Freddy and the Flying Saucer Plans (13 page)

“H'm,” said Freddy. “If a cat can look at a king I suppose a pig can look at a queen. Not that it's any pleasure; she's no pin-up girl. What you going to do with her?”

“Make 'em promise to lay off me if I give her back. But I thought you were in jail.”

“I don't want anybody to know I'm not,” Freddy said. “But I thought, until we can give out the true story why I swiped those plans, you and I could sneak off and take that trip. Get clean away from Centerboro where nobody will recognize me. Start now, and by sunup we'll be twenty miles from home.”

Jinx was delighted with the idea and he went off to round up and saddle Bill, and to get the saddlebags which Mrs. Bean had made for him, and which had been packed and in readiness for a week. Freddy and the mice took the queen up to the pig pen and shut her in the drawer of his desk where Jerry Peters lived. She was too big to escape through the hole that Jerry used as a door, and Jerry promised to look after her and see that she got enough to eat. Being an ant, he knew the kind of things she liked.

Jerry had also promised to act as nurse to the injured mosquito, Sybil, whom Freddy had brought with him from the jail. He couldn't of course serve her meals, but mosquitoes are used to going for many days without eating, and Sybil assured him that her wing would be healed long before it would be necessary for her to use it in the search for food.

Later on, the ant and the mosquito became fast friends. Sybil continued to live in her matchbox in the drawer, flying out at dusk, and again at dawn, to look for something to eat. Their experiences in life had been so different that they had a great deal to talk about, and they sometimes sat up half the night exchanging tales of their adventures. Before her wing was well enough so that Sybil could fly, she used to get exercise by climbing out of her matchbox and taking walks, first around inside the desk drawer, and then later around the pig pen, with Jerry.

Fido was rather jealous of her; he snarled whenever she came near him, and several times tried to bite her, until Jerry gave him a good licking. Then he merely growled at her and backed into a corner. Eventually he stopped that too, but they never became really good friends.

It still lacked two hours of daylight when Jinx, booted and spurred, with his sombrero on and his gun belt strapped about his middle, rode up on Bill and scratched at the pig pen door.

Freddy came out. He swung into the saddle and the two friends rode off up the slope back of the pig pen, avoiding the duck pond and the woods where their friends lived. Crossing a corner of the Witherspoon farm, Jinx began to laugh. “Wonder what Mrs. Bean will say when she comes down and smells that kitchen this morning.”

“She'll think Mr. Bean has got some new tobacco that's even stronger than that stuff he usually smokes. ‘Old Overshoes,' is that the name of it?”

“That's what Mrs. Bean calls it. It's ‘Overton' or ‘Overbridge' or something like that. That smell'll be gone after he's smoked his after-breakfast pipe.”

“Maybe,” said Freddy doubtfully. “What I'm wondering about is how the cannibal home folks are going to receive the army when it marches in, all perfumed up. We ought to dab a little on the queen so she'll feel at home when she gets back.”

“Speaking of ants,” said Jinx, “that reminds me: there was a committee of ants from one of these ant hills here this afternoon—Jerry talked to them. They've found that mole's money and stuff.”

Freddy pulled up suddenly. “Samuel's treasure? Good grief, and you didn't tell him about it? We'll have to go back, Jinx, and find him—help him get the stuff into the bank vaults.”

“Oh, rats!” said the cat. “It's safe where it is. And if you go back now, somebody'll see you, and you want everybody to think you're in jail.”

“Can't help it,” Freddy said, and reined Cy around. “We can get it done before daylight. He's been coming into the bank or up to my place five or six times a day, asking if anything has been found. Why didn't Jerry tell me?”

“I told him not to. I knew you'd want to go dig it up. But if you're seen here it'll get the sheriff in trouble, and you too. Darn it, you're a dangerous criminal, Freddy; you're not supposed to be at large.”

The pig said: “I know. Well, the only fair thing is to put it up to Samuel. Come on.”

The mole was living in a tunnel among the grass roots in the meadow back of the pig pen. They had arranged to signal to him by rapping three times on a big rock that stuck out of the ground near the tunnel. Jinx rapped with his pistol butt, and a few seconds later the earth beside him bulged up and the mole's snout poked out into the air.

“Yes,” he said. “What's wanted? I say what's wanted?”

“You're wanted, mole,” said Freddy. “Some ants have discovered your treasure. It's in the—where is it, Jinx?”

“They said there's a tunnel begins just by the east gatepost, and you go along that for two minutes, then you come to a fork and you turn left and walk for half a minute and turn right at an intersection, and thirty paces along this tunnel (that's ant paces, of course) there's a room hollowed out. It's sealed up, so you can't find it unless you know where it is. And there's the stuff.”

“But hold on a minute,” said Freddy. “Two minutes. That's ant walking time. How far can an ant walk in two minutes?”

“I went to an ant field-day once,” said the cat, “and I remember the ant that won the five-yard dash did it in just under a minute and a half. That's about—let me see, ten feet a minute. In grass, of course.”

“But that was a racing ant,” said Samuel. “An ordinary ant, just walking along and looking around—well, knock off a foot, anyway. Say nine feet a minute.”

“Well, now you know, anyway,” said Jinx impatiently. “Dig it up and put it in the bank; the boys there'll fix you up with a safe-deposit hole. Come on, Freddy.” And he swung into the saddle.

“Hey, where you going?” the mole demanded. “Aren't you going to help me get the stuff to the bank? I can't carry it alone. I say I can't carry it alone.”

