Freddy Rides Again (4 page)

“Dogs!” he exclaimed. “How'd they get in there? You let 'em in?”

“Chasing a fox,” she said. “He went through the window.”

“I'll get a pitchfork,” he said. But as he turned to go back to the barn, the huntsmen rode up.

“I'll get the hounds out for you,” said Mr. Margarine, dismounting. “Sorry for this, but I'll make good any damage.”

“Who are you?” Mr. Witherspoon demanded. And as Mr. Margarine came up the steps: “You keep out of there. I'll tend to this.” He dashed off to the barn, but paused a moment to shout back to his wife: “You pick up those potatoes!”

“If they're your dogs, mister,” said Mrs. Witherspoon, “you get 'em out of there quick.” And Mr. Margarine went in the door.

“I hope they didn't catch John,” Jinx said.

“You leave it to John,” said Freddy. “A fox never lets himself get cornered.”

“Hey, look,” said Bill. “Here comes Old Man Trouble himself.”

Mr. Witherspoon came out of the barn with a double-barreled shotgun in the crook of his arm. Mr. Margarine was still inside; Billy and Mrs. Margarine and their two friends had reined their horses up close to the porch and sat there looking on. None of them offered to help Mrs. Witherspoon pick up the potatoes. Mr. Witherspoon pointed the gun at them. “Get out of my yard,” he said.

“Oh, come, my good man,” said Mrs. Margarine. “We're very sorry about this, but we'll pay for any damage our hounds may have done.”

“You bet you'll pay, and plenty!” he said. “Sickin' your dogs on my wife!—Get that one!” he said to Mrs. Witherspoon, pointing to a potato which had rolled into a corner of the porch.

Mrs. Margarine laughed. “Don't be ridiculous!” she said. “The hounds went through the window after a fox.”

Mr. Witherspoon gave a contemptuous snort. “Likely story!” he said. “You'd better think up a better one before you tell the judge about it. Foxes jumpin' through windows! I'm too old to listen to bedtime stories. Now git—all of you!”

The row in the house had quieted down, and as Mr. Witherspoon again lifted his gun menacingly, Mr. Margarine came out of the kitchen door, dragging the four hounds after him. He had snapped leashes on their collars, and though they yelped and struggled, he pulled them off the porch. “Get down, Billy!” he said, “and take Belle and Caroline. I'll take the other two. The fox must be in there yet; we'll have to keep them on leash or they'll go back in.”

“Stand away from them dogs,” said Mr. Witherspoon, and his gun swung to cover them.

Perhaps he didn't really intend to shoot them, but Billy didn't wait to see. He brought his whip down sharply on Mr. Witherspoon's wrist. The man yelled and dropped the gun, and Billy slipped quickly from the saddle and picked it up. “O.K., Dad,” he said. “Let's go. I've got him covered.”

But Mr. Margarine handed the boy the leashes and took the gun from him. He unloaded it and leaned it against the porch. “I'm sorry about this,” he said. “You know who I am, I guess—Elihu Margarine. You send me the bill for whatever damage has been done. Here's fifty dollars to go on.” And he held out a bill.

Mr. Witherspoon took it, looked at both sides of it, then folded it and tucked it in his pocket. He looked a little bewildered. After a minute he turned and without a word stumped off towards the barn.

Freddy and Jinx watched until the hunters had gone, and Mrs. Witherspoon had taken her potatoes back into the kitchen. Then they rode out and started home.

“That Margarine kid isn't a coward, anyway,” said Bill.

“Oh, dear,” said Freddy. “I was just getting so I hated him, and then he has to go do something I admire him for. I wish people would be good all over or bad all over. Even that Cal Flint we had so much trouble with this summer—you couldn't hate him as much as you wanted to, because there were some nice things about him. All the people we've had trouble with—Mr. Doty—even that old rat, Simon—they all had good things about 'em. And then you couldn't be as mean to 'em as you wanted to be.”

