With a pat on the nose for each, the girl brought them to their places. Meanwhile Gabriel had coaxed Mrs. Cowslip and Gustavius, with William, to places opposite them, while Amanda prudently stood guard over the peck measures. Galatea poured balm upon the wounded feelings of Reginald by inviting him to take the chair at the foot of the table. It was a most fortunate arrangement. The pig would have died rather than show himself inferior to Napoleon in the matter of table manners.
“Galatea, what’s the first course?” sang out the Poet.
“Turnips au naturel, George, with chicken à la Marengo for Napoleon.”
The Poet, for the first time in his life, almost smiled.
“Arthur,” he said, “I think ‘The Battle of Waterloo with Variations’ will go well with Napoleon’s chicken à la Marengo.”
Rendered more than usually docile by the music, the guests ate their turnips decorously from the hands of Galatea, Amanda, and Gabriel, while Napoleon, as host, nibbled daintily at his special dish. When the chicken and the turnips had disappeared, the host and his guests looked expectantly at Galatea. Napoleon thumped his short tail against the back of his chair. The music ended with a flourish.
“George,” said Galatea, “Napoleon requests you to make a few appropriate remarks.”
The Poet laid aside his instrument, unfolded his lank limbs, and strode to the side of Napoleon, fixing his earnest gaze on Clarence, the guest of honor, who pricked up his ears. The other guests—whose usual morning indulgence in grass and artichokes had eliminated the fiercer gustatory pangs—were round-eyed and attentive. Amanda caressed Mrs. Cowslip’s crumpled horn to hide her embarrassment at being a party to such foolishness, while Gabriel chuckled inwardly.
“Clarence,” began the Poet, “and fellow members of the flourishing firm of Bos, Equus and Co., we have come together upon this happy occasion to declare a dividend of mutual confidence and esteem. The occasion—which may have escaped the notice of some of you—is the first anniversary of the birth of one of our youngest, yet most enthusiastic members. Clarence, many happy returns of this day. We salute you.”
The Poet bowed to the colt, who nodded his head intelligently.