Freddy the Politician Page 11

  “Simon and his gang have been around a lot lately,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “That’s one of the first things we have to attend to after election.”

  “See here, Mrs. Wiggins,” said Marcus, “I don’t want you to think I had anything to do with this cheating. I just thought it would be fun to run for president, only of course I knew nobody’d vote for me. But then Simon came to see me, and—well, he made some threats. You know, rats can do a lot of harm to rabbits. So when I found out what they were up to, I didn’t dare say anything. But I didn’t vote for myself, even. I voted for you—honestly I did.”

  “Well, well, Marcus,” said Mrs. Wiggins comfortably, “I wouldn’t worry about that. We don’t bear you any ill will. And don’t worry about the rats, either. We’ll take care of them.”

  “I’ll fix that Simon—you wait,” said Marcus, who was beginning to recover his quite unrabbitlike daredevil spirit.

  A sudden burst of loud and prolonged cheering made them all look up.

  “What’s that?” they asked each other. “What’s going on?”

  And then Bertram’s voice boomed out over the barnyard.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he roared, “your new president is—Grover!”

  There was another frenzied cheer, and then the voice again. “But there has been trickery. The representatives of the Farmers’ Party have deliberately cheated in counting the votes, in order to elect their candidate. Yes, my friends, I know that it is difficult to believe that Mrs. Wiggins would lend her name to such a dishonest and shady transaction. But the facts cannot lie, even if the representatives of the Farmers’ Party can.”

  “Great guns!” said Jinx. “Outside, everybody! We’ve got to stop this!” And they rushed out into the great crowd of birds and animals that thronged the barnyard.

  “But have no fear,” Bertram went on. “Your new and duly elected president, Grover, has taken charge. If there is sedition, if there is rebellion, he will put it down with a firm claw.”

  In the upper doorway of the barn, where Uncle Ben’s workshop had been, Bertram was standing, with X and John Quincy perched on his shoulders.

  “It’s Grover,” said Freddy. “He’s running Bertram. We’ve got to get him out of there. Come on.”

  So Freddy and Jinx and the two dogs ran back into the barn, while Mrs. Wiggins, who couldn’t have got up the stairs anyway, stayed in the barnyard to try to quiet the crowd. Her supporters rallied loyally around her, but she was unable to make herself heard by them, for even her loudest voice was not strong enough to overpower Bertram’s bellow. In three minutes the two parties had lined up on either side of the barnyard, and it looked as if there was about to be a pitched battle. But Mrs. Wiggins stepped into the open space between them.

  I doubt if Mrs. Wiggins ever appeared more truly heroic than at that moment. Ordinarily the most peace-loving of a peace-loving race, when she had pledged herself to a cause which she thought right she was capable of taking a firm stand even in the face of the most determined opposition. Few other cows, I am certain, would have cared to address that angry mob. Fortunately, she was able to address them and be heard, for Bertram was for the moment engaged with the four animals who had run upstairs to attack him.

  “Stop!” she shouted. “There must be no fighting. We can settle our differences without that.” And then as both sides appeared to be willing at least to hear what she had to say, she began explaining about the votes.

  But half-way through her explanation an outburst of barking and an angry screeching came from the loft, and then out through the air sailed Jinx. He landed on his feet beside Mrs. Wiggins, just as the two dogs, snarling and barking angrily, came tumbling down the stairs.

  “He’s got Freddy!” gasped Robert. “Threw Jinx out of the door and grabbed Freddy and tied him up!”

  Just then Bertram came again to the upper door. “Be calm, my friends,” he roared. “The welfare of the F.A.R. is still in the hands of its duly elected president. An attempt upon my life, made by certain members of the Farmers’ Party, who seem unwilling to abide by the results of our election, has happily been foiled. I have seized the chief conspirator, one Freddy, a pig, and am holding him as hostage for the good behavior of the others.”

  A roar went up from the barnyard—of applause from one side, of anger from the other.

  “But he can’t do that!” exclaimed Emma. “Goodness me, it’s—it’s unheard of!”

