Freddy Rides Again Read online

  Freddy thought a minute. “You’re right,” he said. “I didn’t want there to be a rattler up there, so I pretended there wasn’t one. But that’s no way to act. Goodness, I’ll see to it right away.”

  For some years Freddy and Mrs. Wiggins had operated what was probably the only animal detective agency in the East. They had a number of rabbits, mice, birds, spiders and other small animals on their payroll, and they could swing into action on a case at a moment’s notice. Freddy called in their head operative, Rabbit No. 23, and gave him his instructions. Within an hour, half a hundred birds and small animals had been alerted; within five hours, No. 23 was back with his report. He saluted and said:

  “Operative No. 23 reporting: Regarding supposed appearance of rattlesnake in woods above duck pond. Mr. E. Nibble, squirrel, states that he has several times distinctly seen a rattlesnake gliding through the grass. He is quite certain.”

  “I know Nibble,” said Freddy. “He’s kind of an alarmist. I don’t think we can pay much attention to him. Go on.”

  “Yes, sir,” said 23. “Theodore, frog, states that he was hissed at and pursued for some distance by a rattlesnake. But on being questioned more closely, he admits that it might have been a milk snake, trying to be funny. He says most milk snakes are practical jokers. Rabbits No. 18, 6 and 37, state that they have seen a rattler a number of times. Confirming this report are the statements of Mr. Horace Winship, peewee, Mr. Jefferson P. Hopp, redwing blackbird, and a number of other reliable witnesses among the bird population. Elbert and Emmeline, two young children of Mrs. Tilbury, rabbit, living in the upper pasture, are said to be missing, and there is a general feeling that this rattler is responsible.” No. 23 paused. Then he said, “If I may make a suggestion, sir, perhaps I should go see this Mrs. Tilbury.”

  “I think you should,” said Freddy. “Though I know her; her children are always getting lost. She’s scatter-brained, even for—” He had been going to say “even for a rabbit,” but thought it wouldn’t be very tactful. He coughed, and said: “She has eighteen children, and if she counts them and finds there are only sixteen, she has hysterics right away, without even bothering to look in the next room. She enjoys making a fuss. My guess is that Elbert and his sister have been right there all the time.”

  No. 23 said: “Yes, sir. Shall I continue my investigation?”

  “Not after you’ve seen Mrs. Tilbury,” said Freddy. “It looks as if there really was a rattlesnake, and in that case it’s too dangerous. I’d better take over the job myself now.” Freddy couldn’t help putting on a bold and fearless expression when he said this; he didn’t really want to show off in front of 23, but the admiration in the rabbit’s eyes was too much for him. After all, if you see that someone thinks you are a hero, you at least have to try to look like one.

  No. 23 hopped off, and Freddy saddled Cy and rode up past the duck pond along the brook into the woods where there was a shady pool in which Theodore, the frog, lived. Freddy had spent many happy hours beside this pool, writing poetry, dreaming, occasionally just snoring the afternoon away. But today, though he dismounted, he didn’t sit down on the mossy bank where he had composed so many of those famous and widely read verses. He drew his pistol and walked to the edge of the water. “Hey, Theodore!” he called.

  There was a rustle in the bushes behind him, and he swung around.

  “Don’t shoot; I’ll c-come quietly,” said a voice, and the frog crawled out. “What’s the idea, cowboy; afraid I’ll jump you when you aren’t looking?”

  “No,” said Freddy. “But I guess I’m a little nervous. I came up to look for that rattler.”

  “Oh, him!” said the frog. “He’s chased me a couple of tut-tut, I mean times. I thought he was one of those smart-aleck milk snakes, and finally I squared off and gave him a poke in the nose. You’d have died laughing, F-Freddy. He just coiled up and stared at me with his mouth open, and then he backed off into the bub, bub—I mean bushes.”

  “Very funny,” said Freddy. “And if he’d swallowed you, I guess you’re the one that would have died laughing.”

  “Shucks, I can jump faster than any old rattler can strike,” Theodore said. “And that’s all bub, bub—I mean boloney about snakes hypnotizing you so you can’t move. Any old snake tries to hypnotize me, I’ll hypnotize him right back.”

  Before Freddy could say anything, a little hissing voice came from somewhere in the bushes. “All right, frog—let’s see you do it. Look at me!”

