Freddy the Politician Page 4

  Freddy bent over and spun the pedal. “I think these pedals need oiling,” he said. And he leaned the bicycle against the wall and went in and got an oilcan and oiled the pedal. Then he oiled the other pedal. Then he oiled the handlebars. Then he turned the bicycle upside down and gave it a thorough oiling all over. Then he got a rag and polished it all over.

  “If you have nice things, you ought to take proper care of them, I always say,” he said. “I never start out unless I know my machine is in A-1, first-class condition. It pays in the end to take a little trouble about it. And while I’m at it, I’ll just tighten things up a bit.” And he went back in and got a wrench and tightened all the nuts, and then he got the pump and blew some more air into the tires. “Many a trip has been spoiled because of the lack of just some little thing,” he said. “Just a drop of oil may make all the difference between success and failure. Suppose Lindbergh hadn’t oiled his machine before he started across the ocean that time. Where’d he be now?”

  “Yeah,” said Charles. “Suppose Lincoln hadn’t oiled his horse before riding off to Gettysburg. Would he have won that battle?”

  “Lincoln wasn’t at the battle of Gettysburg,” said Freddy.

  “He was so,” said Charles. “Hey, don’t put any more oil on that thing. You aren’t making a salad.”

  “He was not,” said Freddy. “Come in and we’ll look it up in the encyclopedia.”

  So they went into his study to look it up. The study was not very tidy, and they couldn’t find the L volume of the encyclopedia at all. “Oh, I remember,” said Freddy. “I lent it to Mrs. Bean because she wanted to look up a recipe for lamb stew. Mr. Bean doesn’t like the kind she makes.”

  They found the G volume finally, although they had to hunt for a long time, for Freddy had used it to prop up one corner of his bed. And then they looked up Gettysburg, and Freddy proved to Charles that Lincoln had not attended the battle.

  By that time it was half past seven.

  “While we’re in here,” said Freddy, “I’d like to show you my stamp collection.”

  “I’m afraid that would be taking too much of your time,” said Charles. “If you’re going to practice riding your bicycle—”

  “Oh, that’s all right,” said Freddy. “Lots of time. See here.” He pulled out an old envelope from among some papers and shook out some stamps. There were only seventeen stamps, and eight of them were alike—just ordinary three-cent stamps tom from envelopes.

  “Very interesting,” said Charles. “But not what you’d call a really large collection.”

  “It is,” said Freddy, “and it isn’t. I suppose a collector like Adoniram wouldn’t think much of it. He has over three thousand different kinds. But just the same I’m willing to bet it’s the largest private stamp collection owned solely and exclusively by a pig. I bet there isn’t a pig in the world that has got a bigger one.”

  “I bet there isn’t a pig in the world that cares,” said Charles. “And what’s more, I bet there isn’t another pig in the world but you that could think up so many things to keep from riding a bicycle.”

  “Why, what do you mean?” said Freddy indignantly. “Do you think I’m afraid to ride it?”

  Charles didn’t say anything. He just looked hard at Freddy with his left eye, and with his right eye he looked out of the window at the bicycle. And this was not as hard for him to do as you might think, for a rooster’s eyes aren’t set in the front of his head like yours, but are placed one on each side, so that it is no trouble at all for him to see what is going on in two places at once. Some people think that is why roosters, and hens too of course, seem to show such a lack of decision in a simple thing like crossing the road. They can’t make up their minds which eye to rely on.

  “Huh!” said Freddy. “I’ll show you!” And he walked very boldly and resolutely out of the door and up to the bicycle, with an expression on his face like an early Christian martyr walking into the lions’ den and glad to get it over.

  He started to take hold of the handlebars and then he saw the oil-can. “Must take this in first,” he said. And then he said: “My goodness, that reminds me! I haven’t oiled Bertram this week. Gosh, I must do that right away.”

