In the heart of a bustling town, there lived a chef named Benny. He was loved by all for his delicious pies, cakes, and pastries. But Benny had one tiny flaw—he was a little too careless.
Benny was always in a hurry. Whether he was baking cherry pies for the mayor or preparing strawberry tarts for the children in the park, Benny always ran around as if he would miss something important. His dysfunction infectiously spread to his kitchen, where flour bags lay open on the floor, pie crusts were rolled over with bits of dust, and bowls of jam stood too close to the edge of the table. One day Benny invited a few friends to bring their best pies for a surprise pie tasting for the mayor. When they arrived, Benny had just jammed a delicious-looking pie into the oven.
Benny rushed to the garden to pick some strawberries, running in and out of the kitchen to chop and slice. His friends watched in disbelief as Benny tried to whip fresh cream, stirring so quickly that he sent some of it flying across the room, splashing on his friends.
“My goodness, Benny!” said one of his friends. “You must be careful or you’ll have a mishap.”
“What’s that, old friend?” Benny shouted, wiping cream from his eyes. “I’m too busy to listen to you right now! I must pick some strawberries before they spoil!”
Finally, his cake and pies were ready to go into the stove. “I hope you baked your cakes thoroughly,” he said with a chuckle, “or the horse might eat it when the mayor throws it out!”
“What horse?” his friends asked impatiently.
Benny had just pulled out of the oven four pies of bizarre colors—green, blue, yellow, and red—and set to work icing them.
“Stop!…Stop!” shouted his friends. “All the colors will run all over the top!”
“Nothing of the sort will happen!” said Benny lightly. “Can’t one make a marble cake without marbles these days?”
In a few moments, the beautiful pies, still warm, stood on the table. Benny’s friends were anxious to taste them, but not all at once!
“Let’s have the mayor cut the first piece,” said Benny. “Then cut a slice for each of us before it runs into a puddle on the floor!”
His friends glanced at the clock—sure enough, the mayor was coming up the path with his family.
Benny flew towards the door, holding out his hands: “Please, please, I beg of you, don’t tell their sufferings!”
“What do you mean?” asked the mayor and his wife. “Where are the pies?”
“All ready, all ready!” he cried nervously. “But please step outside while I cut the first slice. And pray, beware of my cat Domino!”
Not having a moment to lose, he placed the pies on the table in the garden—the mayor, his wife, and Benny’s friends stood round impatiently. Benny returned bringing a large knife, which he clumsily slipped, and gave Dominique the head of the chef, while the pie slipped from his grasp, involved the mayor’s sunny coat in its curious colors, and then rolled to the feet of his waiting horse.
The children muffled their smiles behind their hands, while the mayor glowered at Benny, who was laughing so heartily he could not say he was sorry. To pounce upon and devour the pie, however, enabled him to murmur an apology before bleeding all over!
“Excuse me, Mr. Mayor,” he said as humbly as he could! What I need is more care about what I do. “I’m afraid I had forgotten about my pie under the gee’s mouth.”
“That deed calls for repentance, friend,” replied the mayor mildly. “Others are sometimes made to suffer through you.”
“You’re right,” said Benny, wiping his eyes and looking at the floor. “Won’t you allow me to cut you a piece from what is left?”
So good-natured was the mayor that he accepted this cheerfully, but good-natured as he was, he did not forget to tell his wife when he came home of the musician who disliked all pies.