Freddy and Simon the Dictator (13 page)

Even those farmers who felt that they could hold out were forced, one by one, to surrender, for food supplies began to give out. Simon and Mr. Garble had planned well. Vegetable gardens were rooted up by bands of roving pigs, and fields of grain were systematically trampled by the cattle. Overturned cars on all the roads made road blocks that brought traffic to a standstill, and no food trucks were getting through. Freddy saw that soon the farmers would all be forced into the towns, and then starved out of the towns into the cities—for of course the farms wouldn't be producing any more. He didn't see what the humans could do. Send out the army against the animals? But the army would have to be fed, and before it could get under way, the food supply would be disorganized.

Through Mr. Pomeroy and the A.B.I., Freddy was kept well informed of what was going on. He had sent word of the capture of Mr. Garble to Mr. Dimsey, and the Centerboro
Guardian
came out with an extra, splashing the news in headlines across the front page.

“GARBLE CAPTURED

Second in Command of Animal Revolt Incarcerated.

“
Herbert Garble, of 184 Sherman Street, this city, was captured two nights ago by loyal forces, and is in custody at an unspecified location. Mr. Garble, formerly for a time editor of this paper, is reliably asserted to be second in command of the animal revolutionists who are currently threatening our liberties. He is alleged to be the brains behind Simon the Dictator, a rat whose history was related in our last issue
.

“
It is said that the $500 reported as stolen from Senator Blunder was found on Mr. Garble's person. Also, two unironed handkerchiefs belonging to Mr. W. F. Bean, which were stolen from the Bean clothesline some days ago
.”

An editorial at the foot of the page said: “
It is hinted that Mr. Garble may be in some bodily danger, as a band of Indians living north of Otesaraga Lake, incensed by his action in bringing wolves into their territory, are said to have sworn vengeance. Should these Indians visit their resentment upon Garble by removing his scalp or otherwise discommoding him, it seems unlikely to us that the authorities would take notice of the action by legal steps to punish them. Mr. Garble has placed himself outside the law
.”

Freddy had written the editorial, and at the same time, he had had Mr. Dimsey print a poster. It was the kind of poster usually printed up in Centerboro to announce an auction or a dance or a bake sale, but only one copy was printed. And the day after Mr. Garble was shown the
Guardian
extra, Freddy had it under his arm when he made his daily call on him.

Mr. Garble was by this time pretty discouraged. At first, he had shouted and raved, begged and threatened. But the Indians paid no more attention than if he was a piece of furniture. The wasps did, though. If he looked out of the window, a wasp flew down from the ceiling and lit on the back of his neck. If he laid a hand on the doorknob, a wasp dropped to his wrist. The first night, he got up some time after midnight and crept to the window. With a penknife, he was starting to pry at the sash when he thought a thorn had been driven into the lobe of his ear, and a tiny voice said: “Back to the feathers, brother, if you don't want your ears pinned back. We've got the pins all ready.”

When Freddy came in with the poster under his arm, Garble started to demand to be released, but suddenly he stopped and pointed to the poster. “What's that? It has my name on it!”

Freddy held it out. It read:

“G
RAND
W
AR
D
ANCE AND
S
CALPING
P
ARTY
O
TESARAGA
V
ILLAGE
,
JULY
18TH
3 P.M.

Following war dance, Mr. Herbert Garble, now Public Enemy No. 1, who was captured last Friday, will be

BURNED AT THE STAKE
.

(
stake and firewood furnished by Gilman Lumber Co
.)

Admission 50¢, children half price
.

Supper will be served after the entertainment by the ladies of the First Presbyterian Church of Centerboro
.”

“Ha, ha!” said Mr. Garble uncertainly. “You have a great sense of humor, pig.”

Freddy said: “I'm glad you can see it that way. I admit that I can't feel that you'll really get much fun out of it. Old Wiggling Snake-he's the chief—is very keen for it. The Indians don't make much money out of their baskets and stuff, and we're going to have a big crowd. Going to get posters up in Centerboro, Tushville, Nineveh Falls—every village within forty miles, as well as Rome, Utica, and Syracuse.”

“Look here, Freddy,” said Mr. Garble. “You're not—you can't really be serious about this business? You going to have me burned in effigy or something?”

“Oh dear me, no. No, no; you couldn't get any kind of a crowd out for that. I'm sorry, you know, in a way. If you'd only behaved yourself and not turned into a human rat, it wouldn't be necessary. But at least you'll be doing some good to somebody for a change. The Indians should take in nearly a thousand dollars. And they'll have some fun, too.”

Mr. Garble jumped out of his chair so agitatedly that the two wasps on guard flew down to his neck and stood there waiting with poised stings. “But Freddy,” he stammered, “you—you … Oh no, I don't believe you. The police wouldn't let you do a thing like that.”

“You don't understand, Mr. Garble,” Freddy said. “You're an outlaw. There's a reward of a thousand dollars for your capture. But if you're burned at the stake, the town won't have to pay the reward. You don't suppose they're going to be mad at the Indians for saving them all that money, do you?”

“Bu—but you can't—you simply
can't
do such a thing to me,” the man gabbled. “Oh dear, how did I ever get into this thing anyway? Look, Freddy; you can get me out of it. What can I do to get out of it? Tell me; I'll do anything. Burned at the stake! Ugh!” He shuddered.

