Freddy Rides Again (2 page)

“That is Freddy, our pig,” she said. “What's the matter with you, boy? Haven't you ever seen a pig before?”

Billy stopped laughing long enough to say that he had seen pictures of pigs, but never a live one before. “I didn't know what funny looking animals they really were,” he said. “Oh,
golly
, he's funny!” And he stared at Freddy and went off into another gale of laughter.

The animals were pretty mad. They often kidded and made fun of one another, but for a stranger to laugh at one of them was something different. But they were undecided just what to do. Although as animals who could talk they were famous through all that part of the state, they had long ago decided that it was better not to talk before strangers unless there was some good reason for it. And they didn't want to give the boy the satisfaction of hearing them.

Mrs. Bean knew that they were trying to make up their minds what to do to Billy, and instead of going in, she came to the edge of the porch. “You're a very rude boy,” she said. “But I don't want to see you get hurt, and so I advise you to stop that laughing and ride on about your business.”

“Pooh,” said the boy. “You think I'm afraid of
them?
” And he laughed all the harder. And Mrs. Bean shrugged her shoulders and went into the house.

I don't know what the animals would have done, but the matter was taken out of their hands. For another friend of Freddy's had been watching. He was a wasp named Jacob and he was sitting on the porch railing in the sunshine polishing his sting. Wasps are pretty quick tempered, and when the boy began laughing he buzzed angrily, and as the laughter continued, he tested the point of his sting on the wood, and then he rose in the air, circled twice, and dove with an angry whine onto the neck of Billy's horse and jabbed the sting in up to the hilt.

The horse gave a snort and went straight up in the air, and Billy slipped sideways and lost his stirrups and grabbed the mane to keep from falling. And then the horse gathered his legs under him and bolted. They went up through the barnyard and sailed over the fence, and through the pasture, and as the animals watched, they disappeared among the trees of the Bean woods.

Jacob circled down and settled on Freddy's nose. “Well, I guess we settled that pair, hey, Freddy? Gave 'em a dose of old Dr. Jacob's soothing syrup.”

“Thanks, Jacob,” said the pig. “Only, you stung the wrong party. The horse didn't do anything.”

“Anybody comes in our yard looking around as disgusted as that horse did,” said the wasp, “gets the same medicine. Anyway, if I'd just stung the boy, he'd have yelled, and you know Mrs. Bean—she'd have gone all sympathetic and come out and given him cookies and milk. As it is, we gave 'em both something to laugh at, and got rid of 'em into the bargain.”

“Well, I know one thing,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “If that boy is going to be a neighbor of ours, we're going to have trouble.”

“I think I'll go over and have a talk with that cat, Arthur,” said Jinx. “It's a good time now, while the boy's away. And maybe we can get a line on these people. Want to go along, Freddy?”

Chapter 2

A little while ago the Margarine place had been just an old run-down farmhouse. Then Mr. Elihu Margarine had bought it, and he had brought in gangs of carpenters and masons and electricians and plumbers, and it was now as fine a mansion as you would find anywhere between Albany and Buffalo. Even the estate of their friend, Mr. Camphor, Jinx and Freddy agreed, wasn't as elegant.

The gateway alone was enough to scare off any real timid visitor. There were two huge stone gateposts, and on each was a frowning stone lion, holding in his paws the Margarine coat of arms. For the Margarines were a very old and aristocratic family. Their fortunes had first been founded by Phillippe de Margarine, who came to England (some say as a cook) in the train of William the Conqueror. The ancestor in whom Mr. Margarine took most pride was Sir Henry Margarine, who in one year, 1572, fought twenty duels, of which twelve were wins and eight draws. Mr. Margarine himself did not of course fight duels: he was a banker. But he felt sure that he could be successful at dueling if he ever found time to take it up as a hobby.

The two friends went through the tall iron gates, then ducked off into the shrubbery and worked their way around to the back of the house. There was a man washing a big car, and two other men leading horses up and down. They stayed under cover and watched. After a while a tortoise-shell cat came out of the stable. He was large and sleek and had a very kindly and benevolent expression.

“Pssst!” said Jinx, and the cat came over to them.

Jinx introduced himself and Freddy, and the cat expressed himself as highly honored by the call. “I'm sorry I can't offer you any refreshment,” he said. “But the truth is that Mrs. Margarine has given orders that I'm not to have anything to eat. That's why I came to see you yesterday—I thought maybe—if I could stay at your farm while I was looking around for another situation …”

“Why won't they feed you?” Jinx interrupted. “You been clawing the furniture or something?”

“Nothing like that,” Arthur said. “No, my trouble is a tender heart. I was engaged here as a mouser, but mice are such cute little things … and good gracious, they have fathers and mothers just like everybody else, even though smaller. How anybody can bear to kill them I simply cannot see.” And the tears came to his eyes just at the thought.

Jinx looked at Freddy. “You and the grasshoppers,” he said.

“Sure,” said the pig. “Your Uncle Herbie, too.”

“Uncle Herbie cried over 'em, but he ate 'em just the same,” said Jinx. “Sometimes he sobbed so hard he couldn't swallow, and sometimes he swallowed so fast he couldn't sob. But he managed to feel noble and at the same time get three square meals a day.” He turned to Arthur. “Why don't you make a deal with the mice? Have 'em keep out of sight in exchange for your letting them alone?”

