The elephants hung their lanterns on convenient branches, and when they had lifted Freddy and the ducks up into the balloon basket, Freddy let out enough of the grapnel rope so that the balloon was clear of the treetops. And then Hannibal and Louise took hold of the grapnel and started to tow the balloon back to South Pharisee.
Everything went smoothly, for the elephants had red lanterns tied to their tails, and though when they got on the highroad some passing motorists got a good deal of a shock, nobody bumped into them. The mice caused some trouble at first, for they were so anxious to try their parachutes that they kept jumping out and floating to the ground, and then of course they had to be picked up and put back in the basket. The elephants didn’t like this much. Elephants are always a little afraid of mice. I suppose there are no animals bigger than themselves for them to be afraid of, and as they have to be afraid of something, they sort of start at the bottom again and pick out the smallest animal there is. I don’t know how else to explain it.
Everybody else in the circus had gone to bed right after the last performance, but Leo had waited up for them, and when they got back to the circus grounds he helped them moor the balloon securely. Then he invited them to spend the night with him. The ducks were a little nervous about spending the night in a lion’s cage, and the mice were too interested in the balloon to leave it, but Freddy accepted.
It was a long time before Freddy and Leo got to sleep. There was the gossip of the farm and the circus to exchange, and old friends to talk over, and above all, the plans for the following day.
“I’ve brought the balloon back,” said the pig, “and Mr. Golcher can make his ascension tomorrow all right, and I won’t be sent to jail. But that won’t bring Mr. Bean back his money. I’ll have to get it somewhere.”
“Don’t look at me,” said the lion with a laugh. “I’ve never been able to save a penny in my life, never. Had plenty of it in my time, too. Doesn’t stick to my paws, somehow. But whatever I have is yours, Freddy; you know that. Teeth, claws, and a good loud roar. That’s all there is. But if you can use ’em …”
Freddy thanked his friend warmly for this generous offer. “But I don’t see,” he said, “what you can do. Mr. Golcher will walk off with four hundred dollars and we can’t touch him.” He yawned. “Well, let’s sleep on it. Maybe we’ll think of something.”
“Have a little something before you go to bed?” asked Leo. “Cup of cocoa, or something? No? Well, pleasant dreams.” And the two animals curled up and went to sleep.
The first thing in the morning they went over to where the balloon was moored, and there was Mr. Golcher, and with him was Mr. Boomschmidt. They were watching some men pull the balloon down closer to the ground. Freddy was a little nervous, but as soon as Mr. Golcher caught sight of him, he came forward with his hand outstretched.
“Ah, the estimable Freddy. Well, no hard feelings, eh? You’ll be glad to know that I have assured the police of your innocence. There’ll be no further question of arresting you. We’ve examined the valve cord and found that it was quite impossible for you to bring the balloon down. Golcher was wrong, and Golcher apologized, and here’s Golcher’s hand on it. So we’ll just let bygones be bygones, eh?”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Freddy. “Mr. Boomschmidt is going to give you two hundred dollars to make an ascension this afternoon, isn’t he?”
“Right,” said Mr. Golcher, rubbing his hands. “And dirt cheap, too.”
“But,” said Freddy, “you’ve already been paid two hundred by Mr. Bean, to make up for what you told him you’d lose by not making the ascension. And I think you ought to give that back.”
“My gracious, so do I,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “Eh, Golcher, how about it? You can’t be paid for making an ascension and for not making an ascension. Can he, Leo?”
“Not when it’s the same ascension,” said the lion.
“Golcher could argue that point,” said Mr. Golcher, “and Golcher will. Mind you, Golcher admits nothing. But what you’re saying is that I can’t be paid for both making and not making the same ascension. And yet, according to you, that is what has happened. So where’s your argument? You say something has happened, and then you turn around and say it can’t happen. It don’t make sense to Golcher.”
“Dear me,” said Mr. Boomschmidt, “you seem to have something there. Eh, Freddy? What do you say to that?”
“I say he’s trying to mix us up,” said the pig. “I told you and Leo about it, Mr. Boomschmidt, and there isn’t any use arguing. Mr. Golcher got his balloon back in time for the ascension, and so he ought to give Mr. Bean’s money back.”
