Freddy and Simon the Dictator (4 page)

Apparently no one did, but Freddy could see all of their lips moving as they tried to place Wiggins in the long list of Presidents of the United States. He could actually read the lips of some of them. Colonel Buglett started at the present and worked backward. He got as far as Harding and stuck. Senator Blunder and Mr. Slurp worked from the other end. With their heads together, they were whispering: “Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison …” They got as far as Buchanan before they bogged down.

Mr. Glockenspiel asked what Wiggins was doing now.

“
General
Wiggins,” said Mr. Camphor. “Commander in Chief of the F.A.R.” He spoke as if he were shocked that Mr. Glockenspiel could be so ignorant.

Freddy had a hard time keeping a straight face. Of course, his whiskers helped a lot. He wished Jinx was there, to hear all this. Actually, everything Mr. Camphor had said was the truth, but if these men had known that the Wiggins, whose name they were hearing with such respect, was a cow … And the F.A.R., the First Animal Republic on the Bean farm … But, of course, there were so many government departments and labor unions and organizations of various kinds that were known only by their initials—like the C.I.O. and the N.A.M. and so on—that politicians couldn't possibly keep track of them all. But they wouldn't dare ask and thus expose their ignorance. Probably, they thought the F.A.R. was the Federal Army Reserve, or something like that.

Whatever they may have thought, they didn't seem to have any more doubts about Dr. Hopper. Mr. Camphor's bluff had turned him into a very important person. Freddy decided that a little more bluffing wouldn't do any harm. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I should perhaps tell you at once that General Wiggins and I had a long conference yesterday on the possibility of electing Mr. Camphor governor. And though this may come as a shock to some of you—and particularly to you, Jimson—the General will not support your candidacy.”

Now if you are told that some piece of information will come as a shock to you, the chances are that you will really feel shocked, even if the information itself isn't of the slightest importance. Senator Blunder said: “Good gracious me!” and Mr. Slurp threw up his hands. Even Colonel Buglett seemed put out. Mr. Camphor, however, did not make a success of his expression. It is hard to look disappointed with a broad grin on your face.

Judge Anguish said: “This is very strange. What seems to be the General's objection?”

“Well, gentlemen—” Freddy hesitated. “This is confidential, you understand. The General would be very indignant if it leaked out to the newspapers. He does not question Mr. Camphor's ability. But he feels—and I think perhaps, on due consideration, you will agree with him—that no governor should yawn continually through the speeches of members of his own party. Or on other public occasions. I regret to report this, Jimson, but you know yourself that during General Wiggins' Fourth of July speech last year, you expressed boredom rather than enthusiasm.”

“Dear me,” said Mr. Camphor, “did I really? But of course I
was
bored. Nine out of ten political speeches are just a lot of hot air. Good gracious, even my own speeches bore me to death. I can hardly keep awake to finish them.”

“Very damaging admission,” said Colonel Buglett.

“I don't see it,” said Mr. Camphor. “I should think the audience, being bored too, would feel sympathetic towards me.”

Judge Anguish said: “Political speeches are not supposed to say anything important. The perfect political speech expresses a lot of noble but very vague sentiments in extremely high-flown language. That's what brings out the votes.”

Freddy thought of the flowery speeches that his friend Charles, the rooster, made, and of the enthusiastic applause they brought out, although ten minutes after Charles had finished, nobody could remember what he had said.

“General Wiggins had several other objections,” Freddy went on. “He said that he esteemed you highly as an assistant, but that there were several things about you that made you undesirable as a figure who must appear dignified on public platforms and on public occasions. The General mentioned specially that at a rally in Syracuse you slapped two babies instead of kissing them—”

“Of course I slapped them,” said Mr. Camphor. “When I started to kiss them, they bit me.”

“He also said,” Freddy went on, “that he felt that your habit of eating gumdrops in public was highly undignified. Particularly, when someone in the audience asks you a question, and you can't get your jaws apart to answer it.”

