Freddy the Politician (2 page)

“Old Webb?” said Jinx. “What would a spider know about banking!”

“He used to live in a bank before he came out to the farm,” said Robert. “Golly, listen to that wind!”

Indeed, the wind, after a short rest, was now more violent than ever. It wasn't playing any more. It seemed to have lost its temper completely, and it whacked and boomed like big guns, so that the whole house shook. Around and around the house it went, whooping and banging, and all at once there came a louder crash and the latch of the kitchen door gave way and the door flew open, letting in a gust of cold wind that swept through the kitchen, setting the window curtains flying and the pots and pans clattering.

The animals made a rush to push the door shut again. They threw their weight against it and shoved. Even the mice dug in their toes and heaved, for every little helps, even if it's only a four-mouse-power push. And when the wind slackened a little, they got the door shut. The dogs dragged up a chair and pushed and hauled until they had the back wedged under the doorknob. And then they all said: “Whee!” and lay down again.

And then a light began to glow in the backstairs doorway and Mr. Bean appeared again. He appeared in the same order as before—slippers, nightshirt, whiskers, nightcap, arm and candle. And he looked around for a minute and then said: “H'm. You showed some sense this time.” And he gave Robert a friendly whack on the side and then disappeared again—candle, nightcap, whiskers, nightshirt, and last of all the slippers.

Well, that was high praise from Mr. Bean. He was fond of his animals, but he never paid them compliments.

“That makes up for forgetting the blind,” said Robert. “I hope he'll think we're more responsible now. But what do you say we try to get a little sleep?”

It was quieter again now. They could hear the wind rushing farther and farther away into the distance, as if it had finally decided to abandon the attack against a house that was so well guarded and to hunt for another victim. The animals curled up in their beds and drew in their breaths to give a long comfortable sigh. And just at that minute from the far corner of the room there came a weak squawk.

Now, a squawk, no matter how faint, in a dark room in the middle of the night is pretty scary. If Jinx had been alone he would have walked right out of that kitchen—at least he would have started to walk, but he would probably have been running by the time he reached the door—and he would have gone down cellar and hid behind the cider barrel. But the other animals were there, and he had a reputation to keep up as a bold, free, fearless sort of fellow. So he said very sternly: “Come, come, what's this?” and went straight over to investigate. Most brave people are like Jinx. They're brave because they're afraid to act scared.

Jinx went over to the refrigerator and put his nose down under it and sniffed three little cat-sniffs. And behind him Robert and Georgie sniffed too—loud dog-sniffs. “Feathers!” said Jinx. “A bird,” said Robert.

“Wind must have blown him in the door,” said Georgie.

“Help!” said something under the refrigerator in a weak little squawk.

So Jinx reached under and caught a leg and pulled, and as soon as the bird was out he tried to stand up. But he was so exhausted that he fell over on his side.

“Take it easy, brother,” said Jinx. “Over to the stove, boys, and get him warm. Careful, there. You take his legs, Georgie. That's the stuff.”

“Let me handle him,” said Robert, and he picked the bird up gently in his mouth and carried him over and put him in the warm cigar box.

“Oh, that wind!” murmured the bird.

“What's your name, bird?” Jinx asked. “You a stranger in these parts?”

“Let him alone,” said Robert. “Let him rest. You can ask him questions in the morning.”

“O.K.,” said Jinx, and lay down again on his cushion. “Well,
now
maybe I can get some sleep.”

The wind didn't come back again, and in a little while the only sounds in the kitchen were the faint moaning of the stranger in his sleep and the gentle snoring of Cousin Augustus, who, deprived of the cigar-box bed, had curled up to sleep with his three cousins between Robert's forepaws.

II

The animals had had a hard night, and when Mrs. Bean came down in the morning to get breakfast for Mr. Bean and the two boys they had adopted, Byram and Adoniram, they were still sound asleep.

