Freddy and the Perilous Adventure (9 page)

“—and in my Opinion,” Mr. Golcher was saying, “unless the police catch him, he won't ever be heard of again.”

Mr. Bean puffed on his pipe. “Dunno why anybody'd steal a balloon,” he said.

“You ain't ever had one, have you?” asked Mr. Golcher.

Mr. Bean shook his head.

“Well, that's it. Take it from Golcher; Golcher knows. Balloons are queer. You get attached to 'em after a while. Like some folks get attached to horses or dogs. Now the way I figure it, this pig, he gets attached to this balloon, and he can't bring himself to give it up. ‘Golcher?' he says. ‘Who's Golcher? He can't ever catch me. Here I am up in the air, and I can go sailin' on the rest of my life.' He don't know the gas'll give out after a while, and he'll come down and won't be able to go up again because he don't know how to get more gas. Bein' a pig, he don't realize these things—”

“He ain't dumb,” said Mr. Bean shortly.

“I know he ain't,” said Mr. Golcher. “Not for a pig. But after all, he
is
only a pig—”

“I say, he ain't dumb,” repeated Mr. Bean firmly.

“Well, suppose he does realize all those things,” said Mr. Golcher. “I don't want to say more'n I can prove. But he did steal the balloon.”

“He ain't a thief,” said Mr. Bean.

Mr. Golcher didn't say anything for a minute. Mr. Bean puffed on his pipe and looked out placidly across the fields.

“Well,” said Mr. Golcher finally, “so he ain't dumb and he ain't a thief. But where's my balloon?”

When Mr. Bean didn't know the answer to a question he kept still. He kept still now. Some people would have said they thought maybe it was this, or maybe it was that, but not Mr. Bean. For he knew what lots of people never learn: that no answer is better than the wrong one, and sometimes than the right one, too.

“Well,” said Mr. Golcher, “you ain't much help, and that's a fact.”

“Waitin' for your proposition,” said Mr. Bean.

“My proposition?”

“You come here to see me. Must have a proposition to make. Well, make it.”

Mr. Golcher looked at him sharply. “Well, now, he's your pig,” he said, “and if I was to sue you for loss of business and the value of the balloon, you'd have to pay. Because any damage he causes is your responsibility.”

Mr. Bean nodded. “Never denied it,” he said.

“Oh, well, then,” said Mr. Golcher, “there's no reason why we can't agree. There's the balloon gone, and there's five hundred dollars I was to get for the ascension at the circus tomorrow—”

“Two hundred,” said Mr. Bean.

“Eh?” said Mr. Golcher. “Why two hundred wouldn't hardly cover the cost of—”

“Save your breath,” interrupted Mr. Bean. “Two hundred was what Boomschmidt agreed on. Phoned him this morning to find out.”

“Oh, well,” said Mr. Golcher. “Let it go. Golcher wants to be fair. Golcher ain't one to quibble over a dollar or two. Say two hundred for loss of business, and for the balloon—well, that's kind of hard to figure. That there balloon—well, sir, that balloon's more than just a balloon to Golcher. That's a balloon, you say—just a bag full of gas. But not to Golcher. That balloon and me, we been together now for fifteen years. We—”

“Pretty near wore out then,” said Mr. Bean calmly.

“Wore out?” said Mr. Golcher. “No it ain't wore out; it's as good as the day it was first blown up.”

“We ain't getting anywhere,” said Mr. Bean. He dug down in his pocket. “Here's your two hundred. You lost that on account of my pig, and I'll pay it.”

“But the balloon!”

“I don't buy any balloon,” said Mr. Bean. “Suppose your balloon comes back tomorrow? Then I have a balloon on my hands, and what do I do with it?”

“Do with it? I guess, Mr. Bean,” said Mr. Golcher solemnly, “if you'd had any experience with balloons, you wouldn't ask that question.”

“Shouldn't have asked it anyway,” said Mr. Bean, and he got up and held out the two hundred dollars.

