“Are you going far, ma’am?” the man inquired.
Freddy thought a moment. He remembered the man’s mysterious interest in the Beans, and especially in the First Animal Bank, and now, he saw, was his chance to exercise his undoubted ability as a detective and find out what the fellow was up to.
“Sure,” he said, becoming suddenly very Irish, “I’m for Centerboro, and the fine big bank there, for I have a little business to transact. And indeed I’d better be introducin’ meself, what with you bein’ so kind and all. I’m Mrs. O’Halloran, from Dutchman’s Meadows, down beyond the Bean place, where all the smart animals live.”
“Deary me, and I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. O’Halloran,” said the man. “And I am Jason Binks, without any very pressing business on my hands today, and so shan’t we take a little ride around and have a look at the countryside this pretty spring day?”
“Sure, why wouldn’t I jump at the chance,” said Freddy, shaking his curls coquettishly, “to ride about in a great luxurious motor-car with a fine handsome man like yourself? ’Tis not pressin’, my business at the bank, being only to transfer me little savin’s from this bank the animals do be runnin’ on the Bean farm to a better place.”
“Now that’s odd,” said Mr. Binks. “Deary me, that’s odd as odd! You don’t like the animal bank, I take it?”
“Indeed,” said Freddy, “and how would anybody be havin’ respect for a bank or likin’ for it that’s housed in an old shed with birds flyin’ in and out the windows and cows and dogs and horses trampin’ in and out and a pig sittin’ behind the counter and askin’ your business? And chargin’ a poor old widow woman a cent a month to keep her wee bagful of pennies safe for her. And not so safe either, if it’s all so what they’re sayin’.”
“Dear, dear, what a dreadful place! And what are they saying, Mrs. O’Halloran?”
“They do be sayin’, Mr. Binks, that that pig that runs the bank, bad cess to him, is a dreadful great scoundrel. ’Twas him I saw this mornin’, and ’twas only my threat to bring the law down on him that made him give up my money. ‘ ’Tis safe here, Mrs. O’Halloran,’ says he. ‘Why don’t you leave it lay?’ ‘Why don’t I leave it lay, is it?’ says I. ‘I’ll tell you why, Mr. Freddy,’ I says. ‘ ’Twas Mr. Bean, the good man, got me to put my money here, but what help would Mr. Bean be to me now, and him away, and you animals doin’ what you please with the money? I’d not trust you,’ I says, ‘as far as I could throw a bull by the tail, and that,’ I says, ‘ain’t any distance at all.’”
“Good for you, Mrs. O’Halloran,” said Mr. Binks, giving two toots on his horn to show his approval. “But this pig, now—he’s dishonest, I think you said?”
“Ah, ’tis kind of you, so it is, to listen to the troubles of a poor old body. A heart of gold you have, Mr. Binks, and I’ll say it to your face. But here’s the whole countryside full of beautiful scenery, and us talkin’ trouble. We’ll have no more of it.”
“Ah, but this Freddy, now,” said Mr. Binks, “this naughty little piggy. Somehow, Mrs. O’Halloran, I can’t think he’s so very bad. Have you really any proof of it?”
“Enough is enough,” said Freddy. “Would you look at those big maples, now, and them so beautiful against the sky?”
“They’re elms, I think,” said Mr. Binks, “but still beautiful, of course. Well, Mrs. O’Halloran, I see I must tell you more. For I am interested in this animal bank—oh, yes, very much indeed. I am, in short, a detective.”
“A detective!” Freddy exclaimed. “Are you so! Well now, many’s the time I’ve thought I’d like well to be a detective, and go about among folk in false whiskers and disguises and worm their secrets out of them.”
Mr. Binks laughed heartily. “We don’t use disguises any more, ma’am,” he said. “Dear me, no. Disguises are not much use in our line. And you’ll excuse me, ma’am, but I’m sure you could never deceive anybody, for you’re too honest and open and unpracticed in following clues. No, no, ma’am; nobody could ever take you for anything but what you are: a charming and honest Irish lady.”
“Sure, you put me to the blush, Mr. Binks, so you do,” said Freddy, “though it’s not without charm you are yourself, as well you know. Go on with you, Mr. Binks.” And Freddy tapped him playfully on the arm.
