Freddy the Pilot Read online

  “But after I left, and that lion brought me back—there was a leopard—” He shuddered.

  Madame Delphine raised her eyebrows and looked at Mademoiselle Rose and Mademoiselle raised her eyebrows and looked back. “You’ve been right here,” said the latter. “You were about to go when you suddenly fainted. Now you’ve come to. There was no leopard. Only this young lady who came in a few minutes ago to see you,” and she pointed to Freddy, who was sitting in the Boston rocker. He still had the rose between his teeth.

  Mr. Condiment started violently at sight of Freddy. He began to say something, but Madame Delphine said angrily: “All this talk of leopards! What are you trying to do, Mr. Condiment? You come here, forcing your attentions upon my daughter, begging her to marry you, and all the time you are engaged to this lady, Señorita Del Pardo.”

  “Engaged to her?” Mr. Condiment exclaimed. “Poppycock! Balderdash! That is—nonsense! Who says I am engaged to her?”

  “Why, Señor-r-r!” Freddy got up, holding on to his waistband, and glided menacingly towards Mr. Condiment, who shrank back. “I say it—I, Lorna, the Leopard Woman.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “You know what happen to mans who say Lorna lie, eh? Wait—I show you.” He turned and went behind the tall chair back of which Harrison was concealed, and as he disappeared, the leopard stalked out from the other side and came snarling towards Mr. Condiment. With a yell Mr. Condiment jumped up, dashed open the door, and disappeared in the darkness.

  As soon as he had gone Freddy and Leo and Harrison and Mr. Boomschmidt all piled into Mr. Groper’s car, and Mr. Groper drove them down to the hotel. By the time Mr. Condiment got there, they had hidden themselves where they could watch the desk without being seen.

  Mr. Condiment came in hurriedly and went up to the desk. He looked rather wild. He picked up a pad of telegraph blanks and wrote out a wire, and then banged several times on the handbell with which the guests summoned Mr. Groper when he was out of the office.

  At that, Willy, who had been coiled behind the counter, reared up until his head was opposite Mr. Condiment’s. “Yes, sir,” he said; “can I be of assistance?”

  Mr. Condiment didn’t faint this time. He made one leap to the front door, a second one to the sidewalk, and a third one to the garage. There was the sound of a car starting, a terrible grinding of gears, and then the roar of the motor died away in the distance.

  They all came out and Freddy went over to the desk and picked up the telegram, and read it aloud.

  It was to Mr. A. J. Mandible, Mgr. Condiment Comics, Philadelphia, and it said: “Fire Gizling stop destroy all copies Lorna also Great Serpent stop fill no more orders for these books.

  (Signed) Condiment.”

  “Why does he tell his manager to do something and then say: ‘Stop’? Willy asked. “Funny way to run a business.”

  “Good gracious, that poor Mr. Mandible,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “He just starts to do something and then the boss tells him to stop.”

  Mr. Groper explained that owing to the impracticability of inserting proper punctuation in telegraphic communications, the word “stop,” in order to obviate ambiguity, was employed as a substitute for the period. But nobody understood him.

  “Well, I guess we fixed Brother Condiment’s wagon for him,” said Harrison.

  Freddy wasn’t so sure. “I guess we’ve made him think that the characters in his comics have come alive,” he said. “I hope that’s scared him enough so he won’t bother Rose any more. But even if it has, he may still want to put Mr. Boom out of business.”

  A waitress came in and whispered to Mr. Groper, and he turned to the others. “The comisariat of this here establishment has prepared a light collation of comestibles. Kindly proceed to the prandial hall.” He threw open the door of the dining room. “Señorita?” And he offered his arm to Freddy.

  CHAPTER

  9

  Each day for the next three days the mysterious plane came out of the north, buzzed the big tent while the performance was going on, dropped a few sacks of flour, and flew off again. Each day, a little farther north, Freddy lay in wait for him high up in the sky. And then on the third day, just before coming to the St. Lawrence River, the strange plane suddenly circled to head into the wind, and began to glide down towards the earth.

  Freddy had Leo up with him that day. Most animals don’t care much about flying, but the lion was enthusiastic about it, and had even begun to take lessons from Johnny Guild.

  Leo said into his microphone: “He’s landing, Freddy. Let’s go right in behind him. Boy, wait till I get my paws on his neck!”