“Golcher admits nothing,” repeated the balloonist. “If Mr. Bean thinks he has a claim against me, he can go to law about it. If he can prove he paid me two hundred dollars, the judge will make me pay it back. Has he got a receipt for it? Has he got any witnesses that he gave me two hundred dollars?”
“He’s got me,” said Freddy. “I saw him give it to you.”
“You weren’t there,” said Mr. Golcher.
“Where?” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “You mean, where the money was paid? Well then, my goodness, you admit that Mr. Bean gave it to you!”
“Golcher admits nothing,” said Mr. Golcher, looking rather embarrassed. Then he recovered himself. “Of course Freddy wasn’t there,” he went on. “How could he have been there, when the money wasn’t paid? There wasn’t any ‘there’ to be.”
“Oh, dear,” said Mr. Boomschmidt, pushing his hat back on his head perplexedly. “Oh, dear me! I can’t get this straight at all. Leo, can you—”
“I was there, behind a bush,” interrupted Freddy. “And I’m a witness.”
“A pig!” exclaimed Mr. Golcher.
“Pig’s good enough for me,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “Freddy, here—his word’s as good as his bond. My goodness, I don’t know but it’s better.”
But Mr. Golcher shook his head. “Take it to law,” he said. “Golcher’s a law-abiding man. If the judge says: ‘Pay it,’ Golcher pays it. That’s what the law’s for—to tell us what’s right and what’s wrong. If there’s an argument, Golcher says let the judge decide. That’s fair, ain’t it? Golcher’s an honest man.”
“I don’t think you’re honest,” said Leo bluntly.
“All are entitled to their opinions, even lions,” said Mr. Golcher. He spoke respectfully, and edged away from Leo, for it was his first visit to the Boomschmidt circus, and he hadn’t quite got used to social intimacy with the larger carniverous animals.
“Well,” said Freddy, “will you let Mr. Boomschmidt judge this case?”
“No,” said Mr. Golcher. “Mr. Boomschmidt’s a fine man. He knows the circus from anteater to zebra. But he don’t know the law. He ain’t made a study of it. And not having made a study of it, he’d be the first to acknowledge that he hasn’t the special experience to handle a law case.”
“I don’t know that I’d acknowledge that,” said Mr. Boomschmidt.
“Well, I’ll acknowledge it for you,” said Mr. Golcher. “No, no, my young friend,” he said, patting Freddy kindly on the shoulder, “let’s just drop the matter, shall we? Good grief, money ain’t everything in the world! ’Tain’t healthy for a young smart fellow like you to have such a greed for money. Take Golcher’s advice—”
“It’s not my money,” said Freddy. “But I see you’ve made up your mind to keep it, so I won’t argue any more.” He thought a minute. “Well,” he said, “I’ve got to get the money somewhere, because it was my fault that Mr. Bean had to pay it out. So maybe …” He looked thoughtfully at Mr. Golcher. “Over at Centerboro, on the Fourth, you said that it was hard to get a crowd for a balloon ascension unless you had some specially exciting features. You thought it would be something new if I made a speech, and then went up. Well, my jaws got stuck on some candy, and I couldn’t speak when the time came. But you did get a big crowd all the same. Now suppose I really made a speech this time, and then went up with you. And suppose
we took along four mice who would make a parachute jump when the balloon got up a ways. If you’d pay me something for that, then I’d have at least a start in paying Mr. Bean back.”
But Mr. Golcher shook his head. “I get two hundred for the ascension anyway,” he said. “Talking pigs and jumping mice is nice—Golcher don’t deny it. But I won’t get any more money by adding them to the show. ’Tain’t business to give more than you’re paid for. Anyway, you owe me a speech for the one you didn’t make last time.”
“All right,” said Freddy. “I’ll go up with you and make a speech for nothing. I wouldn’t want to be in debt to you for even a speech. But how about the mice? Would you pay ten dollars to have them do their jump?”
“Golcher wouldn’t pay a penny,” said the balloonist emphatically. “If Mr. Boomschmidt wants to pay for ’em, if he wants some extra frills on the ascension, why that’s up to him.”
“How about it, Mr. Boomschmidt?” asked Freddy.
Mr. Boomschmidt’s fancy had been tickled by a phrase that Mr. Golcher had used. “Mice is nice,” he chuckled. “Did you hear that, Leo? That’s good, that is! Mice is nice. And how about lions? Lions is what, Leo? Give me a word.”
