Freddy the Politician (18 page)

“Good,” said Bertram. “In the name of the F.A.R. I take possession of this farm, which will be known hereafter as the sovereign State of Witherspoonia. And now I will give you my orders.”

Back in his dungeon, Freddy was waiting impatiently for the expected rescue to take place. “I wish they'd hurry,” he kept saying to himself. “I hope they won't forget to bring something to eat.” He had been quite faint from hunger when he woke that morning. Not that that was anything unusual. He often got faint from hunger when he missed one of his usual half-hourly snacks. The rats had brought him a cabbage and three raw turnips for breakfast—not exactly a banquet, as he pointed out. But they just laughed. And so he sat and longed for food and freedom.

But at last something did happen. Through the crack by the window, which Mr. Webb had used the night before, a wasp came crawling. It was Jacob. Freddy saw him before the guards did, and Jacob waved a reassuring feeler at him and then motioned him to be quiet. In single file ten wasps with drawn stings crawled through after their leader and lined up on the ledge over the window. Then at a signal they dove upon the unsuspecting rats.

There was a great squealing and scrabbling, but there was no cover in the box stall—none, that is, except Freddy. In five seconds the three terrified rats had crawled in under the prisoner, like chickens taking refuge beneath their mother's wing.

Out in the other part of the barn Freddy could hear scampering and squeaking, and he judged that another body of wasps was taking care of the rats left in charge of the farm by Grover.

Jacob lit close to Freddy's ear. “I guess the coast is clear,” he whispered. “I hear Hank coming to unbar the door. As soon as you're out, run for the cow-barn. Mrs. Wiggins will tell you what to do next.”

“I certainly appreciate this, Jacob,” said the grateful pig. “I won't forget it.”

“Pooh!” said the wasp. “Any of your friends could have driven the rats off. But it's better for us to do it, for Grover'll have a hard time arresting us. We tried to get Grover this morning; there's a crack in Bertram's neck where a wasp can just get through. But boy, have those herons got sharp eyes! And beaks! We didn't have a chance. So we tried this way. Well, here's Hank. We'll take care of these three lads when you get up. Herd 'em down to the pond, I guess. A bath'll do 'em good.”

The box-stall door opened and Freddy ran out and found Hank waiting. The barn was empty except for a dozen cruising wasps. “Hurry,” said the horse, and they ran for the cow-barn. Outside, a shadow swept across the barnyard, and Freddy looked up. In broad daylight a great owl was floating noiselessly past. “It's old Whibley,” said Hank. “He and Vera have cleared the air for us. They've driven down every bird left on the farm. There won't be anybody to tell Grover where you went.”

In the cow-barn no time was wasted. “Georgie went over to the pigpen and got that disguise you wore to the orphan asylum last year,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “Slip into it quick, Freddy, and get away before Grover gets back. There's some money in the shopping bag. John got that from the bank. I guess the best plan would be to go to Centerboro for a while. We'll keep in touch with you through Jacob.”

The disguise was an old gingham dress of Mrs. Bean's, a sunbonnet into which were pinned two long corkscrew curls, a pair of black lace mitts, and a shopping bag with a picture of the Bridge of Sighs on it. The dress, like all Freddy's disguises, was too long, and he had torn off part of the front hem so that he could walk in it without falling on his nose. It didn't improve its appearance any.

Mrs. Wiggins shook her head doubtfully when he had at last struggled into it. “I don't know, Freddy. Except for being about fifty years behind the times, it's a good costume. And it hides everything but the end of your nose. And yet it doesn't hide the most important fact about you.”

“And what's that?” said Freddy, tying his bonnet strings under his chin.

“That you're a pig, of course,” said Jinx. “Just take a word of advice, Freddy. Don't go to the butcher's house for tea while you're leading the gay life in Centerboro.”

“Instead of passing all these wisecracks,” said Freddy, “you might be getting me something to eat. I'm practically starving. Look at this dress. Last year I could hardly get into it, and now it hangs on me like a sack.”

