Mr. Popper's Penguins by Richard Atwater, Florence Atwater Page B
Authors: Richard Atwater, Florence Atwater
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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.”
Chapter III
Out of the Antarctic
W HAT WITH THE excitement of having the great Admiral Drake speak to him over the radio, and his curiosity about the Admiral’s message to him, Mr. Popper did not sleep very well that night. He did not see how he could possibly wait to find out what the Admiral meant. When morning came, he was almost sorry that he had nowhere to go, no houses to paint, no rooms to paper. It would have helped to pass the time.
“Would you like the living room papered over?” he asked Mrs. Popper. “I have quite a lot of Paper Number 88, left over from the Mayor’s house.”
“I would not,” said Mrs. Popper firmly. “The paper on now is plenty good enough. I am going to the first meeting of the Ladies’ Aid and Missionary Society today and I don’t want any mess around to clean up when I get home.”
“Very well, my love,” said Mr. Popper meekly, and he settled down with his pipe, his globe, and his book of Antarctic Adventures. But somehow, as he read today, he could not keep his mind on the printed words. His thoughts kept straying away to Admiral Drake. What could he have meant by a surprise for Mr. Popper?
Fortunately for his peace of mind, he did not have so very long to wait. That afternoon, while Mrs. Popper was still away at her meeting, and Janie and Bill had not yet come home from school, there was a loud ring at the front door.
“I suppose it is just the postman. I won’t bother to answer it,” he said to himself.
The bell rang again, a little louder this time. Grumbling to himself, Mr. Popper went to the door.
It was not the postman who stood there. It was an expressman with the largest box Mr. Popper had ever seen.
“Party by the name of Popper live here?”
“That’s me.”
“Well, here’s a package that’s come Air Express all the way from Antarctica. Some journey, I’ll say.”
Mr. Popper signed the receipt and examined the box. It was covered all over with markings. “UNPACK AT ONCE,” said one. “KEEP COOL,” said another. He noticed that the box was punched here and there with air holes.
You can imagine that once he had the box
“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.”
Chapter III
Out of the Antarctic
W HAT WITH THE excitement of having the great Admiral Drake speak to him over the radio, and his curiosity about the Admiral’s message to him, Mr. Popper did not sleep very well that night. He did not see how he could possibly wait to find out what the Admiral meant. When morning came, he was almost sorry that he had nowhere to go, no houses to paint, no rooms to paper. It would have helped to pass the time.
“Would you like the living room papered over?” he asked Mrs. Popper. “I have quite a lot of Paper Number 88, left over from the Mayor’s house.”
“I would not,” said Mrs. Popper firmly. “The paper on now is plenty good enough. I am going to the first meeting of the Ladies’ Aid and Missionary Society today and I don’t want any mess around to clean up when I get home.”
“Very well, my love,” said Mr. Popper meekly, and he settled down with his pipe, his globe, and his book of Antarctic Adventures. But somehow, as he read today, he could not keep his mind on the printed words. His thoughts kept straying away to Admiral Drake. What could he have meant by a surprise for Mr. Popper?
Fortunately for his peace of mind, he did not have so very long to wait. That afternoon, while Mrs. Popper was still away at her meeting, and Janie and Bill had not yet come home from school, there was a loud ring at the front door.
“I suppose it is just the postman. I won’t bother to answer it,” he said to himself.
The bell rang again, a little louder this time. Grumbling to himself, Mr. Popper went to the door.
It was not the postman who stood there. It was an expressman with the largest box Mr. Popper had ever seen.
“Party by the name of Popper live here?”
“That’s me.”
“Well, here’s a package that’s come Air Express all the way from Antarctica. Some journey, I’ll say.”
Mr. Popper signed the receipt and examined the box. It was covered all over with markings. “UNPACK AT ONCE,” said one. “KEEP COOL,” said another. He noticed that the box was punched here and there with air holes.
You can imagine that once he had the box
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