“Lions is—well, lions is—” Leo frowned thoughtfully.
“Ha!” said Mr. Boomschmidt triumphantly. “We’ve stumped Leo. Eh, Leo? Admit you’re stumped.”
Leo grinned. “Leo admits nothing,” he said. “Because Leo says the whole thing’s wrong, chief. You can’t say: Lions is. It’s: Lions are.”
“Why, that’s right,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “Of course, Leo. See here, Golcher; you can’t say: Mice is. It’s not grammar. It’s—”
“Listen, boss,” said Leo, twitching Mr. Boomschmidt’s sleeve. “Freddy’s making you a proposition.”
“Mice is,” murmured Mr. Boomschmidt. “Eh? Oh yes, Freddy. Shoot.”
So Freddy asked him again, and Mr. Boomschmidt was delighted with the idea. He would pay five dollars per mouse, he said.
“Four mice at five dollars is twenty dollars,” said Leo. “That’s twice what Freddy offered them to Golcher for, boss.”
“Now don’t try to beat me down, Leo,” said Mr. Boomschmidt.
“I’m not. I’m trying to show you that you’ve beat yourself up. But it’s all right; you can afford it. And how about ducks? Freddy’s got some duck jumpers, too.”
“Ducks?” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “Not as sensational as mice. Sort of—well, you know: fluff. Let’s say two-fifty per—Hey, wait! How many ducks?”
“Three,” said Freddy. “But I’m not too sure of Uncle Wesley.”
“Two-fifty per duck, then,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “Or is that too much, Leo? My gracious, you can buy a duck outright for a dollar or so.”
“But you can’t make him jump for a dollar,” said the lion.
“How do you know—have you ever tried, Leo? Oh well, never mind. Is it settled, then? I’ll pay you after the show, Freddy. Come on, Leo; we’ve got to have a talk with Willy.” He turned to Mr. Golcher. “He’s our thirty-foot boa constrictor. And you know what he did last night? He was invited to supper at Cephas Pratt’s, but he got mixed up and went to Zenas Pratt’s, and of course they didn’t expect him, and when he came looping in the kitchen door, they went out the kitchen window. Willy thought it was funny, and I suppose in a way it was, but he hadn’t ought to have done what he did because he ought to have seen they weren’t expecting him. Their supper was on the table and he ate it all—a ham and a roast chicken and a lot of vegetables and jelly and pickles and a big chocolate cake. Come on, Leo. Willy will have to go over to Pratts’ and apologize.”
Chapter 14
Although there hadn’t been time to print handbills, or to get the names of Freddy and the mouse parachutists up on the posters, Mr. Boomschmidt had instructed Oscar to announce the facts about the balloon ascension to everyone buying a ticket, so that at two o’clock, the time announced, a large crowd had assembled. Men stood at the ropes, ready to cast the balloon off, the mice and ducks were lined up on the edge of the basket, and when Freddy and Mr. Golcher climbed up the little stepladder and got in, a loud cheer went up.
“Well now, make your speech,” said Mr. Golcher, “and we’ll push off.” He glanced up at the big bag of the balloon which hung above them. “She seems a little heavy. Maybe we ought to have got more gas in her. But I guess we’ll go up all right.” He stumbled, and looked down at his feet. “What’s all this stuff in here?”
“There does seem to be a lot more of it,” said Freddy. “I guess maybe we didn’t pack the blankets and boxes very well.”
“Well, we can fix it after we start,” said Mr. Golcher. “We can’t have all these piles of stuff underfoot. But get on with your speech.”
So Freddy leaned over the edge of the basket. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “Friends and well wishers, animal and human; citizens of South Pharisee, Clamville, Upper Cattawampus, Bounding Brook, and all communities thereto appertaining and with them connected in whatsoever fashion and by whatsoever means, I greet you.” And then he stopped.
“Get on with it; get on with it,” said Mr. Golcher impatiently.
But Freddy realized suddenly that he didn’t know what to say. He had been so busy wondering how he was to get the two hundred back that he had forgotten that he had a speech to make, and now here he was with a large audience hanging breathless upon his words, and there weren’t any words for them to hang on.