“We haven't time now,” said Jinx. “We've got to get going before daylight.”

“We're going on a riding trip,” Freddy said. “We're going off to seek adventure.”

“Oh, boy!” Samuel exclaimed. “I've always wanted to do that. Take me along, will you?”

They shook their heads. “Can't be done. You couldn't ride a horse if we had one for you.”

“I'll give you my emerald ring if you'll take me. You could put me in a basket and tie it behind Freddy's saddle.” And then, as they still shook their heads: “Gosh, a fine generous pair you turned out to be! Won't let me go on your trip, and won't even help me take my stuff over to the bank for safekeeping. O.K. then, why should I be helpful to you? Oh, I know you want me to keep quiet about your being out of jail, pig. Well, I won't keep quiet. I say I won't keep quiet. I'm going to tell everybody.”

Cy was staring at the eastern sky. “Come on, Freddy,” he said impatiently. “Sun'll be up soon.”

But Freddy said: “No, we'll have to take him. Can't let people know I'm not still locked up. Besides, it isn't really fair to Samuel; we did promise to take the stuff into the bank.”

“I won't be any trouble, Freddy, honestly I won't,” said the mole earnestly.

“Pooh,” said Jinx. “It's just blackmail. All that worried you—you said so yourself—was not knowing where your stuff was. Well, now you know. It's safe there. And we've paid the ants for finding it. What more do you want us to do, for Pete's sake?”

“Take me on this trip,” said Samuel with a grin. He looked up at the cat with his weak little eyes. “I won't be any bother, honestly I won't,” he said. “And I know a lot of good stories and songs. You'll be glad to have me with you some of the long evenings when there's nothing to do but sit and look at one another until it's time to go to bed.”

“Yeah,” said the cat crossly, “a lot of ragged old worn-out stories will be a lot of help. And as far as singing goes, if you so much as sound your A—”

Bill looked around at the cat. “Oh, put a muffler on it, Jinx. You've got to take him, so why be a sourpuss? Ha! Not bad. Jinx the sour-pussy-cat! But look, he's not a bad little guy. Break down and be pleasant about it, can't you?”

Jinx shrugged his shoulders and turned away. Bill went back to the barn and got a basket, which was tied on behind Freddy's saddle, and then Samuel was put in it and they started off.

Jinx looked up at Freddy with a malicious smile. “Look at him, Bill,” he said. “Doesn't he look like a fat Indian squaw with a papoose strapped on her back? Ha, Wind-in-the-Head, what's your baby's name?”

“
Ha, Wind-in-the-Head, what's your baby's name?”

“Going to name him after you, Jinxy-boy,” said the pig. “What was it that woman called you in Centerboro the other day—oo tunnin' ickle pussytat oo. Though that would really be
your
Indian name, I suppose. How about it, Chief Ickle Pussytat?”

Freddy could almost always beat Jinx at that game. The cat changed the subject. “All right, smarty. Well, come on. Get going.”

The trip had been planned for more than a year. It hadn't been easy for them to agree. Freddy had argued for Cape Cod, where he could get some sea bathing. But Jinx, who although he could swim well enough, didn't enjoy the water much, voted for Canada. He wanted to visit Montreal and Quebec, where he could hear people speak French. “I want to see if they really understand each other when they make those queer sounds,” he said. “Personally I think it's just double talk. I've heard it talked on the radio, but nobody can make me believe that that stuff means anything. You and I could get up, and I could say: ‘Ollicky pigglebob foozle?' and you could nod your head and say: ‘Mealy toofer condespation,' and we could say we were talking Sanskrit and everybody'd believe us. That's what I think French folks do when there are foreigners around. When they're alone they probably talk as good English as we do.”

So they had decided that both Montreal and Cape Cod were a long distance away, and it might be better just to ride eastward on back roads into New England. “Just sort of wander along without trying to get anywhere specially,” Freddy said. “It'll be more fun that way.” And Jinx had agreed.

So now they turned their mounts' heads, and trotted eastward into the sunrise.

They had gone perhaps half a mile cross-country when Jinx, turning to look behind him, said: “What's that?”

High in the western sky something glittered and flashed. It stopped, and they could see nothing, then it flashed again.

“What on earth!” said Freddy.

“I know what it is,” said Cy. “It's J. J. It's the sun reflected on his glasses.”

Mr. J. J. Pomeroy, head of the A.B.I., was a very nearsighted robin. He had once mistaken Freddy's tail for a worm and pinched it rather severely. As a result, and to prevent similar attacks, Freddy had taken him to an oculist and had him fitted with glasses. Now, as head of the A.B.I., he wore them on a black ribbon. He felt that this added dignity to his manner and made what he said sound more impressive.

He flew up, circled them once, then dropped down and perched on Cy's head. “I have news for you, Freddy,” he said. “Bad news, I'm afraid.”

Freddy said in alarm: “The Beans—has something happened to them?”

“No, no; it's Uncle Ben. He made a terrible mistake. He gave you the
good
plans. He had the good ones and the false ones in the same kind of metal cylinders, and he mixed 'em up. He let you steal the good ones. He just found out when he started work on the saucer engine that the ones he put in the bank, the ones he's working with, aren't any good. And now he wants you to bring back the other ones.”

“Oh, my goodness gracious!” said the pig despairingly. “I haven't got them. I did as Uncle Ben and I decided—I let the spies steal them.”