It's Thursday.
Chapter IV
Captain Cook
“CALL WHO CAPTAIN COOK?” asked Mrs. Popper, who had come in so quietly that none of them had heard her.
“Why, the penguin,” said Mr. Popper. “I was just saying,” he went on, as Mrs. Popper sat down suddenly on the floor to recover from her surprise, “that we’d name him after Captain Cook. He was a famous English explorer who lived about the time of the American Revolution. He sailed all over where no one had ever been before. He didn’t actually get to the South Pole, of course, but he made a lot of important scientific discoveries about the Antarctic regions. He was a brave man and a kind leader. So I think Captain Cook would be a very suitable name for our penguin here.”
“Well, I never!” said Mrs. Popper.
“Gork!” said Captain Cook, suddenly getting lively again. With a flap of his flippers he jumped from the tub to the washstand, and stood there for a minute surveying the floor. Then he jumped down, walked over to Mrs. Popper, and began to peck her ankle.
“Stop him, Papa!” screamed Mrs. Popper, retreating into the hallway with Captain Cook after her, and Mr. Popper and the children following. In the living room she paused. So did Captain Cook, for he was delighted with the room.
Now a penguin may look very strange in a living room, but a living room looks very strange to a penguin. Even Mrs. Popper had to smile as they watched Captain Cook, with the light of curiosity in his excited circular eyes, and his black tailcoat dragging pompously behind his little pinkish feet, strut from one upholstered chair to another, pecking at each to see what it was made of. Then he turned suddenly and marched out to the kitchen.“Maybe he’s hungry,” said Janie.
Captain Cook immediately marched up to the refrigerator.
“Gork?” he inquired, turning to slant his head wisely at Mrs. Popper, and looking at her pleadingly with his right eye.
“He certainly is cute,” she said. “I guess I’ll have to forgive him for biting my ankle. He probably only did it out of curiosity. Anyway, he’s a nice clean-looking bird.”
“Ork?” repeated the penguin, nibbling at the metal handle of the refrigerator door with his upstretched beak.
Mr. Popper opened the door for him, and Captain Cook stood very high and leaned his sleek black head back so that he could see inside. Now that Mr. Popper’s work was over for the winter, the icebox was not quite so full as usual, but the penguin did not know that.
“What do you suppose he likes to eat?” asked Mrs. Popper.
“Let’s see,” said Mr. Popper, as he removed all the food and set it on the kitchen table. “Now then, Captain Cook, take a look.”
The penguin jumped up onto a chair and from there onto the edge of the table, flapping his flippers again to recover his balance. Then he walked solemnly around the table, and between the dishes of food, inspecting everything with the greatest interest, though he touched nothing. Finally he stood still, very erect, raised his beak to point at the ceiling, and make a loud, almost purring sound. “O-r-r-r-r-h, o-r-r-r-h,” he trilled.
“That’s a penguin’s way of saying how pleased it is,” said Mr. Popper, who had read about it in his Antarctic books.
Apparently, however, what Captain Cook wanted to show was that he was pleased with their kindness, rather than with their food. For now, to their surprise, he jumped down and walked into the dining room.
“I know,” said Mr. Popper. “We ought to have some seafood for him, canned shrimps or something. Or maybe he isn’t hungry yet. I’ve read that penguins can go for a month without food.”
“Mamma! Papa!” called Bill. “Come see what Captain Cook has done.”
Captain Cook had done it all right. He had discovered the bowl of goldfish on the dining-room window sill. By the time Mrs. Popper reached over to lift him away, he had already swallowed the last of the goldfish.
“Bad, bad penguin!” reproved Mrs. Popper, glaring down at Captain Cook.
Captain Cook squatted guiltily on the carpet and tried to make himself look small.
“He knows he’s done wrong,” said Mr. Popper. “Isn’t he smart?”
“Maybe we can train him,” said Mrs. Popper. “Bad, naughty Captain,” she said to the penguin in a loud voice. “Bad, to eat the goldfish.” And she spanked him on his round black head.
Before she could do that again, Captain Cook hastily waddled out to the kitchen.
There the Poppers found him trying to hide in the still opened refrigerator. He was squatting under the ice-cube coils, under which he could barely squeeze, sitting down. His round, white-circled eyes looked out at them mysteriously from the dimness of the inside of the box.
“I think that’s about the right temperature for him, at that,” said Mr. Popper. “We could let him sleep there, at night.”
“But where will I put the food?” asked Mrs. Popper.
“Oh, I guess we can get another icebox for the food,” said Mr. Popper.
“Look,” said Janie. “He’s gone to sleep.”
Mr. Popper turned the cold control switch to its coldest so that Captain Cook could sleep more comfortably. Then he left the door ajar so that the penguin would have plenty of fresh air to breathe.
“Tomorrow I will have the icebox service department send a man out to bore some holes in the door, for air,” he said, “and then he can put a handle on the inside of the door so that Captain Cook can go in and out of his refrigerator, as he pleases.”
“Well, dear me, I never thought we would have a penguin for a pet,” said Mrs. Popper. “Still, he behaves pretty well, on the whole, and he is so nice and clean that perhaps he will be a good example to you and the children. And now, I declare, we must get busy. We haven’t done anything but watch that bird. Papa, will you just help me to set the beans on the table, please?”
“Just a minute,” answered Mr. Popper. “I just happened to think that Captain Cook will not feel right on the floor of that icebox. Penguins make their nests of pebbles and stones. So I will just take some ice cubes out of the tray and put them under him. That way he will be more comfortable.”