The Storm the Teapot Brewed
In a bright nursery, hung with pictures, the table was laid for tea. Upon an iron tray, which had seen much service—even military service, as a drum used by the nursery band—stood the tea-set. This set included a very large cup which belonged to Nurse, bearing the funny inscription, “I am not greedy, but I like a lot.” The other cups were also lettered in gold. One hailed, it declared, “From Margate,” and showed the pier as a proof. Another, a small one made of porcelain, wished “Many Happy Returns to Effie” every time she looked at it. A thick, fat cup proclaimed itself “A Present to Daniel,” and a mug bore the perpetual reminder that it was “For a Good Boy”—but it was cracked, so it didn’t look quite happy, perhaps because the reminder was not always capable of keeping the boy good.
The Kettle completed the party, but sat comfortably on the warm hob next the fire, drowsily singing snatches of song, in the knowledge of having done his duty in giving the thirsty Teapot a drink of water. So all was ready for tea except the children. Nurse had gone to collect them, when the Chinese Teapot, who always liked to appear important, suddenly exclaimed—
“What a noise that Kettle is making, to be sure! One could scarcely hear one’s self rattle if one wanted to.”
The Kettle, ignoring the protest, sang on—
“Just now we were quiet,
No noise and no riot,
You could hear a bread-plate drop—Flop!”
“We used to have a very nice English teapot once,” remarked the Porcelain Cup.
“I remember,” replied her neighbour from Margate. “He came from Worcestershire. He was a big pot, and thought himself no end of a swell.”
“What! Kettle-time already!” exclaimed the Tongs, yawning and stretching his legs.
“A nice sort of life it is for one of my grade and standing,” grumbled the Teapot, “to be surrounded by such a set of ugly, foreign mugs and things as you all are!”
There was a general rattling of displeasure at the insult, but it was drowned by the Kettle, who could see a joke, singing up merrily—
“If there’s a fuss—if a Pot should allude
As a ‘mug’ to a China Cup,
There’s always a clatter
Of jug, plate, and platter,
Till somebody washes them up.”
“It’s disgraceful to go on like this!” complained the Milk-jug, looking rather broken-down about the handle.
“Ah!” said the Teapot with a sneer, “when one only dates from 1887, and hasn’t a handle to one’s back, one should retire to the seclusion of the cupboard, and remain there as a curio.”
“There was once a Jubilee Jug-gins,
Jug-jug-juggins,”
hummed the Kettle.
“Poor old crock!” said the Sugar-basin sweetly, melting with pity through all her composition. For she was his inseparable companion, and knew that the Milk-jug was full of human kindness, and useful still.
“Never mind the quarrelling, darlings,” whispered the gentlemanly Spoons to their lady friends, whom they had taken in to tea, “we will protect you.”
“Upon my word!” exclaimed she from Margate, “I’m glad I was not born in China. Where I come from rudeness is unknown.”
The Kettle took up the idea and sang gaily—
“They’re pottery, porcelain, colour, and gold,
They come from the china shop,
Where crockery’s bought, and the customer’s sold,
And the Bull galloped in so angry and bold,
And when the poor, terrified shopkeeper told
Him to go, he did nothing but stop.”
“You ought to have a will of iron if you’re made of the right stuff,” she continued, addressing the Tray; “you ought to keep order, but you say nothing and do less.”
“You see, he’s only a waiter—slow and unpolished,” added the Teapot spitefully.
“My view, if I may express it—” broke in the Cup from Margate.
“When I want your view, either of Margate or of politeness,” retorted the Tray, interrupting the remark, “I’ll ask for it. If I’d the chance I’d drop the whole lot of you, and get friendly with a new set, that I would!”
Whereupon the irrepressible Kettle chirruped—
“Then he’d pay the expense of the mender’s bill—
The mender is Doctor, you see—
Who makes out an order,
A matter of sawder
And rivets, cement, and a fee.”
“You’re always brewing mischief!” said Nurse’s Cup angrily to the Teapot; “there’ll be no peace for any of us where you are.”
“That’s true!” screamed out the little Tea-leaves inside the pot; “he’s always getting us into hot water.”
“I’ll draw the tannin out of the whole ounce of you! You’re about as sensible as mortals who haven’t the wit to understand us. But when we go cracked like Muggins over there, or stony broke like the Juggins next to him, or get smashed up altogether with age or lack of care, they take notice of us at last, and then there is a mighty fine fuss.”
At this the Kettle, getting somewhat out of breath from his exertions, bubbled out in a high key—
“They’re Wedgwood, Staffordshire, Japanese too,
They’re a breakable lot, we know;
When any one cracks any,
Chelsea or Saxony,
Dresden, or Worcester, or Bow,
They make as much shindy
As if a big windy
Was shivered to bits by a blow.”
The Teapot went on: “Those people are amusing, too; they think we ought to last for ever, when they can’t do it themselves.”
