“Ninety million!” said Freddy admiringly. “That’s an awful lot of bugs.”
“Well, they’re pretty patriotic, bugs are,” said the spider. “And they don’t often get a chance to do anything for their country. Of course there’s a lot of ’em—perhaps thirty per cent—that don’t eat vegetables anyway—us spiders, and dragonflies and such. But they help too—going around and telling others.”
“But if some of them can’t eat vegetables what are they going to eat?” Freddy asked.
“That’s something we’re working out now. I want to appoint a committee to scout for other sources of food. Find out where different weeds grow wild—weeds they can eat. I’m going to call it the War Food Production Board, the WFPB. That will have bees on it, and dragonflies—folks that fly long distances all the time. And then there’ll be the BTA, the Bug Transportation Administration, which will arrange to carry bugs from where they live near gardens, to places where they will find other food. Oh, it’s a complicated business, Freddy. But there’s one big headache in it—that Zero.”
“What’s he up to now?” Freddy asked.
“I guess you didn’t see his sign,” said the spider. “He wove one yesterday up by the garden, challenging me to a public debate tomorrow night. And to tell you the truth, I don’t know what to do about it. I’m not a very good speaker, you know. And he’s clever—you’ve got to admit that. He can talk rings around me. I wondered if you didn’t want to come and answer him. It would be a big help.”
“I’m not a very good speaker myself,” said Freddy. “I’d be glad to, of course, but—” He remembered suddenly the talk he had just had with Charles. “I’ve got it!” he said. “Charles is your speaker. He’s the one you want.”
“Oh, Charles!” said Mr. Webb disgustedly. “Lot of high-flown balderdash! You see, Freddy, this won’t be a regular debate on the merits of patriotism. This Zero will get personal. He’ll attack my character. He’ll say that I’m a crook. And you can’t meet that kind of thing with big words.”
“No,” said Freddy, “I agree. But the trouble is, you’ve heard Charles too often. The first time you heard him you thought he was wonderful. So did all of us. And these bugs will be hearing him for the first time. And there’s another thing. I had a talk with him this morning.” And he told Mr. Webb what he had said. “Now, you leave it to me,” he concluded. “I’ll give Charles another going over, and then we’ll stuff him full of facts. Not about patriotism—he’s got that down pretty well—but about Zero himself. I’ll bet he’ll make the speech of his life.”
“I don’t like the idea very well, Freddy,” Mr. Webb said. “But if you say so, we’ll try it. After all, there’s nobody else.”
By this time they had come down into the valley beyond the Big Woods and were approaching the Schemerhorn farm. Beside the gate they saw the black dog, Johnny, and Freddy went up to him.
“Ah, Freddy,” said the dog. He sniffed the air eagerly. “That a bone you’ve got there?”
“Yes. I want to make a deal with you, Johnny. I want to borrow those trained fleas for a couple of days, and in exchange I’ll give you this bone. How about it?”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Johnny slowly. “I ain’t ever lent my fleas before. You sure you’d take good care of ’em?”
“Sure,” said the pig. “I’ve got a little job for them. I’ll bring them back safe and sound.”
“We-ell,” said the dog slowly, “I guess maybe … Could you make it two bones, Freddy? he asked, sniffing greedily. “I ain’t had a bone like that in I can’t remember when. Never, I guess. Honest, I ain’t.”
“I’ll make it three,” said Freddy. “I’ve only got this one now, but I’ll bring you the others later, if you’ll trust me.”
“It’s a deal,” said Johnny. “Atten-tion!” he said. “Go over to Freddy, boys. Do as he tells you.”
Freddy saw the little black specks hop through the air, and then he felt a sharp tickle in his ear as Mr. Webb moved uneasily about. “Hey,” said the spider, “what is this? I’m not particular, but I’m not going to pal around with a gang of fleas. A joke’s a joke, but—”
“This isn’t a joke,” said Freddy. “They won’t bother you, Webb. Only stand still, will you? You tickle.”
“You’ll get tickled, all right,” Mr. Webb grumbled, “before you get very far.”