  “I dunno what Mr. Bean’d say to such goings-on,” said Hank. “’Fraid he’d be dreadful angry. Guess I’d better climb them stairs and reason with that bird. Though I dunno’s I could get up ’em. Well, I can try.”

  “Wait, Hank,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “Even a horse can’t fight Bertram. He’s strong as seven horses. We’ve got to get Grover out of Bertram some way. How did he ever learn to run him?”

  “Why, I showed him,” said Ronald. “I’ve showed lots of the animals and birds. We never thought anything like this would happen.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” said Robert. “He even knows that the right arm does funny things, though, for Bertram didn’t use it. He tied up Freddy with his left hand.”

  “Well, we can’t fight him,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “We’d better talk to Grover and see what he intends to do. Perhaps that will give us some idea of how to get him out of there.”

  “I’ll talk to him with a hoof in the middle of his tail-feathers,” said Hank angrily, and the others all looked at him in astonishment. For nobody had ever seen Hank really angry before, even under the most trying circumstances.

  “We’ll get you your chance,” said Mrs. Wiggins dryly. And then turning to the members of the Farmers’ Party, she begged them to go quietly to their homes. “When I need you,” she said, “I’ll send for you. I don’t think it will be very long. But in the meanwhile go quietly about your business as you do every day, and above all don’t quarrel with anyone on the other side. If we have to fight, we’ll fight. But we’ll let them start it, and then be ready for them. That’s the best policy.”

  XIV

  The interview with Grover was not very satisfactory. In the first place, he insisted that they come up into the loft. “It is my office,” he said, “the White House from which I shall govern the F.A.R. If you want to see me, you must come up here. You can hardly expect the president to come to you.” And when they pointed out that Mrs. Wiggins could not get up the stairs, he merely remarked that that was too bad.

  So Jinx, Robert, Charles, and Henrietta went up.

  Grover was still in the control room of Bertram, who received them sitting in Uncle Ben’s armchair, with his back to the long bench on which sat Simon and a number of the more important birds who had voted for him. Under the bench, tied tightly, was Freddy. And John Quincy and X sat on Bertram’s shoulders.

  “Before you begin,” said Grover, who had tuned down Bertram’s microphone so that his voice was not much louder than it usually was, “I had better tell you what I intend to do. I know what you are going to say, but you don’t know what I am going to say. So listen.

  “I am the first president of the F.A.R., and I propose to govern the country. You are the heads of the party which opposed my election, and which still opposes it. I do not intend to be hampered in carrying out my plans for the F.A.R. by that opposition, and so I have seized one of you and intend to hold him as hostage for your good behavior. As president, I may point out, I have a perfect right to keep him in prison. As long as you behave yourselves and do as you are told, as long as you obey the laws which I shall pass, Freddy will be kept comfortable and happy. But if you plot against me, if you oppose my commands, he will suffer for it. Do I make myself clear?”

  “You do, bug-eater, you do,” said Jinx flippantly. “But when you say you’re president, you’re talking through your hat. Or through Bertram’s hat. Bertram’s president, not you.”

  “Have it your own way,” said Grover indifferently. “Bertram will punish you if you misbehave. And if you run away, he wi
ll punish Freddy.”

  Jinx scowled for a moment at Bertram, who just sat there motionless, with his left arm resting on one arm of the chair and his right arm—the one that acted up when you tried to work it—hanging down straight over the other. It made Jinx feel queer. Ronald had always run Bertram, and Jinx and the other animals had got to think of the clockwork boy as a real person, and one whom they were fond of. But now he was different. He looked dangerous, and frightening. The woodpeckers, sitting motionless on his shoulders, made him seem strange, too. And the row of birds on the bench, among whom were several hawks and two long-legged, sword-billed herons, made him uncomfortable with their cold stares. Even his old enemy, Simon, whom he had never been afraid of, made him feel nervous.

  He looked at his companions. “Nothing we can do now, I guess,” he said.

  “No,” said Robert thoughtfully, “I guess not.”