Mrs. Bean was a short, plump little woman, with snapping black eyes and cheeks that really were like apples. You no more knew what she looked like without an apron than you knew what Mr. Bean looked like without his whiskers. The animals all loved her and she was very fond of them and was always fixing little extra surprises for their supper. And she even baked them a cake on their birthdays. Except for Mrs. Wogus, who didn't like cake, she baked a birthday apple pie. Mrs. Wogus was one of the cows.

As soon as Jinx woke up he yawned, and then without stopping to wash his face he crawled under the stove and looked in the cigar box. “Well, my goodness,” he said, “I guess you're all right.” For the bird was sitting up and preening his feathers. He was a handsome woodpecker with a red head and a black and white body.

“Thanks to you,” said the bird politely. “And would you mind telling me where I am?”

“Why, you're in a cigar box under the stove in Mrs. Bean's kitchen,” said Jinx.

“No, no, you misunderstand me,” said the woodpecker. “I want to know what part of the country I am in. You see, I was coming north to spend the summer in our old family home in Washington when I was caught in that windstorm, and I am afraid it has blown me a long way off my course.”

“I'll say it has,” said the cat. “Why, you're up in the middle of New York State.”

“New York State?” said the woodpecker. “Dear me, I was never very good at geography. Just where is New York State?”

“Hey, look,” said Jinx. “Are you trying to tell me you don't know where New York State is?”

“I'm not trying to tell you, I
am
telling you,” said the woodpecker. “It's not quite the same thing.”

“Maybe it isn't,” said the cat, who was beginning to get confused. “But I must say—”

But just then Mrs. Bean bent down and looked under the stove.

“What's going on under here?” she said. “Oh, it's you, Jinx. And—my land, a woodpecker! Well, you'd better go on outside. It's all right for you to entertain your friends in the house, but my kitchen's no place for a woodpecker. You know how Mr. Bean feels about birds in the house. He don't like 'em flying about. He's afraid they'll get in his whiskers. I dare say it's unreasonable of him, but there it is. Come, outside, both of you.”

She held open the door and Jinx and the woodpecker went out, followed by the two dogs, who had waked up and had been listening with interest to the conversation.

“Do you really mean you don't know where New York State is?” asked Robert, when they were in the barnyard and the woodpecker had flown up onto the trunk of a big elm and begun drilling a hole in the bark to see if he could get a little breakfast.

“Certainly I mean it,” he said. He gave a few taps with his bill, knocking off a bit of bark, then pulled out a small bug and ate it. “H'm,” he said, “very tender. Very tasty. In Washington, you see,” he went on, “we really can't keep track of all the little unimportant places out on the edge of such a big country.”

“Oh, is that so!” said Jinx. “Seems to me you talk pretty big for a woodpecker. I suppose you're somebody pretty important down in Washington. I suppose we ought to know who you are.”

“You may have seen my picture in the newspapers,” said the woodpecker. “It has been in several times. We are rather a famous family. We have had our home in a sycamore on the White House lawn for many generations. And the eldest son is always named after one of the presidents. The founder of our family was named Abraham. My grandfather, Woodrow, was quite famous. As an egg, he fell out of the nest. The President himself was passing beneath at the time and Woodrow fell into his pocket. He was carried into the White House and hatched out in the pocket the next day, where he was found by a servant and taken outdoors again. So that Woodrow was actually born in the White House. My own name,” he added, “is John Quincy.”

The dogs were rather awed at having such a distinguished visitor in the barnyard, and even Jinx was impressed. But he wasn't going to show it. He shrugged his shoulders and gave a sort of nasty laugh and strolled off in the direction of the cow-barn, leaving the dogs to continue the conversation.