  They all looked. Cy reared and snorted, and Freddy backed slowly away from the bush under which they now saw the rattlesnake, coiled and ready to strike. But Theodore just stared at the snake, and even moved a step or two towards him.

  “Hey, hold it, Theodore!” Freddy said, and he cocked his pistol. “Beat it, snake, or I’ll blow you apart.”

  “Beat it, snake, or I’ll blow you apart.”

  But the rattler, without removing his eyes from the frog, said in his sharp whisper: “You wouldn’t kid me, would you, pig? I know there are no bullets in that gun.”

  Freddy stopped quickly and scooped up a handful of gravel which he poured down the pistol barrel. “Maybe this won’t kill you,” he said, pointing the gun again, “but I bet it will sting some.”

  “Take it easy, take it easy!” the snake protested. “Point that thing the other way. I wasn’t going to swallow your friend. I just wanted to prove to him he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Matter of fact, we can’t hypnotize anybody. They just get so scared they can’t move.” His forked tongue flickered out mockingly. “Go on, frog, hop it. I’ll call another day when you’re not busy.” And he uncoiled and started to glide away.

  “Just a minute,” said Freddy. “Are you planning to stay in this neighborhood?”

  The front part of the snake turned around, and he flickered his tongue at Freddy. “Suppose I am—you want to make something of it, pig?”

  “I’ll make a snake’s funeral of it, if you want to stay around here,” Freddy said.

  “My, my; such big talk!” the rattler sneered. “Unhealthy talk, too. Keep your eyes open, pig, when you walk through the long grass, or when you climb a stone wall. I’ll be waiting there for you.” He lowered his head and slid off through the undergrowth.

  “You ought to have plugged him, Freddy,” said Cy. “Mostly rattlers aren’t so bad; they don’t bother you unless you bother them first. And they always rattle a warning before they strike. But this is a bad hombre—he’ll be laying for you.”

  “I don’t think so,” Freddy said. “He was just trying to scare me. But we’ve got to get rid of him. We’ve never had rattlers in this part of the country, and we don’t want any. Guess I’ll consult Old Whibley.”

  Theodore, who had taken a standing leap into the water when the snake had turned away, now crawled out on the bank again. “Yeah,” he said, “b-but how you going to do it? Look, Freddy—that gug-gug—I mean guy, he’s got me scared. Can I come down and stay at the farm? Just until you get rid of the snake?”

  “Sure. Only there isn’t any water for you to sit in; you won’t be very comfortable,” Freddy said.

  Cy said: “There’s the watering trough in Hank’s stable.”

  “That’s right,” said Freddy. “Only you want to be careful—Hank shuts his eyes when he drinks—he might swallow you.”

  “You warn Hank to be careful,” said Theodore. “He’ll be d-darned uncomfortable if he swallows me.” He leaped straight from the ground up on to the saddle in front of Freddy, and they rode on.

  Old Whibley, the owl, lived up in the woods with his niece, Vera. Freddy usually went to him for advice when he got in a jam, and it was good advice, but it was never much fun getting it, for Whibley was pretty grumpy and sarcastic. Today they found him in a good mood, however. He came out of his hole in the big tree at the first tap Freddy gave on the trunk, and floated down to perch opposite Cy’s head. “Well, well,” he said. “If it isn’t the Masked Bandit of Roast Pig Gulch! Or is that
your own face, and not a mask? Ah yes, I see it is now. Well, well; so you’ve brought me some lunch,” he went on, staring with his big eyes at Theodore. “Very thoughtful.”

  “Oh, golly,” said the frog, as he scrambled quickly up into the pocket of Freddy’s thunder and lightning shirt. “What a life! I get out of one mess right into another.”

  “Out of the rattlesnake into the owl—if you’ll permit me to adapt an old proverb,” said Whibley.

  “How’s that?” said Freddy. “How did you know we’d seen a rattler?”

  “Been watching that fellow for a couple of days,” Whibley said. “Don’t dare tackle him in the daytime, but I’ll catch him in the open some night and then I’ll have me a rattlesnake pie. Not as tasty as frog—” Theodore, who had poked his head out of the pocket, ducked hastily down—“but more filling.”

  “I hope you catch him soon,” Freddy said. “What’s he doing here anyway?”

  “Forest fires up north this fall,” said the owl. “Driven everybody out of that section of woods. Most of ’em gone back home now, but this fellow finds it easy to pick up a living around here—plenty of young rabbits and field mice—and he’s in no hurry to leave.”