Mr. Binks cackled delightedly and, changing the subject, began to talk of the beauties of nature. But Freddy noticed that he had turned back toward Centerboro, and a few minutes later they drew up before the imposing front of the Centerboro National Bank.
“Why, deary me!” said Mr. Binks in a surprised tone. “Here we are in Centerboro, to be sure! And right in front of the bank. Well now, Mrs. O’Halloran, why not go in, since we’re here, and deposit your savings? And then, if you would care to, I should like to have you meet my friend Mr. Henry Weezer, the bank’s president.”
XVI
Freddy did not know how much money John had put into the shopping bag, but he was getting hungrier and hungrier, and he thought, however much it was, he would have to spend all of it for things to eat. He certainly wasn’t going to pretend it was Mrs. O’Halloran’s savings and put it in the bank. So he told Mr. Binks that he would like to meet Mr. Weezer first.
“For ’tis not every day I could be hobnobbin’ with a bank president,” he said, “and the rest can wait.”
So Mr. Binks took him right into Mr. Weezer’s office.
“Mr. Weezer,” he said, “I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Mrs. O’Halloran. She’s bringing her savings over from the First Animal to deposit them here, and I thought you might like to talk to her. They haven’t used her very well over there.”
Mr. Weezer got up and shook hands. He looked a little surprised when he shook Freddy’s fore trotter, and he looked down at it curiously, but the black lace mitt concealed the fact that it was not really a hand at all.
“I am sorry to hear that they treated you badly,” he said. “What was the trouble, madam?”
“Ah, sir,” said Freddy, “the rascals! And that great murderin’ ruffian of a pig that’s president!”
“Yes, yes,” said Mr. Weezer anxiously. “Did they steal some of your money?”
“Not to say steal exactly, sir. But they’d not give it up until I threatened to have the law of them.”
“Dear, dear,” said Mr. Weezer. “This is not the first time I have heard of something like this. It is time something was done about it. Would you be willing now, madam, to make a complaint against them to the authorities?”
“Ah, sure,” said Freddy, “what good’s complaints, savin’ your honor’s presence. And they’ll not be troublin’ me more, now my money’s under your honor’s protection.”
“That is true,” said the president. “But I will be frank with you, Mrs. O’Halloran. I have already complained to the authorities myself about this animal bank. I do not believe, myself, that animals are fit to take care of other people’s money. But there was nothing the authorities could do. As long as the bank was run properly, they couldn’t close it down. However, they said that if a complaint came in from some depositor who had actually been dishonestly treated by the bank, they would act. I’ll be frank with you. I have not up to now been able to find such a person. Most of the bank’s clients are animals, and I do not believe that the authorities would pay much attention to a complaint from a squirrel or a horse. But if you, madam—”
“No, your honor,” interrupted Freddy. “Not me, if you please. I’d like well to be even with that Freddy, and true I did threaten to have the law of him. But I’d not be callin’ the police, for I don’t like the police too well, and that’s the truth.”
“H’m,” said Mr. Weezer, and he frowned at Mr. Binks.
So Freddy said: “H’m.” He would have said it twice, just to go Mr. Weezer one better, but the first “H’m” sounded rather too much like a pig’s grunt. So he let it go at one “H’m” and thought a minute. Then he said: “Your honor, ye’ve said twice: ‘I’ll be frank with
you, Mrs. O’Halloran.’ ’Twas a promise ye’ve not kept, but now I’m askin’ you to keep it. Why do you want to put the animal bank out of business?”
“I assure you, madam—” Mr. Weezer began, but Mr. Binks said:
“Deary me, I think Mrs. O’Halloran is a friend.” And he nodded emphatically at Mr. Weezer.
“Well, to be entirely frank—” said the president.
“Never mind the frankness,” said Freddy. “Do you just be tellin’ me the truth.”
So Mr. Weezer said: “It’s simply a matter of business, madam. If the animal bank was really an animal bank, I would have no quarrel with it. But it has taken from me one of my best clients, Mr. Bean. And as soon as other farmers in the country hear about it, I am afraid that they too will deposit their money in the animal bank. And what will happen? If it keeps on, the First National Bank of Centerboro will have to close its doors.”
