Delphi complete works of.., p.304
Delphi Complete Works of Thorne Smith (Illustrated), page 304
“Who can it be?” said Peter. “No one ever calls on us.”
Mary did not care much who it was. She would have rather faced anything than that terrible stew. Whoever it was, was welcome.
She threw open the door and almost fell right smack into the mouth of a large bear who was politely trying to hide a yawn behind his paw.
Mary suddenly decided that she much preferred stew — even Catalogue Stew — to bears. She wished she had let Peter open the door. And she couldn’t tell you right now if you asked her how she managed to get under the bed, nor could Peter tell you how he managed to get into it and all covered up. Everything happened too quickly. But there they were just the same. Mary was under the bed and Peter was in it. Both of them were shaking so much from fright that the bed began to dance on all four legs, not gracefully but earnestly.
“My word!” said the bear when the yawn had spent itself. “Where did they all get to?”
He looked about the room in a nearsighted manner, then hesitated as if not knowing what to do next.
“I wish that bed would stop shaking,” he said to himself. “It’s making me real nervous.”
Again he knocked, this time on the open door, and waited. He received no answer, but the bed began to dance and shake more frantically than ever.
“Pardon me,” said the bear at last, speaking to the bed as the nearest to a living thing in the room. “Many pardons,” he continued. “They told me you were living here so I took the liberty of looking you up. May I come in?”
“Now I wonder who ‘they’ were?” thought Peter. “I wish they’d mind their own business. I suppose he’ll come in anyway if he wants to. Might as well be polite. Persons shouldn’t tell strange bears about other persons.”
He lifted the blanket just enough to be able to see with one eye.
“Can you come in?” he asked the bear, hoping that he couldn’t.
“In either one of two ways,” replied the bear thoughtfully. “I can make myself smaller or make the door larger. Which would you prefer?”
“The first,” said Peter, wishing the bear would make himself so small that he wouldn’t be there at all.
“Is he coming in?” whispered Mary from under the bed.
“He’s trying to,” said Peter as he watched the efforts of the bear to squeeze himself through the little door.
“Oh, dear, oh, dear,” whimpered Mary. “I wish now I’d swallowed that stew. It’s better to die eating than to die being eaten.”
“Where’s everybody?” asked the bear cheerfully, when he had succeeded in squeezing himself into the room.
“Have some stew,” came invitingly from under the bed. “It’s wonderful stew, Mr. Bear. You can have the whole potful and the bowls, too. Just help yourself. Guzzle!”
“Thanks a lot,” replied the bear quite civilly. “I think I could do with a helping of stew.”
He sank wearily to the floor, stretched his great arms, and let his head sink on his chest. He seemed to have fallen asleep, but presently he sighed deeply and raised his head.
“You know,” he observed dreamily, “there’s a sort of lilt to that last remark of mine. More should go with it. For example:
“I think I could do with a helping of stew.
I’m grateful to you — so grateful to you.
You see, I repeat it because when I eat it
I’d like to know whoever thought of this stew.”
“Not a bad thing at all,” admitted Peter, becoming interested. Then he whispered to Mary, “This bear appears to be a bit of a poet. Also he seems quite lazy. The two things go naturally together. Now poets, whether they walk on four legs or two or carry a cane, seldom eat people. They seldom eat anything at all. Poets are harmless almost to the point of helplessness. You go out and talk to him. As long as we can’t boost him out we might as well make him feel at home.”
“No, you go out,” said Mary.
“I’d much rather you went out,” said Peter.
“I won’t,” said Mary. “That poem was only a lure.”
“What is a lure?” asked Peter.
“A lure is something that makes you believe you want to go somewhere you don’t or to eat something you hate.”
“Oh, I see,” said Peter thoughtfully. “It’s like a sugar-coated pill that gets bitter if you hold it too long in your mouth.”
“More so,” replied Mary. “It’s like playing Open Your Mouth And Shut Your Eyes — then pop! — in goes the castor oil. That’s a lure.”
