Freddy Goes to the North Pole

by Walter R. Brooks

  As soon as everything was ready, Santa Claus set out. He had fastened a pair of antlers to Uncle William’s head so that the horse would look as much as possible like a reindeer. Uncle William was very proud to be going with Santa Claus. It was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him. He had raced a good deal when he was younger, but he had never even imagined such speed as he made that night. He never knew afterwards quite how it happened, whether the reindeer pulled him along or whether there was some magic about it. His hoofs seemed to skim the snow. They sped through the forest so fast that the trees fairly whizzed backward past them, like the pickets on a fence that you pass in a swift automobile. Soon the forest was behind, and houses began to appear. A leap, and they were on a roof; Santa was out of the sleigh and down the chimney and back again in the sleigh almost before they had come to a stop—and then another leap, and in a swirl of snow they were off again. Through towns and villages and cities, up narrow mountain roads, across bridges, over cultivated valleys, along beaches where the surf broke white in the starlight, they raced, faster and faster; passing lighted trains that seemed to be standing still, though they were making their fifty miles an hour; passing speeding automobiles whose occupants caught but a glimpse of them as they hurried by and were never sure afterwards of the reality of what they had seen. After a little it was all like a dream to Uncle William; he galloped and galloped, and lights and buildings and woods and fields whizzed by in a confused mass; and he could hear Santa Claus humming a little tune to himself as he pulled the reins gently, now to the left, now to the right, to guide their flight. The horse didn’t seem to get tired, either, for all the swiftness of the pace. It was too exciting, he was too proud of his part in it, to feel fatigue. And when at last he was back in the stable, and his harness was taken off and a good feed of oats was brought to him, he was sorry that it was all over.

  “Splendid work!” said Santa Claus, patting him on the shoulder. “If it weren’t for you, there’d be a lot of unhappy children tomorrow morning who’d be wondering why I’d forgotten them. And you never slipped once. Even I lost my footing on that steep slate roof in Minneapolis, and if I hadn’t caught hold of the chimney, you’d have had to dig me out of the snow-drift at the side of the house.” He shook with laughter. “That’s happened to me more than once, I can tell you. You’d be surprised at some of the things that have happened. Once I fell through a skylight right into a bed where four children were trying to keep awake so they could see me when I came down the chimney. They saw me all right, and felt me. I nearly squashed them.”

  “You must have had lots of funny experiences,” said the horse.

  “I have. I’ll tell you about them some time. But now I think we both want to get to bed. There’ll be lots of eating and excitement tomorrow, and we want to be rested.”

  Christmas at Santa Claus’s palace was, as you may imagine, nothing but fun and happiness for all the animals and people under that generous roof. It would take much too long to tell of the presents they exchanged, and the turkeys and plum puddings and mince pies and candy they ate, and the games they played. Even Mr. Hooker recovered from his anger and disappointment sufficiently to eat an enormous dinner—for which he dressed in full pirate costume—cocked hat, gold-laced coat, ear-rings, red sash, and all—and to play for them afterwards on his flute while they all danced.

  The dancing was really worth seeing. The sailors danced hornpipes and jigs; the ship’s carpenter, Mr. McTavish, put on kilts and danced a Highland fling; Mr. Bashwater did the harpooner’s jig, which is something like the gimpus dance, with many complicated figures; and even the captain finally consented to do his famous and very graceful dance to Mendelssohn’s Spring Song, for which he wore a leopard-skin and a green wreath, and carried a basket of artificial crocuses. The animals danced too, mostly old-fashioned round dances. Mrs. Wogus in particular turned out to be a really fine dancer. Her polka was quite astonishing.

  Late in the evening, when the merriment was at its height, there was one unpleasant incident. One of the sailors, a greedy and ill-tempered man named Pell, was complaining about the present his room-mate, Mr. Osnip, had given him. “It’s all very well to talk about the Christmas spirit,” he was saying. “But Jim Osnip hasn’t got it. He just simply hasn’t got it, that’s all! Why I gave him a swell ivory manicure set, and what did he give me? A couple of miserable little guest-towels. Why, they’re not even linen! And look, here’s the price tag—he didn’t even take it off—nineteen cents! What kind of a present is that to give your mate?”

