Freddy the Politician (17 page)

“Far-flung dishwater!” snapped old Whibley. “Never heard such nonsense!”

“Wait,” said Bertram. “I have come to offer you a high honor, a position in the government under me. We need brains—”

“I'll say you do,” put in the owl.

“We need brains like yours,” went on Bertram. “You could rise high, do great things—”

“Stop it!” interrupted the owl. “I can rise high enough without your help. You mean well, Grover. There's just one thing wrong. Mrs. Wiggins is president of the F.A.R.—not you. Go back to your bugs—leave the country to her. She knows more about it than you ever will.” And he went back into his hole.

Bertram stood still for a moment. Then he raised his left arm and pointed. “Go bring him out.”

Three big hawks swooped from the branches on which they had been sitting, circled, and flew toward the tree, and the two herons, with much flapping of wings, managed to get to branches from which they could reach into the hole with their foot-long beaks. But the owl didn't wait for them. Followed by his niece, Vera, he burst out of the hole, dodged around a tree trunk away from the hawks, and, coming up behind Lemuel, gave him a blow with his powerful wing that knocked the heron squawking from the branch. At the same time Vera swooped expertly through a tangle of branches and dropped on the other heron, who, before he could even get his bill into position to strike, got a crack on the head from her strong curved beak that made him shut his eyes and cling to his perch desperately. And then the owls turned on the hawks.

Neither hawks nor herons can maneuver well in thick woods. The light is dim, and they are not accustomed to diving and swooping among thick foliage. The herons, indeed, had already given up, for their gangling legs and long beaks caught on twigs and got wedged between branches until they hardly dared move. The hawks kept it up for a time, pursuing an enemy whom they seldom even caught a glimpse of, yet who seemed able, somehow, to be far in front of them one moment, and the next to be snatching a beakful of feathers from their wings or tail, or pouncing and ripping painfully with sharp talons.

And all the time old Whibley laughed his hooting laughter.

Grover, peering out of the little window in Bertram's chest, ground his bill in anger. The hawks were brave, he knew. They would fight until they dropped. But he knew too that he couldn't afford to have three of his best fighters in the hospital if there was to be a battle tomorrow. So at last he called them off.

They came down and perched beside him, ruffled, panting, and bedraggled. And Vera and old Whibley perched above them, with hardly a feather out of place.

“Haven't had so much fun in years,” said old Whibley. “Must thank you, bug-eater, for providing such good entertainment.”

“You wait!” was all Grover could say. “You wait!”

“Not going to,” said the owl. “It's war, Grover, and I'm going to start right in today. Duels are silly, but war—that's something different. Besides, Freddy and Mrs. Wiggins are friends of mine. Look out for yourself, Grover. Especially at night.” And he and Vera both laughed their eerie, hooting laughter. Grover shivered and, turning Bertram, marched him out of the woods.

In the meantime Freddy was not enjoying himself much. He had been untied and taken downstairs and shut in the box stall with three guards: Ezra, Simon's eldest son, and two other rats. The box stall had once been used by the animals as a jail, and escape from it would have been pretty difficult, even if it were left unguarded. But with the rats there, escape was out of the question. They knew what was to be expected from Freddy's friends, and not a mouse could get near the stall.

But the rats had a good time at first. They made up ribald songs about Freddy and sang them. One or two of them were quite funny and even made Freddy laugh. And when they looked at him in surprise, he remembered his belief in the power of laughter and burst into a roar.

“The song isn't as funny as all that,” said Ezra doubtfully.

“I'm not laughing at the song,” said Freddy. “Just something I thought of.”

They pressed him to tell them what it was, but Freddy wouldn't; he just kept on laughing, and by and by the rats got uneasy. They stopped singing and prowled around the stall, peering and listening.

“Aw, it isn't anything,” they said at last. “He's just trying to get our goat.”

“Sure, boys. That's it,” said Freddy seriously. He was sober for a while, and then he began to chuckle as if he just couldn't hold it in.

Before he was through he had the rats so nervous and unstrung that they sent word out, and three other rats took their places. By that time it was six o'clock, and Freddy was hungry. But the rats said orders were that he couldn't have any supper. “Your friend old Whibley has been misbehaving,” they said. “So of course you get punished for it.”

After that, Freddy didn't feel up to laughing any more, so he curled up and tried to go to sleep.

For a time the tramp of Bertram's heavy footsteps and the sounds of bird and animal voices upstairs, to say nothing of the hunger gnawing in the pit of his stomach, kept him awake. By and by he fell into a doze, and watched a procession of dinners and lunches and breakfasts and bowls of soup and big platters piled high with food passing by, just out of reach. He moaned and tossed about in his sleep, and his guards woke up and grinned at each other.

“Beefsteak, Freddy,” whispered one.

“Apple pie,” whispered another.

Freddy moaned louder.

“Aw, let him alone,” said the third.

It must have been about midnight when Freddy was awakened by a sharp little whisper in his ear. “It's me, Freddy—Webb. Quiet, don't move.”

Freddy lay still.

“Listen,” said the spider. “We're going to try to rescue you tomorrow while Grover and his army are attacking the Witherspoon farm.”

“But you can't!” Freddy exclaimed. “It's too dangerous.”

He had forgotten the guards, and now they jumped up and came over to him.

But Freddy remembered in time. He gave a sort of half snore that ended in a moan, and said, as if talking in his sleep: “Take it away, I tell you. Take it away!”

“Hey, Freddy, what's the matter?” said one of the rats, putting a paw on his shoulder.

“Eh? Wh-what? What's wrong?” exclaimed the pig, starting up and looking around wildly. Then he sank back. “What did you want to wake me for!” he said crossly. “I was just finishing a big plate of lobster salad and they were bringing me in a mince pie.”

