The Phoenix and the Carpet by E. Nesbit (cool books to read TXT) 📗

arranged in rows across the room—like those you have at schools when there is a magic lantern on ‘Our Eastern Empire’, or on ‘The Way We Do in the Navy’. The doors were of carved wood, very beautiful, with a carved Phoenix above. Anthea noticed that the chairs in the front rows were of the kind that her mother so loved to ask the price of in old furniture shops, and never could buy, because the price was always nearly twenty pounds each. On the mantelpiece were some heavy bronze candlesticks and a clock, and on the top of the clock was another image of the Phoenix.

‘Remove that effigy,’ said the Phoenix to the gentlemen who were there, and it was hastily taken down. Then the Phoenix fluttered to the middle of the mantelpiece and stood there, looking more golden than ever. Then every one in the house and the office came in—from the cashier to the women who cooked the clerks’ dinners in the beautiful kitchen at the top of the house. And every one bowed to the Phoenix and then sat down in a chair.

‘Gentlemen,’ said the nicest gentleman, ‘we have met here today—’

The Phoenix was turning its golden beak from side to side.

‘I don’t notice any incense,’ it said, with an injured sniff. A hurried consultation ended in plates being fetched from the kitchen. Brown sugar, sealing-wax, and tobacco were placed on these, and something from a square bottle was poured over it all. Then a match was applied. It was the only incense that was handy in the Phoenix office, and it certainly burned very briskly and smoked a great deal.

‘We have met here today,’ said the gentleman again, ‘on an occasion unparalleled in the annals of this office. Our respected Phoenix—’

‘Head of the House,’ said the Phoenix, in a hollow voice.

‘I was coming to that. Our respected Phoenix, the Head of this ancient House, has at length done us the honour to come among us. I think I may say, gentlemen, that we are not insensible to this honour, and that we welcome with no uncertain voice one whom we have so long desired to see in our midst.’

Several of the younger clerks thought of saying ‘Hear, hear,’ but they feared it might seem disrespectful to the bird.

‘I will not take up your time,’ the speaker went on, ‘by recapitulating the advantages to be derived from a proper use of our system of fire insurance. I know, and you know, gentlemen, that our aim has ever been to be worthy of that eminent bird whose name we bear, and who now adorns our mantelpiece with his presence. Three cheers, gentlemen, for the winged Head of the House!’

The cheers rose, deafening. When they had died away the Phoenix was asked to say a few words.

It expressed in graceful phrases the pleasure it felt in finding itself at last in its own temple.

‘And,’ it went on, ‘You must not think me wanting in appreciation of your very hearty and cordial reception when I ask that an ode may be recited or a choric song sung. It is what I have always been accustomed to.’

The four children, dumb witnesses of this wonderful scene, glanced a little nervously across the foam of white faces above the sea of black coats. It seemed to them that the Phoenix was really asking a little too much.

‘Time presses,’ said the Phoenix, ‘and the original ode of invocation is long, as well as being Greek; and, besides, it’s no use invoking me when here I am; but is there not a song in your own tongue for a great day such as this?’

Absently the manager began to sing, and one by one the rest joined—

‘Absolute security! No liability! All kinds of property insured against fire. Terms most favourable, Expenses reasonable, Moderate rates for annual Insurance.’

‘That one is NOT my favourite,’ interrupted the Phoenix, ‘and I think you’ve forgotten part of it.’

The manager hastily began another—

‘O Golden Phoenix, fairest bird, The whole great world has often heard Of all the splendid things we do, Great Phoenix, just to honour you.’

‘That’s better,’ said the bird. And every one sang—

‘Class one, for private dwelling-house, For household goods and shops allows; Provided these are built of brick Or stone, and tiled and slated thick.’

‘Try another verse,’ said the Phoenix, ‘further on.’

And again arose the voices of all the clerks and employees and managers and secretaries and cooks—

‘In Scotland our insurance yields The price of burnt-up stacks in fields.’

‘Skip that verse,’ said the Phoenix.

‘Thatched dwellings and their whole contents We deal with—also with their rents; Oh, glorious Phoenix, look and see That these are dealt with in class three. ‘The glories of your temple throng Too thick to go in any song; And we attend, O good and wise, To “days of grace” and merchandise. ‘When people’s homes are burned away They never have a cent to pay If they have done as all should do, O Phoenix, and have honoured you. ‘So let us raise our voice and sing The praises of the Phoenix King. In classes one and two and three, Oh, trust to him, for kind is he!’

‘I’m sure YOU’RE very kind,’ said the Phoenix; ‘and now we must be going. An thank you very much for a very pleasant time. May you all prosper as you deserve to do, for I am sure a nicer, pleasanter-spoken lot of temple attendants I have never met, and never wish to meet. I wish you all good-day!’

It fluttered to the wrist of Robert and drew the four children from the room. The whole of the office staff followed down the wide stairs and filed into their accustomed places, and the two most important officials stood on the steps bowing till Robert had buttoned the golden bird in his Norfolk bosom, and it and he and the three other children were lost in the crowd.

The two most important gentlemen looked at each other earnestly and strangely for a moment, and then retreated to those sacred inner rooms, where they toil without ceasing for the good of the House.

And the moment they were all in their places—managers, secretaries, clerks, and porters—they all started, and each looked cautiously round to see if any one was looking at him. For each thought that he had fallen asleep for a few minutes, and had dreamed a very odd dream about the Phoenix and the board-room. And, of course, no one mentioned it to any one else, because going to sleep at your office is a thing you simply MUST NOT do.

The extraordinary confusion of the board-room, with the remains of the incense in the plates, would have shown them at once that the visit of the Phoenix had been no dream, but a radiant reality, but no one went into the board-room again that day; and next day, before the office was opened, it was all cleaned and put nice and tidy by a