“I don't know that I can do anything,” Freddy said thoughtfully. “To withdraw the plans for the entertainment now—well, I don't like to disappoint the Indians. And what will you do for me in exchange, if I do manage it?”

As they had talked, Mr. Garble's eyes kept turning to the poster, and each time he read “burned at the stake,” he shuddered. By now he was in a cold sweat, and Freddy decided that he had got him where he wanted him. Maybe he didn't quite believe that he would be burned, but he wasn't eager to take the chance.

“I might,” Freddy said, “I just barely might get you out of it if you did just as I told you.”

“I'll do anything, Freddy—anything.” Mr. Garble's teeth were chattering now. “Only, get me out of this. Burned at the stake!” he whispered. And then he fell on his knees. “Don't let 'em do it, Freddy; don't let 'em!”

“Get up!” said Freddy shortly. “And sit quiet till I get back. I'm going to see what we can do.”

Half an hour later, he was back with pencil and paper. “I want you to write a note I'm going to take to Simon,” he said. “Now I know that he'll suspect it, and I suppose you've got some secret password so that he'll know if it is O.K. Right?”

“Yes, we have a password.”

“Good,” said Freddy. “Then see that you get it in. Because if he suspects, and doesn't do what you tell him to—look, they're putting up the stake now!” And he pointed to the window, through which they could see two Indians digging a hole in the open space which was surrounded by the houses of the village. A post about eight feet long was lying beside the hole.

Mr. Garble wrote as Freddy dictated, making at the end a secret mark under his signature.

Back at the farm, Simon had not for long been satisfied with the loft over the stable as a headquarters and audience room. Guarded by two huge wolves, he had demanded and obtained the use of the front parlor in the house. Here, seated in a handsome red plush chair, directly under the picture of Washington Crossing the Delaware, he received Jinx and Freddy later the same day.

They stood in front of him and Jinx raised his paw. “Hail, our Leader!” he said. “I have brought another volunteer who wishes to join us.”

Simon grinned. “Dear, dear,” he said. “And who is this stout gentleman? A new recruit, I think you said? He will indeed be a weighty addition to our forces. That is, if we can afford to feed him. Eh, boys?” He snickered, and the two wolves laughed obediently.

“You know me, Simon,” Freddy said. “And I know you. I don't like you any better than I ever did, but I am an animal, and if it comes to a showdown between animals and humans, I am on the animals' side. Also, I think you have the winning team, and I like to be on the winning side, myself.”

“Very shrewd of you,” said the rat. “And you expect, I suppose, to be rewarded for these bluff and straightforward sentiments by a position of high trust in the new government. Tut, tut, my dear friend; old Simon is a silly old fellow and has a trusting nature, but do you know —he is not inclined to believe you. And what do you think of that?”

“I think you're missing a bet. I've got some influence among the animals around here. If I throw it your way, it's going to save you a lot of trouble.”

Simon's beady black eyes shifted from Freddy to Jinx and back again. “And how about the good Beans? Do you agree with Jinx that they have had their own way on this farm long enough?”

“I don't want them to come to harm,” Freddy replied. “But it is time for a change. Jinx will run the farm as well as Mr. Bean did, and I am sure he will be as thoughtful for his old masters as they were for him.”

Rats are not loyal, and do not understand loyalty. That Freddy should stay loyal to Mr. Bean, when it was to his advantage to go over to the other side, was something that Simon found it difficult to believe. And so he was not hard to convince that Freddy would betray old friends for a more comfortable position.

“Very well,” he said. “We'll take you on as assistant to Jinx. But no tricks! Poor old Simon may be easy to fool, but remember that these boys will be keeping an eye on you. Eh, boys?” he said to the wolves, who showed their teeth in what may have been meant as a smile, but made Freddy feel very plump and pink and edible.

Jinx again raised his right paw. “Our Leader, hail!” he said. “I am the bearer of a letter to you from Honorable Garble.” And he produced the letter that Freddy had dictated.

Simon opened and read it. “Ha,” he said; “so he has escaped from the Indians! And you and Freddy assisted him? Excellent. You have our thanks.” And he bowed slightly and looked more kindly at Freddy.

Then he referred again to the letter. “He wishes us to meet him at the Camphor house tomorrow afternoon. He feels—and I cannot but agree with him—that this parlor is not sufficiently magnificent for the Leader of a great animal republic. He wishes us to take over the Camphor mansion as our executive palace. The drawing room, if I remember it correctly, would be suitable for a—dear me, I suppose we should call it a throne room. He says that he will have it prepared for us.

“Not, you understand,” he added hastily, “that old Simon cares for such pomp and splendor. But we must remember the effect on our subjects, eh? Yes, I think this idea of Mr. Garble's is excellent.”

“Splendid, my Leader,” Jinx exclaimed, and Freddy and he both saluted. “Highly fitting, your Magnificence,” the pig added.

“Tut, tut,” said Simon, “no flattery, if you please. Grand titles are not for simple old Simon. Simon is your leader, true, but he is also just a plain citizen.” But Freddy could see that he was pleased. And he thought: We've got him; we've got him through his vanity. “As your Excellency pleases,” he said, and backed, bowing, to the door. And Jinx, taking the hint, backed, bowing, beside him.

CHAPTER

13