“I remember,” said Peter. “That happened to me once when I was a small boy.”
“But this is a much more dangerous lure,” said Mary, “because that animal would open his mouth instead — and pop! — in we would go head over heels, shoes and all. He has a terribly big mouth. When he yawned just now the whole room turned red.”
“Oh-o-o-o-o,” groaned Peter at the thought and began to shiver so much that the bed turned over on its side. Mary rolled out on the floor and Peter fell down on the floor. Both of them sat up and held their hands to their eyes.
“Ah, there you are,” exclaimed the bear in a pleased voice. “I was wondering when you were coming out. Come on over and let’s all eat the stew.”
So Peter and Mary picked themselves up from the floor and timidly approached the table.
“Won’t you sit down on the stool instead?” Mary asked politely.
“Instead of what?” asked the bear, blinking.
“Instead of where you are,” replied Mary.
“Thank you, no,” said the bear in a firm voice. “The combination doesn’t work. Either the stool is too small or I am too large. Don’t know which it is, but there is something amiss somewhere.”
“Oh,” said Mary, “I see. Something amiss.”
“Amiss, yes,” repeated the bear sadly.
“If we took the legs off the table,” suggested Peter, “we could all sit on the floor.”
“A splendid idea!” cried the bear admiringly. “I would never have thought of that.”
Peter, much pleased with himself, took the legs off the table while the bear roared his approval. Mary brought another bowl, and then she and Peter sat down on the floor with the bear, but on the other side of the table and as far away from him as they could manage with good taste.
“My teeth fairly ache with hunger,” said the bear, showing his long white teeth and looking first at Peter and then at Mary. He seemed to be trying to decide which of them was the fatter, or rather, which of them was not the thinner.
“You’d be surprised,” remarked Peter carelessly, “but my wife manages to keep her weight wonderfully for a woman of her great age. In fact, she weighs much more than I do.”
“That’s interesting,” said the bear, snapping his jaws and greedily licking his lips. “I was just wondering about that very thing myself. I’m greatly interested in the weights of people, you know.”
“Do try some stew,” said Mary hastily. Then she added in a lower voice: “My husband is a great joker. You mustn’t pay any attention to what he says. There’s lots of good meat on his old bones yet, but perhaps you’d prefer some stew meat first.”
“First!” cried Peter, turning pale. “Why, I’m a mere shadow, a wreck, a skeleton. After the stew no one will want anything more to eat.”
“I’m afraid you’re right,” said Mary.
“You begin,” urged the bear courteously.
“Company first,” said Mary and tried to laugh gayly, but her throat only rattled.
“Certainly,” put in Peter. “To be sure. Our guest must be the first to try the stew. We can’t forget our manners.”
“Well, if you insist,” replied the good-natured bear as he dipped up a great spoonful of the stew. “Down it goes.”
And down it did go while Peter and Mary looked on with a show of interest and no little fear.
Suddenly the bear began to act in the strangest manner. At first he looked stunned. Just as if a mountain or some other heavy object like a flatiron had been dropped on his head. Then he shut his eyes tight and tears ran out of them. After this he began to roll from side to side and the most unbearable noises came from his mouth. And when he had finished doing all these queer things he opened his eyes and first held up one paw and then the other as if trying to make sure he could still see them. Finally, he attempted to smile, but his lips only twitched.
“Delicious,” he muttered in a cracked voice. “Overpowering. Did you call it stew?”
“Certainly it is,” replied Peter. “I made it myself.”
“Oh, did you,” said the bear, giving him an odd look. “I never tasted anything quite like it. What sort of name does it go by, may I ask?”
“I’ve named it Catalogue Stew,” said Peter in careless voice as if it didn’t really much matter.
“Oh,” said the bear. “I see. For a moment I thought it might be something you rub on or in. For a sprain, perhaps, or a sore throat. It had the queerest effect on my eyes. I can still see, though. May I have a glass of water? I find it difficult to swallow. Something wrong with my windpipe. Must have caught a sudden cold. Thanks so much.”