“I have always eaten gumdrops,” said Mr. Camphor. “I am very fond of gumdrops. Particularly the licorice ones. If I have to give up gumdrops in order to become governor, then I renounce the honor. As to dignity, I have never pretended to be dignified. When dignity is needed, I summon my butler. That is what I hire him for. Bannister!” he called.

A very tall man in a black coat with tails came out of the house and crossed the terrace to stand beside Mr. Camphor's chair. He was so dignified that he didn't look at Mr. Camphor; he held his head up very high and looked out across the lake. “You rang, sir?” he asked.

“I yelled,” said Mr. Camphor.

“Just so, sir,” said Bannister.

“We need a little dignity, Bannister.”

“Yes, sir,” said the man. “Thank you, sir.” And he continued to stand staring out superciliously over the water.

“By George!” Senator Blunder exclaimed. “You really haven't much dignity, Camphor. I never realized it before.”

“It's what I've been telling you,” Mr. Camphor replied. “I'm not fit to be governor.”

“Now, now,” Judge Anguish interrupted, “you promised, Camphor. And it's too late to change now. Why, we've got the ballots all printed with your name on them. Do you realize what that costs?”

“And there's no reason why you can't lay off gumdrops, at least in public, for a while,” put in Mr. Slurp.

“He can't lay off giggling,” said Freddy. “That's the thing that seemed most serious of all to General Wiggins. It doesn't matter whether he's addressing the legislature or laying a cornerstone—he giggles all the time. Even in church, he giggles. The General says we don't want a giggling governor.”

“Certainly not,” said the Judge. “But is that so, Camphor? I hadn't noticed that you giggled.”

“Oh, yes,” said Mr. Camphor. “Can't seem to help it, somehow. At the solemnest moments. Te-hee! There I go now. Hee-hee-hee!” He giggled violently.

“Good gracious!” Senator Blunder exclaimed. “This is serious! I'm glad we found it out. Still … Camphor's the man we want. Isn't there some cure for it—can't something be done, Dr. Hopper? We can keep him away from babies, and we can make him promise to swear off gumdrops. Can't you give him some treatment for these giggles?”

Before Freddy could reply, Bannister suddenly spoke. He didn't move, and his eyes still looked off across the lake. “Laugh and the world laughs with you,” he said.

Freddy remembered how fond Mr. Camphor and Bannister were of proverbs. They were always arguing about them, and testing them out to see if they were true. Now Mr. Camphor stopped giggling. “Maybe you're right, Bannister,” he said, “but it isn't so that giggle and the world giggles with you. The world just thinks you're silly.”

“Dear me,” said Mr. Slurp; “what do you think, gentlemen—it's pretty late in the day to drop Camphor from the ticket, but after all—a giggler!”

“Not dignified, no,” said Judge Anguish. “But perhaps there's been too much dignity in government.
We
like it. But do the people like it? You know, gentlemen, I have a hunch that they'd like a little less dignity and more giggles. Yes, gentlemen, that gives me an idea. The first new idea in politics in a hundred years. There's our slogan: ‘Laugh and the world laughs with you.' And instead of making the usual speeches, all full of campaign promises, Camphor will tell jokes and giggle. Camphor, the giggling governor! It's a natural, gentlemen. It will be a landslide!”

“I believe you're right, Anguish,” said the Senator; and Colonel Buglett said: “You've got something there.” Mr. Slurp and Mr. Glockenspiel nodded approval.

“Shucks!” said Mr. Camphor disgustedly. He looked up at Bannister. “Oh, go away,” he said. “You and your dignity!”

The committee had gone into a huddle. Each one had a favorite joke that he was trying to suggest for Mr. Camphor's speeches, and each was laughing so hard at his own joke that he heard nothing the others said. Bannister glanced at them, then bent down. “He who laughs last, laughs best,” he said. He winked at Freddy, whom he had, of course, recognized, since he had seen the Dr. Hopper disguise before. Then he bowed stiffly and turned and marched into the house.

