Freddy and Mr. Camphor

by Walter R. Brooks

  When Elmo had apologized for Waldo, and Waldo had again contradicted him, the toads left. Freddy took the crayon drawing of Mr. Camphor off the easel and propped up the painting of Sir Archibald Camphor in its place. Then he gave a terrible big yawn and turned out the light and went into the bedroom and climbed into bed and pulled the peach-colored down quilt up under his chin and went to sleep.

  The next morning after he had made his tour of the estate, he went back to the houseboat and got out his palette and his brushes and his tubes of oil paint. For it had occurred to him that it would be a nice thing to fix up the portraits that the rats had chewed, so that Mr. Camphor would still have his ancestors. He put on a smock and a black satin beret such as artists sometimes wear, and he squeezed out some colors on the palette, and then he stood in front of the picture. He stooped and peered at it, and then he moved back a ways and regarded it with his head on one side. “Ah!” he said, and made sweeping motions with his brush. Then he turned the portrait upside down and did the same things over again.

  “Ah” he said, and made sweeping motions with the brush.

  All this was a sort of warming up, before he got really down to painting. It didn’t mean anything. At least, Freddy didn’t think it did, but he had seen a real artist once, painting a landscape with a bridge in it, who had gone through the same sort of performance, and he thought maybe it was the thing to do. Anyway, half the fun of painting is to look like an artist. That was why he had put on the beret and the smock.

  After he had gone through these artistic motions for a while, he decided he had better get to work. So he dipped his brush in some color and stepped up to the canvas. Then he stopped. “My goodness,” he said, “I forgot! There isn’t anything to paint on! You can’t paint a face on a hole. I’ll have to glue a piece of canvas on the back, over the hole, before I can do anything.”

  He was just cutting a patch out of the roll of canvas he had brought with him when he heard voices, and looking out the window, saw all the animals from the Bean farm coming down the path toward the houseboat.

  They were all there: Jinx and Weedly, Hank, the old white horse, Alice, Emma and Uncle Wesley, Robert and Georgie, the two dogs, Charles, the rooster, and Henrietta his wife, and the three cows, Mrs. Wiggins, Mrs. Wurzburger and Mrs. Wogus. Each cow had a large market basket hooked over one of her horns, and from the look of the baskets, which were covered with clean white napkins, Freddy knew it was a picnic. They had come over to have a picnic with him.

  He started to go out, then he hesitated. After a moment’s thought he giggled and, running to the door, opened it about halfway. Then he dashed back to the easel, pulled it around to face the door, and stepping behind it, shoved his head through the hole where Sir Archibald’s face had been. He giggled again, then composed his features in as noble and warlike an expression as a pig is capable of, and waited expectantly.

  Chapter 4

  He heard footsteps on the gravel path, then thumping and scrabbling as they came aboard the houseboat, and a second or two later Mrs. Wurzburger’s broad nose appeared in the doorway. She blinked at everything in an interested way but didn’t seem to see the portrait. “Nobody home, I guess,” she said over her shoulder. “Well, girls, put those baskets down in the shade and come on in. Guess he won’t mind if we look around a little.”

  So the animals—or as many of them as could at one time—piled into the living room. Of course there wasn’t room for three cows and a horse, besides all the smaller animals, so the larger ones poked their heads through the windows. They were all curious to see what kind of a place Freddy had got, and they looked into the bedroom and bounced on the bed to see if he had a soft mattress, and exclaimed over all the fine furnishings, and Hank, when he came in, even tried one of the armchairs, but when it gave a protesting creak he got up again.

  “Well, my land,” said Mrs. Wiggins, “Freddy’s certainly living in the lap of luxury, isn’t he?”

  “Too fancy for my taste,” said Hank. “Though, I dunno; maybe you get used to it.”

  “Hey, look,” said Georgie, the little brown dog. “Freddy’s had his paints out. Do you suppose he painted that picture there on the easel?”

  The animals all gathered in front of the portrait. Freddy held perfectly still and tried not to wink.

  “My, it’s a nice picture!” said Mrs. Wogus. “What is it supposed to be?”