“Oh, no?” said Jinx. “Well, I can. You just let me get a couple of claws in a good tender spot on that boy—” He broke off. “Hey, look!”

John was coming towards them along the top of a wall.

“How'd you get out here?” Freddy asked. “I thought you were in the house.”

“Let 'em corner me there? Not me,” said the fox. “When I jumped in the window, I just stood there close to the wall while the hounds jumped over me and began pulling the place to pieces. Then I jumped out while Mrs. W. was juggling those potatoes and sneaked off the side of the porch.”

“I never took my eyes off the porch, and I didn't see you,” said Cy.

“You weren't looking for me,” said John. “You were watching the window, or Mrs. Witherspoon. If you'd expected me to come out, you'd have seen me.”

“I guess that's so,” said Freddy. “When I was a magician, I always had to get people's attention on something that didn't matter, so they wouldn't notice what I was really up to. But John, you took an awful chance.”

“Pooh!” said the fox. “I want to get those hunters good and unpopular with the farmers around here, so that they'll have to quit this fox-hunting stuff. Anything for a quiet life. And you bet they won't ride across old Witherspoon's land any more.”

“Maybe we could make a deal with the hounds,” said Freddy, “not to bother you.”

But John shook his head. “You can't argue with foxhounds, not on the subject of foxes. They've got a single-track mind. Nice enough folks, I guess—kind to their families and so on. But they've been trained to chase foxes, and it's the one thing they just can't help doing. Just as Bill here can't help butting folks if he sees 'em leaning over. Just as you, Freddy, can't help—well—”

“Stuffing himself,” put in Cy.

“Come on, Jinx,” said Freddy, “I'll race you home.”

Chapter 4

Arthur, the Magarine's ex-cat—as he sometimes referred to himself—was well liked by most of the Bean animals. He had a pleasing personality, and was much in demand at parties because of his genteel appearance and behavior. He was invariably polite, particularly to the more elderly animals, and was often invited to their homes.

Among the homes where he was a frequent caller was the little house up by the pond, where Alice and Emma, the two white ducks, lived with their Uncle Wesley. Emma, the more timid of the sisters, was still a little afraid of Arthur, but they were both impressed by the elegance of his manners, and pompous Uncle Wesley was completely sold on the handsome visitor.

Jinx disapproved of this friendship. He was very fond of the sisters, though as for Uncle Wesley, he said he didn't see why they gave him house room. “Just a bag of wind surrounded with feathers,” he said to Freddy, “floating around with the rest of the scum on the pond. But the girls think he's wonderful. So when Arthur says he's wonderful too, they begin to think Arthur's pretty wonderful. Goes right around in a circle. Because Arthur sure thinks
they
are wonderful—or would be if he could have 'em for supper. A nice plump duck—mm
m'm
!” He smacked his lips.

“Oh, I don't think Arthur's up to anything like that,” said Freddy.

“Yeah? Well, maybe not,” said Jinx. “But—ever see the way he looks at 'em? Or at those rabbits he's always being so thoughtful of?—taking 'em little bouquets of lettuce and such. It ain't the way to look at a friend, Freddy; it's the way Mr. Bean looks at the roast turkey when he tucks the napkin under his chin on Thanksgiving.”

The two friends were out riding together. They rode nearly every day, after Jinx had persuaded Bill that he would make a good cow pony. Bill had been easy to persuade, for a goat can gallop over broken ground where a horse would have to pick his way with great care, and can climb where a horse couldn't possibly follow. And Jinx of course needed neither saddle nor stirrups; he could hook his claws into the burlap sacks strapped to Bill's back, and nothing could shake him loose. It was quite a sight to see Jinx, waving his hat and yelling “Yippee!” as he rode Bill at a gallop along the top of a rough stone wall.

“Maybe we'd better speak to the ducks about Arthur,” Freddy said, and they turned their horse's heads (or rather, one horse's head and one goat's head) towards the pond.