  “We can’t land today,” Freddy said. “He’s certain to have a gun. Yes, he’s putting her down on that field. It’s well hidden, too—trees all around it, and no houses nearby. Probably keeps the plane in that barn.”

  Leo still wanted to go right down and have it out with the pilot, but Freddy said no. “I don’t think he’s seen us,” he said, “and now that we know where his field is, that gives us a big advantage. We’ll work out our plans tonight.” And he turned back for home.

  When the circus was in Centerboro, Leo often stayed all night at the farm. There was an empty box stall next to Hank’s stall in the stable which served the animals as a guest room. They had entertained some very distinguished guests in that way, and Mr. Bean was never surprised when he went out to give Hank his breakfast to find a tiger or an alligator or a hyena snoring away in the box stall. So when Freddy invited Leo to stay, the lion accepted. And they were just crossing the barnyard when they stopped short. “Well, dye my hair!” Leo exclaimed.

  Out of the stable came Sniffy Wilson and his wife, Aroma, followed by their seven oldest children. Each carried a long stick slanted over his shoulder, and each had a small bow and a quiver full of little arrows slung at his back.

  “Hi, Freddy,” said Sniffy. “I’m off to the greenwood with my merry men.”

  “You what?” said Freddy.

  “The greenwood, the greenwood, you dope—I mean, thou knave,” said Sniffy. “You ought to know, you gave me that Robin Hood book yourself.”

  “Oh, sure,” said Freddy. He turned to Leo. “You know about Robin Hood, don’t you? He and a band of outlaws lived in Sherwood Forest, in England, long ago, and they robbed the rich men that had taken their farms away from them, and helped the poor people.”

  “Yeah?” said Leo. “Where’s Sniffy going to find any rich men to rob in the Big Woods?”

  “We aren’t going to rob anybody specially,” said the skunk. “We’re going to right wrongs. We’re going to help widows and orphans.”

  “I’m an orphan,” said Leo hopefully.

  “Can you hit anything with those little arrows?” Freddy asked, and Leo said: “They aren’t big enough to do any harm. Why they wouldn’t stop a mouse.”

  Sniffy grinned at him. “Oh, is that so?” He turned to his children. “Kids—I mean, my merry men all—string your bows.” And when the bows were strung and each little skunk had fitted an arrow to the string: “Now, lads,” he said, “when I give the word, pin me that lion’s tail to the ground.”

  “Hey, take it easy,” Leo protested, backing off with his tail held well behind him. “I was only kidding. Why, Sniffy, you wouldn’t plug an old friend with those great arrows!”

  “Unstring bows!” Sniffy ordered. “No, Leo, we wouldn’t want to puncture an old pal. But just in case you don’t think we could … Violet,” he said, “see that fencepost with the knot on the side? It’s about fifty yards. Suppose that knot was a lion’s nose, and you were hunting lions. What would you do?”

  “I guess I’d do this, papa,” said Violet. She was the smallest of Sniffy’s children. She strung her bow again, nocked an arrow to the string, pulled back and let fly. Tock! went the arrow into the knot.

  Freddy and Leo walked down to inspect it. “Well, dye my whiskers pink!” said the lion. “I’m sure glad that wasn’t my nose.”

  “I guess it would have kind of ti
ckled no matter where it hit you,” said Freddy. “Say, Sniffy, can all your kids shoot as well as that?”

  “They’ve only been practising a little while,” said Sniffy. “Violet’s the best. But the others are coming along. Matter of fact, I’m not so bad myself. Go down there by the post, Freddy, and, let’s see—put that tin can on your head.” He whipped an arrow out of his quiver. “Nay, pick up the can, lad. Dost thou not trust me to hit the mark?”

  “You’re darn right I dost not,” said Freddy. “You stick the can up on the post.”

  “What’s all this ‘dost’ talk?” Leo asked. “And stuff about ‘merry men?’”

  “It’s out of the Robin Hood book,” Freddy said. “It’s the way they talked in 1400 or whenever it was.”

  “I kind of like it,” the lion said. “I’d like to try it on Mr. Boom when he gets to arguing about something.”

  “I’ll lend you the book,” said Freddy. “But, Sniffy, if you and your merry men want to right a wrong, why don’t you help out Mr. Boomschmidt? Mademoiselle Rose is a lady in distress; don’t you want to rescue her?”