“Well, you wanted to reduce,” said Robert. “Maybe we ought to have left you in jail. Just think what a fine figure you'd have after a month of bread and water.”

Freddy merely grunted and, drawing the lace mitts over his fore trotters, dropped a curtsy to his friends and walked out into the barnyard. A quick look around assured him that no one was in sight, and he walked quickly out of the gate and took the road for Centerboro.

Mrs. Wiggins looked after him and shook her head again. “I don't know,” she said. “There's something about a pig … I wonder what it can be.”

It wasn't a very long walk to Centerboro; but for a pig in a gingham dress and a sunbonnet, on a hot spring day, it was quite a trip. Particularly for a hungry pig. Once beyond the Bean farm, Freddy began waving to every car that passed him in the hope of getting a ride. But the occupants merely waved back and went on, laughing heartily.

“Something's wrong,” said Freddy. “I wish Mrs. Wiggins cared a little more about her looks; she'd have had a mirror in the cow-barn. Of
course
I can't get a disguise on properly if I can't see myself in a mirror.”

He walked on a half-mile or so and met a little girl.

“Hello, pig,” said the little girl, whose name was Genevieve Stamp. I don't know why I tell you her name, for she doesn't come into the story again. But maybe you'd like to know it.

“What!” said Freddy severely, speaking in a high falsetto which he had put on with the disguise. “Little girl, that is no way to address your elders.”

“But you
are
a pig,” said Genevieve.

“When I was a little girl like you—” Freddy began.

But Genevieve started to giggle. “You weren't
just
like me,” she said.

“Perhaps not
just”,
said Freddy. “But, at any rate, I was a little girl and now I am an old lady, and when you get to be my age—”

“Tee-hee!” said the little girl, giggling worse than ever. “I never saw an old lady before with a little curly tail.”

“What!” said Freddy, and he looked over his shoulder and saw that, sure enough, his tail was sticking out through the placket of the gingham dress. “Good grief! Now how did that get there?”

“I guess it grew there,” said the little girl, and she ran off, laughing merrily.

So Freddy tucked the tail in, and the next car he waved to drew up beside him. Freddy could not see the driver, for he had to keep his head down so that the sunbonnet would hide his face, but there was something familiar about the voice that said: “Deary me, madam, this is a great pleasure to be sure. Get in, get in.”

Freddy tripped on the skirt getting in and fell in a heap at the man's feet, but he managed to scramble up and into the seat before his sunbonnet fell off.

He settled himself with great dignity.

“Now this is very good of you,” he said, “to give an old lady a lift. I take it very kindly of you.”

“
Old
lady, did you say, madam?” inquired the man gallantly. “Why, you're no older than my daughter, I'll be bound.”

“Oh, sir,” said Freddy with a giggle, “I fear you are a great flatterer. And a great ladies' man, I can see with half an eye.” And as the car had started again, and the man was certainly watching the road, Freddy risked half an eye under his sunbonnet and saw, as he had expected, that his companion was the little man with a face like a pig's, who had been wandering about the Bean farm.

“Are you going far, ma'am?” the man inquired.

Freddy thought a moment. He remembered the man's mysterious interest in the Beans, and especially in the First Animal Bank, and now, he saw, was his chance to exercise his undoubted ability as a detective and find out what the fellow was up to.

“Sure,” he said, becoming suddenly very Irish, “I'm for Centerboro, and the fine big bank there, for I have a little business to transact. And indeed I'd better be introducin' meself, what with you bein' so kind and all. I'm Mrs. O'Halloran, from Dutchman's Meadows, down beyond the Bean place, where all the smart animals live.”

“Deary me, and I'm pleased to meet you, Mrs. O'Halloran,” said the man. “And I am Jason Binks, without any very pressing business on my hands today, and so shan't we take a little ride around and have a look at the countryside this pretty spring day?”

