Freddy Plays Football (4 page)

“Well,” said Freddy, “what are we waiting for?” And he walked out to the end of the springboard that Mr. Bean had put up for the animals, and jumped in. The boy and the other animals followed, until at last everybody was in but Mr. Doty.

“Come on,” said Freddy; “aren't you going to show us some dives?”

Mr. Doty sat down on the bank and put his left big toe in the water, then drew it back with a shiver. “Fancy diving I never liked much,” he remarked. “Always seems too much like showing off. Anyway, my specialty was swimming races.”

“What stroke do you use?” Jason asked. “Show us.”

Mr. Doty shook his head. “This pool is hardly big enough for a demonstration. Terrific speed I work up—two strokes, and my head would hit the other bank.”

“You couldn't work up much speed in two strokes,” said Jason.

“Ha, you don't know me! No, you go ahead and enjoy yourselves. I'll get in later.”

Alice and Emma were keeping off at a safe distance from the others. “I suppose that bathing suit of Mr. Doty's is the latest thing,” Alice said, “but I must say it isn't very becoming.”

“It's in very bad taste, if you ask me,” said Emma. “So conspicuous with those bright stripes.”

Theodore's head popped up between them. “What'll you bet I can't get old Dud-dud, I mean Doty into the water?” he said. Theodore always stammered a good deal, though he really didn't have to. He said he'd started doing it because when anybody asked him a question it gave him a little extra time to think up a good answer. And now he did it without thinking.

“We do not approve of betting,” said Alice primly.

“Neither do I,” said the frog, “unless I'm sure I can win.” He winked one bulging eye at them and disappeared.

A minute later he crawled out on the bank and in two long jumps he was around behind Mr. Doty, who had lighted a cigar and was standing at the edge of the water, shouting advice and encouragement to Freddy. Then he gathered himself together and with one long spring landed square and clammy on the back of the man's neck.

Mr. Doty threw up his arms, his cigar flew out of his mouth, and with a warwhoop that would have scared any number of Ogallala Indians, he lost his balance and plunged after the cigar. Little bits of the uncompleted warwhoop came up in a string of bubbles.

Fortunately the water was not deep on that side. Mr. Doty reappeared almost immediately. As soon as he stopped sputtering, Mrs. Wiggins said: “That was a real pretty dive, Mr. Doty. And quick! My land, when you dropped your cigar, it had hardly left your mouth when you were right after it.”

“Don't believe in wasting things,” he said, and started to climb up on the bank.

“Aren't you going to stay in and show us some stunts?” Bill asked.

“Well, well, I'd like to. But the water's pretty cold today and the trouble is, I'm subject to cramps.”

All this time Uncle Wesley had been cowering under his burdock leaf with his head tucked tightly under his wing, and he hadn't heard much of what went on. But he did hear Mr. Doty's yell. He took his head out, and there in front of him was a piratical looking stranger climbing up out of the water and apparently coming straight for him. Uncle Wesley wasn't very brave, but even a cornered duck will fight, and he felt that he was cornered. He flew up and grabbed Mr. Doty's nose with his strong yellow bill and twisted.

He flew up and grabbed Mr. Doty's nose.

Again Mr. Doty gave the warwhoop and fell into the water—backwards this time. And again the end of the yell came up in bubbles, while Uncle Wesley fluttered free and, half flying and half swimming, made for the reeds.

Mrs. Wiggins was all admiration. “You did it again!” she exclaimed. “And backwards this time! That was wonderful!”

But Mr. Doty was mad. He scrambled ashore and picked up a stone and threw it at Uncle Wesley. His aim was poor and he barely missed Emma.

“Hey, take it easy,” said Freddy. “Wes didn't mean any harm. You scared him.”

“Is that so!” Mr. Doty gave Freddy a mean look. “Well, I'll wring his neck if I ever get hold of him.” And he picked up another stone and threw it. This time it didn't come within yards of the ducks.

Freddy looked at Mrs. Wiggins, and then at Bill and Robert and Georgie, and they all got up and went over and stood in a ring around Mr. Doty. Jason came along too. They didn't look threatening or anything—they just stood and looked at him. And Mr. Doty, who was stooping for another stone, straightened up and gave an uneasy laugh. “Well, well, well,” he said; “mad at me, are you? Why I wouldn't hurt him. Ducks I wouldn't attack. Lions and rhinoceroses, yes—done it many times. But ducks, no. Just wanted to scare him a little. I didn't try to hit him; you saw yourselves how the stones didn't come anywhere near him.”

“Maybe you aren't a very good shot,” said Georgie.

“Well, well, so that's what you think, eh? Let me tell you, I hit what I aim at. Why, when I was pitching for the Cards there's game after game I've struck out ten, fifteen, twenty men.”

“Yeah?” said Georgie. “Let's see you hit that fence post over there.”

Mr. Doty swung his right arm around a couple of times. “No,” he said. “I'd better not. It's a long time since I pitched a game and my ligaments ain't real tight. Might stretch one, and then I'd be laid up good. Guess I better get this wet bathing suit off,” and he went back to where he had left his clothes.

Pretty soon they started home. Freddy looked at Jason's sweater. “What have you done with the C.H.S. you used to have on that sweater?” he asked.

“I ripped it off,” said the boy. “I guess I just couldn't take the kidding. You know what everybody says it means: Can't Hope to Score; Creep, Hobble and Stumble. They make up a new one every day. I don't think we'll have any team this year; I don't think anybody'll come out for it.”

