THE PIE ROOM—BEAR AGAIN!—SANCHO WING SCOLDS
“I thought somebody had kidnapped you,” said Snythergen when Sancho Wing
returned. “Why were you gone so long?”
“I was visiting Santa Claus. He invited us all to dinner, and the
door-man will now let us in. Follow me,” said Sancho.
“Is it the three wise men?” bellowed the flunky through the keyhole when
they knocked.
“It is,” said Sancho Wing.
The large door swung open and the flunky prepared to make his best bow.
But he could hardly welcome three such different beings with one salute,
so he greeted each one separately. To Snythergen he leaned back, pointed
his face toward the ceiling, and bobbed down and up by bending and
straightening his knees. Sancho Wing, like most little people, wished to
appear important, and when it came his turn to bow he raised himself on
tip claws and stretched up to make his body as tall as he could; then
leaning forward stiffly he flapped his left wing. Puzzled to know just
how to respond to this, the door-man got down on his knees, and turning
his head sideways wiggled his left ear. Squeaky had a habit of tossing
his head when he bowed, and the flunky merely gave him a toss of the head
in return.
[Illustration: The door-man turning his head sideways wiggled his left
ear]
In the hall the housekeeper welcomed them very kindly, offering to show
them about while Santa Claus dressed for dinner. When she learned that
they were the “three wise men” she treated them with great respect.
Inside, the house seemed even larger than it had from without, and
Snythergen was thankful for ceilings so high that he could stand up
comfortably. So enormous were the rooms each one might have been used
as a public hall. There was little furniture—mostly vast spaces with a
background of oriental carpets and cathedral windows.
“What is this?” asked Snythergen, as they came into an odd little room in
the basement with circular wall and a spotless aluminum floor. To cross
it they walked on a bridge, raised several feet above the floor.
“This is the pie room,” said the housekeeper. “The crust is rolled out on
the pie pan floor and the work of putting in the filling is managed from
the bridge. When it is ready, we light the gas under the floor and the
pie is cooked.”
“But who could ever eat such a big one?” asked Sancho Wing.
“Oh, the bear eats most of it,” said the housekeeper.
“The bear!” cried they in great alarm. “Is there a bear?”
“Yes,” said the housekeeper.
Snythergen turned pale and looked for the door. Squeaky had already
started to run and Sancho Wing flew up to the ceiling.
“Stay right here—there’s nothing to fear,” said the housekeeper, calling
them back.
“The bear arrived about a week ago,” she continued when they were able to
listen. “We did not want to let him in but Santa Claus telephoned the
keeper at the zoological gardens and asked if bears were safe.”
“‘They are,’ said he, ‘if you feed them olives and custard pie.’
“We tried it and it worked, and now there is not a quieter member of our
family than the bear after he is fed. When he is hungry is the only time
he is quarrelsome. But at such times we keep food between ourselves and
him.”
“We had a bear too,” said Snythergen, “but he always stole away as soon
as he had eaten, and never came near except when he was hungry.”
“That’s just like our bear,” said the housekeeper, “forever trying to
hide when he is not at his best. But Santa Claus has him sit around and
visit after dinner, though he makes a very sorry figure.”
“Why, what does he do?” asked Squeaky.
“As soon as he is fed his spirit is gone,” replied the housekeeper. “He
becomes as timid as a mouse, and trembles if you look at him; jumps if
you speak to him; blushes if you pay him any attention.”
“How does a bear blush?” asked Snythergen.
[Illustration: _“Bears should not talk when their mouths are full of
food,” said Santa Claus kindly_]
“He does it with his lips. They change color back and forth very rapidly
from pink to red. But Santa Claus is coming and it is time for dinner.”
As she spoke they entered a dining room so large, the huge table and
ancestral chairs seemed like dolls’ furniture in its vast interior.