“Guess it's just as well I did, then,” said the guard with a laugh. “All right, boys. He was just dreaming.”

When everything had quieted down, Mr. Webb said: “I can't tell you the whole plan now, for there's lots to do and I must get back. But you be ready. When you're out, we can decide what to do about Grover. And, by the way, don't worry about the bank. Grover stopped there on his tour of inspection today and said that he supposed it was up to him to take charge of it, since the bank president was in jail. So he put X in charge of it. But John went down there just after they grabbed you this noon, and he dug another room and moved all the money and valuables into it, and then he closed it up so nobody would know where it was. Grover is planning to use that money, I think, but he'll never find it now. Well, so long.” And Mr. Webb dropped down to the floor and tiptoed across it and up the wall and through a crack over the window to safety.

Freddy felt a lot better in his mind, but a lot worse in his stomach, for he was getting hungrier and hungrier. He couldn't sleep, and there was no use trying to figure out how his friends planned to rescue him, so he decided to annoy the rats. And he suddenly gave a loud laugh.

The rats jumped up, squeaking excitedly, and rushed over to him. “What is it? What goes on? What's the matter?”

Freddy blinked at them. “Oh, sorry, boys. Guess I must have had a nightmare.”

“A laughing nightmare!” said one incredulously.

“Sure,” said Freddy. “I often have 'em. Specially when I have something on my mind. Something funny, I mean.”

“Perhaps if you told us what it was, you wouldn't have any more of them,” said the second guard.

“Perhaps,” said Freddy. “Good night, boys.” And he turned over.

Freddy had six more laughing nightmares during the night, each louder and more startling than the last. The three rats were wrecks by morning.

XV

Grover's army marched at dawn. They filed out of the gate and up the road toward the Witherspoon farm, Bertram in the lead, with John Quincy and X on his shoulders and the two herons stalking beside him; then in a not very orderly column came a regiment of wood rats, weasels, and other small animals, with a mercenary dog or two. Overhead the sky was empty of birds. The three hawks were scouting ahead of the column, but the main body of birds was not to start until Bertram entered the Witherspoon farmyard. The rats had been left behind to garrison the Bean farm. Of course the Farmers' Party could easily rise and overwhelm the rats, but Grover felt sure that they would not dare do anything for which they would be certain to be punished severely on his return.

The army marched over the hill and poured into the Witherspoon farmyard, just as the birds, flying in four columns high in the air, came into sight. Mrs. Witherspoon was looking out the window, for although she never went anywhere, she seldom missed anything that was going on outside.

But she had never seen anything like this before. She pushed her spectacles up on her forehead so she could see better, and then she threw up the window and called out: “Boy! You—boy! What do you want?”

Bertram saluted her and said: “Madam, nobody is going to harm you. Just stay inside the house and everything will be all right.”

“Well, I'm certainly not coming out for you,” said Mrs. Witherspoon. “If you want Mr. Witherspoon, I don't know where he is.” And having given this useful piece of information, she slammed down the window and went back to her work. For she had a good deal to do. She was not a very fast worker, and she was still finishing putting up last season's preserves.

Two dogs ran out of the barn, barking.

“Dogs,” said Bertram, “go call together all the animals and birds on this farm. We have come to annex it in the name of the president of the F.A.R.”

“Yeah?” said the dogs, and they rushed at Bertram, and one of them bit him in the left leg, and the other bit him in the right. And then they both let go and yelped and retreated to a safe distance. For of course Bertram's legs were wood.

Mr. Zenas Witherspoon heard the racket and came out of the barn, where he had been playing solitaire. He had a passion for solitaire, and that was one reason why he could not make his farm pay and why he hadn't been able to buy shoes for his horse, Jerry. He spent a lot of the time when he should have been plowing or milking or pitching hay in trying to make solitaire games come out.

“What's all this?” asked Mr. Witherspoon.

Bertram explained courteously. “We aren't going to interfere with you,” he said. “You will run your farm just as before. We are organizing the animals into a republic, but they will continue to work for you. The only difference will be that in animal affairs they will owe allegiance to the F.A.R. They will be called upon occasionally for military duty, and will give part of their food to help feed the army. There will be a distinct advantage to you, for it is to the interest of the F.A.R. to see that the farms forming its subject states are well and properly run.”

“Well,” said Mr. Witherspoon, who was anxious to get back to his solitaire game, “guess that's for them to decide, then.” And he went back into the barn.

By this time the Witherspoon animals had all gathered and were looking with amazement at Bertram and his army and the scores of birds that perched in rows on the roofs and branches.

Then Bertram made a speech. He told of the founding of the F.A.R., and of his plan for a great empire of animals. He talked for an hour, and many of the Witherspoon animals became enthusiastic and were all for joining. But Jerry and a cow named Eunice and one or two others were not convinced.

“I don't know as we want to join,” said Jerry. “We're satisfied here. We don't want to be in any army. We don't want glory and we aren't heroes—we're just plain animals. I guess you can just count us out.”

“I shan't argue with you,” said Bertram. “If at the end of two minutes you still refuse to join us, I shall tear down your cow-barn.”

Some of the animals looked frightened, but Jerry only laughed. “Go ahead,” he said.

“Look,” said Bertram. He walked over to a fencepost which was sunk deep in the ground, seized it with his left hand, gave a preliminary tug, and pulled it out. “Now do you think I can tear down your barn?” he said.

The animals talked together for a moment. Then Jerry stepped forward. “I guess we'll have to join,” he said sullenly. “We can't have things pulled to pieces. All right; we agree.”