Freddy and the Ignormus Read online

  So the rats had done just that. And if Freddy hadn’t got so curious about the Ignormus, and if he hadn’t himself begun to doubt the existence of any such animal, they might have lived there very comfortably. For by threatening letters, signed by the Ignormus, and by the trick of the parachute-sheet, and in other ways, they had built up the legend of the Ignormus and spread a belief in him and a terror of him among the animals, until all those on the Bean farm,—who really hadn’t thought much about him for a long time—began to be really afraid even to live near the Big Woods.

  “Well,” said Old Whibley, when Simon had finished, “it all goes to show.”

  “Show what?” Jinx asked.

  “Work it out for yourself,” said the owl, and flew away.

  “Well, he’s a big help,” said Jinx. “What’ll we do with Simon, Freddy?”

  “Have to decide that later. Take him down and lock him up, now. And there’s no use going up to garrison the Grimby house.” He began rolling up the sheet. “I’m going to take this down with me. Give me a hand, Charles.”

  The next morning Mr. Bean was sitting at the table having breakfast. He had just had fourteen buckwheat pancakes and three cups of coffee and was finishing a piece of apple pie when he heard a sound of hammering down by the barn.

  “Well, what now?” he exclaimed, and it shows how surprised he was that he got up and went out on the porch, for Mrs. Bean had just put six more buckwheat cakes on his plate and was going in the pantry to get some doughnuts. Mr. Bean always liked to top off his breakfast with five or six doughnuts.

  Freddy was tacking something up on the barn door.

  “What on earth!” exclaimed Mrs. Bean, who had come out behind her husband. “Why, that’s one of my sheets that was stolen.”

  “And one of my Sunday shirts,” said Mr. Bean.

  Freddy disappeared into the barn, and came running out in a minute, dragging the shotgun. And behind him came a whole crowd of small animals carrying the vegetables—some of them looking pretty wilted—which had been stolen from the garden. And last came the chain gang of rats, guarded by the cats.

  “Well, I’ll be hornswoggled!” exclaimed Mr. Bean, and this was pretty strong language for him, particularly so early in the morning.

  Jinx led the rats right up to the porch steps, and lined them up in front of the Beans.

  “Lie down on your backs and confess your crimes,” he commanded.

  After a good deal of getting tangled up in the cord, and several bad fits of sneezing, the rats managed to get on their backs with their legs in the air. All, that is, except Simon, who said with a snarl: “I won’t do it.”

  “Ho!” said Jinx with a grin. “Being the head rat, I suppose you’ve got too much dignity, hey? Well, I guess I can tickle some of that dignity out of you.” And he crouched, and crept slowly toward Simon.

  The rat pretended not to pay any attention at first, but as Jinx came closer and closer he began to tremble, and gave a nervous giggle, and then he rolled over on his back. “All right, all right,” he said angrily. “I can’t stand that tickling.”

  “That’s better,” said the cat. “Now, boys, repeat what you have to say to Mr. Bean.”

  So the rats, in unison, repeated the words Jinx had spent the last hour in teaching them. “Oh, Mr. Bean, we are the thieves who stole your oats. We stole your gun from Freddy. We stole your washing off the line. We robbed the vaults of the First Animal Bank. We pretended that we were the Ignormus, who lives in the Big Woods, and we frightened all the animals and made them steal the vegetables from your garden.”

  The rest of the rats stopped, but Simon went on: “And if you’ll forgive us and let us go, we promise not to do it any more.”

  “Hey, hey!” protested Jinx. “That wasn’t what I told you to say. And it isn’t true, either. We’ve let you go twice before, rats, and each time you’ve come back and done something worse. No sir, this time Mr. Bean is going to decide what is to be done with you.”

  There was silence for a little while, and then Mr. Bean turned to Mrs. Bean. “Well, Mrs. B.,” he said, “what’ll we do with the pesky critters? Rats are no good. They’re the one animal you can’t trust. Except maybe tigers. But I never had any experience of tigers, so I don’t know. Well, what’ll we do? Shoot ’em?”

