As soon as he was gone, the appliances rushed into the pirate’s shack and rescued the joyful radio. Then before the pirate could return they scrambled into the baby buggy, and the old Hoover drove off with them as fast as its wheels would revolve.
As luck would have it, they didn’t have much farther to go: where the master lived on Newton Avenue was only a mile or so from City Dump. They reached his apartment building early in the morning before a single milk truck had appeared on the street.
“You see,” said the toaster cheerfully, “in the end everything really does work out for the best.”
Alas, the toaster had spoken too soon. Their tribulations were not yet at an end, and not everything would work out for the best, as they were shortly to discover.
The Hoover, which had an instinctive knack for such things, buzzed the street door open and summoned the automatic elevator. When the elevator door slid open, it wheeled the pram in and pressed the button for the 14th floor.
“It’s changed so,” said the tensor lamp, as the Hoover pushed the pram out of the elevator and down the corridor. “The wallpaper used to be green squiggles and white blobs, and now it’s crisscross lines.”
“It’s we who’ve changed,” said the blanket miserably.
“Hush,” said the Hoover sternly. “Remember the rules!” It pressed the doorbell beside the door to the master’s apartment.
All the appliances kept perfectly still.
No one came to the door.
“Maybe he’s asleep,” said the alarm clock/radio.
“Maybe he’s not home,” said the Hoover. “I’ll see.” It rang the doorbell again, but in a different way so that only the appliances in the apartment would be able to hear it ring.
In only a moment a Singer sewing machine answered the door. “Yes?” said the sewing machine in a tone of polite curiosity. “Can I help you?”
“Oh, excuse me, I seem to have made a mistake.” The Hoover looked at the number on the door, then at the name on the brass panel over the bell. It was the right number, the right name. But… a sewing machine?
“Is that… ?” said a familiar voice within the apartment. “Why, it is! It’s the old Hoover! How are you? Come in! Come in!”
The Hoover wheeled the pram into the apartment and over the deep-piled carpet toward the friendly old TV.
The blanket peeked out shyly over the side of the pram.
“And who’s that with you? Come out—don’t be shy. My goodness, what a treat this is.”
The blanket crawled out of the pram, taking care to keep the worst effects of the journey folded up out of sight. It was followed by the radio, the lamp, and, last of all, the toaster.
The TV, which knew all five of them from the time it had spent with the master at the summer cottage, introduced them to the many appliances from all over the apartment which had begun to gather in the living room. Some, like the Water Pik, the blender, and the TV itself, were old friends. Some, like the stereo and the clock on the mantel, were known to the four appliances that had lived in the apartment at one time themselves but not to the toaster. But a great many were complete strangers to them all. There were huge impractical ginger-jar lamps squatting on low tables and, out of the bedroom, dim little lamps with frilly shades and other lamps screwed into the dining-nook wall that were pretending to be candleflames. Out of the kitchen had trooped a whole tribe of unfamiliar gadgets: a crockpot, a can opener, a waffle iron, a meat grinder, a carving knife, and, somewhat abashedly, the master’s new toaster.
“How do you do,” said the new toaster in a barely audible voice when the TV introduced it.
“How do you do?” the toaster replied warmly.
Neither could think of anything else to say. Fortunately there were more introductions to be effected. The Hoover had to go through a similar ordeal when it met the apartment’s vacuum cleaner, which was (just as the Hoover had feared) one of the new lightweight models that looks like a big hamburger bun on wheels. They were polite to each other, but it was obvious that the new vacuum looked on the Hoover as outmoded.
The blanket had an even worse shock in store. The last two appliances to appear in the living room were a vaporizer and a long tangled string of Christmas tree lights, both of which had been hibernating in a closet. The blanket looked about anxiously. “Well,” it said, making a determined effort to seem accepting and friendly, “I think there must still be one more of you we haven’t yet met.”
“No,” said the TV. “We’re all here.”
“But is there no other… blanket?”
The TV avoided the blanket’s earnest gaze. “No. The master doesn’t use an electric blanket anymore. Just a plain wool one.”
“But he always… he always…” The blanket could say no more. Its resolution deserted it and it fell in a heap on the carpet.
A gasp went up from the apartment’s assembled appliances, which until now had had no idea of the extent of the blanket’s injuries.
“Doesn’t use an electric blanket!” the toaster repeated indignantly. “Why ever not?”
The screen of the TV flickered and then, evasively, started showing a gardening show.
“It isn’t the master’s choice, really,” said the Singer sewing machine in its funny clipped accent. “I daresay he would be delighted to see his old blanket again.”
The blanket looked up questioningly.
“It’s the mistress,” the sewing machine went on. “She says she becomes too hot under an electric blanket.”
“The mistress?” the five appliances repeated.
“Didn’t you know?”
“No,” said the toaster. “No, we haven’t heard anything from the master since he left the cottage three years ago.”
“Two years, eleven months, and twenty-two days, to be precise,” said the alarm clock/radio.
“That’s why we determined to find our way here. We feared… I don’t know what exactly. But we thought that… that our master would need us.”
“Oh,” said the sewing machine. It turned to watch the gardening show on the TV.
As unobtrusively as it might, the new toaster crept back into the kitchen and resumed its post of duty on the formica countertop.
“Two years, eleven months, and twenty-two days is a long time to be left alone,” the radio asserted at rather a loud volume. “Naturally we became concerned. The poor air conditioner stopped working altogether.”
“And all the while,” said the lamp, “never a word of explanation!” It glared reproachfully at the TV, which continued to discuss the problem of blister beetles.
“Can’t any of you tell us why?” the toaster demanded earnestly. “Why did he never return to the cottage? There must be a reason.”
“I can tell you,” said the vaporizer, inching forward. “You see, the mistress is subject to hay fever. I can help her a bit with her asthma, but when the hay fever starts in on her, there’s nothing anyone can do, and she is really very miserable then.”