Funny Frank (2 page)

“Is that him?” she asked.

“Yes,” replied Gertie.

“Well, he's only looking at the ducks.”

“Yes, I know, Mildred. But
why
is he looking at the ducks?”

“Better ask
him
,” said Mildred.

“You!” squawked Gertie at the chick. “Come here!”

At the sound of her voice, the eighth chick turned and came toward them. Usually little chicks run to their mother when she calls them—run very fast— flapping their stubby little wings. But this one was in no hurry.

He came slowly, looking back over his shoulder once or twice at the ducks in the pond, and when he reached the two hens, he did not cheep and peep as an ordinary chick would have done. Had Gertie called any one of his brothers and sisters, they would have rushed up to her, saying,“Yes, Mummy?” and probably adding politely, “Good morning, Auntie Mildred.”

This chick, though, simply stood there
and said, “What?” He did not say it in a rude way, but rather in the tone of someone who has been interrupted in the middle of something important.

“Now,” clucked Gertie. “What were you doing?”

“Looking at the ducks,” her eighth chick replied.

“Yes, but
why
were you looking at the ducks?”

“I like ducks,” he said.“They're cleverer than you are, Mum.”

“Cleverer?” squawked Gertie. “Whatever d'you mean, boy? Compared to hens, ducks are stupid. They can't run about in the grass like we can. They can only waddle.”

“Yes,” said the chick, “but they can
swim
. I wish I could. It looks nice.”

“Don't be silly, dear,” his mother said. “Chickens can't swim. Run along now.”

This time he did run, straight back to the duck pond, and stood once more at the edge.

Gertie shook her head in amazement. “I told you, Mildred,” she said. “That chick is funny.”

Chapter Two

Gertie and Mildred moved away down the orchard, shaking their heads in a bewildered fashion. On the pond the ducks dabbled happily, while Gertie's eighth little chick watched, wishing and wishing that he could dabble too.

What fun it looked to be playing about in all that lovely water that sparkled in the summer sunshine! How much they were enjoying ducking their heads under, and letting the glistening stuff slide down their backs, and flapping their wings to spatter themselves with dancing drops, and wagging their rumps with pleasure! Lucky ducks, he thought. He moved forward a
step or two into the shallows at the edge of the pond. How cool the water felt!

Just then a brood of little yellow ducklings came swimming past.

“Excuse me!” the chick called. “Can I ask you something?”

The fleet of ducklings turned as one and paddled toward him. “Ask away, chick!” they cried.

“Well,” he said, “how did you all learn to swim?”

“Learn?” they cried, and they gave a chorus of shrill squeaks that sounded like laughter.

“We didn't learn,” one said.

“We didn't have to, man!”

“We just did it.”

“Naturally.”

“Like ducklings do.”

“Well,” said the chick, “the thing is— I want to learn to swim.”

“Tough luck, chick,” they said.

“Chickens can't swim,” one added.

“Your feathers aren't waterproof.”

“And your feet aren't webbed.”

“So, forget it, chick.”