Alice and Emma were doing their powder-puff act, floating around on the water, and Uncle Wesley was sitting on the bank in the shade of a burdock leaf, grumbling as usual about the weather. There was nothing wrong with the weather, but it was always there and so saved him the trouble of thinking up something else to grumble about.

Freddy and Jinx dismounted, and then the horses and their riders all sat down on the bank as Alice and Emma swam towards them. Uncle Wesley went right on grumbling.

“Hi, girls,” said Jinx breezily. “Seen any good shows lately?”

The ducks tittered. They liked Jinx, because he always pretended that they were very bold and dashing characters, out every night at a party or a dance.

“Well, maybe I'm speaking out of turn,” said the cat, with a glance at the burdock leaf from under which came Uncle Wesley's discontented quacks. “But who was that duck I saw you with down at the movies the other night?”

Most of the farm animals did go down to the movies in Centerboro occasionally. Mr. Muszkiski, who managed the theatre, made a special low price for them, as he felt that animals, particularly such famous ones as Mr. Bean's animals, in the audience, were an added attraction. But the ducks never went.

“You didn't see us, Jinx,” said Alice.

“Strange,” said the cat. “I could have sworn it was you. With a handsome young duck I'd never seen before. Dark-complected fellow, with a very high polish on his bill. I'd say he waxed it.”

Emma said: “We don't approve of the cinema, Jinx.”

“You mean that old crab, Wesley, doesn't,” said Jinx. “What do you pay any attention to him for? He never had any fun himself, and he doesn't want anybody else to have any.”

The ducks were shaking their heads warningly and pointing their bills at the burdock plant. But Jinx pretended not to notice. “That old Wesley,” he said. “If he was my uncle, you know what I'd do—I'd sew his bill up some night when he was asleep. Sew it with good stout thread and—”

At this point Uncle Wesley pushed aside the burdock leaves and waddled pompously out. “Ha, there you are, Wes, old mud-scoop,” said Jinx. “I thought I could get you out.”

The duck ignored him. “Alice!” he said. “Emma! Go into the house at once. I do not care to have you associating with these persons. I must say, I am grievously disappointed in you, grievously. I am astonished that you would sit quietly by and hear such insults heaped upon the head of your uncle. If
I
had heard anyone speak so of
my
uncle when
I
was a duckling—”

“You'd have torn him in pieces and used his backbone as a walking stick,” Jinx interrupted. “Instead, you're going to quack him to death. Well—”

“Please, Jinx,” Alice put in. “Don't tease Uncle Wesley any more.” A year or so ago she and her sister would have rushed indignantly to their uncle's defence. But they no longer believed him to be the bold and fearless character he had always told them he was. They had looked up to him, admired him, taken his advice in everything—until one day they had seen him back down when he had tried to cheat a squirrel by selling him wormy nuts. After that, although they still believed that he was probably the wisest duck that ever lived, they no longer allowed him to tell them what to do every minute of the day.

“O.K.,” said Jinx. “I take it all back, Wes. As a matter of fact, I've always considered you one of the most brilliant—no, no, I will say
the
most brilliant mind I have ever known. Why, I was saying to Freddy only the other day—that Uncle Wesley, I was saying—why, he is so smart, I bet he could count right up to ten without stopping.”

Uncle Wesley could swallow any amount of flattery, and at the beginning of Jinx's speech he had puffed out his chest and looked as important as possible. But at the end, he did have enough sense to see that the cat was making fun of him again, and he turned his back on him with an angry quack.

Jinx was going on, but Freddy said: “Oh, lay off, Jinx, will you? Look, Wesley, we came up to talk to you about something—”

“One moment,” Uncle Wesley interrupted pompously. “Alice! Emma! What is all this about your being at the movies with some strange duck?”

“They weren't at the movies,” said Freddy. “Jinx was kidding you.”

Uncle Wesley pushed out his chest. “You will kindly not interfere in my domestic affairs, Freddy,” he said. “I do not need an interpreter in getting an explanation from my own nieces.”