“So that’s it!” said Freddy. “Thank ye, sir, for doin’ a poor old woman the honor of tellin’ her the truth. And I suppose you’ve hired this detective felly to poke around and find ye somebody that’ll make a complaint?”
“That is so. But I must say he has not been of much help. For you’re the first one he’s found, and now you say you won’t do it.” And he looked sourly at Mr. Binks, who blushed faintly and said:
“Well, deary me, if you’d only taken my advice—”
“No,” said Mr. Weezer firmly. “I do not like the animal bank, but I will not use dishonest methods against it. I leave it to you, Mrs. O’Halloran. Mr. Binks thinks that we should go up to the First Animal some night with a pick and shovel and dig into the vaults and take all the money and bring it down here. Then of course when Mr. Bean wants his money, it will not be there, and he will make the First Animal close up. Afterwards we can turn the money over to Mr. Bean, explaining that it was found somewhere or other. Don’t you agree that the First National should refuse to enter into any such dishonest transaction?”
“Why, Mr. Binks!” Freddy exclaimed. “Sure, it’s surprised at you I am, and you so open an’ honest-lookin’!”
“Well, ma’am—” began Mr. Binks, turning this time very red.
“Well ma’am me no well ma’am’s,” said Freddy severely. (And if you think it is an easy thing to say, just try it.) “Out upon you, sir! Fie!”
Mr. Binks seemed to get smaller, and he wiped his forehead and muttered something. But Freddy turned to Mr. Weezer.
“Often and often,” he said, “I’ve heard Mr. Bean praisin’ the honesty and goodness of bankers, ‘and particularly,’ he says, ‘Mr. Weezer of the First National. Now, there,’ he says, ‘is an upright man.’ No, no, Mr. Weezer; ’tis indeed hard to have this animal bank takin’ away your business, but ’tis not to be corrected by skulduggery. But now what would you say, sir, if I was to tell you that I could shut down the First Animal without any finaglin’ or skulduggery at all?”
“You, madam?” said Mr. Weezer, and he started to smile his thin little smile, and then decided better not, for who knew?—perhaps this funny old woman could really do something for him. He had better find out. So he said: “If you could do it, madam, there is scarcely anything you could not ask in return.”
“Ah, then,” said Freddy, “I’ll have to be thinkin’ up somethin’ to ask, for I’ll tell ye, sir, I’m as sure of bein’ able to do it as I am that my name’s Bridget O’Halloran.—Surer,” he added after a second.
“Then I shall not need your services any longer,” said Mr. Weezer to Mr. Binks. “Good afternoon, sir. Mr. Horgly will give you your pay.” And Mr. Binks went out muttering.
“Now, madam,” said Mr. Weezer.
But Freddy shook his head. He could not, he said, arrange to do as he had promised immediately. Mr. Weezer must give him a few days. Within the week, he gave his word, he would drop in at the bank and they could arrange matters. Mr. Weezer argued and argued, but Freddy was firm. He had to be firm because he didn’t know yet what he was going to ask Mr. Weezer to do for him in return. And at last Mr. Weezer gave in.
“Very well,” he said. “If I must wait, then I must wait. But about your savings, madam—wouldn’t you like to deposit them here for safekeeping?” And when Freddy said unwillingly: “Yes,” Mr. Weezer said: “And how large a sum is it, may I ask?”
Freddy looked in the shopping bag. There were three quarters and a nickel and a penny. “Eighteen cents,” he said.
And for the first and only time in his life Mr. Weezer’s glasses fell off at the mention of a sum under ten dollars. He put them back on his nose and stared at Freddy in amazement. “Your entire life savings?” he exclaimed. “Only—” Then he stopped himself. After all, the amount didn’t matter, though that was certainly the smallest amount for the entire life savings of a very old woman that he had ever heard of. So they went out and Freddy deposited the money, leaving only sixty-three cents in the shopping bag.
When this was done, Mr. Weezer, who didn’t want to lose sight of the only person who had shown any signs of being able to help the First National out of its difficulties, invited Freddy to lunch. But hungry as the pig was—and by now he really was beginning to feel a little faint—he refused. It wouldn’t do now for Mr. Weezer to find out what he was, and although he had very good table manners, and didn’t eat like a pig, he was afraid he might look like a pig when he ate. There is really quite a difference. Besides, he had to get away and think. So he said good-by to Mr. Weezer and went off down the street.
