Freddy Rides Again (8 page)

“That's about it,” Freddy said. “And he gives 'em each fifty dollars, and they say: ‘Yes, sir; yes, sir,' and do just as he says. You can't blame 'em. Macy and Schermerhorn and the rest of them—they don't want these hunters galloping all over their fields, but it doesn't do much harm this time of year. And they need the money. Well, we'll have to try something different.”

Chapter 7

One evening about a week later, Freddy was sitting in a chair tipped back against the front wall of the pig pen. He had on his cowboy outfit, which he wore nearly all the time now, and he was strumming his guitar and singing in his pleasant tenor a little song of his own composition about life on the wide prair-ee. Of course Freddy had never seen a prairie, but he didn't see why he shouldn't sing about it. “Most cowboy songs,” he said, “are written by folks that have never been west of Niagara Falls.”

Georgie, the little brown dog, was curled up in a deck chair beside him. Georgie was fond of music, and often came up and asked Freddy to sing for him. Sometimes he tried to join in, but he didn't have a very good ear—Freddy found it hard to keep on the key himself when Georgie opened up.

“Sing the one that has the yodeling in it, the serenade,” said Georgie. So Freddy sang.

When the sun is gone
,

(Ooly ooly hey!)

When the shadows fall,

When across the lawn

(Ooly ooly hey!)

Bugs begin to crawl
,

By your window, sweet
,

(La di doodle day!)

Then I strike my lute.

I look pretty neat

(La di doodle day!)

Wearing my best suit
.

So I tell my love

(Ho di wowly wow!)

Underneath the moon,

Cooing like a dove
,

(Ho di wowly wow!)

Slightly out of tune
.

O, be mine! Be mine!

(Bungle o li bang!)

Tell me I'm desired;

Give me but a sign;

(Bungle o li bang!)

I am very tired
.

It is very late
.

(Hi de heedle ho!)

Show me that you care

Do not make me wait:

(Hi de heedle ho!)

Throw me out a chair
.

Ah, she sleeps, alas!

(Ooly ooly hey!)

Does not hear my song.

Dew is on the grass;

(Ooly ooly hey!)

Better get along
.

Silent is the lute;

(Ho di wowly wow!)

Vain my tuneful pleas.

She doesn't give a hoot
.

(Ho di wowly wow!)

I am going to sneeze
.

Freddy stopped suddenly.
Up the slope from the barnyard came a procession of small animals. It was getting dark, and he couldn't see them very clearly, but they seemed to have perfectly round heads, and as they came closer, walking on their hind legs, he could make out that they were brandishing little knives in their paws.

Georgie gave a yelp and bolted into the pig pen with his tail between his legs. But Freddy laughed. “Come back,” he called. “It's only the Horrible Ten. You've seen them before.”

Georgie came to the door. “Yeah,” he said. “But they always scare me. I'll stay right here.”

The Horrible Ten was an organization of rabbits which Freddy had started in order to play a joke on Jinx. But rabbits don't often get a chance to scare people, and they had had so much fun that they had kept it up. They tied their ears down so that they wouldn't be recognized, and their knives were pieces of tin that Freddy had cut for them. But if they caught you outdoors after dark and went into their war dance, stamping around you in a circle and waving their knives and shouting their bloodthirsty chant—well, it was a pretty scary business.

When they got up to the pig pen the rabbits all sat down in a semicircle around Freddy's chair, and the Head Horrible—who was Freddy's detective assistant, No. 23—stepped forward and addressed them.

“Brother Horribles,” he said, “gaze upon Mr. Frederick Bean.”

The rabbits gazed at Freddy.

“Brother Horribles,” said No. 23, “is it still your wish, as expressed by unanimous vote in the secret meeting of our order, to induct Mr. Frederick Bean into the order, with the title of Exalted Honorary Vice-Horrible, and all the privileges and emoluments thereto appertaining?”

“It is, Your Dreadfulness,” said the rabbits.

So No. 23 hopped to Freddy's knee and reached up with his tin knife and tapped him on the shoulder. “Rise, Exalted Honorary Vice-Horrible!” he said solemnly.

“If I rise,” Freddy thought, “23 will fall on his face.” “But he didn't say it. He got up slowly, so that 23 could jump down.

“Brother Horribles,” he said, “I am deeply appreciative of the great honor which you have bestowed upon me. I will endeavor to abide by the rules of the order, and to be, when necessary, as horrible as possible. In a purely honorary capacity, of course. For I understand that an
honorary
office is—well, just an honor. There is nothing that I have to do.”

“Oh, nothing, of course,” said No. 23 quickly. “Although,” he went on after a slight pause, “we did hope that you might give us a little help in one matter.”

“H'm,” said Freddy thoughtfully, “as a strictly honorary Vice Horrible, I doubt it if I would be allowed to—”

“Oh, quit it, will you, Freddy?” said 23. “We thought you'd be pleased at being asked to join.”

“So pleased that I'd agree to do a little work for you, hey?” Freddy said. “Oh, well, skip it. What is it you want?”