  “It’s a knight in full armor, silly,” said Jinx. “Freddy’s always reading those stories about the Knights of the Round Table. Probably he thought he’d paint one.”

  “I bet none of those old knights ever had a nose like that,” said Georgie. “It seems to stick right out of the picture.”

  “Of course it does,” said Henrietta impatiently. “What’s the matter with you animals—are you blind? It sticks out because it’s a pig’s nose. It isn’t a knight in armor, it’s a pig in armor. It’s Freddy.”

  “Why it is, at that,” said the animals. “He’s painted himself as a Knight of the Round Table. Sir Freddy wins the prize at the tournament.” And they all began to laugh.

  But after they had laughed for a while, Mrs. Wiggins said: “I’m not so sure it’s a picture of Freddy. He’s a lot nicer looking than that.”

  “I think it’s a picture of a camel,” said Georgie.

  “Well, if he did mean it for himself, he certainly didn’t flatter himself any,” said Jinx. “He looks sort of crosseyed.”

  “He’s given himself a mean look, all right,” said Robert, the collie. “And he looks so scrubby. Why, I wouldn’t trust that pig around the corner of the barn.”

  “He’s certainly the homeliest pig I ever saw, in armor or out,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “I bet the other knights all got up and left the table.”

  This was too much for Freddy. “Oh, is that so?” he exclaimed, and he pulled his head out of the canvas and came around in front of the easel. “Homely, am I? Scrubby and crosseyed, am I? A nice bunch of friends you are, calling me a lot of names as soon as my back is turned!”

  This was too much for Freddy.

  The animals had jumped and edged away towards the door, but Jinx said: “Your back wasn’t turned, pig. Everything that was said, we said right to your face, and you can’t deny it.”

  “Aw, we knew it was you all the time, Freddy,” said Georgie, and the others chimed in and agreed with him.

  “Anyway,” said Jinx, “when you stuck your head through that canvas, you really stuck your neck out, didn’t you? You know, listeners never hear any good of themselves.”

  Freddy was still pretty mad, but Jinx’s remark caught his attention. “What’s that you said?”

  “It’s an old proverb,” Jinx said. “Listeners never hear good of themselves.”

  “My goodness,” said Freddy, “that one is true all right. I must save that one for Mr. Camphor.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?” said Mrs. Wiggins. So Freddy told her about Mr. Camphor’s interest in proving whether the old proverbs and sayings were really true or not. “I get ten dollars extra for every one I experiment with,” he explained. “Excuse me while I make a note of this one.” And he went over to the table and jotted it down on a piece of paper. He had forgotten all about being mad.

  The animals were interested in the proverb idea, and they thought up some for Freddy to experiment with. They thought of “All’s well that ends well,” and “The more haste the less speed,” and “Better late than never,” and then Jinx suggested “Seeing is believing.” And he said: “I guess we’ve just been experimenting with that one.”

  “We certainly have,” said Freddy. “And I guess it isn’t true because you saw me, but you didn’t believe it was me, now did you?”

  “Sure we did. We knew you all the time,” said Robert.

  “Oh, come on, now,” Freddy protested. “You don’t have to pretend any more. I don’t mind the things you said. My goodness, I know I’m not handsome.”

  “Handsome is as handsome does,”
said Mrs. Wiggins.

  “Oh, golly!” Freddy exclaimed. “There’s a good one! But I’m not sure I know just what it means.”

  “Why, I think it means, Freddy,” said the cow, “that we don’t care whether or not you’re handsome to look at, because you do things in such a handsome way, and so you seem handsome to us.”

  “My gracious, that’s a pretty nice compliment,” said Freddy, and the tips of his ears got quite pink. But the animals all agreed that this was so, though there was some discussion as to just how handsome Freddy really was to look at. Jinx said that for a pig he was handsome enough, but in comparison to almost any cat he was no great shakes. Mrs. Wiggins said that in comparison to cows she thought him very well-favored indeed, though of course that wasn’t saying much. And she laughed her great booming laugh that made the houseboat rock at its moorings. The argument was all in fun, but it rather scandalized the two ducks, who were never quick to see a joke.