  Now, maybe you know about Bertram, and if you do, you can skip this paragraph. When Adoniram had first come to the farm, the animals thought it was too bad that he didn’t have any other boy to play with. So they got Uncle Ben to make a wooden boy who ran by clockwork. His name was Bertram and he could do almost everything a real boy can except think. Of course there had to be an engineer to run him, and Ronald, the rooster who had come to the farm with Adoniram, was chosen because he was small. There was a door in Bertram’s back for Ronald to get in by, and a little window in Bertram’s chest for him to look out of, and inside there was a perch facing all the levers that controlled Bertram’s arms and legs. There was even a microphone fixed up so that Ronald could talk for him. He was a good deal more complicated to run than an automobile, but Ronald got on to it very quickly, and Adoniram and Bertram (his clockwork twin) had many fine times together.

  But when the other boy, Byram, came, Bertram wasn’t much use any more, since Adoniram didn’t need a clockwork playmate any longer; so now he had sat for weeks and months upstairs in the barn in Uncle Ben’s old workshop. When they had parties or parades, either Ronald or one of the small animals who had learned to run Bertram would take him out, so it was Freddy’s duty to see that he was always oiled and wound up and ready to go.

  Charles was the only one who was never allowed to run Bertram. At least he was never allowed to if any of the other animals could stop him before he got inside. Once he was in, however, and had set the machinery going, it was no use trying to stop him, for Bertram was tremendously strong.

  Charles didn’t mean to do any harm when he took Bertram out; all he really wanted to do was to turn up the microphone as high as it would go and then make long speeches, which could be heard for miles. He just liked the sound of his own voice, and the louder it was, the better he liked it. But he wasn’t very smart about machinery, and when he was inside Bertram and making a speech, he got so excited that he pulled all the levers and handles at once, and then Bertram either would get his arms and legs all tied up in a knot or else would begin to smash things, and once during a Fourth of July oration his head went round and round like a top, faster and faster, until finally it flew off and went through Mr. Bean’s front parlor window and knocked over a whatnot on which were a pink china cat, and a bottle with a ship inside it, and another bottle with “Mother” painted on it surrounded by a wreath of nasturtiums, and a photograph of Mrs. Bean in a frame covered with shells, and other bric-a-brac. And that kind of thing was dangerous, for though Bertram’s head was wood and weighed fifteen pounds, it wouldn’t stand much of that kind of treatment.

  So when Freddy said he must go oil Bertram, Charles forgot all about the bicycle. Of course it would be fun to see Freddy fall off the bicycle, but it would be more fun to run Bertram, if Freddy would let him. So they went up to the workshop.

  There was Bertram sitting on the floor in a corner with an old horse blanket over his head to keep off the dust.

  “He looks like Sitting Bull at the council fire,” said Freddy.

  “Oh, look, Freddy,” said Charles. “Let’s play he is an Indian. Dress him up in feathers and things and I’ll get in him and—”

  “No,” said Freddy.

  “Aw, come on,” Charles pleaded. “I won’t take him out of the barnyard. Honest, Freddy. Listen, I won’t even take him out of the barn.”

  “No!” said Freddy. “I know as well as you do that you can make a speech that can be heard over half the county without going outside the barn. And even if I could trust you not to do something awful, I wouldn’t let you run him now, when Mr. Bean is so worried about whether we’re responsible enough to run the farm while he’s away.”

  “Well, he thinks I’m responsible even if you don’t,” said Charles. “Ju
st the other day we were all sitting on the fence by the First Animal when he and Mrs. Bean came back from town. He’d been down to get his steamship tickets. And as soon as I saw him, I cautioned ’em all—I said: ‘Hey, boys, look responsible now.’ So we all sat there looking responsible, and he pulled up and sat there looking at us, and then he said: ‘My, my! they all look so solemn; I wonder if it’s because we’re going away, Mrs. B.?’ And Mrs. Bean said: ‘They all look like they got stomach-aches to me, Mr. B.’ And Mr. Bean said: ‘That there rooster—he’s the worst. He looks like he aches all over.’ Then Mrs. Bean said she guessed she’d better brew a cup of her boneset tea for me, and Mr. Bean said: ‘That’ll change his expression some, anyway.’ And they sat there laughing and giggling for a while, and then drove on.”

  “I wouldn’t think that was looking responsible,” said Freddy. “Looking as if you had a stomach-ache.”