He gargled the water Mary brought him and then shook himself.
“Ah,” he said brightly. “I feel much better. First Catalogue Stew I’ve ever eaten. May I see the catalogue?”
Peter brought the catalogue to the bear and the bear looked at it carefully.
“It should make a good stew,” he said at last, then added politely, “not that I mean to imply this is a bad stew. These pictures are beautiful pictures and the company is an old and reliable one. Let me make a suggestion. I think this stew needs just a wee bit more seasoning to make it perfect. Suppose we pour our bowls back into the pot and let me have a try. I have a way with stews.”
So they poured the stew back into the pot and put the pot back on the stove. Then the bear took the catalogue and tore out a number of pages and threw them into the pot. After stirring the stew for several minutes he dropped in the whole catalogue, gave the spoon a last twirl, and turned to Peter and Mary.
“Now try it,” he told them. “And don’t be afraid. This, you will find, is real stew.”
When Mary and Peter tasted the stew they looked at each other with delighted eyes. Never had they even so much as hoped to be in the same room with such a delicious stew. And as for eating such a stew — well, they had never been able to think as far as that. In it they found everything real — corn, potatoes, carrots, beans, spinach, onions, peas, and great fine encouraging pieces of tender meat. Something not everyday had happened to that stew, something magic and unexpected.
So once more Mary and Peter and the bear sat down on the floor. But this time there was no conversation. There was no room in their mouths for conversation. No room for a single word, not even for a short one. Every nook and corner was completely occupied by stew.
Instead of speaking they just kept nodding their heads at one another and swallowing fast and hard.
Peter slapped the bear on the back, and everything seemed just about right.
Catalogue Stew makes things seem that way.
CHAPTER 3. The Lane That Knocked
WHEN MARY HAD made the empty pot ring like a bell in her efforts to scrape one last spoonful from it, the three of them sat back and agreed that perhaps they had eaten enough. And when after listening closely to the ringing of the pot they were sure that it was empty, they all declared they couldn’t eat another mouthful. They had had quite enough stew for one day.
“But we must get some more catalogues,” said Peter.
“Lots more,” replied Mary. “A whole stack of them.”
“You won’t need any more catalogues for a long time,” said the bear, looking very mysterious, but neither Mary nor Peter understood his meaning.
“I feel like singing,” said Peter.
“Must you?” asked Mary.
“I’m afraid I can’t stop it now,” said Peter. “It’s been on its way for the past ten minutes. It’s almost here now.”
“Then hurry through it,” urged Mary.
“By all means,” said the bear.
“Don’t rush me,” said Peter. “I must think before I sing.”
“You sing,” suggested the bear, “and let us do the thinking.”
“I’ve finished,” said Peter. “Now for the song, the best part of it.”
And here is the song that Peter sang:
STOMACH SONG
Likewise By Peter
“O stomach mine, fair stomach mine,
My joy, also my pride,
I’ve nourished you with lovely stew —
I hope you’re satisfied.
“O stomach mine, sweet stomach mine,
How long has been the pull!
Do you feel strange that for a change
You find your hollows full?
“O stomach mine, brave stomach mine.
You never once complained
When nothing new was put in you
Although it must have pained.
“O stomach mine, stout stomach mine,
For tears I cannot see.
Through thick and thin you’ve always been
More than a stomach to me.”
“He loves his stomach,” said Mary when she was quite sure Peter had finished. “Always has.”
“Quite tenderly, it seems,” replied the bear, “but that fact doesn’t excuse the last line. There’s something wrong with it. The line doesn’t scan.”
“Doesn’t scan!” cried Peter. “Doesn’t scan!”
“No,” said the bear. “There’s something amiss with the meter.”
“Meet her?” inquired Mary. “Meet whom?”