Next door to the bank there was a small restaurant called Ye Tidy Tea Shoppe. A bill of fare was pasted in the window, and Freddy stopped to look at it. As he looked, delicious smells puffed out of the restaurant door and up his nose, which wiggled eagerly in spite of him. Lunch was thirty cents, and he was just turning in when Mr. Weezer’s voice at his shoulder said: “Very good food they have here. Come along in with me, Mrs. O’Halloran, do.”
Freddy gulped. “No—no, thank you kindly, sir. I couldn’t eat a bite.” And he went on.
In a bakery down the street he bought some doughnuts and some buns and sat on a bench in the park and ate them, and then he felt better. While he was sitting there he saw several birds, among them a hawk, circling and wheeling above the town, and he knew they were some of Grover’s scouts, looking for him. But he felt perfectly safe.
He didn’t have enough money to stay at the hotel, so he went around to see the sheriff, who was a friend of his, and got permission to sleep in the barn. He told the sheriff he was working as a detective, on a case, so the sheriff didn’t ask any questions, but took him to a ball game, and after that to the movies, and when Freddy finally got to bed that night in the sheriff’s haymow, he was so full of peanuts and popcorn and chocolate bars which the sheriff had bought him that he could hardly get out of the gingham dress.
XVII
When Grover and his army got back after the conquest and annexation of Witherspoonia, scouts were sent out in all directions to find Freddy. But no trace of him could be found. And as nobody but the wasps seemed to have had anything to do with his escape, Grover had no one to punish.
He didn’t particularly want to punish anybody, anyway. His first day in office had, he felt, been highly successful. He had added a state to the F.A.R. The country was quiet—even the members of the Farmers’ Party seemed resigned to his rule. Old Whibley and Vera, it is true, with Ferdinand and a small band of the robber crows who had not gone home after voting for Mrs. Wiggins, waged a sort of guerrilla warfare on his government, swooping out from their stronghold in the woods to attack his army, or to drive from their nests the birds whom he had brought in to vote for him. But old Whibley, Grover felt, could be attended to later.
During the next few days, while Freddy was spending most of his time in the sheriff’s barn in Centerboro, trying to think out some scheme for bringing Mrs. Wiggins back into power, the armies of the F.A.R. carried a lightning campaign through the valley, annexing in quick succession the states of Macia, Smithia, Johnsoni
a, Winterbottomia, and Bodgettia. They fought only one battle, when the Winterbottom animals, led by an old circus horse named Charlie, learned in advance of their march and tried to trap them in a narrow ravine on Wigwam Creek. Charlie had planned to ambush them and roll rocks down on them, but a squadron of meadowlarks, scouting in advance of the column, discovered the ambush in time. Grover altered the course of his march, came upon the enemy from the rear, and, instead of the rocks, a number of the Winterbottom animals rolled to the bottom of the ravine before the rest surrendered and submitted to annexation.
Each afternoon, after the return of the army, Grover held court in the loft of the barn. He—or rather Bertram—sat in Uncle Ben’s chair, with John Quincy on one shoulder and X on the other, and the two herons behind him. On the long work-bench sat the members of his staff. Here Bertram gave out orders, and made laws, and handed down judgments. It was here that Charlie and two of his lieutenants were sentenced to six months’ imprisonment.
But though the Farmers’ Party seemed to have resigned itself to Grover’s overlordship, there was a good deal of undercover activity going on. Nearly every night Jinx and John and the dogs and some of the chickens sneaked into the cow-barn, where they held muttered conferences with the cows and Hank. Sometimes old Whibley came for a moment, to report progress, and every night Jacob brought messages from Freddy, whom he visited every day. A great many plans had been proposed, but none of them were very good. And they all felt that when they finally took action, the plan they acted upon must be perfect.
Freddy, in the meanwhile, had been eating, and thinking. About as much of the one as of the other, for the sheriff set a good table. But the more he ate, the fatter he got, and the fatter he got, the better he felt, and the better he felt, the clearer he could think. And at last he thought of something.
He put on the gingham dress and the bonnet and the curls and the mitts and set off for the bank.
Freddy the Politician Page 13