THAT EVENING, WHEN THE little Poppers had been put to bed, Mr. and Mrs. Popper settled down for a long, quiet evening. The neat living room at 432 Proudfoot Avenue was much like all the other living rooms in Stillwater, except that the walls were hung with pictures from the National Geographic Magazine. Mrs. Popper picked up her mending, while Mr. Popper collected his pipe, his book, and his globe.
From time to time Mrs. Popper sighed a little as she thought about the long winter ahead. Would there really be enough beans to last, she wondered.
Mr. Popper was not worried, however. As he put on his spectacles, he was quite pleased at the prospect of a whole winter of reading travel books, with no work to interrupt him. He set his little globe beside him and began to read.
“What are you reading?” asked Mrs. Popper.
“I am reading a book called Antarctic Adventures. It is very interesting. It tells all about the different people who have gone to the South Pole and what they have found there.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of reading about the South Pole?”
“No, I don’t. Of course I would much rather go there than read about it. But reading is the next best thing.”
“I think it must be very boring down there,” said Mrs. Popper. “It sounds very dull and cold, with all that ice and snow.”
“Oh, no,” answered Mr. Popper. “You wouldn’t think it was dull if you had gone with me to see the movies of the Drake Expedition at the Bijou last year.”
“Well, I didn’t, and I don’t think any of us will have any money for movies now,” answered Mrs. Popper, a little sharply. She was not at all a disagreeable woman, but she sometimes got rather cross when she was worried about money.
“If you had gone, my love,” went on Mr. Popper, “you would have seen how beautiful the Antarctic is. But I think the nicest part of all is the penguins. No wonder all the men on that expedition had such a good time playing with them. They are the funniest birds in the world. They don’t fly like other birds. They walk erect like little men. When they get tired of walking they just lie down on their stomachs and slide. It would be very nice to have one for a pet.”
“Pets!” said Mrs. Popper. “First it’s Bill wanting a dog and then Janie begging for a kitten. Now you and penguins! But I won’t have any pets around. They make too much dirt in the house, and I have enough work now, trying to keep this place tidy. To say nothing of what it costs to feed a pet. Anyway, we have the bowl of goldfish.”
“Penguins are very intelligent,” continued Mr. Popper. “Listen to this, Mamma. It says here that when they want to catch some shrimps, they all crowd over to the edge of an ice bank. Only they don’t just jump in, because a sea leopard might be waiting to eat the penguins. So they crowd and push until they manage to shove one penguin off, to see if it’s safe. I mean if he doesn’t get eaten up, the rest of them know it’s safe for them all to jump in.”
“Dear me!” said Mrs. Popper in a shocked tone. “They sound to me like pretty heathen birds.”
“It’s a queer thing,” said Mr. Popper, “that all the polar bears live at the North Pole and all the penguins at the South Pole. I should think the penguins would like the North Pole, too, if they only knew how to get there.”
At ten o’clock Mrs. Popper yawned and laid down her mending. “Well, you can go on reading about those heathen birds, but I am going to bed. Tomorrow is Thursday, September thirtieth, and I have to go to the first meeting of the Ladies’ Aid and Missionary Society.”
“September thirtieth!” said Mr. Popper in an excited tone. “You don’t mean that tonight is Wednesday, September twenty-ninth?”
“Why, yes, I suppose it is. But what of it?”
Mr. Popper put down his book of Antarctic Adventures and moved hastily to the radio.
“What of it!” he repeated, pushing the switch. “Why, this is the night the Drake Antarctic Expedition is going to start broadcasting.”
“That’s nothing,” said Mrs. Popper. “Just a lot of men at the bottom of the world saying ‘Hello, Mamma. Hello, Papa.’ ”
“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.”