  “That’s what I came to ask about,” said Freddy. “We think he’s after Alice and Emma. We thought you’d know how to get rid of him.”

  “Only one way,” said Whibley. “Bite his head off. You want to try it?”

  Freddy said: “I thought maybe you’d help me. But if that’s all the advice you can give me—”

  “I’ve got no advice to give you,” said the owl, “except to keep away from him. Some night I’ll get him. Until then, you and your friends keep out of his way.”

  Freddy knew that it was good advice. Just the same, he thought, there must be some way, if I could only think of it. I’ve got to do some thinking.

  The only trouble with thinking was that he couldn’t think really hard for more than a few minutes without dropping off to sleep. This is not peculiar to pigs; many people have the same trouble. Indeed some of them don’t even know it, and they will rouse up and say: “My, I’ve been thinking hard; I’d better rest a while,” when they’ve been snoring away like anything for the past hour.

  Freddy had found that the best way to keep awake when he wanted to think was to go for a ride. Then if he dozed he fell off, and that usually woke him up again. Also, he could test any thoughts he got by trying them out on Cy, who had a good level head. Cy said that if some cowboys would talk things over with their horses, they would keep out of a lot of trouble. So they went for a ride.

  And Freddy did get an idea. It came to him just as he was trotting down the back road between the Big Woods and the Bean Woods. He dismounted and he and Cy and Theodore sat down by the roadside and talked it over; and then they went back home. They were just going across the barnyard when they heard a loud yell of laughter.

  “Golly,” said Freddy. “I know that voice!” And Cy said: “Yeah. Wonder who he’s a making fun of today!” They rode around the other side of the stable and saw Billy Margarine doubled up with laughter on his tall scornful thoroughbred, and facing him, their heads lowered threateningly, were Mrs. Wiggins and her two sisters, Mrs. Wurzburger and Mrs. Wogus.

  “Oh, gosh!” Billy gasped. “Oh, gee whiz! I never saw such funny looking animals!”

  Freddy was good and mad. “Shut up!” he said, and he reined Cy up alongside the thoroughbred and pulled out his water pistol and squirted the entire contents into Billy’s face. The boy was just opening his mouth to give another good yell of laughter, but the stream of water pushed the laugh down back his throat, and he began to cough and choke.

  The thoroughbred neighed angrily and tried to kick Cy, but the pony sidestepped nimbly, and then the cows closed in, threatening the horse with their horns. “You didn’t need to bother, Freddy,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “We can get rid of him. And we don’t mind his laughing. It’s kind of a compliment to be laughed at by anybody as foolish as he is.”

  “Oh, is that so!” said Billy, who had got his breath back. “Well, I’ll show you how foolish I am!” And he raised his whip to slash at the cows. Then he dropped his arm. For a voice said: “What’s going on here?” and Mr. Bean came around the corner of the barn.

  The cows fell back respectfully. Jinx and Bill, with Charles, the rooster, and his wife, Henrietta, attracted by the rumpus, came up, and Mr. and Mrs. Pomeroy, the robins, flew down and started to perch on Freddy’s shoulder, just as Theodore stuck his head out of the pig’s shirt pocket. They darted off with a startled squawk.

  “It’s our cat,” said Billy accusingly. “You’ve got him down here and he belongs to us.”

  “Cat?” said Mr. Bean. “Big tortoise-shell? I’ve seen the critter around. Yours, is he? Why don’t you keep him at home?”

  “I was riding by and I saw him and I came in to get him,” said the boy. “But these animals wouldn’t let me look for him.”

  “Probably didn’t like your manners,” said Mr. Bean. “I don’t much myself. Why don’t you call your cat? What’s his name?”

  “My mother says his name is—”

  “Me-row-row-ro-ro-o-o-ow!” Jinx howled suddenly at the top of his lungs.

  Everybody jumped. Except Mr. Bean. It took a good deal to make Mr. Bean jump—not that any of the animals ever tried, for he didn’t like practical jokes. Now he turned and stared severely at the cat, then repeated his question.

  “My mother calls him …” Billy began.

  “Ma-a-a-a-a-a-a-a” went the goat.