“Sure, why wouldn't I jump at the chance,” said Freddy, shaking his curls coquettishly, “to ride about in a great luxurious motor-car with a fine handsome man like yourself? 'Tis not pressin', my business at the bank, being only to transfer me little savin's from this bank the animals do be runnin' on the Bean farm to a better place.”

“Now that's odd,” said Mr. Binks. “Deary me, that's odd as odd! You don't like the animal bank, I take it?”

“Indeed,” said Freddy, “and how would anybody be havin' respect for a bank or likin' for it that's housed in an old shed with birds flyin' in and out the windows and cows and dogs and horses trampin' in and out and a pig sittin' behind the counter and askin' your business? And chargin' a poor old widow woman a cent a month to keep her wee bagful of pennies safe for her. And not so safe either, if it's all so what they're sayin'.”

“Dear, dear, what a dreadful place! And what are they saying, Mrs. O'Halloran?”

“They do be sayin', Mr. Binks, that that pig that runs the bank, bad cess to him, is a dreadful great scoundrel. 'Twas him I saw this mornin', and 'twas only my threat to bring the law down on him that made him give up my money. ‘ 'Tis safe here, Mrs. O'Halloran,' says he. ‘Why don't you leave it lay?' ‘Why don't I leave it lay, is it?' says I. ‘I'll tell you why, Mr. Freddy,' I says. ‘ 'Twas Mr. Bean, the good man, got me to put my money here, but what help would Mr. Bean be to me now, and him away, and you animals doin' what you please with the money? I'd not trust you,' I says, ‘as far as I could throw a bull by the tail, and that,' I says, ‘ain't any distance at all.'”

“Good for you, Mrs. O'Halloran,” said Mr. Binks, giving two toots on his horn to show his approval. “But this pig, now—he's dishonest, I think you said?”

“Ah, 'tis kind of you, so it is, to listen to the troubles of a poor old body. A heart of gold you have, Mr. Binks, and I'll say it to your face. But here's the whole countryside full of beautiful scenery, and us talkin' trouble. We'll have no more of it.”

“Ah, but this Freddy, now,” said Mr. Binks, “this naughty little piggy. Somehow, Mrs. O'Halloran, I can't think he's so very bad. Have you really any proof of it?”

“Enough is enough,” said Freddy. “Would you look at those big maples, now, and them so beautiful against the sky?”

“They're elms, I think,” said Mr. Binks, “but still beautiful, of course. Well, Mrs. O'Halloran, I see I must tell you more. For I am interested in this animal bank—oh, yes, very much indeed. I am, in short, a detective.”

“A detective!” Freddy exclaimed. “Are you so! Well now, many's the time I've thought I'd like well to be a detective, and go about among folk in false whiskers and disguises and worm their secrets out of them.”

Mr. Binks laughed heartily. “We don't use disguises any more, ma'am,” he said. “Dear me, no. Disguises are not much use in our line. And you'll excuse me, ma'am, but I'm sure you could never deceive anybody, for you're too honest and open and unpracticed in following clues. No, no, ma'am; nobody could ever take you for anything but what you are: a charming and honest Irish lady.”

“Sure, you put me to the blush, Mr. Binks, so you do,” said Freddy, “though it's not without charm you are yourself, as well you know. Go on with you, Mr. Binks.” And Freddy tapped him playfully on the arm.

Mr. Binks cackled delightedly and, changing the subject, began to talk of the beauties of nature. But Freddy noticed that he had turned back toward Centerboro, and a few minutes later they drew up before the imposing front of the Centerboro National Bank.

“Why, deary me!” said Mr. Binks in a surprised tone. “Here we are in Centerboro, to be sure! And right in front of the bank. Well now, Mrs. O'Halloran, why not go in, since we're here, and deposit your savings? And then, if you would care to, I should like to have you meet my friend Mr. Henry Weezer, the bank's president.”