Freddy and Simon the Dictator (5 page)

“It isn't me you're laughing at—it's the disguise,” said Freddy. “I'd probably laugh at you if you were disguised as a pig. I'd be sore if you laughed at my looks when I didn't have the disguise on, though.”

“I guess people only look ridiculous when they try to look like something they aren't,” said Mr. Camphor. “Whether it's false whiskers they put on, or just a very noble and heroic expression. Like that rooster friend of yours when he makes a patriotic speech. He's probably patriotic all right, but his speeches are just too patriotic to be true.

“But here, Freddy, this is what I wanted to show you.” He opened a drawer in the sideboard and took out a white handkerchief. It had the initials W.F.B. embroidered in one corner. “Those are Mr. Bean's initials, aren't they?”

“Sure. It's his handkerchief.”

“I was afraid so. Well, Freddy, five hundred dollars was stolen last night from the top of the dresser in Senator Blunder's room, and this handkerchief was found on the floor in front of the dresser. Now in the first place, if Mr. Bean was going to rob my house, he wouldn't be foolish enough to leave his handkerchief behind. And in the second place, Mr. Bean is an honest man and wouldn't rob my house anyway.” He hesitated a minute. “I guess I didn't need that part about the first place, did I? However, Senator Blunder doesn't know Mr. Bean, and he wanted to call the police in right away. But I persuaded him to wait a while.”

“How did he know the initials were Mr. Bean's?” Freddy asked.

“He went through all the B's in the Centerboro phone book till he found somebody they fitted. I told him I knew Mr. Bean and I was sure he was too busy on his farm to go in for burgling, and I said he was a good party man and had always voted for Senator Blunder—did he, do you know, Freddy?”

“Have no idea.”

“Well, let's hope he did. Because it wasn't until I said that a headline in all the papers—Prominent Republican Jailed for Theft—might have a bad effect on the election, that he agreed to wait a few days. But I had to promise that if I couldn't find the thief and get the money back, I'd make up the five hundred myself. So I hope you can find the thief, Freddy. But I guess it'll be quite a job. You don't really think it could be Mr. Bean, do you?”

“It wasn't Mr. Bean,” said the pig. “This handkerchief proves it.”

“My gracious, it would prove it
was
Mr. Bean to a policeman. Of course, Mr. Bean is our friend, and we know he doesn't go round burgling houses; but I don't see how his leaving his handkerchief here proves that he doesn't.”

Freddy said: “Look at the handkerchief. It's clean. But it hasn't been ironed. What does that tell you?” And when Mr. Camphor just looked blank, he went on. “It tells you that Mr. Bean didn't drop it there. Because when Mrs. Bean does a washing, she hangs it on the clothesline, and when it's dry, she takes it in and sprinkles it and irons it, and puts it away. There's no way that Mr. Bean would get a clean handkerchief but by going to his bureau drawer and getting one that had been ironed. Unless he took an unironed one off the line, and Mrs. Bean wouldn't let him do that.

“But there was somebody that took a handkerchief off the line the other night. A bunch of rabbits deliberately pulled Mrs. Bean's clothesline down, and some things were stolen.”

He went on and told Mr. Camphor about the trouble on the farm and the mysterious speaker at the Grimby house meetings, who was trying to stir up the animals to revolt and task over the farms from their human owners.

“You know,” he said, “this sort of thing has been tried before. Remember when Mr. Anderson and the rats drove everybody out of that summer hotel across the lake and took it over? And tried to scare the Beans out of their house? And the time that woodpecker came and made himself dictator, and tried to build an animal empire out of the F.A.R.?

“But this seems to me more serious. This time somebody's trying to set the animals against the humans, make an animal empire in which the humans will work for the animals, instead of the other way round. It won't work, of course. The humans will win out in the end. But there'll be an awful lot of trouble if we can't break it up here, before it gets started.”

“It's a long way from stealing Blunder's money to building an empire,” said Mr. Camphor. “And the idea of a rabbit burglar is almost as incredible to me as a rabbit emperor.”

“Well, for one thing,” Freddy said, “whoever is stirring up all this business isn't a rabbit, I'm sure. And the burglar wasn't necessarily a rabbit, either. There were lots of other animals at that meeting. Couldn't a squirrel have got in the Senator's window last night?”

“The window was open. I suppose he could. But the important thing is to get the money back. Do you think you can, Freddy?”

“It'll be a job. My guess is that the burglars had two objects in stealing the money: to put some cash in their war chest, and to start stirring up trouble among the humans. That's the way the Communists do; they go into a country and get everybody fighting everybody else, and when the whole country is in an uproar, they step in and seize the power and anything else that isn't nailed down. And the way this speaker up at the Grimby house is talking to the animals is the Communist way. Tell a big lie, and the first time, nobody believes it much. Like the Beans having rabbit stew. But keep repeating it, and by and by somebody says: ‘I wonder if maybe they
did
have rabbit stew!' And then it's told and repeated so often that everybody comes to believe it.”

“Well, my goodness, Freddy,” Mr. Camphor said, “I think you ought to go back home and put a stop to these revolutionists. That is much more important than my little troubles. I'll get out of being governor some way. No, no; you go on back. And if in the course of your work you do find the money—well, I'll be very grateful.”