CHAPTER

4

While the committee were roaring and laughing at their jokes, Mr. Camphor motioned Freddy to come down to the other end of the terrace.

“What do we do now?” he asked. “My goodness, it gets worse and worse. Now I'm not only going to be governor, I'm going to be a giggling governor.”

The pig said he was sorry. “They were the best things I could think of offhand. Don't worry, Jimson. I'll think of something.” So he thought for a minute.

Mr. Camphor could see that he was thinking, because he shut his eyes and put on a fiercely determined look. But when presently he opened his eyes, he shook his head. “No good,” he said. “Thinking's like fishing. You bait your hook and throw it in the water, but if there aren't any fish around, you naturally can't catch anything. There isn't an idea around anywhere right now. I'll try again later.”

So Mr. Camphor sighed and said: “Well, come in the house then; I want to show you something.”

In the living room, a lady was sitting by the window, reading. She was rather fluttery looking; there were little ribbons all over her dress, and as she read, her hands kept moving and fluttering, and she nodded, and pursed her lips, and laughed a little tinkling laugh all the time as if she were trying to entertain a visitor instead of reading a book.

“Miss Anguish,” said Mr. Camphor, “may I present Dr. Henry Hopper? This is the Judge's sister, Miss Lydia Anguish, Henry.”

Miss Anguish jumped up, and the book fell on the table, and several bits of ribbon floated off her dress. “Oh, dear me,” said Miss Anguish; “how very interesting! Not Henry Hopper, the distinguished movie actor?” And she reached out to shake hands. She held her hand so high up that Freddy had to stand on tiptoe to take it.

“Movie actor? … No,” he said. “Is there a Henry Hopper in the movies? I don't remember seeing him.”

“Oh, I don't know,” she said, and gave a tittering laugh. “You
look
so much like a distinguished movie actor that I just thought that you—well, that you must be one. And then if you were, why then your name would be Henry Hopper, because that is your name.”

“Er—yes, so it would,” said Freddy. Then he repeated, “So it would,” because he couldn't think of anything else to say. He glanced sideways at Mr. Camphor, but Mr. Camphor was looking up at the ceiling, with his mouth pursed as if about to whistle. Then Freddy caught sight of himself in the mirror. There was certainly nobody in the movies who even remotely resembled what he saw—unless it was one of the dwarfs in Snow-White.

Miss Anguish was looking expectantly at him but he couldn't think of anything else to say. To conceal his embarrassment, he picked up the book she had dropped. He was surprised to see that it was one of the series of books in which his own adventures had been related by a Mr. Brooks, the official historian of the Bean farm, who occasionally came out and spent a week or so at the farmhouse.

“Such an interesting book,” said Miss Anguish. “Have you read it? All about animals that talk. Imagine!”

Mr. Camphor's eyes came down from the ceiling and he said: “It's all true, too. I know those animals; the pig, Freddy, is quite a friend of mine. He lives only a few miles from here.”

“Oh come, Jimson—really!” said Freddy. “You mustn't expect us to believe that stuff.”

“What's so incredible?” said Mr. Camphor. “You can talk; pig can talk. He's rather your build too, Doctor. If you'd like to see him and talk to him, Miss Anguish, I'll drive you down someday. Maybe he'd recite some of his poetry for you.”

“A poetic pig!” Miss Anguish exclaimed. “What won't they think of next!”

“You oughtn't to talk like that, Jimson,” said Freddy, when they had gone through into the dining room. “Somebody'll get on to me if you aren't careful.”

“That one wouldn't get on to anything if you dressed up that horse of Bean's in a toga and introduced him as Julius Caesar. If she didn't quite see the likeness, you could point out that Hank has a Roman nose. Oh, probably I shouldn't have done it, Freddy, but I couldn't resist it; you look so darned funny in that outfit. … Oh dear, I hope I haven't hurt your feelings!”