  Mr. Bean frowned. “What’s the matter with you animals?” he demanded. “Haven’t you been told times enough not to interrupt?” He stared at them all in turn, and they shifted uneasily. Bill and Jinx had interrupted because they didn’t want the others to find out that Mrs. Margarine called Arthur “Sweetie Pie!” But the other animals were puzzled. They couldn’t imagine what was going on. Fortunately Mr. Bean was a very smart man. He was proud of his animals because they could talk, but he was even prouder of them because they were almost always polite. And he knew that they would never interrupt like that unless there was a good reason. So he didn’t ask again. He just said: “Never mind. You go on home. We don’t want your cat. He’ll come home when he gets ready.”

  “And I’ll go home when I’m good and ready, too!” said Billy. “You can’t order me around!”

  “Well, all right,” said Mr. Bean mildly. “You can stay right here until you take root, if you want to. Though maybe you’d better step back a little, so Mrs. Bean won’t have to look at you every day from the kitchen window.”

  Billy turned red, and he said furiously: “I guess I’m no funnier to look at than this boy of yours.” And he pointed to Freddy. Evidently he hadn’t realized that Freddy, in his cowboy outfit, was a pig.

  Mr. Bean took the pipe out of his mouth and a sort of fizzing creaking sound came out through his whiskers. The animals knew he was laughing. “My boy, hey?” he said. “Kind of takes after his pa, don’t he? The same noble brow, the same classic features.” He put the pipe back in his mouth and puffed so hard that it looked as if his whiskers were on fire. And the animals began to laugh. Henrietta started it with a hysterical cackle, and then Charles and Jinx and Bill chimed in, and in a few minutes the whole crowd was roaring. Mr. Pomeroy the robin, who wore glasses, was perched in the elm tree. He laughed so hard that he cried, and in trying to wipe his eyes with a claw he knocked his glasses off. They were not found for two days. Mrs. Wiggins bellowed until she was so weak that she had to be helped back to the cow barn by her sisters. And Cy shook so that Freddy could hardly stay in the saddle. And Mrs. Bean, coming out to see what all the racket was about, laughed until she had to sit down in the grass, although she had no idea what the joke was.

  Billy had no idea what the joke was either. But he was no fool, and he realized that whatever it was, it was on him. He had never been laughed at like that before, and he didn’t like it. He tried to make two or three
smart remarks, but nobody heard them. And at last he couldn’t stand it any longer, and he reined his horse around and rode out of the barnyard.

  Mr. Bean went over and held out his hand and pulled Mrs. Bean to her feet. He was still fizzing slightly.

  “’Tisn’t really right to laugh at a boy like that, Mr. B.,” she said.

  “Taint really right to have a boy like that, if you come right down to it, Mrs. B.,” he replied. “And so I’d say to Magarine himself if he was here. But now our boy—now there’s a boy we can be proud of.” And he began to creak and fizz all over again, until he choked on his pipe smoke, and Mrs. Bean had to pound him on the back. Which of course is the thing to do, because while it never helps anybody that is choking, it shows that you’d like to help if you knew how.

  “And now, I’d take it kindly, Mr. B.,” she said. “If you’d tell me just what it is I’m laughing at.”

  “Young Margarine,” he said. “He thinks Freddy’s our boy.”

  “Oh, my gracious,” she said, and all at once looked very serious.

  “What ails you?” said Mr. Bean. “You laugh before you know what the joke is, and when I tell it to you, you stop.”

  “Of course,” said Mrs. Bean, “because Freddy will think we’re laughing at him!” And she went right in and made a chocolate cake and took it up to the pig pen herself, so that Freddy wouldn’t feel bad.

  But of course he didn’t feel bad. He had laughed as hard as anybody. But he was glad to get the chocolate cake just the same.

  Chapter 6

  The next morning Freddy went into the First Animal Bank, of which he was President, and drew out four dollars. He rode down to Centerboro and spent it all for gum, and then he came home and put up a sign on the cow barn, “Free Gum. Chew all day. Nothing to pay.”

  Even animals that can afford it seldom chew gum. Most of the Bean animals had tried it at one time or another, but said they couldn’t see much in it. But of course when it was offered free, they saw no reason why they shouldn’t take a stick or two. As a matter of fact, some of them were rather greedy, and took more than they could handle. Rabbit No. 74 got such a mouthful that he couldn’t chew any more, and they had to hold him down and pry his jaws apart with a spoon to get the gum out.