But Freddy shook his head. “There's nothing much I can do right now,” he said, “that the A.B.I. can't do better. It's a question of getting more information about whoever runs these meetings. And about—oh, a lot of things. I can just as well stay up here for a few days and let Mr. Pomeroy gather the facts for me. Because we can't take any action until we know a lot more than we do now about who's back of this business. And in the meantime, we can work out some scheme to get the committee to withdraw your name from the ticket.”

“My goodness, if giggling won't make them drop me, I don't know what else we can do. How silly can a governor get?”

“I'll think of something,” said Freddy. “In fact,” he added suddenly, “I
have
thought of something. Come on back out on the terrace. Now you back me up in everything I say—O.K.?”

“Sure, sure. Shall I giggle?”

“No, they like that. Be very solemn and serious. This'll fix 'em.”

As they went back through the living room, Miss Anguish looked up. “Oh, Dr. Hopper,” she tittered, “do sit down beside me and tell me all about Hollywood. I'm sure you must have had some perfectly thrilling experiences.”

“I assure you, ma'am,” said Freddy, “all I know about the lives of film stars is what I see on the screen. I have never been in Hollywood.”

Miss Anguish drew her chin in and the corners of her mouth went down and her lower lip was pushed out, as she looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “Oh, you just
say
that!” she said with a sniffle. “I think you're mean!”

Freddy looked at Mr. Camphor, but the latter just shrugged. So Freddy shrugged back, and then he sat down beside Miss Anguish and said: “But perhaps you'd be interested in my last year's trip through the solar system.” And he told her of the attempt which Mr. Bean's Uncle Ben and some of the animals had made to reach Mars, in the Benjamin Bean Space Ship. The story of this has been related elsewhere, and so I won't repeat it. Miss Anguish was thrilled by it, but when Freddy had finished, and rose and excused himself, she said: “Well, if you must go … But you must promise to come back later and tell me about your adventures in Hollywood.”

So Freddy promised. What else could he do?

CHAPTER

5

Out on the terrace, the members of the committee were still telling jokes, and Mr. Glockenspiel was making notes of the best ones for use in Mr. Camphor's speeches. Freddy listened for a few minutes. He noticed that each of them laughed harder at his own jokes than he did at any that the others told, and nobody laughed at the jokes that Senator Blunder told except Senator Blunder. But of course, he made up for it by laughing twice as hard as anyone else. Indeed, he laughed so loud and slapped his knee and guffawed so excitedly at one of his own jokes that he ended by sticking the lighted end of his cigar back in his mouth. He jumped up and danced around, sputtering and roaring, and Mr. Slurp, thinking this was part of the joke, lay back in his chair and shouted with laughter. Of course, that made the Senator mad, and with an angry yell he went for Mr. Slurp and if the rest of the committee hadn't separated them, the results might have been serious indeed for the party.

When the excitement had died down, Mr. Slurp apologized to the Senator. “I did not realize,” he said, “that my distinguished friend had burnt his tongue; I assumed that he was putting on the performance strictly for laughs. I wish to point out, however, that if performed for laughs it would be a highly entertaining caper. I would like to suggest, therefore, that—”

“I know what you're going to say,” Mr. Camphor interrupted, “and I won't do it. When you're on the platform with me, if you feel that sticking the lighted end of a cigar in your mouth will get us some votes, you go ahead and do it. I won't, and that's flat.”

“Gentlemen,” said Freddy, “since in spite of General Wiggins's disapproval, you seem determined to continue Mr. Camphor as your candidate, there are one or two things I should like to speak about. The first is: What are the people who vote for him going to get out of electing him? I understand that the Honorable Mr. Feebler, the Democratic candidate, intends to promise that if he is elected, he will cut down taxes to half what they were last year. That's a big promise, gentlemen. Every voter in the state has to pay taxes. Unless we can promise more than that, our next governor will be the Honorable Rufus Feebler.

“Now gentlemen, Mr. Camphor has a brilliant suggestion. He suggests that we go Mr. Feebler one better. He suggests that we promise, if elected, to do away with
all
taxes! Gentlemen, on a platform like that, Mr. Camphor will sweep the state!”

The members of the committee all began talking at once. “A bold idea, Doctor,” said Senator Blunder.

“But if we do away with taxes,” said Mr. Glockenspiel, “who's going to pay the governor's salary?”

“And our salaries,” Colonel Buglett said. “We all expect to be appointed to political jobs if Camphor is elected.”

“You can't run the state government without money,” said Mr. Slurp, “and the money all comes from taxes of one kind or another. I say the idea's no good.”

“But don't let us be hasty,” put in Judge Anguish. “The idea has merit. Unquestionably, Mr. Camphor could be elected if he promised to do away with taxes. But what then? After election, couldn't he just think things over and decide that maybe we ought to have taxes after all? The main thing is to get elected, isn't it? Probably some of the people will be mad, when their tax bill comes in. But they forget pretty quickly. No, Camphor, I think you have something there. What do you say, Buglett?”

The committee went on to discuss the proposition, and Freddy took Mr. Camphor's arm and drew him out of earshot. “Golly, Mr. Cam—I mean, Jimson, I think up the craziest things to have you do, and the crazier they are, the better they like them. Look, wouldn't it be simpler just to refuse to run?”