And now Santa Claus entered smiling blandly. He was attired in gorgeous
evening clothes—a flaming swallowtail coat lined with crimson, deep
purple vest with large white buttons; a ruby glowing like a burning eye
adorned his shirt. Cream silk stockings and pale blue knickerbockers he
wore, and his boots were red with black trimmings.
Scarcely had Santa Claus entered the room when the bear came lumbering
after him. Eying the “three wise men” with a swift look of recognition he
licked his chops.
“Why, it’s our bear!” said Snythergen in a sickly whisper. “How did he
follow us?”
The three edged around until the table stood between them and the beast,
and they were eying the nearest exit when Santa Claus requested them to
be seated at table. The bear was served first, though “served” is hardly
the word for the way they rushed food to him. Cramming his mouth full he
uttered a few growls.
“Bears should not talk when their mouths are full of food,” said Santa
Claus kindly.
But the bear answered only with an impudent growl which so frightened
Squeaky that he tumbled from his chair, upsetting a bowl of soup as he
fell. In spite of Sancho Wing’s assurance, the table conversation was
exceedingly restrained. Though for politeness’ sake Snythergen did try a
few comments, which came out in faltering tones. Squeaky was so nervous
he could not speak without breaking into little hysterical peals of
laughter which sounded like the squeals of a badly frightened pig. He had
had one of these fits in the middle of the blessing and Santa Claus eyed
him curiously.
Sancho Wing attempted to calm the troubled scene by keeping his head and
saving them from awkward pauses. He was not so much afraid as the others
because he knew that, no matter what the bear did, he could escape by
flying a few strokes into the air. But the nervous way he kept waving his
wings about to be sure they were ready for use, showed how far his little
heart was from peace and a feeling of security.
At first the bear was very noisy about his eating but grew quieter as his
hunger was appeased. And as the meal progressed his eyes became dull, his
manner modest—almost demure. The others saw this and were encouraged.
Squeaky found his speaking voice and talked wisely on the advantages
and disadvantages of pig life. The table talk Sancho Wing had promised
Santa Claus now began to flow, and the host was delighted. He asked
many questions and nearly every one led along some trail of adventure,
relating incidents peculiar to their lives. By this time the bear was
painfully ill at ease, for he had not learned man-talk and the loud firm
voices around him gave him strange fears. Were they plotting against him?
He sat stiffly upright with forepaws crossed upon his chest, and ears
cocked suspiciously. When they arose from the table Sancho Wing hopped
over to the bear for a little private conversation.
“I want to say a few words to you,” he said, “and luckily for you you
will not understand them.”
The bear shuddered and his lips turned a paler pink.
Thoroughly angry Sancho Wing began: “You great big overgrown nuisance of
a brute! You cowardly thieving bully!”
If he did not comprehend the words certainly the bear understood Sancho’s
gestures. And as he talked the little bird’s body shook with passion. He
bobbed his head, flapped his wings, raised one leg threateningly with
claws advanced.
The bear looked sheepish. His startled eyes were pleading now. He hung
his head as he backed away. Sancho Wing followed closely scolding ever
more abusively. The tiny finch seemed to tower with rage as he bullied
the frightened beast, who stood six feet six in his bare hind paws while
the finch was but a few inches high. When they reached the hall the big
fellow dropped to all fours and ran. Returning to the big table Sancho
Wing saw a hurt look in Santa Claus’ face and readily guessed the cause.
“Forgive me for making a scene,” pleaded the little bird.
“The bear is very sensitive,” said Santa Claus seriously. “And on the
whole I think he is rather well behaved for a bear.”
“I am sure I would like the bear much better if I did not know him so
well,” said Sancho Wing.
“What? Do you know him?” asked Santa Claus.
There was an awkward pause. Sancho did not want to tell on the bear, for
like himself he was Santa Claus’ guest.
“I know him distantly,” said Sancho—“just a growling acquaintance. He may
have changed since I saw him last. Maybe I shall like him better now.”
“I am sure you will,” said Santa Claus kindly, as they drew their chairs
up to the fire and prepared to spend a cozy evening.
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