The Clockwork Twin Page 5

  “It’s funny,” said Mrs. Wiggins to her sisters, “but I kind of like to hear Mrs. Bean sing.”

  “I guess it doesn’t matter what a noise sounds like,” said Mrs. Wogus, “as long as you know that it means something nice.” Mrs. Wogus was inclined to be philosophical. That is, she liked talking without thinking much what she was talking about. But sometimes she said pretty wise things.

  Adoniram was happy too. He had lots of good things to eat, and a whole big farm to play on, and all kinds of animals to play with. He liked the Beans a lot, although he was a little afraid of Mr. Bean at first, until he found out that his gruffness was all on the outside, like the shell on a peanut. The laughing exercises had been stopped, for he could now laugh at a joke like anybody else. But Freddy was not entirely satisfied. “You can smile and grin and giggle and chuckle all right. And you can laugh in a gentlemanly sort of way, too. But boys hadn’t ought to laugh in a gentlemanly way when things tickle them. They ought to open their mouths and yell ‘Ha ha!’ good and loud. Like Mrs. Wiggins. I think you ought to study her laugh. Remember: he whose laugh lasts, laughs best. And there’s another thing to remember. You’re not a really good laugher until you know when to stop. If you laugh too long, it sounds foolish. Some laughers make it a rule to stop after the fourth or fifth ‘Ha.’ That doesn’t work very well for me, because sometimes I want to stop sooner, and other times I can’t stop so soon. I think the best rule is to laugh good and loud and then stop as soon as you can.”

  So Adoniram tried that.

  There were only two things that worried Adoniram. Georgie had tried pretty hard to find some traces of Byram. He asked every animal he met, but nobody had seen such a boy. He appealed to Freddy, who as a detective knew how to go about finding anything that was lost, but Freddy couldn’t get any word about him either, although he appealed to the birds, who, as anyone knows, see a lot more of what is going on in the world than animals do. Adoniram worried about that.

  But he worried more about what his aunt and uncle might do. For after he had been at the Beans’ for a few days, Mrs. Bean told him that she had written to them.

  “You see, Adoniram,” she said, “Mr. Bean and I like you and want to have you live with us. But the only way we can do that is to adopt you. If we don’t adopt you, your aunt and uncle can come any time and take you away. We don’t any of us want that. So Mr. Bean and I decided the best thing was to write them about it. Don’t you worry; we’re not going to give you up.”

  But Adoniram did worry. He knew his aunt and uncle, and he knew that they wouldn’t give him up either. He knew that they wanted to keep him, because he had often heard them talking about what they would do when he grew up and got strong enough to do all the work on their farm. His uncle wanted to open a hot-dog stand, and his aunt wanted to take lessons on the piano. They had never had time to, when they had so much work to do.

  But after a couple of weeks had gone by and no answer had come to Mr. Bean’s letter, Adoniram began to stop worrying. After all, there were so many things to do on the farm that there was hardly time for it. For one thing, there was Ronald’s marriage.

  One day Charles, the rooster, stopped Adoniram in the barnyard. “Could you spare me a moment of your valuable time on a private matter of some importance?” he asked pompously.

  “Of course,” said the boy.

  “Just step down behind the cow-barn for a moment,” said Charles, and when they were there: “This chap, Ronald,” he said; “can you tell me anything about him? Do you—are you acquainted with his family at all?”

  “Why, no,” said Adoniram. “You know I just fished him out of the river. I don’t know where he came from. Except that he’s English. He said he had won a lot of prizes at poultry shows. That’s about all I know about him.”

  “Poultry shows,” said Charles, shaking his head. “Dear, dear, I was afraid of something like that.” He thought deeply for a moment. “I have nothing against him, you understand,” he said, “but it seems to me that in one who aspires to become a part of my immediate family, a taste for the bright lights and senseless revelry of poultry shows is definitely detrimental. Definitely,” he said after a pause.

  And after a moment he added: “Pernicious influence.”

  “You mean he wants you to adopt him?” asked Adoniram.