  “Oh, sure,” said Sniffy, “I mean, aye, that we do, Brother Pig. But I wot not how we shall be about it.”

  “Well, I wot,” said Freddy. “Come into the stable and we’ll talk it over.”

  Freddy had some trouble persuading the skunks to do what he wanted them to do. His idea was to drop them by parachute on the secret airfield at night, so they wouldn’t be seen. They could then hide in the surrounding woods and act as spies. “We’ve got to find out who the pilot of that plane is,” he said, “and if there are other men at the field. We want to know if Mr. Condiment hires them. When you’ve got all the information you can pick up, we’ll be able to plan how to attack the airfield. Then when we attack—” Freddy hesitated a minute. The Wilsons didn’t look very enthusiastic. Then he remembered the talk in the Robin Hood book. “Why, how now, lads?” he said. “Ye tell me ye be bound for a life of adventure in the merry greenwood, and yet methinks ye hang back when ’tis question of trading hard knocks with a stout foe. Nay then, if your hearts be so craven, it is best that ye creep back to a safe fat life in the meadows, and leave the greenwood to those who have no fear of the sharp rap of a cudgel, or the swish of a clothyard shaft.”

  The Robin Hood talk, and the accusation of cowardice, brought Sniffy up to the mark. “Oh, is that sol” he said. “I mean—sayest thou so? Then out upon thee for a scurvy knave, so to miscall an old friend. We be no cravens, we Wilsons—no mice, no rabbits, to flinch from a fight. Show us what thou wouldst have us do—”

  “Just a minute,” interrupted a voice from the doorway. “Clear up some of this funny talk. ‘Flinch from a fight’—does that mean you’re calling rabbits cowards?” And Rabbit No. 18 hopped into the barn.

  “Hello, 18,” said Freddy. “Oh now, I don’t think Sniffy meant to throw any doubt on rabbit bravery. I think—”

  But Sniffy interrupted. He struck a warlike pose—probably, Freddy thought, for the benefit of his children, who were gazing at him admiringly. “If the cap fits,” he said haughtily, “put it on.”

  “O.K.,” said No. 18. “I’ll put it on. Give me a stick, one of you kids. Now, Sniffy, on guard. You may think you’re Robin Hood, but I know I’m the new Head Horrible of the Horrible Ten, and we’ll see who’s the best man.”

  Sniffy might well have paused at mention of the Horrible Ten. This was an association of rabbits who had banded together, partly to protect their own interests, partly to have fun going around at night and scaring people they didn’t like. They pinned their big ears down and carried little tin knives, and to suddenly see these odd looking creatures dancing around you in the moonlight, flourishing their knives and chanting a bloodthirsty song, was indeed rather terrifying.

  But Sniffy wasn’t going to back down in front of the children. He threw aside his bow and quiver, and grasping his staff by the middle, advanced upon 18.

  There was a sharp little rattle as the staves met. But the bout was a short one. No. 18 had no skill with the quarterstaff; instead of holding it by the middle as Sniffy did, with his paws well apart, he seized it like a baseball bat by one end. Then he swung. Swish! and Sniffy ducked beneath it. Swish—crack! Sniffy warded the second blow with one end of his staff, then struck hard with the other end. The blow caught 18 in the side and knocked the wind out of him. He sat down on the floor and said Whoosh! several times. Then slowly he got up. “O.K.,” he said. “O.K.. So you’re Robin Hood. But I’m still the Head Horrible.” And he limped out of the barn.

  The blow knocked the wind out of him.

  “This is too bad, Sniffy,” Freddy said. “Just when we all ought to be pulling together to help out Mr. Boom. You’ll hear from the Horribles, I bet.”

  “What can they do?” said Sniffy. “Look at these arrows, Freddy. Uncle Ben made us up some tipped with sharp wire, and a lot tipped with porcupine quills. I wouldn’t use the wire ones on the Horribles. After all, most of them are friends of mine. But if they try any of this scary business—well, they’ll have a lot of fun pulling quills out of one another.”

  “I’d rather see you plugging them into Mr. Condiment than into the Horribles,” Freddy said. “But a minute ago you said—that is, thou saidst that thou wouldst straightway do what I asked of thee.”

