“Bears should not talk when their mouths are full of food,” said Santa Claus kindly.
But the bear answered only with an impudent growl which so frightened Squeaky that he tumbled from his chair, upsetting a bowl of soup as he fell. In spite of Sancho Wing’s assurance, the table conversation was exceedingly restrained. Though for politeness’ sake Snythergen did try a few comments, which came out in faltering tones. Squeaky was so nervous he could not speak without breaking into little hysterical peals of laughter which sounded like the squeals of a badly frightened pig. He had had one of these fits in the middle of the blessing and Santa Claus eyed him curiously.
Sancho Wing attempted to calm the troubled scene by keeping his head and saving them from awkward pauses. He was not so much afraid as the others because he knew that, no matter what the bear did, he could escape by flying a few strokes into the air. But the nervous way he kept waving his wings about to be sure they were ready for use, showed how far his little heart was from peace and a feeling of security.
At first the bear was very noisy about his eating but grew quieter as his hunger was appeased. And as the meal progressed his eyes became dull, his manner modest—almost demure. The others saw this and were encouraged. Squeaky found his speaking voice and talked wisely on the advantages and disadvantages of pig life. The table talk Sancho Wing had promised Santa Claus now began to flow, and the host was delighted. He asked many questions and nearly every one led along some trail of adventure, relating incidents peculiar to their lives. By this time the bear was painfully ill at ease, for he had not learned man-talk and the loud firm voices around him gave him strange fears. Were they plotting against him? He sat stiffly upright with forepaws crossed upon his chest, and ears cocked suspiciously. When they arose from the table Sancho Wing hopped over to the bear for a little private conversation.
“I want to say a few words to you,” he said, “and luckily for you you will not understand them.”
The bear shuddered and his lips turned a paler pink.
Thoroughly angry Sancho Wing began: “You great big overgrown nuisance of a brute! You cowardly thieving bully!”
If he did not comprehend the words certainly the bear understood Sancho’s gestures. And as he talked the little bird’s body shook with passion. He bobbed his head, flapped his wings, raised one leg threateningly with claws advanced.
The bear looked sheepish. His startled eyes were pleading now. He hung his head as he backed away. Sancho Wing followed closely scolding ever more abusively. The tiny finch seemed to tower with rage as he bullied the frightened beast, who stood six feet six in his bare hind paws while the finch was but a few inches high. When they reached the hall the big fellow dropped to all fours and ran. Returning to the big table Sancho Wing saw a hurt look in Santa Claus’ face and readily guessed the cause.