But he had to say something. “Un—unaccustomed as I am,” he went on nervously, “to appearing before such a large and distinguished audience as I now see before me, I feel that no words of mine can express the great honor which you have done me. It is indeed a pleasure and a privilege to address you, and I wish to say that—that—”
He stopped again, but only for a moment. For suddenly he knew what he would say. “At Centerboro on the Fourth,” he said, “I went up in this same balloon. The valve cord was stuck, and I couldn’t get down. But Mr. Golcher thought I had stolen it, and had the police looking for me. He also went to my owner, Mr. Bean, and demanded and obtained from him two hundred dollars. That two hundred was to pay him for—”
“Here! None of that!” said Mr. Golcher angrily, and he seized Freddy by the shoulder and pulled him back, at the same time giving a signal to the men to cast off.
“Go on!” shouted the crowd. “Lethim talk!”
The balloon, released from its moorings, gave a lurch and started off, but instead of going up into the air, it swept across the circus grounds with the basket barely clearing the heads of the crowd, who ducked and ran in all directions.
Hastily, Mr. Golcher threw out half a dozen bags of sand that were hung on the sides of the basket, and the balloon rose a little, but sluggishly, and barely enough to keep them from catching on the tall fence that separated the circus grounds from the open fields.
“Feels as if she was full of lead,” said Mr. Golcher perplexedly. “Can’t understand it. There should be enough gas in the bag to lift our weight.” He threw out the last of the sand and they gained a few feet more. “Not enough,” he said. “We’ll foul those trees when we get across the valley. Well, pig, I guess one of us has got to jump out.” He grinned angrily at Freddy. “And that one ain’t Golcher.”
“It isn’t Freddy, either,” said the pig firmly. “If your old balloon won’t go up, pull the valve cord and bring it down.”
“When Golcher gets paid for an ascension, he makes an ascension,” replied the balloonist. “Bring her down, hey? You don’t suppose Boomschmidt will pay two hundred for this performance, do you?”
Freddy looked over the side. They were traveling with the breeze at a pretty good rate of speed, and the ground was ten feet below the edge of the basket. It looked pretty hard, and there were stones in it. Still …
“Give me Mr. Bean’s two hundred dollars and I’ll jump,” said Freddy bravely.
Alice and Emma began quacking excitedly. “No, no, Freddy. Good
gracious, you’ll be broken to pieces.”
“It won’t hurt him in the slightest,” said Uncle Wesley. “Do be quiet, my dears.”
“Well, I’m going to jump out,” said Alice. “That will lighten the balloon some. Come, Emma.”
“Yes, sister,” said Emma obediently. And they jumped and fluttered to the ground.
The balloon went up perhaps a foot.
“We can jump too,” said Eeek, adjusting his parachute. “What do you say, boys?”
“Sure,” said Cousin Augustus. “But how about Wesley? Scared, duck?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Uncle Wesley in a superior tone. “If you can show me one good reason why I should make a public exhibition of myself in this vulgar way—”
“One good reason!” exclaimed Eeny. He winked at the other mice. “Here’s four good reasons. Come on, boys.” And they rushed at the duck, nipping at him with their sharp little teeth, and pushed him struggling and protesting to the edge.
“Stop!” he quacked. “This is an outrage! This is—ouch! Oh! You’re killing me—you’re—oh!” And with a despairing quack he fell.
A distant cheer from the spectators they had left behind, came to the balloonists. For the sight of four mice, floating to earth on tiny parachutes, was, even at that distance, a remarkable sight. But even with Uncle Wesley and the mice gone, the balloon plainly would not clear the trees towards which they were rapidly drifting.
“You’re next, pig,” said Mr. Golcher.
“Give me Mr. Bean’s money and I’ll jump,” said Freddy.
Mr. Golcher started to reach for him, and then drew back. It wouldn’t be easy to throw Freddy out, because a pig is almost as hard to get hold of as a seal, and everybody knows that that is practically impossible. Mr. Golcher glanced at the approaching trees, then he said: “Ha! Golcher’s a fair man. Golcher’ll make you a sporting proposition. He’ll wrestle you for it. If you can put Golcher down, he’ll pay you the two hundred and you can jump. But if Golcher puts you down, you’ll jump without the money.”
Freddy and the Perilous Adventure Page 10