  “Oh, is that so? Well, how would you do it?”

  “Oh, I’d look sort of serious and solemn, as if I had something on my mind.”

  “Well, that’s how I feel when I’ve got the stomach-ache. I don’t go round kicking up my heels and grinning. Look, Freddy, let me oil part of him, will you?”

  Freddy was a good executive: that is, he never liked to do any work he could get anyone else to do for him. So he said: “All right. But no funny business,” and handed over the oil-can. Charles didn’t understand the oil-can very well, and he got a lot of oil on his feathers. But he worked away under Freddy’s direction and got Bertram’s shoulders and neck and wrists and elbows oiled up. And then suddenly he gave a squawk and said: “Oh, look, Freddy! Look at the window!” And as Freddy turned to look, Charles pulled open the little door in Bertram’s back and jumped in and slammed it behind him.

  “Hey!” shouted Freddy. “Hey! Get out of there, you ninny! You’ve got no business—”

  “Ha ha!” boomed Charles’s voice, magnified a hundred times by the microphone. “I’ll show you who’s a ninny!” And he began pulling at the levers that set Bertram in motion, and Bertram got up and began whirling his arms around. And then as Freddy ducked hastily under Uncle Ben’s work-bench, Bertram made three jumps. The first jump took him into the middle of the room, and the second jump took him to the head of the stairs, and the third took him right down the stairs, and there was a terrible crashing and banging and bumping. “Oh dear, oh dear!” said Freddy, and dashed down the stairs; and there was Bertram lying on his face on the floor, and his left arm was around his own neck and his left leg was hanging all by itself over the handle of a wheelbarrow.

  When Freddy got to him, Charles was trying to get Bertram to stand up. But with one leg off he couldn’t manage it. And so he decided to have Bertram make his speech anyway, even if he was lying flat on his face. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “the position in which you find me today is not, I admit, the one in which I should have chosen to address you. But it is not for nothing that I have been called Charles the Fearless, Charles the Imperturbable.” And then he stopped. For something had happened to the microphone, and no sound came out of Bertram at all. So he opened the little door and hopped out.

  “All right, all right,” he said impatiently to Freddy, who was calling on him frantically to come out. “Here I am.”

  “Yes, here you are!” said Freddy bitterly. “And what good has that ever been to anybody? Responsible Charles—that’s you!—Say, wait a minute. What was that word you used? The one you said they called you?”

  Freddy, being a poet, was always interested in new words which he could work into his poems, and he suddenly forgot all about scolding Charles. So Charles told him what the word meant and Freddy made a note of it, and then Freddy said: “Look here, if Mr. Bean sees Bertram in this state, he’s going to be pretty upset. We’ll have to get the boys to carry him upstairs and put him together again.”

  So Charles went out and found Byram and Adoniram, and they carried Bertram and his leg upstairs and started to put them together.

  “See here, Charles,” said Freddy, “I’m not going to say any more about this, but the other animals are going to be pretty sore. Now, if I were you—”

  “If you were me,” interrupted Charles, “you could stay here and talk some more. But as it is, you have to get to the bank. It’s almost ten o’clock.”

  “What!” said Freddy. “Good gracious, and today’s the day John Quincy and his father get back, and we have to have a board meeting. I’ll have to run.”

  “Take your bicycle,” said Charles.

  Freddy hesitated. “I suppose it would be quicker,” he said.

  “Sure,” said the rooster. “Just through the barnyard and then coast down the hill to the bank.—Unless, of course, you’re afraid?”

  Freddy looked at him a minute. “Certainly I’m not afraid!” he said crossly. He picked up the bicycle, looking this time like an early Christian martyr out of whom the lions have already taken two or three bites. He put a foot on the pedal, gave a couple of skips, and was off.

  Not off the bicycle, although he came pretty near it as he grazed the corner of the pigpen. But off through the barnyard, and out of the gate, and then whizzing faster and faster down the hill until Charles lost sight of him. “Responsible!” said the rooster. “Responsible your grandmother’s tail-feathers!”