“Well,” said Freddy, “I don't think you ought to be ashamed of being on a team just because it loses. I saw your second game with Tushville last year. You put up a good fight, but they were just too heavy.”

“Quite a football player myself I used to be,” put in Mr. Doty. “Never forget the game we played against Notre Dame. Made three of the four touchdowns myself. The last one, I wasn't only carrying the ball, I was carrying their big left guard, too—Winooski, his name was. He'd tried to tackle me, ye see, and I couldn't shake him off, so I just picked him up and tucked him under my other arm and carried him over the line.”

Freddy had become convinced by this time that Mr. Doty's stories of his exploits were all lies. They were rather harmless lies, because Mr. Doty evidently didn't expect anybody to believe them. Nobody, for instance, could run with a two hundred pound football player under one arm. Freddy thought Mr. Doty just told them for fun. He said so to Mrs. Wiggins when they got back home.

Mrs. Wiggins didn't agree. “He wouldn't tell those stories to the Beans,” she said. “No, sir, he thinks animals are stupid. Dumb animals—that's what most people call us. He thinks we'll believe anything.”

“I sort of like him, though,” said Freddy.

“Land sakes,” said the cow, “I don't object to a liar, as such. He's a lot of fun, too. Only I wouldn't trust him much. He's using lies every day, and if he got mad at you, he'd pick up the handiest thing to get even with. And what has he always got handy?—a good fat lie.”

When Jason started home, Freddy walked down to the gate with him. “I think you ought to sew those letters back on your sweater,” said the pig. “You played the game hard; you've nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I'm not ashamed really,” said Jason. “The reason Tushville has piled up such big scores is that they've got a lot of ringers on their team. There's four of those boys in the last game that must be twenty years old; I bet they don't even go to school.”

“Well, can't you do anything about it?”

“I don't see how. We tried to get Mr. Gridley, our principal, to do something, but he doesn't like football and he wouldn't. He thinks we ought not to have a team anyway. Can't you think of something, Freddy?”

“Why, sure,” said Freddy. “Sure. I've got several ideas already. H'm, let me see … Give me a day or two to mull it over, Jason. So long now.”

Freddy's conscience bothered him as he walked back to the pig pen. He'd said that he had several ideas. That was true enough. But they weren't very good ideas. “I suppose it's an idea to put a lot of lions and tigers into football suits and have them play on the Centerboro team. And it's an idea to shoot all the Tushville team. But they're neither of them really ideas because they couldn't be used. I guess I'll have to make good on this. I guess I'll really have to do a little mulling, whatever that is. I don't want to get like Mr. Doty.”

Chapter 4

Mr. and Mrs. Webb were two spiders who had been happily married for many years. They had led a quiet life on the farm, until the winter when the Bean animals had gone to Florida. The Webbs had gone along. The trip, during most of which they had ridden on Mrs. Wiggins' head, had been a wonderful experience for them, and had changed their whole lives. For it had given them a desire to travel.

Now spiders are not generally great travelers. Of course they have plenty of legs, but their legs are too short. For Mr. Webb to go from the barn up to the duck pond would be as hard and dangerous as for you to travel through fifty miles of a tropical jungle, since grass is tough going for anything as small as a spider. But the Webbs had worked it out. They hitch-hiked.

They did it this way. Let's say they wanted to go over to Tushville, about ten miles beyond Centerboro. It was easy enough to get to Centerboro. Freddy went down at least once a week, and they could get a ride on him. Or if they couldn't ride any other way, they'd wait until Mr. Bean hitched Hank up to the buggy, and then they would hop on to Mr. Bean and climb up and hide under his coat collar. They could have ridden on Hank, of course, but Hank didn't like it—he said they tickled.

Then when Mr. Bean stopped in Centerboro they would wait in the buggy until they spotted a car which seemed to be headed in the right direction, and they would hop down and get aboard it. Sometimes, of course, they would end up in South Pharisee or Pocanaxon, and once they got carried clear to Albany without a chance to get down. But they didn't care. It was all interesting, and they stayed a couple of days and saw the sights and even had dinner with the Governor—at least they sat on his collar during the meal.

Mrs. Webb enjoyed going to weddings and crying a little when the bride walked up the aisle, and Mr. Webb liked them too, because he could look at the presents and figure out what they cost. So one day several months before Mr. Doty's arrival at the farm, they were returning from Utica, where they had attended a large wedding. The young man with whom they had ridden from Centerboro had come alone, but on the return trip a young lady rode with him. They had expected that he would stop in Centerboro, but he drove right on through, and they learned from the conversation that he was going to Syracuse.

The Webbs didn't mind. “We haven't been in Syracuse in some time,” said Mr. Webb. “Perhaps if we are smart we can take in a movie before we go home.”

But the car didn't go into the city, it turned out towards the airport. The young man turned to his companion. “Well,” he said, “there's your plane. They'll be loading in a few minutes. Have a good time in Hollywood.”

“Good land!” said Mrs. Webb. “We'd better jump!”

The spiders had been riding under a bow of ribbon on the front of the young lady's hat. For a traveling spider, no safer or more comfortable spot can be found than a lady's hat. It was the Pullman car of spider travel, Mr. Webb said. For women are careful of their hats; they never throw them around or put them where they'll be sat on, as men do; and there are usually flowers or feathers to hide under.