  “In a sense, yes,” said Charles. “He has asked me for the claw of my eldest daughter, Cackletta, in marriage.”

  “Well, but poultry shows aren’t so awful, are they?” asked the boy. “Of course I don’t know much about them—”

  “Ah, but I do, young man, I do,” interrupted the rooster. “Not that there is anything really wrong about them. Settled and serious-minded persons like you and me would not be hurt by attending an occasional show. There is no harm in throwing aside responsibility and being gay and care-free for an evening. But if this Ronald is merely an idle and irresponsible fellow, a hanger-on at poultry shows, who cares about nothing but a good time, then I shall withhold my consent. For I do not care to entrust my little Cackletta to—”

  “Charles!” interrupted a sharp voice. “Where on earth—Oh, there you are!” And Henrietta, Charles’s wife, came bustling round the corner. She said hello pleasantly enough to Adoniram, whom she liked, and then turned to her husband. “I’ve been hunting all over the farm for you,” she said crossly. “I thought you were going down to see Freddy about getting out the invitations, and there’s the wedding breakfast to arrange about, and I’m pretty nearly crazy with so many things to do and the wedding only two days off, and all you do is stand around and gab, gab, gab.”

  “All right, my dear, all right,” said Charles. “I’m going.”

  “You bet you’re going,” snapped Henrietta. “And, Adoniram, I wish you’d go along with him to see he gets there; and see that when he gets there he tells Freddy about the invitations. Fine thing—wedding two days away and the invitations not out yet because he can’t stop talking long enough to order them. If talk was worth ten cents an hour he’d be the richest rooster in the world.”

  Charles didn’t wait to hear any more, although there always was plenty when Henrietta was around, and Adoniram thought, as he followed the rooster down to the pigpen, that if talk was money, Henrietta would probably be just about as rich as her husband.

  “But is the wedding all decided on, then?” he asked.

  “Well, yes; in a manner of speaking,” said Charles. “Fact of the matter is, Henrietta was quite taken with Ronald at the first. Don’t misunderstand me; I like him myself. And, after all, that’s the important thing, isn’t it? This poultry-show business—it can’t have done him much harm. No, upon mature consideration, I do not think I shall withhold my consent.”

  By the time they found Freddy, Charles was himself again, and being himself, for Charles, was feeling as important as all the Presidents of the United States from Washington down. They ordered the invitations, however, and Freddy went to work at them at once.

  The wedding, two days later, was really quite a magnificent affair. The henhouse was much too small to accommodate all the guests, so it was held in the big barn, which was tastefully festooned with pink crepe paper. All of Charles’s and Henrietta’s relatives on neighboring farms were there, and one young rooster, a third or fourth cousin, walked eight miles and was so tired when ne got there that he couldn’t be present at the ceremony but had to be put to bed. Quite a romance grew out of this, for he fell in love with the bride’s sister, who took care of him the two days he had to stay in bed and rest, and two weeks later they, too, were married.

  Of course all the farm animals came, and neighborhood friends, and some of the woods animals; and the barn was crowded to the doors. Adoniram was there too. After the ceremony, which was performed by Ferdinand, the crow, the animals all pushed forward to offer their congratulations.

  “Aren’t you going to kiss the bride?” asked Hank, who had been standing beside Adoniram. “Customary at weddings—always kiss the brid
e.”

  The idea of kissing a chicken seemed pretty funny to the boy, and he laughed. But Hank said: “Well, I’m going to. It’s bad luck not to, my mother used to say.”

  Some of the other animals had heard what the horse said, and they began to laugh too, and pretty soon all the animals in the barn were laughing, and they made a lane for Hank so he could walk right up to the bridal party. Cack letta looked a little scared, but she was her mother’s daughter and when Hank knelt down carefully and put his big nose forward, she stretched out her beak and gave him a peck.

  Then a skunk named Sniffy Wilson, who lived back in the woods, said he guessed he’d like to kiss the bride too. But Sniffy was suspected of having eaten one of Cackletta’s little sisters, who had gone into the woods to pick wintergreen berries one day and had never come back. So Henrietta said no, they had to draw the line somewhere. “If you’ve got to kiss somebody,” she said, “why don’t you kiss Hank?”