  Some of the sailors had gathered round, and Mr. Bashwater said: “Why, Pell, I think those are very nice towels. Jim hasn’t got very much money, you know, and he’s spent a lot of time embroidering your monogram on them. See here—”

  “I don’t care about that at all,” said Pell crossly.” What I say is—”

  But just then Mr. Osnip himself pushed through the ring. “You don’t like ’em, eh?” he said. “All right, give ’em back. Here’s your old manicure set. Give me those towels!” And he started to pull them away from his friend.

  But Mr. Pell didn’t really want to give up the towels, so he hung on to them, and they tugged and pulled until at last one of the towels gave way and tore down the middle, leaving Mr. Pell lying on his back with half a towel in his hand, and Mr. Osnip lying on his back with a towel and a half in his hand.

  The disturbance had brought everyone together in that corner of the Present Room. Freddy had been upstairs fixing up something on his typewriter, and now, as he came down with a sealed envelope in his mouth, Jinx came up to him and said: “You’re just in time. Now’s the time to give it to him.”

  Freddy nodded and pushed his way through the crowd. Mr. Hooker had just taken matters in hand and was scolding the two sailors, who stood before him blushing and with downcast and shamefaced looks. The pig stood on his hind legs and offered the envelope to the captain.

  “What’s this?” said Mr. Hooker.

  The sailors all looked over his shoulder as he turned the envelope over in his hands. “It says something on it,” said one of them.

  “Eh? So it does. ‘The contents of this letter are of interest to the officers and crew of the Mary Ann.’ H’m, wonder what can be in it.”

  “Why don’t you open it and find out?” suggested someone.

  “That’s an idea,” said Hooker, and tore open the envelope. Out dropped a folded paper.

  Hooker had recognized it immediately as the treasure map, and he stooped to snatch it up before anyone else should see what it was. But Mr. Osnip was quicker, and in a few moments every sailor in the room knew what it was and they all crowded closer about the captain, who, realizing now that it was useless to try to keep it for himself, and knowing that the animals could not give him away, pretended that he had known what it was all the time.

  “It’s a little surprise I’ve had in store for you for some time, men,” he said. “I found this several days ago, but I knew if I told you about it then, you’d want to start right away to hunt for the treasure, so I thought I’d wait until Christmas was over. Santa Claus would have been hurt if we’d left before Christmas. And then I thought it would make a nice Christmas surprise for you. It’s my Christmas present to all of you.”

  At this there was a burst of prolonged cheering. “Hurray! Hurray! Three cheers for Mr. Hooker! And for Captain Kidd’s treasure!”

  “Now what I think we ought to do,” went on the captain, “is to pack our suit-cases and set out tonight. We don’t want anybody else to get to the treasure ahead of us, and although it has been where it is for over a hundred years, you never can tell how much longer it may stay there. We don’t know how many other maps like this are in existence. So get your stuff ready, and then say good-bye to Santa Claus, and don’t forget to thank him for the nice time you’ve had and for all the nice presents, and we’ll get on our way.”

  After another fit of cheering the sailors scattered to their rooms to pack. />
  “Well, I guess we fixed that all right,” said Freddy.

  “I’ll say we did,” replied the cat. “They’ve forgotten all about reorganizing Santa Claus’s business already. He’ll be pretty glad, I bet.”

  “Yes,” said Freddy, “but I expect we’d better tell him about the map.”

  “I suppose we ought to,” replied Jinx.

  So they went into Santa Claus’s study and told him the whole story.

  Santa Claus was not at all angry with them, and he was amused at their cleverness, but he looked at the same time rather worried. “I’m pleased that you’ve taken so much trouble for me,” he said, “and it’s true that I’d be glad to have the sailors go. They are nice men and I like them, but their ideas about business are very upsetting. I thought at first that their way of doing things might make my work here easier, and in some ways it did, but I think, after all, I prefer the old-fashioned way of doing things. Everybody was happy, and, after all, that’s the main thing.