But after the dog had instructed Freddy in the proper way to handle the fleas, they behaved pretty well. One or two of the younger and more spirited ones took a nip at the pig, but that was only to be expected. Fleas are so nearly invisible that they find it easy to get away with things that wouldn’t be tolerated for a moment in larger creatures. It is pretty hard to catch and punish a flea for bad manners. And so they do about as they please.
When they got to the Camphor estate, Freddy went in the gates and straight down to the entrance to the secret passage. The two toads were sitting by the door of their new home, and Elmo nodded to him, but Waldo turned his back.
Freddy spoke to them pleasantly. “I hope to have some good news for you a little later,” he said.
“Oh, I hope so,” said Elmo. “We don’t like this new place at all. Terribly dry, and hardly a bug.—There, Waldo,” he said sharply. “There’s one!”
“Oh, shut up; I see him!” said Waldo crossly, as a small fly with gauzy wings came fluttering past them. Waldo didn’t move, even his eyes didn’t move, but as the fly came closer, suddenly, the toad’s tongue shot out and in again, so quickly that Freddy could hardly see it. And the fly was gone.
“Golly,” said Freddy. “Pretty neat, eh, Webb?”
“I’ll say,” replied the spider. “Wish mother could have seen that. Make her pretty sick, though—thinking of all the time she has to spend spinning fly nets, when these boys can catch ’em as easy as that.”
“Well, I must get along,” said Freddy. “Maybe you two can move back to your old home tonight.”
“Where have I heard that before?” said Waldo sarcastically.
Freddy went through the passage and up into the attic. He stuck his head inside the door and called several times for Simon, but nobody answered. “I wonder if they’ve gone?” he thought; but no, some more chewing had been done on Mr. Camphor’s ancestors. “Well, I guess we can get them out,” he said. “Atten-tion!”
The fleas lined up in front of him on the attic floor. Then when he had given them their instructions, he said: “All right, fleas. Go in and take ’em.”
The fleas vanished. For perhaps five minutes there wasn’t a sound. Then from dark corners and from under the floor came a rustling and a scampering and a squeaking that grew louder and louder until at last one, and then another, and then half a dozen rats came dashing out, jumping and squealing and turning somersaults in the effort to get away from the fleas who were biting them unmercifully.
Freddy watched them for a minute, then he said: “Atten-tion!” again as Johnny had taught him, and in five seconds the fleas were all lined up in front of him again, and the rats, looking rather dazed, ran back out of sight.
Freddy watched them for a minute …
Freddy stepped out into the middle of the attic. “Well, Simon,” he called, “do you want to come out and talk business, or shall I send my little friends in after you again?”
Simon came slowly out and faced the pig. “What do you think you’re trying to do?” he snarled angrily. “Try that again and I’ll set the boys on you! You’re surrounded right now, pig, and if I give the word they’ll tear you to pieces.”
“Oh, shut up, Simon,” said Freddy. “If I was alone they could make it pretty hot for me, all right. But I’m not alone. Still, if you want to try it,” he said, “go ahead. But I ought to warn you that these fleas have only been playing with you so far. They’re a picked outfit, and if they really go to work on you, I don’t think you and your boys will have much time over to fight me.”
Simon knew perfectly well that this was true and he changed his tune. �
�What do you want to get so tough for, Freddy?” he whined. “We haven’t done you any harm, and we don’t want to either. Why can’t you let us live here quietly—”
Freddy interrupted him. “I told you last time I was here,” he said, “that if you wanted to live here quietly, without destroying property, I wouldn’t do anything about it. But you’ve got this attic in a worse mess than it was before. You’ve chewed up some more of the pictures, and look at these clothes—and the holes in those boxes. No, Simon, you’ve had your chance. Now listen to me. You’re moving out right now, bag and baggage. And you’re staying out. I don’t care where you go, but if you try to come back again you’ll be sorry. Because I’m coming back here every day or so, and if I find you here I’ll turn the fleas on you again. And this time I’ll tell them to stay with you. And how would you like that?”