“Oh, I guess we went about this wrong, Freddy,” said 23. “We thought maybe making you an honorary officer, we'd kind of soften you up so you'd be willing to help us. But we really did want you to be one of us. Because we're a lot bigger now, and we aren't just out for fun—we've got a real job to do.” And he went on to say that all the rabbits in the countryside were disturbed about the foxhunters. The horses, galloping across fields, had smashed in a number of homes, and the hounds had dug up many more and they chased rabbits wherever they saw them. One of 23's cousins had been chased away up beyond Tushville, and had been three days getting home again, and was still confined to his bed, speechless from shock. “I doubt if he'll ever be the same rabbit again,” said 23 mournfully.

“But foxhounds chase foxes, not rabbits,” Freddy said.

“Oh, yeah?” said 23. “That's what they tell you. But when those Margarines aren't around they'll chase rabbits or cats or woodchucks or—why, I've seen 'em even trying to dig a chipmunk out of a stone wall. Fine business for a full-grown hound!”

“Well, what do you want me to do?” Freddy asked.

“We're the Horrible Twenty now instead of the Horrible Ten,” said the rabbit. “So we need a new chant to go with our war dance. The old one—

We are the Horrible Ten,

Neither animals nor men—

that doesn't go any more. It has to be: We are the Horrible Twenty.”

“H'm,” said Freddy. “Not near as good. But let me see. Twenty, plenty—guess there's only one rhyme.

We are the Horrible Twenty
,

Of ferocity, boy! we've got plenty!

Plenty, sufficient and lots!

H'm; lots, knots, plots—” He went on slowly.

“We weave diabolical plots

To capture our victims alive.

And when we have caught four or five

We sing and we yell and we dance and we haul

Them down to the kitchen and chop them up small
,

Add lemon and pepper and salt, and a dash

Of Worcestershire sauce. For enemy hash

Is the dish of all dishes that crowns all our wishes
,

We eat it for breakfast and dinner and lunch,

We munch and we crunch, we gobble and scrunch,

We—
”

“Hey, wait a minute,” said 23. “This isn't any war song; it's a description of you eating dinner.”

“Oh, come, come!” said Freddy. “Is that polite?” Then he sighed. “I wish though I didn't think about food so much. Gracious! and now I'm smacking my lips over eating up my enemies! That's pretty bad.” He sighed again. Talking about eating, even such an unappetizing dish, had made him hungry. “Look boys,” he said, “you go along. I'll work out something for you. Come up tomorrow and I'll have it ready.”

So the Horrible Twenty trudged off down the hill, and Freddy went in and he and Georgie had some cookies and milk.

Over this snack—if you can call it a snack when you eat three dozen cookies at a sitting—they chatted about local affairs, but as both of them had their mouths full most of the time, neither understood much of what the other said. They were licking up the last crumbs when Mr. J. J. Pomeroy, the robin, flew in. He and his wife and children usually dropped in every few days and did a little cleaning for Freddy—that is, they ate up the crumbs, which owing to his habit of working at his typewriter with a cookie or a sandwich in one hand, were pretty well strewn all over everything.

But Mr. Pomeroy hadn't yet found his glasses, and couldn't tell a crumb from a carpet tack. He had come to warn Freddy that Mr. Margarine and Billy had just ridden into the yard.

Freddy jumped up, and a shower of crumbs flew off his lap. “Thanks, J. J. Come on, Georgie. Let's go down.”

In the barnyard Mr. Margarine, on his tall horse, was looking down at Mr. Bean, who stood beside him. Billy was walking his horse slowly around, inspecting the cowbarn and the henhouse, and not listening to what the men were saying.

“I'm sorry you take it that way, Bean,” Margarine was saying. “From our terrace that red barn of yours sticks up like a sore thumb. Spoils the view entirely. Mrs. Margarine is quite sick about it. And I'm not asking you to tear it down. If you'd just consent to have it repainted a nice green—naturally I'll have the job done myself—”

“Sorry I can't do it,” Mr. Bean interrupted. “Like to oblige you. But the barn's always been red. Red it'll stay.”

“But what's the difference?” said Mr. Margarine, and his thin mouth drew down at the corners. “A green barn is—”

“'Tain't a barn any more,” put in Mr. Bean. “Red's a natural color for barns. Paint it green, it'd mix me all up. Like as not I'd think it was the chicken coop, think somebody'd stole the barn, waste a lot of time hunting for it.”

It was dark in the barnyard; Freddy couldn't see Mr. Bean's face, but he would have bet there was a good strong twinkle in his eye.

“Well, if you want to be stubborn,” Mr. Margarine said.

“I do,” said Mr. Bean. “One of the few pleasures I can afford.”

“I'm not so sure you can afford it,” replied the other. His voice was threatening. “I've made you a perfectly fair proposition. If you don't choose to accept it you needn't be surprised if you have to take the consequences.”

Mr. Bean nodded. “One of 'em bein' that the barn stays red. And now that that's settled—”

“You old fool!” Mr. Margarine snapped. “Don't you realize who I am? Don't you—”

“Stop right there!” Mr. Bean did not raise his voice, but it was suddenly as cold as ice. “We're kind of old-fashioned in these parts. You've come in here and tried to change a lot of things. We've put up with it—some of us because we want to be friendly and helpful, and others because you handed out money so free. We hoped we could get along with you. But I guess you can only get along with folks that stand up to attention and say ‘sir.' We don't do that up here much—”