  “Nevertheless I don’t see how we can let them go like this. It isn’t really quite honest, is it, to let them take a long, hard journey, and spend months of their time hunting for something that we know doesn’t exist?”

  “No—o—o,” said Freddy slowly. “I don’t suppose it is. But—”

  “There isn’t really any ‘but’ about it,” said Santa Claus. “You agree with me, you see. I think we’ll have to tell them.”

  “Oh, but, gosh!” protested Jinx. “Excuse me, sir, but I mean, isn’t there anything else we can do? Don’t you know of any real treasure they could hunt for? If we could only—”

  “Wait!” exclaimed Santa Claus. “That gives me an idea, Jinx. It certainly gives me an idea! Our objection is that there isn’t any treasure on the island you drew the map of, isn’t it? But suppose we put a treasure there, eh? Suppose I harnessed up the reindeer and drove down there and planted a treasure for them to dig up? That would fix it, wouldn’t it?”

  The animals were delighted with this scheme. But when it came to carrying it out there were some difficulties. On the maps they had made a list of the treasure: four hundred pounds of gold and several bushels of precious stones. “I’m a pretty rich man,” said Santa Claus, “but even I couldn’t get together as big a treasure as that. Still, I guess we could arrange that. The main thing is that they shan’t be disappointed with what they find. I’ll get together enough valuables so they’ll all have plenty of money to live on comfortably for the rest of their lives. And then I’ll drive down there and bury it in a day or two.—Ah, here they come to say good-bye to me,” he said, as the thump of heavy sea boots was heard outside in the hall.

  “We oughtn’t to be staying much longer ourselves,” said Robert as the animals stood in the courtyard and waved good-bye to the sailors, who straggled out of the gate, each with a suit-case bulging with the presents he had received in one hand, and a handkerchief in the other which he turned to wave every few steps, for they were all sorry to go.

  “I suppose you’re right,” said Hank. “Mr. Bean is probably pretty worried about us, although Santa Claus told me the other day that he’d sent him a letter to say that we were all right.”

  “Well, for my part,” said Henrietta, “I’ll be glad to get back. I’ve got my children to bring up, and my work to do—goodness knows what state that coop is in now, for Leah’s a good girl, but she’s no housekeeper. And all this traipsing round the country and having a good time is all very well, but I was brought up to think that work was of some use in the world too. And I expect you were too, Hank.”

  “Yes, I expect I was,” replied the horse, “though I don’t think a little fun ever hurt anybody.”

  “A little fun—certainly. But there’s been nothing but fun and games and cuttin’ didoes for months. Now I say it’s time we sobered down and did some work.”

  “Oh, you and your work, Henrietta,” said Jinx, who was the only one of the animals who ever dared talk back to the hen. “You make me tired. Loosen up and shake a leg once in a while. Do a little dance or sing a song or turn a somersault or something. It’d do you good. And what work are you going to do here?”

  “There’s work enough waiting for all of us at home,” she said crossly.

  “Sure, but home’s a long way off. In the mean time why not have what fun you can? Not just be an old sour face.”

  “Humph!” grunted the hen. “Who cares what an old bald-headed cat says! If you’d—”

  “Oh, come,” said Hank, “let’s not quarrel.—Listen! The sailors have stopped and they’re singing Good night, Ladies.”

  The sound of the song floated to them through the cold air from where, far off now on the broad snow-field, the sailors were grouped about their captain, who was leading them with his flute. They sang the song, gave a final cheer, waved their handkerchiefs once more, then turned and plodded on out of sight.

  But Freddy took up the tune. “Good-bye, sailors,” he sang,

  “Good-bye, sailors,

  Good-bye, sailors,

  We’re glad to have you go.

  Merrily you slide along, slide along, glide along,

  Merrily you glide along

  O’er the deep white snow.”