  “I must say,” Alice remarked, “that this conversation seems to be in very bad taste. Discussing Freddy right to his face! I think, sister,” she said, turning to Emma, “that we can best express our disapproval by stepping outside.” And they waddled with dignity to the door.

  So Freddy followed them out and explained, and then he took the animals on a tour of the estate, and after that they all came back and the baskets were opened and sandwiches and stuffed eggs and cakes and pickles and pies and bottles of pop were brought out, and they picnicked under the awning on the roof of the houseboat, which was flat and had a railing around it, so that it was almost like another porch.

  While they were eating, Freddy told them about Simon and his gang. They were much concerned, but none of their suggestions for getting rid of the rats were very practical. Jinx was all for going up in the attic and fighting them, but as Freddy pointed out, they wouldn’t fight—they’d just disappear down their holes and wait until Jinx had gone. Georgie suggested that they build a big fire in the attic and smoke the rats out. “And burn the house down,” said Freddy. “That’s a dandy idea!”

  “Freddy,” said Emma, “I hesitate to make a suggestion—you’re all so clever and resourceful, but if you were just to go up and talk to them nicely—just tell them that Mr. Camphor didn’t like having them there, and ask them politely to leave … well, they wouldn’t like to stay on where they’re not wanted, would they?”

  Most of the animals laughed, and Jinx said: “Gosh, Emma, you slay me!” But Freddy said no, he was afraid it wouldn’t work. “I guess you haven’t had much experience with rats, Emma,” he said. “The only places they like to live are places where they aren’t wanted. No, that wouldn’t do. But don’t you animals bother. I’ll think of something before long. But let’s not talk about unpleasant things. How are things going on the farm?”

  So they told him all the gossip of the barnyard, and then after lunch they cast off the ropes with which the houseboat was moored to the shore, and Freddy took them for a cruise on the lake. Of course the outboard motor was pretty small, and the houseboat was big and clumsy, so they went pretty slow—probably not more than a mile an hour. But they all enjoyed it—all, that is, except Uncle Wesley, who got seasick and had to lie down on Freddy’s bed with a cold compress on his head.

  After they had all gone, Freddy felt pretty lonesome. It was all very well to live a nice quiet life in pleasant surroundings with lots of time on your hands to do anything you wanted to do. That was the kind of life he had wanted, and now he had it. But just the same it was pretty pleasant to be with your friends, and to hear all the old familiar jokes. And he began to think rather longingly of the shabby old armchair in the pigpen, and of how he might even now be sitting there and looking out through a rather dirty window, and seeing his friends going about their affairs, and maybe Mrs. Bean coming to the kitchen door and shaking the crumbs off the tablecloth.

  His eyes prickled a little, and then he shook his head angrily. “This is the kind of summer I wanted,” he said, “and I’m going to enjoy it if it kills me!” Then he laughed. “I do enjoy it of course,” he said. “Only it makes me realize how fond I am of my friends when I see them after being away for a while.”

  He stood for some time at the gate, looking towards the top of the hill over which the animals had disappeared, and he was turning to go back to the houseboat when he heard a car coming. There was something familiar about the sound of that car. It rattled and banged and backfired, and—suddenly it came around the turn of the road and Freddy recognized it. He hadn’t seen it in several years, but he recognized it. And ducked back into the bushes.

  On the road to Florida, some years earlier, the animals had had a good deal of trouble with a man with a black moustache and a dirty-faced boy. Some of the animals—the more edible ones—had been captured and barely escaped being eaten by these two, and they had been pursued by this same ramshackle car which now came jouncing along towards Freddy. It was such an old car, and had such bad springs that, even though the road was pretty smooth, it bounced and bucked and sometimes seemed to be galloping rather than running on four wheels; and the man with the black moustache, who was driving, and the dirty-faced boy, who was hanging on for dear life, were half the time sitting on nothing but air, a foot above the broken seat.

  Freddy had been the fraction of a second too late in hiding himself. The dirty-faced boy had seen him, and as the car jerked past the gate, he yelled: “Hey, pa! There’s a pig!”