  Mrs. Bean smiled and shook her head.

  “Drown ’em?” said Mr. Bean.

  She shook her head again.

  Mr. Bean thought for quite a while, then he said: “Hang ’em up by their tails?”

  “Mercy, no!” exclaimed Mrs. Bean.

  So then Mr. Bean shook his head. “I come to the end of my ideas,” he said. “I guess you’ll have to decide, Mrs. B.”

  So then Mrs. Bean thought for a while. And at last she said: “I don’t like rats any better than you do, Mr. B. But maybe it isn’t their fault that they’re bad. Maybe they didn’t have the right kind of bringing up. And, maybe, too, it isn’t easy for them to be good, even if they want to. I mean that when everybody suspects them, and all the cats and dogs chase them, it’s hard for them to get a living, and they almost have to steal to get enough to eat. That’s what I think, Mr. B. And so I’d like to try something else. I’d like to give them that old barn up in the back pasture to live in. You don’t use it for anything. And I’d like to promise them three square meals a day. Freddy could take charge of seeing to that. I think if they have a place to live, and plenty to eat, like the other farm animals, they’ll behave like the other animals. How about it, Mr. B.?”

  “It does credit to your kind heart, Mrs. B.,” replied Mr. Bean. “Though in my opinion, rats are rats, and always will be. But we’ll try it. Turn ’em loose, Jinx.”

  Some, indeed most, of the younger rats were so affected by Mrs. Bean’s kindness that they burst into tears. But Simon merely sneered, and when he was set free, he said to Mrs. Bean: “My family seem inclined to accept your hospitality, ma’am, and I have nothing to say against it. Try it if you like. But they’ve been brought up to be thieves, and thieves they’ll always be, as you’ll find out. Oh, they’ll behave well enough for a time, I’ve no doubt. But as for me, I’m too old to change. For me, it’s the open road, where I can do as I please, and not be bound by rules that are laid down for me by somebody else. So good day to you, ma’am.” And he turned and started towards the gate.

  Jinx started after him, but Mrs. Bean called the cat back. “Let him go,” she said. “I’m sure he won’t bother us any more.”

  Simon turned. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said. “And I’ll tell you this: I’ve had the first kind word from you today that I’ve had from any animal or human since the day I was born. Oh, I don’t want kind words, and I don’t deserve ’em. But because you’ve given me them, I’ll promise you this: that from now on I’ll leave the Bean farm alone.” And he turned and walked out of the gate, and off up the road.

  When Jinx had released the rats, and they had scurried off to their new home, Mrs. Bean said: “Well, I think this calls for a party. Animals, you’re all invited to a party in the front parlor at five this afternoon. And then you can tell us about your experiences catching the robbers. If Mr. B. doesn’t mind,” she added, looking at her husband.

  “Can’t find out how they did it unless I hear ’em talk,” he said. “So I’ll have to put up with it for once.” And he picked up his gun and went in the house to finish his breakfast.

  But Freddy went up to Mrs. Bean. “I’d like to ask some friends of mine to the party, if it’s all right. They helped me a lot on this case.”

  “Why, ask anyone you’ve a mind to,” said Mrs. Bean.

  “Well,” said Freddy, “I thought maybe you wouldn’t like to have them. One’s a frog, and one’s a beetle, and then there’s a centipede and his—”

  “A centipede!” she exclaimed. “Oh dear, Freddy, I don’t know about centipedes. I’m afraid Mr. Bean might object. I’m afraid he’d think maybe a centipede wouldn’t quite know how to behave at a party. Would I have to s
hake hands with him?” she inquired doubtfully.

  “Oh no, ma’am,” said the pig. “Jeffrey’s kind of a rough diamond, if you know what I mean. I guess you’d only embarrass him if you shook hands with him.”

  “I’m sure it would embarrass me,” said Mrs. Bean.