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE RIDE HOME

  “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do,” said Santa Claus. They were sitting round the fire after dinner, two days after the sailors had gone. “I know you animals feel you ought to be getting back home, so I’m not going to try to keep you. But it’s a long trip on foot back to Mr. Bean’s farm. Now, out in the stable is a big sleigh that we use sometimes for sleighride parties. It will hold twenty-five people, so I guess it’s big enough for you all to be comfortable. I’ll hitch up a dozen or so of the racing reindeer to it and take you all back home. Of course we won’t go so fast as I can go with the little sleigh on Christmas Eve, but we’ll make better time than an automobile could, or even a train. And you’ll be home to celebrate New Year’s with the Beans.”

  The animals said at first oh no, they couldn’t think of having him go to all that trouble, and it was asking too much, and so on; but he had made up his mind. So the next morning they packed up and went out into the courtyard, where the sleigh was waiting. Santa Claus sat on the driver’s seat with the twenty-four reins of red leather in his hands, and Ella and Everett, one on each side of him; and the animals packed themselves in and burrowed down in the warm straw in the body of the sleigh, and they set off.

  For the first hour or so nobody said much of anything. They all felt rather sad at leaving the pleasant little bedrooms and all the comforts they had enjoyed, and they had already begun to miss the jolly meals in the big dining-room and the long, happy days playing games outdoors and in the Present Room, and the cosy evenings about the fire, when they talked quietly and Santa Claus told stories. But after a while their spirits revived and they laughed and sang and joked as the winter landscape raced past them, and the steel runners whined over the snow.

  At the end of the first day they camped by the little lake on which stood the house where Ella and Everett had once lived. When supper was over and they were all gathered about the big fire of wood that they had collected in the forest, Santa Claus walked across the frozen lake to the house and rapped on the door.

  “Come in, come!” called a harsh, impatient voice.

  He opened the door and walked in. There beside the table sat Kate and Pete, Kate busy with some sewing, Pete studying his grammar. They both looked up and scowled.

  “Good evening,” said Santa Claus pleasantly. “You’re Kate and Pete, I suppose?”

  “Yeah,” said Kate, “just for the sake of the argument, I suppose we are, and I suppose you’re Santy Claus.”

  “That’s just who I am, as a matter of fact,” replied the saint.

  “Oh, sure,” said Kate, “and I’m Cinderella, and this is my friend the King of the Cannibal Island, and—”

  “Suppose we see what the gentleman wants,” interr
upted Pete.

  Kate scowled more deeply than ever, but she stopped talking, and Santa Claus said: “I came to speak to you about Ella and Everett, who used to live here.”

  They both jumped up at that, and Kate said eagerly: “You seen ’em? You know where they are?”

  “Yes,” Santa replied, “they’re safe and comfortable. But they’re not coming back here. You’re not fit to look after those children, and so—”

  “Oh, we aren’t, hey?” demanded Kate furiously, looking round for her broom.” Well, let me tell you something, Mr. Whatever-your-name-is. If you’ve got them children, you bring ’em back here quick, if you want to keep out of trouble. There’s a law in this country against kidnappers, and if you don’t watch out, you’ll find yourself in jail.” She turned quickly on Pete. “Why don’t you do somethin’? You’re a man, ain’t you? Tell him he’s got to bring them children back. Don’t just stand there and take all his sass.”

  “‘Sass’ is not in Webster,” remarked Pete. “And I suggested before that we listen to what he has to say. Then if it is necessary, I shall do something.”

  “Very sensible,” said Santa Claus. “I think you will be satisfied with what I have to say.” He fumbled under his coat and drew out a fat pocket-book, from which he counted down on the table a number of bills. “This money,” he said, “is yours if you give up all claim to the children.”

  Kate put her hand over the money before she had counted it. “’Tain’t enough!” she shouted. “Tryin’ to buy my dear children from me that I cherish like the apple of my eye! You old varmint!”

  “‘Varmint,’” said Pete, “is a colloquialism not generally used in polite circles. And suppose we count the money.” He proceeded to do so. “Very generous, I think,” he said.