“A couple of chatterpots!” exclaimed the Nurse’s Cup. “Dear me! What with your spouting, and his showing off once he begins to sing, you’re enough to wear one out!”
“Dear you, indeed!” returned the Teapot; “cheap you! Why, you were given away with a pound of tea! Shouldn’t be surprised at all!” he continued, watching Nurse’s Cup become speechless with indignation. “But, spouting aside, I could tell you a thing or two.”
“Or three—or four—or five—or—” The Kettle might have sung on into billions had he not begun to choke over it, and splutter, and gurgle. Then he grew vexed, and snorted, and got angrier and angrier, until finally, in order to breathe more easily, he knocked his lid on one side, and began to boil with rage.
“Ha, ha!” laughed the Teapot mockingly. “The old fellow’s getting his steam up. Pray don’t de-range yourself, sir, on our account. He, he! He’s getting water on his nob!”
This didn’t seem to comfort the Kettle much.
“What do you think about it, Spoonies?” added the Teapot. But the Spoons heeded him not. They were conversing quietly in couples, and didn’t care to be drawn into argument. So he turned his attention elsewhere, bent on brewing discord. “People are so thoughtless,” he complained, turning a cold shoulder to the others. “Muggins, my boy, I’m beginning to get quite chilly; just go and fetch my cosy coat.” He knew this was an impossibility, and he only said it in order to pick a quarrel. But, noticing a distant Plate who was openly laughing at him, he cuttingly remarked: “Seen the plumber, lately?” Now, the Plate happened to be suffering severely from rivets, an infirmity which she vainly tried to hide, and which she hated to be noticed. So, getting no reply, he added, “I presume that your plumbago is better.”
The Kettle was now puffing and spitting to such a degree that it was difficult to imagine he was the same jolly fellow who had been singing so good-temperedly all the time.
And the Teapot was content. He had gained his object, and the whole set felt as though they had been wiped the wrong way, when suddenly noisy voices were heard outside.
The nursery door was opened, and in burst Fred, home from Margate School, followed by gentle little Effie; and Nurse, vigorously protesting at being pushed forward in jerks by Bob. Poor, long-suffering Nurse, as usual, was not having at all a good time with the three troublesome boys. Daniel had clambered on her back, and was trying to pull off her cap. Bob—who was not nearly such “A Good Boy” as his mug pretended—slily untied her apron-strings. The apron dropped, and Nurse tripped over it, jerking Daniel on to the floor; and she would have fallen too had she not just saved herself by clutching the table.
“Cr-cr-crikey!” clattered the China on the tray in alarm.
“Bless those boys!” cried Nurse, as she replaced her apron; but they only laughed. Effie was helping to put her cap straight when the Kettle, unable to contain his feelings any longer, marked his indignation by hissing disapproval and then boiling over. Nurse rushed to his aid, and altered his position so that he couldn’t see all that went on. He recovered himself at once.
Bustling into their chairs, they all sat down to tea, and at the sudden action the whole tea-set rattled to arms, some standing at attention. The Spoons, stirred by the children’s hands, began knocking the sides of the Cups, dealing them blows right and left, and ringing out their resounding protests.
“Here’s a ‘stranger’!” exclaimed Effie, taking a tea-leaf out of her cup. “Who will it be?”
“A horrid foreigner, miss—a little black Indian,” replied the Teapot, turning up his spout with scorn, and giving a vicious squeeze to the others he held prisoners.
“I know who it is!” said Bob, tilting back his chair, then suddenly steadying himself by grasping the table. This was a troublesome habit of his, which drew Nurse’s usual reminder.
“What’s his name?” asked the others eagerly.
“I know—it’s a secret,” replied Bob mysteriously.
At this a loud argument began.
“My lid! Who’s making the noise now?” the Teapot cried. “Pray don’t upset your precious selves.”
“I think it must be Mr. Manners who is the stranger,” exclaimed Nurse, putting her hands to her ears to shut out the tumult.
“No!” shouted Bob. “I’ll tell you—his name’s Mr. Tea-leaf!” And he laughed triumphantly.
As the other children raised their voices to declare it was very unfair, Bob swung back on his chair again.
“Oh!” screamed Nurse in a fright, making a grab at the table. But she was too late!
Bob had already made a grab at it when, with a Swish! Bang! he tumbled over backwards, dragging the cloth with him, and everything upon it. And the crockery lay around, all broken to atoms!
In the moment of hushed alarm that followed, the Tray rolled away, exclaiming in triumph: “I’ve got rid of them at last! I said I would when I got the chance!” And the Kettle, gazing at the wreckage, sang on serenely and merrily—
“There’s been such a fuss, such a storm has been brewed,
There’s no cups for the tea, and no plates for the food;
The cleverest doctor may puzzle his wits,
But he never can gather and rivet the bits!”