no penguins at the North Pole. For a long time the United States Government has been wanting me to lead an expedition up there for the purpose of establishing a breed of penguins. I must come to the point, Mr. Popper. You’ve had such remarkable success with these birds of yours, why not let me take them to the North Pole and start a race of penguins there?”
Just then Mr. Greenbaum and another gentleman were announced. They shook hands all around and were introduced to the Admiral.
“Well, Popper,” said Mr. Greenbaum, “too bad about that mix-up over the theaters. But never mind. Here’s Mr. Klein, who owns the Colossal Film Company. He’s going to make your fortune. You’ll be a poor man no longer, Mr. Popper.”
“Poor!” said Mr. Popper, “I’m not poor. These birds have been earning us five thousand dollars a week.”
“Oh, five thousand dollars,” said Mr. Klein. “What’s that? Pin money. I want to put those birds in the movies, Mr. Popper. We’ve got the story department working on stories for them already. Why, I’ll put each of those birds under a contract that will keep you and the missus on Easy Street the rest of your lives.”
“Papa,” whispered Mrs. Popper, “I don’t want to live on Easy Street. I want to go back to Proudfoot Avenue.”
“Better consider, Mr. Popper,” said the Admiral. “I can’t offer you anything like that.”
“You say those men at the North Pole get lonely because there are no penguins?” asked Mr. Popper.
“Very lonely,” said the Admiral.
“But if there were penguins up there, mightn’t the polar bears eat them?”
“Oh, ordinary penguins, yes,” said the Admiral judiciously; “but not such highly-trained birds as yours, Mr. Popper. They could outwit any polar bear, I guess.”
It was now Mr. Klein’s turn to speak.
“In every moving picture house in America little children would have the pleasure of seeing stories acted by the Popper Performing Penguins,” he said.
“Of course if we succeeded in establishing the breed at the North Pole,” said the Admiral, “the name might have to be changed a little. I imagine that hundreds of years from now scientists would be calling them the Popper Arctic Penguins.”
Mr. Popper was silent for a moment.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “I want to thank you both. I’ll give you my decision tomorrow.”