“It hadn’t _time_ to say such a lot of things!” Sylvie interrupted indignantly.
“Oo doosn’t know how Cats speaks!” Bruno rejoined contemptuously. “Cats speaks _welly_ quick!”
By this time the appetites of the guests seemed to be nearly satisfied, and even _Bruno_ had the resolution to say, when the Professor offered him a fourth slice of plum-pudding, “I thinks three helpings is enough!”
Suddenly the Professor started as if he had been electrified. “Why, I had nearly forgotten the most important part of the entertainment! The Other Professor is to recite a Tale of a Pig—I mean a Pig-Tale,” he corrected himself. “It has Introductory Verses at the beginning, and at the end.”
“It ca’n’t have Introductory Verses at the _end_, can it?” said Sylvie.
“Wait till you hear it,” said the Professor: “then you’ll see. I’m not sure it hasn’t some in the _middle_, as well.” Here he rose to his feet, and there was an instant silence through the Banqueting-Hall: they evidently expected a speech.
“Ladies, and gentlemen,” the Professor began, “the Other Professor is so kind as to recite a Poem. The title of it is ‘The Pig-Tale.’ He never recited it before!” (General cheering among the guests.) “He will never recite it again!” (Frantic excitement, and wild cheering all down the hall, the Professor himself mounting the table in hot haste, to lead the cheering, and waving his spectacles in one hand and a spoon in the other.)
Then the Other Professor got up, and began:—
Little Birds are dining Warily and well, Hid in mossy cell: Hid, I say, by waiters Gorgeous in their gaiters— I’ve a Tale to tell.
[Illustration: ‘TEACHING TIGRESSES TO SMILE’]
Little Birds are feeding Justices with jam, Rich in frizzled ham: Rich, I say, in oysters Haunting shady cloisters— That is what I am.
Little Birds are teaching Tigresses to smile, Innocent of guile: Smile, I say, not smirkle— Mouth a semicircle, That’s the proper style.
Little Birds are sleeping All among the pins, Where the loser wins: Where, I say, he sneezes When and how he pleases— So the Tale begins.
There was a Pig that sat alone Beside a ruined Pump: By day and night he made his moan— It would have stirred a heart of stone To see him wring his hoofs and groan, Because he could not jump.