Mr. Golcher counted it slowly. “But this only makes up for the ascension I couldn't make,” he said. “It don't pay for the balloon.”

“Pig'll bring it back, likely,” said Mr. Bean. “If not, meet me in a week's time at Judge Whipple's, in Centerboro. We'll let the judge decide what I owe you.” And he said good day and went into the house.

After Mr. Golcher had gone, Freddy went back to the cow barn. He was pretty pleased to find that Mr. Bean really believed in him, even though appearances were so much against him. He realized that, in spite of his gruffness and apparent indifference, the farmer was a real friend—much more of a friend than some of the animals who were always protesting their friendship. “I'll get that balloon back if it's the last thing I ever do,” he said firmly.

But even if he got the balloon back, Mr. Bean was still out two hundred dollars, and how could he do anything about that? It was true, he had about seven dollars in the First Animal Bank, of which he was President, but it had taken him two years to get that together. “If it takes two years to get seven dollars,” he said to Mrs. Wiggins, “how long would it take to get two hundred?”

“Seven hundred years,” said Mrs. Wiggins.

Freddy didn't think that was right, and he tried to do it in his head. But the cows were trying to do it in their heads too, and they kept saying: “Seven goes into twenty … put down four and carry three … that's thirty-five plus eight,” and things like that, until it is no wonder that he got a different answer every time. But as the lowest answer he got was thirty-seven years, he decided that there was no use going on with it.

But the cows went right on. Mrs. Wogus said she made it ninety-eight, and Mrs. Wurzburger thought it was only seventeen, but Mrs. Wiggins stuck to seven hundred. “It's only common sense,” she said. “If you get seven dollars in two years, then in seven hundred you get two hundred.”

“It sounds right when you say it,” said Freddy, “but I'm sure there's a mistake somewhere. But anyway, if it only takes seventeen years, it's too long. So I'll have to think of something else.”

He sat down against the wall and tipped the silk hat over his eyes, and the cows looked at one another, and Mrs. Wiggins winked and said: “Come on, girls, if there's going to be some thinking done, it's no place for us.” And they tiptoed quietly out.

And sure enough, in about five minutes Freddy really did think of something. It is true that in another minute he would have been sound asleep. But that is often the time, just on the edge of sleep, when people do think of the best things. The trouble is that they are seldom strong-minded enough to jump up and put their ideas into action at once. And so they drop off to sleep and the ideas are lost.

Freddy wasn't specially strong-minded, and perhaps he would have gone to sleep anyway, but just as he got the idea, his head nodded and his hat fell off, and that woke him. He jumped up and started to dash out of the door, just as Jinx, who had heard that Freddy was hiding in the cowbarn, started to dash in. And they met in the doorway and Freddy's hat was knocked off again.

As they started to pick themselves up, they both said crossly: “Hey, why don't you look where—” And then they stopped and said: “Oh, it's you.”

“Sorry, old pig,” said Jinx, and he picked up the hat and brushed it off and handed it to his friend. “Boy, that's a stylish outfit. Looks like you were invited to the White House to lunch. Where'd you steal it?”

“I didn't steal it,” said Freddy coldly. “I borrowed it.”

“Like you borrowed that balloon, I bet,” said the cat. “Golly, you certainly got yourself into a real mess this time.”

“I didn't steal the balloon either,” said Freddy. “But there's no time to explain now. Listen, I've got to get out of here without being seen, and I want your help.”

“Thought you wanted me to meet you tonight,” said the cat. “Sanford said—”

“That's off now,” said Freddy. “Got a better plan. Go get those mice over here. Tell 'em to bring their parachutes. And then you get Mr. Bean out of the way until I get started. He's in the stable, and he mustn't see me.”

“O.K.,” said Jinx. “But where you off to?”

“It's an adventure,” said Freddy. “Tell you afterwards.”

“Why don't I go with you then?”

