"They're Wedgwood, Staffordshire, Japanese too, They're a breakable lot, we know; When any one cracks any, Chelsea or Saxony, Dresden, or Worcester, or Bow, They make as much shindy As if a big windy Was shivered to bits by a blow." The Teapot went on: "Those people are amusing, too; they think we ought to last for ever, when they can't do it themselves." "A couple of chatterpots!" exclaimed the Nurse's Cup. "Dear me! What with your spouting, and his showing off once he begins to sing, you're enough to wear one out!" "_Dear_ you, indeed!" returned the Teapot; "_cheap_ you! Why, you were given away with a pound of tea! Shouldn't be surprised at all!" he continued, watching Nurse's Cup become speechless with indignation. "But, spouting aside, I could tell you a thing or two." "Or three--or four--or five--or--" The Kettle might have sung on into billions had he not begun to choke over it, and splutter, and gurgle. Then he grew vexed, and snorted, and got angrier and angrier, until finally, in order to breathe more easily, he knocked his lid on one side, and began to boil with rage. "Ha, ha!" laughed the Teapot mockingly. "The old fellow's getting his steam up. Pray don't de-range yourself, sir, on our account. He, he! He's getting water on his nob!" This didn't seem to comfort the Kettle much. "What do you think about it, Spoonies?" added the Teapot. But the Spoons heeded him not. They were conversing quietly in couples, and didn't care to be drawn into argument. So he turned his attention elsewhere, bent on brewing discord. "People are so thoughtless," he complained, turning a cold shoulder to the others. "Muggins, my boy, I'm beginning to get quite chilly; just go and fetch my cosy coat." He knew this was an impossibility, and he only said it in order to pick a quarrel. But, noticing a distant Plate who was openly laughing at him, he cuttingly remarked: "Seen the plumber, lately?" Now, the Plate happened to be suffering severely from rivets, an infirmity which she vainly tried to hide, and which she hated to be noticed. So, getting no reply, he added, "I presume that your plumbago is better." The Kettle was now puffing and spitting to such a degree that it was difficult to imagine he was the same jolly fellow who had been singing so good-temperedly all the time. And the Teapot was content. He had gained his object, and the whole set felt as though they had been wiped the wrong way, when suddenly noisy voices were heard outside.