  But Henrietta said: “Maybe there’s nothing we can do, but there’s something I can say. Grover, you’re making a fool of yourself. After all, you’re nothing but a bird, and like all birds you’re vain and silly and headstrong. Oh, I know! I’m a bird myself. You’ve heard the story about the woodpecker that got hold of the lion’s tail and thought it was a worm? Well, that’s you. But, as Jinx says, there’s nothing we can do now. As a matter of fact, if we do nothing, that’s enough. By and by the lion will turn around and bite off your head. Snap! And we’ll all go on as we did before you came.”

  “Thank you, Henrietta,” said Grover. “I will remember what you say. But there’s one thing more before you go. I want you to know that you will have nothing to lose by behaving yourselves. The laws that will be made will be for your own good. You will be citizens of a greater country than you would ever have been under a president who was nothing but a yokel, like Mrs. Wiggins.”

  A loud snort from the foot of the stairs made Jinx grin, in spite of his anxiety to get away. Evidently Mrs. Wiggins was listening downstairs.

  As they turned to go, Simon said: “Mr. President, hadn’t you better tell them yourself about the new orders? They may not believe me.”

  “Very well,” said Grover. And then in a solemn voice he declaimed: “Order number one, issued by me, Grover, first president of the F.A.R. Whereas, certain of our citizens have sought redress from me for oppression and maltreatment suffered at the hands of certain other citizens;

  order number one, issued by me

  “And whereas, their complaint setteth forth that they have been pursued, chased, ignominiously beaten, and deprived of their proper habitations and means of livelihood, and have been housed in miserable dens unfit for citizens of so great a republic;

  “And whereas, the conditions as set forth in their complaint have upon investigation been found to be as stated;

  “It is hereby ordered that these citizens, namely one Simon, a rat, and his wife, children, and dependents, to the number of twenty-one or more, be hereafter permitted freely to take up residence in any barn or building they may choose, to occupy said premises freely and without molestation under pain of fine and imprisonment;

  “And it is further ordered that they be permitted freely, and without let or hindrance, to take for their own use such grain or other food as may be found in said buildings, to an amount not exceeding one peck per rat per day.”

  Grover stopped and the animals looked at one another again, and Henrietta said: “Now say it all over in English.”

  “I know what he means,” said Robert. “The rats can live in the barn and eat all the grain they want to.”

  “Come on,” said Jinx suddenly. “Let’s get out of here before I start chewing my own tail.” And he started for the stairs, followed by the others.

  In the barn downstairs their friends were waiting for them.

  “We heard it all,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “Robert, what’s a yokel?”

  “Search me,” said Robert. “But I don’t think he meant it as a compliment.”

  “No,” said the cow. “But he’s afraid of me or he wouldn’t call me names. That’s what people always do when they’re scared. Well, I’m scared, too, so that makes us even. I’m going home. I want to think. There’s nothing we can do now. Grover’s got the upper hand, and the thing to do for a while is to go on about our regular business as he told us to. At least we’ll pretend to. If anybody thinks of a plan, talk it over with one or two others. We can’t hold any big meetings, but we don’t need ’em.”

  “You’re our president,” said Hank, “and we’ll do as you say.” And the others all agreed.

  That afternoon Grover made a tour of inspection of the farm. With John Quincy and X on his shoulders, Bertram strode rapidly in and out of buildings, and across fields, and through the woods, accompanied by the birds of his staff. The two herons, Eliphalet and Lemuel, whom he had appointed his bodyguard, kept beside him and menaced with their long bills any animals who approached too close. Everywhere he issued orders. Many of the animals who had opposed his election were given extra work, and some were even moved from their homes. Hank had to move out of the barn which had always been his home into the cowbarn, as Grover said the barn was to be used for government offices. Eek and Quik and Eeny and Cousin Augustus also had to leave the barn and move into a hollow tree. Mrs. Wogus and Mrs. Wurzburger were allowed to go about the farm as they always had, but Mrs. Wiggins, whom Grover considered one of his chief enemies, was forbidden to leave the cow-barn on pain of arrest. The chickens had to leave their comfortable chicken-house at ten minutes’ notice and move down into the woods. The chicken-house, Grover said, was to be used as barracks for soldiers.

