And Admiral Boom it was. He was ramping up and down in his cage, coughing, and blowing his nose, and spluttering with rage.
“Blast my gizzard! All hands to the Pump! Land, ho! Heave away there! Blast my gizzard!” shouted the Admiral. Every time he came near the bars a tiger prodded him gently with a stick and this made Admiral Boom swear dreadfully.
“But how did they all get in there?” Jane asked the Lion.
“Lost,” said the Lion. “Or rather, left behind. These are the people who’ve dawdled and been left inside when the gates were shut. Got to put ’em somewhere, so we keep ’em here. He’s dangerous – that one there! Nearly did for his keeper not long ago. Don’t go near him!” And he pointed at Admiral Boom.
“Stand back, please, stand back! Don’t crush! Make way, please!” Jane and Michael could hear several voices crying these words loudly.
“Ah – now they’re going to be fed!” said the Lion, excitedly pressing forward into the crowd. “Here come the keepers.”
Four Brown Bears, each wearing a peaked cap, were trundling trolleys of food along the little corridor that separated the animals from their cages.
“Stand back, there!” they said, whenever an animal got in the way. Then they opened a small door in each cage and thrust the food through on pronged forks.
Jane and Michael had a good view of what was happening, through a gap between a panther and a dingo. Bottles of milk were being thrown in to the babies, who made soft little grabs with their hands and clutched them greedily. The older children snatched sponge cakes and doughnuts from the forks and began to eat ravenously. Plates of thin bread-and-butter and wholemeal scones were provided for the ladies in galoshes, and the gentlemen in top hats had lamb cutlets and custard in glasses. These, as they received their food, took it away into a corner, spread handkerchiefs over their striped trousers and began to eat.
Presently, as the keepers passed down the line of cages, a great commotion was heard.
“Blast my vitals – call that a meal? A skimpy little round of beef and a couple of cabbages! What – no Yorkshire pudding? Outrageous! Up with the anchor! And where’s my port? Port, I say! Heave her over! Below there, where’s the Admiral’s port?”
“Listen to him! He’s turned nasty. I tell you, he’s not safe – that one,” said the Lion.
Jane and Michael did not need to be told whom he meant. They knew Admiral Boom’s language too well.
“Well,” said the Lion, as the noise in the hall grew less uproarious. “That appears to be the end. And I’m afraid, if you’ll excuse me, I must be getting along. See you later at the Grand Chain, I hope. I’ll look out for you.” And, leading them to the door, he took his leave of them, sidling away, swinging his curled mane, his golden body dappled with moonlight and shadow.
“Oh, please—” Jane called after him. But he was out of hearing.
“I wanted to ask him if they’d ever get out. The poor humans! Why, it might have been John and Barbara – or any of us.” She turned to Michael, but found that he was no longer by her side. He had moved away along one of the paths and, running after him, she found him talking to a Penguin who was standing in the middle of the path with a large copybook under one wing and an enormous pencil under the other. He was biting the end of it thoughtfully as she approached.
“I can’t think,” she heard Michael saying, apparently in answer to a question.
The Penguin turned to Jane. “Perhaps you can tell me,” he said. “Now, what rhymes with Mary? I can’t use ‘contrary’ because that has been done before and one must be original. If you’re going to say ‘fairy’, don’t. I’ve thought of that already, but as it’s not a bit like her, it won’t do.”
“Hairy,” said Michael brightly.
“Him. Not poetic enough,” observed the Penguin.
“What about ‘wary’?” said Jane.
“Well—” The Penguin appeared to be considering it. “It’s not very good, is it?” he said forlornly. “I’m afraid I’ll have to give it up. You see, I was trying to write a poem for the Birthday. I thought it would be so nice if I began:
‘O Mary, Mary—’
and then I couldn’t get any further. It’s very annoying. They expect something learnt from a penguin, and I don’t want to disappoint them. Well, well – you mustn’t keep me. I must get on with it.” And with that he hurried away, biting his pencil and bending over his copybook.
“This is all very confusing,” said Jane. “Whose birthday is it, I wonder?”
“Now, come along, you two, come along. You want to pay your respects, I suppose, it being the Birthday and all!” said a voice behind them and, turning, they saw the Brown Bear who had given them their tickets at the gate.
“Oh, of course!” said Jane, thinking that was the safest thing to say, but not knowing in the least whom they were to pay their respects to.
The Brown Bear put an arm round each of them and propelled them along the path. They could feel his warm soft fur brushing against their bodies and hear the rumblings his voice made in his stomach as he talked.
“Here we are, here we are!” said the Brown Bear, stopping before a small house whose windows were all so brightly lit that if it hadn’t been a moonlight night you would have thought the sun was shining. The Bear opened the door and gently pushed the two children through it.
The light dazzled them at first, but their eyes soon became accustomed to it and they saw that they were in the Snake House. All the cages were open and the snakes were out – some curled lazily into great scaly knots, others slipping gently about the floor. And in the middle of the snakes, on a log that had evidently been brought from one of the cages, sat Mary Poppins. Jane and Michael could hardly believe their eyes.
“Coupla birthday guests, ma’am,” announced the Brown Bear respectfully. The snakes turned their heads enquiringly towards the children. Mary Poppins did not move. But she spoke.
“And where’s your overcoat, may I ask?” she demanded, looking crossly but without surprise at Michael.
“And your hat and gloves?” she snapped, turning to Jane.
But before either of them had time to reply there was a stir in the Snake House.
“Hsssst! Hsssst!”
The snakes, with a soft hissing sound, were rising up on end and bowing to something behind Jane and Michael. The Brown Bear took off his peaked cap. And slowly Mary Poppins, too, stood up.
“My dear child. My very dear child!” said a small, delicate, hissing voice. And out from the largest of the cages there came, with slow, soft, winding movements, a Hamadryad. He slid in graceful curves past the bowing snakes and the Brown Bear, towards Mary Poppins. And when he reached her, he raised the front half of his long golden body, and, thrusting upwards his scaly golden hood, daintily kissed her, first on one cheek and then on the other.
“So!” he hissed softly. “This is very pleasant – very pleasant, indeed. It is long since your Birthday fell on a Full Moon, my dear.” He turned his head.
“Be seated, friends!” he said, bowing graciously to the other snakes, who, at that word, slid reverently to the floor again, coiled themselves up, and gazed steadily at the Hamadryad and Mary Poppins.