  “Yes,” said Sniffy. “In sooth I did promise thee that thy—” He broke off. “Golly,” he said, I sound like a teakettle—all those th’s.”

  “I thought you were trying to whistle,” Freddy said. “But it is pretty hard stuff to talk. Let’s quit before we get our tongues tied into a knot. Look, there’s a lot of old umbrellas up in the Beans’ attic. You can use them as parachutes—I can drop you on that airfield tomorrow night. Are you game?”

  “We’re game,” said Sniffy. “It’s for Mr. Boom and Mademoiselle Rose. But how can we report to you? It would take us a week to walk back.”

  “There’s an airfield where I can land at West Nineveh, about four miles south of where you’ll be. I’ll get in touch with you in two days. When we’re over the field I’ll show you where you can keep watch for me. Now let’s go get the umbrellas. I think you’d better make a practise jump or two off the barn before tomorrow night.”

  CHAPTER

  10

  The Horrible Ten didn’t waste much time. Freddy went and saw Mrs. Bean and she let him take the umbrellas, and then the skunks practised jumping off the barn roof with them. They worked fine. It was after dark when Freddy said they were good enough to jump from a plane. The skunks started off then to spend one last night, before leaving on their perilous mission, in their old den in the pasture. And they were just climbing over the stone wall when they heard a lot of little squeaky voices singing a sort of chant.

  “Shut your eyes. Cover your head.

  Or better still, get under the bed.

  For the Horrible Ten are out tonight,

  And they’re full of meanness and rage and spite.

  Oh, what is that! Does something crawl

  Among the shadows along the wall?

  In the dark—under the chair,

  Do you see red eyes? Is there something there?

  What’s that reflection in the mirror?

  Is it a Horrible creeping nearer?

  Look! Look! Run for your lives!

  I see the flash of the Horribles’ knives!”

  And then out from behind clumps of grass and small bushes popped the little round heads of fifteen or twenty Horribles. They came capering out and did a sort of war dance around the skunks, brandishing long sticks as well as their little tin knives, and chanting:

  “Yes! Yes! We’re out tonight

  To giggle and dance in the pale moonlight.

  Run! Run, if you’d save your skin,

  For we’re mean and wicked and full of sin.

  We love to pinch our little sisters,

  To make ’em yelp and raise large blisters;

  To stick long pins in o
ur favorite aunts;

  Pour ink on our uncles’ Sunday pants.

  Our mothers cry and our fathers roar,

  But we just run out and slam the door.

  Our knives are sharp and we’re close behind you;

  You haven’t a chance; we’re sure to find you.

  We’re really awful; you might as well

  Just lie down flat and begin to yell.”

  Even though Sniffy and his family knew perfectly well who the Horribles were, it was pretty scary being jumped out at by such queer looking creatures, and they bunched together for a minute and would probably have run if they hadn’t been surrounded. But Sniffy yelled at them. “String bows!” he shouted. “Backs to the wall, lads. Fire at will, porky quills only. Stand fast, my merry men all.”

  The little skunks were well trained. In fifteen seconds the Horribles had to duck down again into their hiding places as the little arrows went whit! whit! whit! past their ears, and two of them, Nos. 17 and 12, who were slow in taking cover, let out sharp squeals as the quills stuck into them.

  But the Head Horrible, No. 18, had foreseen that they would be fired on, and so had equipped his followers with sticks. “Brother Horribles,” he called, “prepare to charge. Are you ready?”

  “Ready! All ready, Your Dreadfulness!” came the answer.

  “Then charge!” shouted No. 18. “Up and at ’em. Remember our war cry, brothers!” And the rabbits rushed out, waving their sticks, and shouting: “Charge, Brother Horribles, charge on our foes! Jump on their toes! Give them a kick and a bust in the nose! Horribles forever!”

  “Spread out, lads!” Sniffy called. “Aroma, you guard the left flank; I’ll take the right.” He hadn’t thought about a war cry, so he had to make one up quickly. “Forward, stout lads!” he shouted. “For home, for country, and for Bean! A Wilson! A Wilson!”

  The Horribles hadn’t intended to get into a fight. Their horribleness was really all in fun. But when two or three of them had been jabbed by the quill arrows they got mad, and a mad rabbit is a very angry animal, indeed. Rabbits are peaceful as a rule, but when roused they can be ferocious fighters, and seldom give quarter.