  “I could bring them in a bottle,” said Freddy. “I think they’d feel better that way, with Charles and Henrietta around. But I’m sure they’d like to come, and see the inside of the house, with the new wallpaper and all. They could see all right through the bottle if I washed it first.”

  So Mrs. Bean consented rather doubtfully, and Freddy went off to admire the sheet he had tacked up on the barn door.

  Randolph was walking up the sheet when he got there.

  “Hi, Freddy,” said the beetle. “I guess you kind of forgot me up there in the Big Woods. After I went up that tree, before the attack. It’s all right. I got a ride down on one of the squirrels. Boy, this Ignormus hide is some hide, eh?”

  “I said I’d get it and nail it to the barn door, and I did,” said the pig.

  “Good job,” said Randolph. “And yet—”

  “Yet what?” said Freddy sharply.

  “Don’t like to seem to criticize,” said Randolph. “But after all. There wasn’t any Ignormus, was there?”

  “Well, I don’t know,” said Freddy. “There was and there wasn’t, if you know what I mean. Plenty of animals were scared of him. Scareder than they’d been of a herd of wild alligators. Seems to me that if you believed in the Ignormus, why then as far as you were concerned, there was an Ignormus. And he was just as terrible and horrible and ferocious as you thought he was. And it was just as brave of all those animals to go into the Big Woods to attack him, as it would have been if he’d really been there.”

  “I see what you mean,” said the beetle. “The trick is, not to believe in anything awful. Then you’re not scared of it. Yes. Well, take beetles. Nobody ever bothers a beetle. A beetle’s life is just one long picnic. Or should be. Then why do beetles hide under stones, and duck out of sight when they see a shadow? I’ll tell you. They’re born scared. Scared of things they can’t see. Scared of things there really aren’t any of. Like Ignormuses. If you could find one beetle that wasn’t really scared of anything he couldn’t see, that beetle would be a king.”

  “You’ve done a lot of thinking about life, I guess,” said Freddy respectfully.

  “Did a lot while I was up that tree,” said Randolph. “Saw how the things we’re most scared of don’t exist. Thing to do is, walk right up to them and say: ‘Mister, you’re just an Ignormus. You aren’t there. Get out of my way.’ And then, sure enough, they disappear like a puff of smoke.”

  “You’re right,” said Freddy. “The Ignormus had every animal on this farm scared for years. And what was he? Nothing. My goodness, I’m not ever going to be scared of anything again.”

  At this moment, Jinx, who had come up stealthily behind the pig, gave a loud screech. Freddy went straight up in the air, and then, with a terrified squeal, bolted into the barn.

  The cat grinned. “There you are,” he said. “Not going to be scared of anything again, hey? And look at him.”

  “Sure,” said Randolph. “Guess we can’t help it. Guess we’ll all of us always be scared by things that don’t really amount to much.”

  “Meaning me?” said the cat sharply.

  “If you don’t amount to much, you ought to know it better than I do,” said Randolph. Then, as the cat stared ferociously at him, he ducked into a crack in the door.

  “Ha,” said Jinx. “He should talk about being scared! Yow! “he yelled. “What was that?” For something long and snaky had suddenly dropped across his back, and in three jumps he was up on the fence across the barnyard.

  Freddy, who had thrown the old piece of rope down from the door to the loft, which was above the big barn door, stuck his head out.

  “That makes us all even, cat,” he called. Jinx started to get mad, then suddenly he laughed.

  “Guess you and your bug friend are right,” he said. “There’s always something to scare us, and usually it turns out to be nothing at all. Ignormuses, or pieces of rope, or whatever it is.”

  “Yes,” said Freddy. “We’ve got one Ignormus’s hide nailed up, but there’ll always be others. Little ones or big ones.”

  “There’ll always be Ignormuses,” said the cat. And personally I think it was the wisest thing he, or any other cat, is ever likely to say.

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 1941 by Walter R. Brooks

  ISBN: 978-1-4976-9216-9

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