The Story of Freginald (14 page)

Freginald didn't think he looked very dangerous and started to run. The man threw up his arm, whirled the balls three or four times around his head, and let them go. And the next thing Freginald knew, he was lying on the ground, struggling to get loose from the ropes, which had wound themselves tightly about him.

But it was no good. One of the metal balls had hit him in the side and knocked the wind out of him, and before he could get to his feet the man had pounced on him and tied him up tight. A shrill whistle brought Mr. Hackenmeyer and Lucky.

“Well, young bear,” said Mr. Hackenmeyer, looking down at him, “so you came to get your doughnut, did you? Well, I'll tell you a joke! There aren't any doughnuts. So we'll just keep you with us until the cook makes some. Eh, Lucky? You know when that will be.” And he smiled his wicked smile.

“Ha ha!” roared Lucky, doubling up with laughter. “That's a good one, that is. Sure,
I
know. Haw, haw,
haw!”

“Lucky, you stay with him until the wagons get here,” said Mr. Hackenmeyer, turning away. “We'll put him in with Rajah. That'll keep him quiet. Come, Pedro.”

“With Rajah!” exclaimed Lucky, suddenly becoming sober. “Well, but—”

“But what?” snapped Mr. Hackenmeyer.

“Why, he's only a young bear, sir. He—”

“You heard what I said,” interrupted Mr. Hackenmeyer coldly. “He goes in with Rajah.” And he started back toward the pond, followed by Pedro.

“I don't like it,” said Lucky, sitting down on a stump and shaking his head. “I don't like it at all.”

“What don't you like?” said Freginald. “And what do you want to keep me here for? I haven't done anything to you.”

“Oh, you can talk, can you?” said Lucky. “Oh, sure, of course you can. I sort of forget animals can do anything but snarl and growl and roar, I've been with Hackenmeyer so long. Well, no, you haven't done anything to us. But you've found out something about Mr. Hackenmeyer that he don't want anybody to know. That's why we're keeping you.”

“You mean about going into a beauty shop to get his hair waved and his mustache curled?” Freginald asked. “Why, I wouldn't tell anybody about that if he didn't want me to.”

“You wouldn't, eh?” said Lucky, looking at him sharply. “No, I guess you wouldn't. You bears are pretty honest. H'm, well, now look here, bear. Suppose I say I'll let you go if you promise never to say anything about it to anybody? Not anybody at all, you understand, ever. Eh? How about it?”

“Of course I'll promise,” said Freginald. “But why would you do it? Won't it get you into trouble?”

“Trouble? Well, a little, maybe. But don't worry about me. I've got enough on old Hackenmeyer to—Well, never mind that. But he hadn't ought to put you in with Rajah.”

“Who's Rajah?” Freginald asked.

“A tiger. Oh yes, I know, you're not afraid of tigers. But this isn't one of Boomschmidt's tigers. Rajah's a rough, tough, mean old brute with a worse temper than Hackenmeyer's, and if you don't want to end up as a rug on somebody's parlor floor, you won't climb into any cage with him.”

“Well, but I don't understand,” said Freginald. “What has Mr. Hackenmeyer got a tiger for?”

“Don't ask so many questions,” said Lucky, bending over him and beginning to untie the rope. “Now, I'm going to take a chance on you and let you go. I'll tell him you escaped. But remember; not a word to any man, woman, child, animal, or insect. I know it seems pretty unimportant, but a man in Mr. Hackenmeyer's position has to be careful. He can't afford to have people laugh at him, and you know how they'd laugh if they heard it. I don't know what he wants to do it for, myself. Personally I like straight hair on a man. But that's the way he is—always running to beauty shops.—Well, there you are. Head for home, now, and scratch dirt. And remember! You promised.”

So Freginald promised again and thanked Lucky and said maybe he could do something for him some time. And then he galloped off down the road.

CHAPTER 13

When he got back to the wide sunny meadow beside the river where the circus tents were pitched, the people were already pouring into the entrance of the big tent. In the street formed by the double line of wagons of the menagerie a number of people still lingered, chatting with the animals, and as he turned into it, Freginald saw that there was some sort of commotion at the other end.

“What's going on?” Freginald asked Oscar, who was striding haughtily past.

“Some vulgar brawl, no doubt,” said the ostrich disdainfully. “I don't concern myself with the doings of the rabble.”

Freginald went on. In the middle of the crowd of people and animals was Mr. Boomschmidt, looking perplexed, and Leo looking noble, and a young leopard with one paw to his face looking as if he was going to cry. Leo was looking noble because he had just done something he was a little ashamed of. Mr. Boomschmidt was looking perplexed because he was accustomed to asking Leo's advice when things went wrong, and now he couldn't, because Leo was the culprit. And the leopard was looking as if he was about to cry because he
was
about to cry.

“I tell you, boss,” Leo was saying, “he was downright insulting. That's why I smacked him. You'd have done the same yourself.”

“I was
not
insulting,” protested the leopard. “I didn't say a word.”

“You giggled,” said Leo.

“I don't see how you can stop anybody giggling, Leo,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “If you stopped all the giggling, there wouldn't be much fun left in the world.”

“I don't care how much he giggles. But he can't giggle at me.”