  The man stepped on the brake and stopped the car so abruptly that it slid ten feet, and the dirty-faced boy’s nose was flattened against the windshield.

  “Where?” said the man.

  The dirty-faced boy held his injured nose with one hand and pointed with the other, and then they both piled out of the car. And Freddy jumped out of the bushes and raced down the gravel drive for the safety of the big house.

  Chapter 5

  As he tore down the gravel drive it seemed to Freddy that the unpleasantest sound in the world was the thump of loud pursuing feet coming closer and closer when you can’t possibly run any faster yourself. And this was twice as unpleasant, because there were two pairs of feet. It was a long way from the gates to the house, and the feet were gaining with every stride. Any second Freddy expected that a large pair of hands would pounce upon him, and then a second pair of hands, smaller but dirtier, would grab his legs, and he would be carried off struggling to a dreadful fate.

  He could see the kitchen door now. It was open, too. But he would never have made it if the man with the black moustache hadn’t suddenly slackened in his stride and put his hands to his throat and begun to cough. For he had been running with his mouth open—which is no way to run, but he didn’t know any better—and a pebble that Freddy had kicked up had gone straight down his throat.

  “What’s the matter, pa?” said the boy, and he slackened too.

  But the man waved him on. “Stone—throat,” he gasped. “Catch pig.”

  The boy dashed forward again, and in a second the man followed, but Freddy had reached the door. He tore up the steps and into the kitchen, where Mrs. Winch was frying doughnuts in a big kettle of grease.

  “They’re after me!” he panted. “Stop ’em.” And he pushed through the door that led into the front part of the house, just as the dirty faced boy reached the kitchen.

  “Which way’d he go?” demanded the boy. “Wild pig. We’re chasing him.”

  “I ain’t seen any pig,” said Mrs. Winch calmly. She turned from the stove to face him, and then she started back and her mouth fell open as she stared in dismay at the man with the black moustache who was standing in the doorway.

  The man stared back at her. And his mouth, which he had closed carefully after getting the pebble out of his throat, also fell open. As for the dirty-faced boy, when he saw these two staring at each other without saying anything, his mouth of course fell open too.

  The man was the first to recover himself. “Well, well,” he said with a sort of ferocious joviality, “
if it isn’t my own dear lovin’ wife, Sarah Winch! What a happy reunion, to be sure!”

  “’Tisn’t happy, and ’tisn’t a reunion,” snapped Mrs. Winch. “I thought I was shut of you for good and all, Zebedee Winch, when I got away from you at last, ten years ago. Now clear out, both of you, before I take the broom to you.”

  The man grinned. “My, my!” he said. “What a way to greet a husband that’s searched high and low for you all these years! And a son that’s missed your lovin’ care. Horace,” he said, fetching the dirty-faced boy a clip on the ear, “shut your mouth and go kiss your ma.”

  “Yes, pa,” said the boy, and went towards Mrs. Winch. But she pushed him away.

  “I’d as soon kiss a pig,” she said disgustedly. “In fact, I’d rather.”

  “Oh yes, speakin’ of pigs,” said Mr. Winch, “that one that ran through the kitchen just now—well, if he’s your pet pig, we’re sorry, but Horace and me, we ain’t had a mouthful of prime pork in a year, I guess. So—”

  “You won’t touch that pig,” said Mrs. Winch. “Mr. Camphor’ll have the law on you if you steal him.” She turned quickly and looked into the kettle, then lifted the rest of the doughnuts out of the fat with a long fork and ranged them on a sheet of brown paper that she had spread on the shelf over the stove. Then she turned back to them. “Zebedee Winch,” she said, “I left you ten years ago because I couldn’t stand your lazy thievin’ ways any longer. I hoped you’d never find me again. As for you, Horace—if you are Horace, which nobody could tell under six layers of dirt—I couldn’t take you with me then. I hoped that maybe some day … But I see your father’s brought you up to his own way of doing things. As the twig is bent, so it will grow, and he’s bent you pretty crooked, my boy.”

  Freddy, who had crept back to the other side of the door and was listening, felt so sorry for Mrs. Winch, little as he liked her, that he entirely forgot to make a note of this proverb.