“Oh,” said the bear. “I see how it is. I won’t go on.”
“You must go on,” urged Peter.
“I can’t go on,” said the bear. “It’s all too hopeless.”
“Someone hasn’t understood something,” said Mary. “I don’t know who or what.”
“It’s all my fault,” said the bear.
“Don’t mention it,” said Mary.
“It doesn’t matter,” added the bear.
And Peter sang:
“Oh, it doesn’t matter
If you chin and chatter,
I feel I’m fatter
So it doesn’t matter.
I know but a smatter
Of this or that, er —
But it doesn’t matter,
Though the rain drops spatter,
For I feel I’m fatter,
For I know I’m fatter.”
“Where were we?” asked the bear, slightly elevating his eyebrows and looking coldly at Peter.
“We were about to change the subject,” said Mary, also looking coldly at Peter.
“Let’s do it,” said the bear.
“Go right ahead,” said Peter, cheerfully. “I can make up a song about anything.”
“Don’t,” said the bear.
“Let’s talk of when we were young,” suggested Mary.
“I’ve never been young,” replied the bear, shortly.
“Strange,” observed Peter. “How did that happen, or should I say, not happen?”
“Well, you see,” replied the bear quite simply, “I’m magic.”
“Magic!” breathed Mary.
“Magic!” whispered Peter.
The thing had happened at last. Magic had come into their lives. They were in the presence of magic. Their eyes grew big and bright with excitement.
“Oh, dear me, yes,” continued the bear. “I’m very magic. I fairly bristle with magic. I’m extraordinilyilyilyily magic. But I can’t magic myself from being lazy. That’s why I’m known as Lazy Bear.”
Mary reached out one hand and Lazy Bear gave a sudden start.
“Ouch!” he cried, looking reproachfully at her. “What did you want to pinch me for?”
“I wanted a magic hair,” said Mary. “And I got it.”
“You must have gotten a handful,” grumbled Lazy Bear, rubbing himself delicately.
“I did,” said Mary. “At least two dozen. See them.”
She held out her hand and showed Lazy Bear a tuft of his own brown hair.
“I don’t think it was at all nice of you,” he said, “but now that you have them, I hope they bring you luck.”
“We need it,” replied Mary. “We’ve been out of luck for years.”
“What would you consider good luck?” asked Lazy Bear.
“To leave this house and to be young again,” replied Mary.
“How young?” asked Lazy Bear.
“A beautiful young girl,” said Mary.
“No,” put in Peter. “That would mean that I’d have to be a young man and that would mean that I would have to go to work. Let’s be younger.”
“How old would you like to be?” asked Lazy Bear.
“Well,” said Peter, seriously considering the question, “I’d like to be old enough to eat anything I wanted and to be able to stay up past eight and to go on adventures and things.”
“That sounds reasonable,” said Mary, “because I could still have time to grow up to be a beautiful young girl on the way back.”
“Yes,” replied Peter, “and we would be able to lead a different life so that when we grew old again we would never have to live in a miserable, uninteresting old house like this one.”
“And we would be able to go to fair, green places instead of being surrounded by flat, sun-baked mud decorated with old tin cans,” said Mary, and added: “How I long for the sight of trees and bushes and a cool, sweet-smelling winding lane.”
“Lilacs, perhaps?” suggested Peter.
“Daisies and hay and blackberry bushes,” said Mary.
“All the lovely old lost things,” said Peter. “The things we used to know.”
While Mary and Peter spoke about the things they loved and wanted, Lazy Bear listened with a kindly light in his great eyes and something very close to a smile on his lips. Suddenly he leaned forward and held up one paw.
“Listen!” he commanded. “Do you hear anyone knocking?”
Mary and Peter listened. Sure enough someone was tapping gently on the door. It was a friendly sort of a tap. It made Peter and Mary feel all warm and eager inside. Their hearts beat a little stronger and their eyes grew brighter and felt less filled with the years they had looked on.