  “Not if I know myself,” said the horse, backing away.

  “Silence, please, everybody,” shouted Ferdinand in his hoarse voice. “We will now listen to a speech by the bride’s father.”

  “Gosh, I’m leaving!” said Jinx, and began to edge toward the door. A number of other animals evidently had the same idea, and as Charles hopped up on to the dashboard of the old phaeton, the barn became suddenly less crowded.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” began Charles, “friends and well-wishers, it is my pleasure and my privilege to come before you on this happy and auspicious occasion to say a few words in the name of the happy pair who have just been joined together in the bonds of matrimonial wedlock. It is a happy occasion, I say, and yet, my friends, it is a sad occasion too. For while Ronald, here, the gay and gentlemanly Ronald, hero of a score of poultry shows, has gained a lovely bride, I, I, Charles, who stand before you, have lost a cherished daughter. Yet, my friends, ’twas ever thus …”

  “You bet ’twas ever thus when Charles gets a chance to sound off,” said Jinx to Freddy, as they came out into the bright barnyard, where refreshments were being served. “A good deal more thusness than I can stand.”

  “There’s one thing about Charles’s speeches,” said the pig. “Nobody has ever found out how they end.”

  “I expect the happy pair, as he calls ’em, will have to find out how this One ends,” said Jinx. “Everybody else is leaving, but they’ll think they ought to stay.”

  “Adoniram’s staying, too. He’s politer than we are, Jinx.”

  “He’s a nice boy.”

  Freddy was silent for a minute. Then he said: “I’ve been thinking a lot about Adoniram lately. He’s been having a pretty good time since he came here. All the animals like him and they’re always ready to play with him, and Mrs. Bean can’t do enough for him. But just the same, he ought to have another boy to play with.”

  “I expect he’ll go to school in Centerboro next year,” said the cat.

  “Centerboro is too far away for him to have much fun playing with the boys he’ll meet there. And there isn’t a boy on any of the farms around here.”

  “You mean you think we ought to find another boy for the Beans to adopt?”

  “They’d adopt one if we could find one, all right. But where are you going to find one? Most boys have families or something. No, I’ve got another idea. Come on down to my study. I’ve got something to show you.”

  So the two friends left the crowded barnyard, where the wedding guests were feasting and dancing and enjoying themselves. As they passed the barn door they peeked in. Charles, all unconscious that his only remaining listeners were the bride and groom and Adoniram, all three of them sound asleep, was still orating away like anything. “The fourteenth consideration which I wish to bring before this distinguished gathering,” he shouted, “is respect due to parents. How often, my friends, we see children who—”

  “I never can think of Charles as a parent, somehow,” said Freddy, as they went on.

  “More like a phonograph,” said Freddy. “How do you suppose he remembers it all?”

  “He doesn’t. I think he just keeps going around and starts all over again every ten minutes. Nobody ever listens, so nobody has ever found him out.”

  When they got to his study, Freddy spread out a large piece of paper before Jinx. Neatly lettered at the top were the words: “Plans and Specifications for Playmate for Adoniram,” and then there was a big drawing of a clockwork boy, with hundreds of little wheels and levers and springs and things, all very carefully drawn.

  “You remember that plan of the mechanical man you saw on my desk?” Freddy asked. “Well, I’ve been working on that for some time, anyway, because I was interested in it. And then I thought, if we couldn’t get a real boy to play with Adoniram, maybe we could get Uncle Ben to build a clockwork one, and I took this chart up to him a few days ago, and he’s started to work on it already. What do you think of it?”

  “Well,” said Jinx, “I’m like Hank: I don’t know much about machinery. He looks terrible complicated. What can he do?”

  “Run, walk, dance, wrestle, throw a ball—oh, lots of things. And Uncle Ben is thinking up some more improvements.”

  “He won’t be able to talk, will he? What good’s a playmate that can’t talk?”

  “No, but we’re going to put a yell in him. Most boys yell more than they talk, specially when they’re playing.”