“How can you say that, Leo? He did giggle at you, didn't he?”

“Sure, That's what I'm talking about. But—”

“Then why do you say that he
can't
?” demanded Mr. Boomschmidt distractedly. You get me all mixed up, Leo. Oh, Freginald, you're here, are you? Look, I wish you'd straighten this out. Here's Leo says this leopard can't do something and then in the same breath he says he
did
do it. My goodness, he gets me all confused.”

They all began talking at once.

“Listen, boss, I didn't say he
couldn't—”

“Well, suppose I did—”

“He means—”

Mr. Boomschmidt flapped his handkerchief at them. “Quiet, quiet! I can't make head nor tail of this, and I don't think you can either. You'd better shake hands and make up.”

Leo and the leopard looked at each other doubtfully. They both opened their mouths to say something and then closed them again. They knew it wasn't any use arguing. This was the way Mr. Boomschmidt always settled quarrels. He got both sides so mixed up by pretending to be mixed up himself that they usually forgot what they were fighting about. They touched paws gingerly and walked away in different directions.

Freginald fell in beside Leo. The lion was looking very self-conscious. He walked with a sort of dignified prance, lifting his forepaws high at each step like a circus horse, and bowing condescendingly with his neck held very stiff when anybody spoke to him. His mane with its new permanent wave fell across his shoulders in ringlets that glittered beautifully in the sunlight.

“Well, my boy,” he said, “did you get your doughnuts?”

“You needn't be so magnificent to me,” said Freginald. “No, I didn't. There wasn't any Mr. Hamburger. Listen, Leo; did you ever hear of anybody named Hackenmeyer?”

“Hackenmeyer?” said Leo, turning to look at him. “Sure. He used to be Mr. Boomschmidt's partner. Why?”

“Oh, nothing,” said Freginald. “I just heard the name.”

“Sure, I remember him,” said Leo. “Tall, thin man with curly black hair and a long mustache. Nice man, too. He and the chief were together for years. Then they quarreled, and Hackenmeyer went west and organized a circus of his own. I believe he's still out there.”

“I shouldn't think anybody could quarrel with Mr. Boomschmidt.”

“Well, you see, it was this way: Mr. Hackenmeyer was a great practical joker. He was always playing tricks on people. Not mean tricks, he wasn't mean. And he always laughed as loud as anybody when the joke was turned back on him. It's funny you were talking about doughnuts today, because Mr. Hackenmeyer was very fond of them and always had a big jar of them handy, and he was always offering them to us. Sometimes he'd mix a few rubber doughnuts in the jar, and he'd laugh like anything when anybody tried to bite into one. Well, of course he played a lot of jokes on Mr. Boomschmidt. Like making up an apple-pie bed for him or bringing him a candy-box that went bang when you opened it.

“But after a while the jokes began to be sort of mean. I remember the first time Mr. Boomschmidt got mad. Somebody'd been clipping off little ends of a whisk broom with scissors into his bed and even into his clothes. They hurt, and he went to Mr. Hackenmeyer about it. But Mr. Hackenmeyer said he hadn't done it. ‘Why, Boom,' he said, ‘I wouldn't do a thing like that!' ‘Well, I didn't think you would, Hack,' said Mr. Boomschmidt. But he kept finding the things, just the same. And then one night when everything had been packed up and the wagons were just pulling out to go on to the next town, Mr. Boomschmidt's wagon collapsed with a crash. And when they looked at it they found that both axles had been sawed almost through, so that as soon as they began to turn they would break.

“Well, the chief wasn't hurt, but he was pretty mad. He crawled out of the wreck just as Mr. Hackenmeyer came running up, and he said: ‘Hack, you've gone too far this time.' Well, Mr. Hackenmeyer denied it and said he hadn't been anywhere near the wagon, and I guess Mr. Boomschmidt was beginning to believe him, when Mendoza—he was ringmaster then, a Spanish-looking fellow with straight black hair—Mendoza came running up with a saw and part of a whisk broom and a pair of scissors in his hand. ‘Where'd you get these?' asked the chief, and Mendoza said: ‘In Mr. Hackenmeyer's wagon.'

“So that settled it. The chief didn't say anything, just motioned to Mr. Hackenmeyer, and they both went into Hackenmeyer's wagon. After about an hour they came out, and Mr. Hackenmeyer had his suitcase in his hand. He just looked at Mr. Boomschmidt and said: ‘Good-by, Boom,' and Mr. Boomschmidt started to hold out his hand and then pulled it back and said: ‘Good-by, Hack.' And Mr. Hackenrneyer went off down the road. It wasn't until a year later that we heard he'd started up another circus in the West, with the money Mr. Boomschmidt had paid him for his half of the show.” They had got to the big tent now, and they stopped for a minute before going in to line up with the rest of the performers for the grand march which always began the performance. Freginald wished that he hadn't been obliged to give his word to Lucky not to talk about Mr. Hackenmeyer, for this certainly must be the same Mr. Hackenmeyer, and yet there were some things he didn't at all understand. For, by Leo's account, Mr. Hackenmeyer was a kind man who was, moreover, fond of doughnuts. And whatever else the Mr. Hackenmeyer of the beauty shop might be, he was not kind. And he had certainly said that he didn't like doughnuts.