Simon didn’t say anything, but his quick little eyes darted from side to side of the attic, and then he gave a sharp squeal and jumped at Freddy. And from under furniture, and from the dark corners the rats darted out to the attack.
Chapter 16
But Freddy had been ready for them. “Go for ’em, fleas!” he shouted. “Drive ’em! Drive ’em down the passage!”
He sidestepped Simon’s rush and smacked him with the swing of a fore trotter that made the old rat’s head swim. Zeke, the largest of the rats, had jumped for Freddy’s back, and his brother, Ezra, had attacked from the rear. But Freddy whirled, knocking Ezra over with his snout, then rolled, pinning Zeke under him. And by that time the fleas had gone into action. Not another rat paid the slightest attention to Freddy. They whirled and jumped and squealed in the wildest confusion, but gradually, one after another, fled out the door into the passage. Even Zeke, who had had the wind knocked out of him, got up and staggered whimpering after them.
“Nice going,” remarked Mr. Webb. He had prudently woven a few strands with which he had lashed himself securely to Freddy’s ear, and so had managed not to get shaken off when the pig rolled over. “I didn’t know you were such a fighter, Freddy.”
The fleas were herding the rats down the passage as dogs drive a flock of sheep. “It’s all over now, I guess,” said Freddy, following along.
When they came out on the bank of the creek, some of the rats started upstream and others down, but Freddy shouted his orders, and the fleas headed them back and right down into the water. Then they lined up in front of Freddy again.
Freddy thanked them warmly; then, when the last rat had disappeared, wet and shivering, in the underbrush across the creek, he took them aboard again. They were starting homeward when the two toads hopped up.
“My, Freddy, that was wonderful,” said Elmo. “I guess we owe you an apology.”
“That’s all right,” said Freddy. “I guess they won’t give us any more trouble.”
“Well, if there’s ever anything we can do for you,” said Elmo, “we’d be only too glad.”
“Why, thanks,” said Freddy. He looked at them thoughtfully. “Now I come to think of it,” he said, “there is something.”
“I knew it!” said Waldo.
“How would you like to come down to the farm for a few days as my guest?” Freddy asked. “Then we can talk it over and see if it will work out. Anyway, you’ll get some fun out of it, and I’ll bring you back whenever you want to come.”
Elmo thought this was a fine idea, but of course Waldo didn’t, and they argued about it until finally Freddy said: “Well, I can’t stay here all day. And as I’d only need one of you, you come along, Elmo, and Waldo can stay here.”
“That’s right,” said Waldo bitterly. “Go off and leave me here all alone!”
Mr. Webb had heard the conversation of course, and now he said in Freddy’s ear: “Agree with him, pig. You can make him do anything by always taking his side of the argument away from him.”
Freddy hadn’t thought of this before, but he thought he’d try it, and he said: “I don’t suppose Waldo would have much fun there anyway.”
“How do you know I wouldn’t?” demanded the toad.
“No,” continued Freddy, “you’d have a lot better time here. It’s no fun traveling around a lot of strange places. Of course you don’t want to go.”
“I do too want to go!” said Waldo.
“Then hop on my back,” said Freddy, bending down quickly, and presently Waldo, much to his surprise, found himself riding beside his brother up the drive towards the gates.
“That was wonderful, Webb,” said Freddy. “How’d you ever think of it?”
“I’ve had a lot of experience lately with contradictors,” said the spider. “At these meetings. Whole audiences sometimes go contrary on you. And I’ve found this usually works. When they start going in the wrong direction, you kind of lead ’em in a circle, and pretty soon they’re going along your way without realizing it.”
“Who are you talking to?” asked Elmo, who had heard Freddy speak, and of course couldn’t see the spider.
So Freddy explained about Mr. Webb.
“Spiders are no good,” said Waldo.
“How right you are,” said Freddy, who thought he would like to try out these new tactics and see how they worked. “Mean, cranky creatures, they are,” he continued. “I’ve half a mind to pitch this one off and leave him up here, so I won’t ever have to see him again.”