  “H’m,” said Jinx, “what happens when he runs down?”

  “He goes to sleep until you wind him up again.”

  “H’m,” said Jinx again; “I’d hate to have a playmate I had to wind up all the time.”

  “Say, look, Jinx,” said Freddy a little crossly, “I didn’t tell you about this so you could think up a lot of criticisms. You leave all those things to Uncle Ben. What I wanted you to do was paint the face. You’re good with paints, got a real artistic touch. We’ve got the head all cut out of wood and ready, and I thought it would be a good time when all the other animals are stuffing themselves with wedding cake and won’t be snooping around, to get it done.”

  “Lead me to it,” said Jinx enthusiastically. Like all cats, and many people, he wasn’t much interested in any kind of work or game that he wasn’t good at. But he was really good at painting, and so he became all at once very much excited about the clockwork boy.

  Late that night, when all the guests had gone and lights were out, one small candle still burned up in the barn loft, where Jinx was putting the finishing touches to the wooden face with a small brush. At last he threw down the brush and stood back, purring with satisfaction. “There,” he said, “when better faces are painted, Jinx’ll paint ’em.” And indeed he had done a splendid job. The face was as lifelike as paint could make it, and it looked exactly like Adoniram, even to the three large freckles on the bridge of the nose.

  “Wonderful!” said Jinx. “Oh boy, are you a clever cat!” Then he turned and poked Freddy, who had agreed to sit up with him while he worked, but had gone to sleep.

  “Eh? What? Who is it?” exclaimed Freddy, struggling to a sitting position. “Oh, it’s you, Jinx. Yes. Was just taking forty winks while you finished.”

  “Forty snorts is more like it,” said the cat. “Well, look. How do you like it?”

  “Gosh,” said Freddy, “that’s swell, Jinx. It’s so much like Adoniram that—well, I don’t believe we’ll be able to tell ’em apart.”

  “I wish I’d had somebody besides Adoniram to paint from,” said Jinx. “It may be a bother, having them look alike. But there wasn’t any other boy around.”

  “I don’t see what difference it makes,” Freddy said.

  So then they both stood silently admiring the face for a while. But Freddy was pretty sleepy, and at last he said: “Well, let’s go to bed.”

  “You go along,” said Jinx. “I want to—well, there’s one or two little things—”

  Freddy grinned. He knew that Jinx just wanted to admire his own work a little longer. “All right,” he said,
and stumbled off drowsily down the stairs.

  VI

  An Engineer for Bertram

  Freddy’s invention of pockets for animals had not really been a success. On his trip he had interested a good many animals in them, partly because he was a high-class salesman and partly because they were such a new idea. But once the novelty wore off, the animals forgot about them and stopped wearing them.

  “Trouble is,” said Freddy, one warm May day when he and Georgie and Jock, the collie, were resting on the bank of the duck pond after a dip, “most animals have got along without carrying things around with them all their lives, and so they don’t really feel a need for pockets. If they’d been born with pockets, they’d use them.”

  “The way I feel about it,” said Jock: “they’re kind of hot and uncomfortable to wear all the time. But I would like them on a long trip. Only most animals don’t take long trips.”

  “There comes Adoniram,” said Georgie. He looked toward the barn, from which a figure came striding quickly toward them. Georgie’s tail began to vibrate, and Jock’s gave a couple of dignified thumps on the ground.

  “You dogs are awfully lucky having tails that you can wag,” said Freddy. “It’s such an easy way of being polite. You don’t have to say: ‘How do you do? I’m glad to see you.’ You just let your tails do it for you with a couple of wags. You know, when I was little I spent hours trying to wag my tail. But I couldn’t move it. It never changes its expression at all, except to come uncurled a little when the weather’s damp. What good is a tail like that?”

  “It’s ornamental,” said Georgie. “It adds something, Freddy, really. It sort of finishes you off, like a little flag.”

  “Finishes me off all right,” said Freddy. “It’s like the period at the end of a sentence—it shows where I come to an end.—Say, what’s the matter with Adoniram? Why does he walk so funny?”