“If I'd done that in the beginning it would be all right,” said the cat. “But it won't work because they know now that I won't hurt them no matter what they do.”

“Well,” Freddy said, “your tender heart does you credit. I guess we could stake you to a meal or two. But as to staying on—that's up to Mrs. Bean. Cats are in Mrs. Bean's department. You'll have to talk to her, eh, Jinx?”

The cat agreed rather grudgingly, and then Arthur thanked them. “I'd show you around the place,” he said, “but these Margarine folks aren't very friendly. They'd probably tell the servants to chase you away.”

“Yeah, we met the boy a little while ago,” said Jinx, and told Arthur about it.

“Billy's a spoiled brat,” Arthur said. “They buy him everything he asks for, and let him do whatever he wants. He has plenty of pocket money, so he thinks he doesn't need to have any manners. You're going to have trouble with him, because his folks always back him up.”

“Do you suppose he really hadn't ever seen a pig before?” Freddy asked.

“Sure he's seen pigs,” said Arthur. “He was being rude on purpose. He's heard about you being famous as a detective, and laughing at
you
made
him
feel more important. You always feel superior to people you laugh at.”

They went home the back way, across lots, and Arthur told them more about the Margarines. “They're crazy about fox-hunting,” he said. “And that's one thing I think you're going to have trouble with 'em about.”

“Oh, I don't believe so,” said Freddy. “There's only one fox around here—a friend of ours, John—and I guess he can keep out of their way.”

“I wasn't worried about the foxes,” said the cat, “and when I said ‘fox-hunting,' I didn't mean trapping them, or going out after them with a gun. What these people mean by foxhunting is going out on horseback and running foxes down with a pack of foxhounds. And they have special clothes for it, just as cowboys have special clothes for being cowboys—red coats, usually. They even have special yells that they yell—‘Yoicks!' is one of them. If you're a cowboy you yell ‘Yippee!' and if you're a fox-hunter you yell ‘Yoicks!' Pretty silly business, both of them.”

“I don't agree,” said Freddy stiffly. “I see nothing silly about ‘Yippee!' or about the cowboy costume.”

“You put your foot in it, mister,” said Jinx. “Freddy here is the head cowboy on this range. And don't try to be funny about it, because he's powerful quick on the draw.”

Arthur apologized. “I really don't know anything about cowboys,” he said. “It's a bad habit of mine, to make fun of things I don't know anything about.”

“Oh, I guess we all do that,” Freddy said. “It's easier than to admit we're ignorant. But about this fox-hunting—I'm still not worried about John. He's smart enough to fool a pack of hounds.”

“Maybe he is. But he's not smart enough to keep these hunters from riding through your fields and trampling the hay down.”

“They won't do it more than once,” said Jinx. “Not if Mr. Bean sees them. They'll be too busy picking birdshot out of their hides.”

“Oh, Mr. Margarine will offer to pay for the hay he's knocked down. But if your Mr. Bean starts any shooting—Well, we'll wait and see.”

When they reached the farmhouse, Jinx mewed at the back door until Mrs. Bean opened it. Then he and Arthur walked in.

“Good gracious me!” said Mrs. Bean. “Who is this? You can't bring strange cats into my kitchen, Jinx.”

“He's Margarines' cat,” said Jinx. “Or was. They won't feed him, so I said maybe you'd let him stay here a few days.”

“Well, he can have something to eat here,” she said. “But he can't come into the house. Good grief, how do you think the mice would like that?”

“Oh, ma'am, I wouldn't lift a paw against your mice,” said Arthur earnestly. “To tell you the truth—I suppose it's very weak and un-cat-like of me but I never catch mice. Why, I look at it from the mice's point of view: how would
I
like being chased and eaten up by animals ten times my size? No, ma'am; I've got a very sympathetic nature; why, some of my best friends are mice.”

The mice, under the stove, had been very quiet. To have a strange cat come into the kitchen was what it would be like for you or me to have a thirty-foot alligator push open our bedroom door. But realizing that both Mrs. Bean and Jinx were there to protect them, they became bolder. And Eek came right out on to the floor and said: “Aw, lay off that brotherly love stuff, cat. You're not fooling anybody.”

Arthur shook his head sadly. “It's natural that you should feel that way, mouse,” he said. “But I have no wish to intrude where I am not trusted.” He turned to Mrs. Bean and Jinx. “Madam and cat,” he said, “I thank you for your kindness. And now I will go.”

“Where are you going?” Jinx asked. “Back to the Margarines'?”

“No! No! For I would rather starve than to earn my keep by persecuting my little fellow animals. No, I shall take to the road. Perhaps somewhere I may find some kind person who will trust me and take me in.”

“Oh, my goodness; what's all the fuss about?” Mrs. Bean said. “I didn't say you couldn't stay here; I just said you couldn't stay in the kitchen. Plenty of space to sleep in the barn. Go out on the porch and I'll get you some milk.”

As she opened the door for them, Eeny said: “So we're stuck with a cannibal around the place now, hey? What are we going to do?”

“Nothing, now,” said Quik. “I wish Mrs. Bean wasn't so easily taken in by good manners and a pleasant smile. Anybody that knows anything about cats ought to know better than to trust one that wears as saintly as expression as that Arthur.”