  And even as he spoke, Freddy was getting off the bicycle. He got off much more quickly than he intended to. For even before he left the barnyard the bicycle was going much faster than was really enjoyable. But he didn’t know how to stop it. He had forgotten about the brake. So he kept pedaling faster and faster until his fat little legs were just a blur; and the bicycle responded nobly, and down the hill it went at forty miles an hour, which is high speed on a bicycle, though not much in an aeroplane.

  But it seemed very much like an aeroplane to Freddy. And he was just thinking: “Oh dear, oh dear, I suppose flying is like this, and I guess I don’t ever want to fly,” when the bicycle hit a stone, bounced, went into a ditch, over the ditch, and whang into a stone wall. And for a minute Freddy really was flying. Very gracefully he sailed over the wall and through the window of the First Animal Bank of Centerboro. And landed with a terrible crash in the president’s office.

  through the window of the First Animal Bank

  Freddy was sort of dazed for a minute, but he was pretty fat and the fall hadn’t hurt him much. He was aware of a lot of squawking and fluttering, and some feathers tickling his nose. And then he got up. Three woodpeckers were sitting on the edge of the counter, shaking themselves and settling their feathers.

  “Well, John Quincy,” said the oldest woodpecker, “who, may I ask, is this rather impetuous gentleman?”

  “This?” said John Quincy. “Oh, yes, Father. This is our distinguished secretary. On time, for the first time in his banking career, too. It is exactly ten o’clock. We are thankful to be still alive to congratulate you, Freddy.”

  VI

  Freddy was pretty embarrassed. To arrive at an important banking conference on time was the proper thing to do, of course; but to arrive flying through the window, and knocking all the other bankers flat on the floor, was a little unusual. It would hardly impress anybody with his responsibility. And yet he had been on time. He decided, very wisely, to stick to that point and not to apologize too much. After all, nobody had been injured.

  “I’m sorry if I startled you,” he said. “But I was anxious to be punctual.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t try to get here early,” said John Quincy sarcastically. “Let me introduce you. This is my father, Grover, and my son, X.”

  “X?” said Freddy. “Really? I never heard that name before.”

  “Well, you see,” said John Quincy, “we’re always named after the presidents, but we’re a pretty large family now, and we have used up all the names, so until a new president is elected we haven’t a name for him. So we just call him X.—And now should we get to business? I should tell you, Freddy, that my father feels that it
would hardly be dignified for him to take Jinx’s place as treasurer and work under me as president. So we have decided to make him president, and I will be treasurer.”

  “Why, I guess that’s all right,” said Freddy.

  “Very well,” said John Quincy. “Shall we put it to a vote? I move that John Quincy be made treasurer, and Grover president, of the First Animal Bank.”

  “I second the motion,” said Freddy.

  “Motion made and seconded,” said John Quincy. “All in favor say ‘Aye.’”

  So he and Freddy said: “Aye.”

  “Motion passed,” said John Quincy. “Now is there any other business?” And then he stopped, for there was a tap on the door and John came in.

  “Morning, gentlemen,” said the fox. “I just dropped in to see if the new vaults were satisfactory. That was some digging! Boy! Struck a flat rock as big as a barn. But I got around and under it finally and made a room as big as all the others together.”

  “Thank you,” said John Quincy stiffly. “I have seen the vaults and they are quite satisfactory. But if you will excuse us—we are holding a board meeting, and—”

  “Oh, sure, sure,” said John. “Go right ahead. I’ll just sit here in the corner till you’re through.”

  “That’s all right, John,” said Freddy. “Well, J. Q., go ahead.”

  “Just a minute,” said John Quincy. He came over and whispered in Freddy’s ear. “We can’t carry on a board meeting with outsiders present,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt your friend’s feelings, but really—”

  “There’s nothing secret about this meeting,” said Freddy. “And I’m certainly not going to tell him to leave.”

  John Quincy thought a minute. “Leave it to me,” he said. Then he went back to his place. “Before continuing with the other business of the meeting,” he said, “I would like to move that we use this fine large room in the vaults that John has made for us as the meeting place for the board. I move that it be known hereafter as the board room, and that all board meetings be held therein.”