The three cows, Mrs. Wiggins, Mrs. Wogus, and Mrs. Wurzburger, were out having their breakfast in the back pasture. But Jinx went into the barn. In a far corner a strand of spider web was hanging down, and the cat pulled at it gently with one paw, for it was Mr. Webb's doorbell. In a minute a small spider came hurrying down the strand and stopped just opposite Jinx's ear. This was Mrs. Webb. She was a plump round little spider who rather prided herself on her resemblance to Mrs. Bean, and indeed there was a certain likeness in their plumpness and the way they bustled about, although they did not look much like each other in the face.

“Good morning, Jinx,” said the spider. “Webb's off for his morning walk. Anything I can do?” She had a brisk, pleasant voice, though it was very small. Spiders are very talkative, but few people know it, for they have to get almost in your ear to make themselves heard, and they don't like to do it much because they know it tickles.

“Just a matter of business,” said the cat. “Which way did he go?”

“The roof, I guess. Go right up.”

Mr. Webb, who was rather stout, liked to take regular exercise to keep his figure down. But in the early spring it was too wet underfoot to do much walking, so he usually took his walks on the roof of the cow-barn. Four times around the edge of the roof was a spider's mile. Jinx found him sitting on the peak of the roof with four of his legs dangling over the barnyard.

There was nothing Mr. Webb liked to do better than talk about his banking experiences, and so for an hour or more he went on and on and Jinx listened attentively. But of course what the cat wanted to know was how to start a bank, and hearing all about the time the robber came into the bank and Mr. Webb bit him on the leg and made him run away, or about the terrible fight Mr. Webb had with the black caterpillars who started to eat up the paper money, wasn't much good to him. So finally he said: “Yes, yes, that's all very interesting, but how do you start a bank?”

“Start a bank?” said Mr. Webb. “Nothing easier. You just start it, that's all. Then people bring you their money and you keep it safe for them. Then when they want to get some out, they write a check.”

“What's that?” Jinx asked.

“Well,” said Mr. Webb, “suppose I have some money in your bank and I want to pay Robert forty cents I owe him. I don't go and get the money and give it to him. I give him a check that says: ‘Jinx's Bank. Pay to Robert, forty cents.' And I sign it with my name. And he brings it to you and you give him the money.”

“I don't believe any of the animals I know would let me keep their money for them,” said Jinx thoughtfully. “Even if they had any.”

“Well, frankly,” said Mr. Webb, “I don't think they would either. Nobody doubts your honesty, Jinx. I don't mean that. But you're up to too many tricks. No, you'd have to have somebody else as president of the bank, somebody they'd feel was thoroughly reliable, like Mrs. Wiggins. Or somebody with a big name. Did I ever tell you about the time President Harding—”

“Yes, you did,” Jinx interrupted. “But that reminds me. Who do you suppose blew in last night? John Quincy Adams.”

“John Quincy—what?” exclaimed Mr. Webb. “Oh, come, Jinx, you don't mean to tell me—”

“I do, though,” said Jinx. “That's his name. Only he's just a woodpecker.” And he told the spider about it.

Mr. Webb was much excited. “But good gracious, Jinx, he's just the one to be president of your bank. Don't you see? ‘Jinx's Bank. President: John Quincy Adams.' Why, every animal for miles around will want to have an account in that bank. Can't you get him to stay and be president?”

“Gosh, that's an idea,” said the cat. “Thanks, Webb. See you later.” And Jinx hurried off back to the barnyard, where quite a number of the animals had gathered to admire the distinguished visitor.

The distinguished visitor, however, had now climbed so far up among the leaves of the elm that he was invisible from the ground. They could hear the tap, tap of his strong beak, and an occasional “Delicious!” as he ate another bug.

“Hi, John Quincy!” shouted Jinx. “Come down here a minute. I've got a proposition to make to you.”

The woodpecker flew down and perched on a low limb. “Really, my friends,” he said, “I must apologize to you for knowing so little about your wonderful state. Your bugs are really marvelous.” He smacked his beak. “Such crispness! Such flavor—full, yet delicate! I am half tempted to stay here for a time if you will permit me, to feast on these delicacies.”