  “Soldiers!” said Henrietta. “What are you going to do—start a war?”

  “You’ll find out,” said Grover. “Come. Pack up. You have ten minutes.”

  And the chickens packed. All the other animals, too, did as they were ordered. It was all they could do, for none of them was strong enough to fight Bertram.

  But with old Whibley, Grover struck his first snag. On the tour of inspection, Bertram stopped under the old beech tree and shouted: “Owls! Come out!”

  After a minute old Whibley appeared at the entrance of his hole. “Bug-eater again,” he said. “Know that voice of yours anywhere. Stepped up with a microphone so it’ll sound important. Like wearing high heels to make yourself look taller. Same voice. Little foolisher, if anything.”

  “Be careful what you say, owl,” boomed Bertram. “I come to offer you peace.”

  “Peace?” said old Whibley. “I can get peace by walking back into my house. Go away, woodpecker.”

  “Listen,” said Bertram. “I am president of the F.A.R. The F.A.R.! A little hill farm, no bigger than half a dozen city blocks! Do you think I am satisfied to be president of a country like that? No! Tomorrow morning my armies will move against Zenas Witherspoon’s farm, over the hill. If the Witherspoon animals agree to join the F.A.R., well and good. If they prefer to fight, it will, I assure you, be a very short war. We shall take them in. Then we shall march on the Macy farm, across the valley. And so on. Within three months every animal in New York State will be a citizen of the F.A.R. Within a year, or two at the most, I see a great republic of animals, stretching from coast to coast, a far-flung empire—”

  “Far-flung dishwater!” snapped old Whibley. “Never heard such nonsense!”

  “Wait,” said Bertram. “I have come to offer you a high honor, a position in the government under me. We need brains—”

  “I’ll say you do,” put in the owl.

  “We need brains like yours,” went on Bertram. “You could rise high, do great things—”

  “Stop it!” interrupted the owl. “I can rise high enough without your help. You mean well, Grover. There’s just one thing wrong. Mrs. Wiggins is president of the F.A.R.—not you. Go back to your bugs—leave the country to her. She knows more about it than you ever will.” And he went back into his hole.

  Bertram stood still for a moment. Then he raised his left arm and pointed
. “Go bring him out.”

  Three big hawks swooped from the branches on which they had been sitting, circled, and flew toward the tree, and the two herons, with much flapping of wings, managed to get to branches from which they could reach into the hole with their foot-long beaks. But the owl didn’t wait for them. Followed by his niece, Vera, he burst out of the hole, dodged around a tree trunk away from the hawks, and, coming up behind Lemuel, gave him a blow with his powerful wing that knocked the heron squawking from the branch. At the same time Vera swooped expertly through a tangle of branches and dropped on the other heron, who, before he could even get his bill into position to strike, got a crack on the head from her strong curved beak that made him shut his eyes and cling to his perch desperately. And then the owls turned on the hawks.

  Neither hawks nor herons can maneuver well in thick woods. The light is dim, and they are not accustomed to diving and swooping among thick foliage. The herons, indeed, had already given up, for their gangling legs and long beaks caught on twigs and got wedged between branches until they hardly dared move. The hawks kept it up for a time, pursuing an enemy whom they seldom even caught a glimpse of, yet who seemed able, somehow, to be far in front of them one moment, and the next to be snatching a beakful of feathers from their wings or tail, or pouncing and ripping painfully with sharp talons.

  And all the time old Whibley laughed his hooting laughter.

  Grover, peering out of the little window in Bertram’s chest, ground his bill in anger. The hawks were brave, he knew. They would fight until they dropped. But he knew too that he couldn’t afford to have three of his best fighters in the hospital if there was to be a battle tomorrow. So at last he called them off.

  They came down and perched beside him, ruffled, panting, and bedraggled. And Vera and old Whibley perched above them, with hardly a feather out of place.

  “Haven’t had so much fun in years,” said old Whibley. “Must thank you, bug-eater, for providing such good entertainment.”