“Oh, I don't know; it's kind of dangerous. I guess I can handle it better alone.” Freddy very much wanted Jinx to go with him, but he knew that the surest way to get him was to pretend that he didn't. That's a cat all over. Let him think you don't want him to do something, and he's crazy to do it.

“Oh, come on, Freddy. You wouldn't leave me out, would you? Your old pal, that's stood at your side on a hundred battlefields? Jinx, the old tried and true, whom you know you can count on to the last whisker and toenail? Back to back, and bare teeth and claws, and bring on your lions and tigers! Eh, Freddy?—that's the old Bean spirit; that's the—”

“Oh, all right,” said Freddy. “Anything so I don't have to listen to a pep talk.”

“Yow!” Jinx yelled delightedly, and dashed out of the barn.

A few minutes later, the four mice—Eek and Quik and Eeny and Cousin Augustus—came running in. They dropped their parachutes, which they had been carrying in their mouths, and all began talking at once. “What's up, Freddy? What goes on? You going to give a show?”

“How'd you boys like to take a
real
parachute jump? From a balloon a mile high?”

“A real jump? Oh boy, what a chance! You bet! From a real, big balloon? Would we like it! Would we … Would …” They were suddenly silent.

“How far up, did you say?” asked Quik, in a voice which was small, even for a mouse.

“Well, maybe not a mile,” said Freddy. “But good and high. My gracious, you don't mean to say you're
scared
?”

“No,” said Eeny. “No-o-o. Not scared, exactly. Only—well, our aunt, you know—she lives over in Centerboro, and she—well, maybe she wouldn't approve.”

“She's got funny ideas, you know Freddy,” said Eek. “She doesn't like us to do things that are—sort of—showing off.”

“Not-dignified things,” said Cousin Augustus.

“Listen,” said Freddy; “you haven't heard from your aunt in five years, and anyway, if I remember right she used to do slack-wire walking when she was younger, and if that isn't showing off … But of course, if you want to turn down a fine opportunity to win fame and fortune, it's nothing to me. Ducks go up in balloons, pigs go up in balloons, but mice—no, no; they're too scared. What Mr. Bean'll say … But there; forget it, boys. I'll get some rabbits.”

The mice looked at one another. “Rabbits!” said Quik, then he jerked his head, and they all picked up their parachutes. “When do we start, Freddy?”

“That's the spirit,” said the pig. “Get into my pockets, and I'll tell you more as we go along.”

He looked cautiously out of the barn door. He had heard Jinx crying for some time, and now he saw that the cat was standing by his empty saucer on the back porch, and looking up hopefully at the kitchen door. Every now and then he would give a very piteous
meroooow
.

Pretty soon Mrs. Bean came and looked out. “I know what you're up to, you villain,” she said. “But you've had your dinner, and there isn't any more for you.”

“Give him something to eat, Mrs. B.,” came Mr. Bean's voice from the stable.

“He's had his dinner,” said Mrs. Bean, “and if I let him coax me into giving him more, he'll be teasing me all afternoon.” And she smiled at Jinx and went back into the house.

“
Merooow
,” said Jinx.

“
Meroooooow
.”

“
Meroooooooooow
!”

“Oh, good
land
!” exclaimed Mr. Bean, coming out of the stable. “Stop that bellering. I'd rather feed you ten meals a day than have to listen to that.”

“
Merow-row?
” said Jinx.

Mr. Bean bent down and scratched his ears, then picked up the saucer and went into the house. And as soon as he had disappeared, Freddy jammed the silk hat down on his head and bolted out through the barnyard. He crossed the meadow, and was safe behind the fence below the pasture when Mr. Bean came out again. Then when Mr. Bean had put down the saucer of food before Jinx, and had gone back into the stable, he went on up towards the woods.

At the edge of the woods he waited for Jinx. He had to wait a long time, but at last the cat came.

“You might have hurried a little,” he said.

“Chicken gravy,” said the cat, licking his lips reflectively. “I will say this for Mr. Bean: he's no hand to pet his animals, but when he feeds 'em he feeds 'em.”