“Why don’t you pick on somebody your own size?” said Waldo. “According to your story, this spider is a friend of yours. That’s a fine way to treat a friend.”
“No friend of mine,” said Freddy. “Pitch him out of my ear, will you?”
“I will not!” Waldo retorted. “And you leave him alone. I won’t have him picked on.”
Freddy could hear Mr. Webb giggling. Then the spider said: “This looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship, Freddy. But keep it up. You’ve got the trick of handling him now.”
They went on down, and Freddy turned the fleas over to Johnny again, and then they continued over the hill and through the Big Woods. When they got home, Freddy found a nice damp hole for the toads to stay in. It was near the brook, and Mr. Webb recommended it highly as one of the coziest and buggiest places on the farm. Waldo objected to it, of course; but when Freddy agreed that it was entirely unsuitable, the toad insisted that it was probably the best place they were likely to find, and refused to look further.
Freddy got down to the barnyard to find the sheriff sitting on the back porch talking to Mr. Bean. When he saw the pig, the sheriff waved and walked over to him.
“Came up to talk to you a minute,” he said. “The Winch case is all settled, and Mr. Camphor wants you to come back and take your job again.”
“Well, I don’t know that I want to do that,” said Freddy. “It’s a nice place all right, but Mr. Camphor was pretty quick to believe that I was a thief. I wouldn’t want to work for anybody that was so suspicious.”
“You can’t hardly blame him for suspectin’ you,” said the sheriff. “Things looked pretty black. And he’s an awful nice man. He’s figured out something I think you’ll like.”
Freddy asked if the Winches had been put in jail.
“No, Mr. Camphor didn’t want to send ’em to jail, so he didn’t make any charge against them. He said he’d got back most of the stuff that was stolen, and that was enough. But he’s put the Winches sort of on probation. They’re going to stay there for a while and work around the place, and he wants you to come take charge of things. Mrs. Winch, she keeps her cookin’ job same as before, and she’ll cook your meals. And it’ll be up to you to see that Mr. Winch and Horace behave themselves. I guess he sort of figures that Horace ought to have a chance to be with somebody besides his father. He thinks the boy might be all right if anybody showed him—well, how to act, and how to have some real fun that wasn’t stealin’ and destroyin’ things. He thought maybe you could do it.”
“Me?” said Freddy. “I wouldn’t be a very good example. I’m kind of greedy, I guess, and I know I’m
lazy, and—and—oh, my goodness, I wouldn’t want to feel that I had to go around acting just the way I ought to act all the time. It would be a terrible strain.”
“Well, of course that isn’t the idea, and you know it,” said the sheriff. “You’re just making up excuses. But think it over. I must be getting on. Drop down to the jail some day. Joe, the Gimp, has invented a new kind of ice cream, and the prisoners are all crazy about it. I’d like you to try it. Well, so long.”
Freddy went over to the pigpen and spent the rest of the afternoon typing out a lot of notices for Mr. Webb. Then he and the spider went over and had a long talk with Charles.
The meeting that evening was probably the largest ever held by bugs in the United States. The debate between Zero and Mr. Webb had been well advertised, and had aroused much interest; and every bug who could get there was present. Many of them of course could not fly, and had to walk or crawl, but fleets of dragonflies belonging to the BTA had been making trips all afternoon to the more remote parts of the farm, and even to neighboring farms, to bring in those for whom the distance was too great. Freddy had made a new and larger megaphone for the occasion, and several crews of ants had been working all day leveling and smoothing a space in front of it as big as your living-room floor. And when Mr. Webb climbed up that evening to the speaker’s stand—which was just the little space inside the paper cone at the small end—he faced an audience which was estimated later at something over fifteen thousand.
With so large a crowd, it had been impossible to arrange things so that those in the side seats could see the speaker. Those in the middle, however, could see him plainly, for a large number of fireflies had been stationed on top of the megaphone, and the light came right through the paper and made a soft and pleasant glow of indirect lighting. And of course as the megaphone was so large, everyone could hear perfectly.
Freddy and Mr. Camphor Page 12