“I guess he wouldn’t,” Freddy said. “You know, he’s nice in a lot of ways. But we’ve had a lot of trouble with him.” And he told Mrs. Church about the trouble.
The idea of the elephant trap tickled Mrs. Church, and so Freddy took her down to see it. As they approached it, they saw a thread of smoke coming up through the opening in the ground, and Mrs. Church said: “Good gracious, has somebody set fire to your mattress?”
But Freddy sniffed the air and said: “Not unless the mattress is stuffed with tobacco. No, let’s sneak up very carefully. We don’t want him to see us.” So they did. And peering over the edge, they saw Mr. Bean sitting cross-legged on the mattress, puffing contemplatively on his pipe.
Freddy would have tiptoed away, but Mrs. Church was shaking so, trying to keep from laughing out loud, that her jewelry glittered like a fireworks display, and at a slight sound Mr. Bean looked up. They couldn’t see his expression because it was all covered up with beard, but his eyes looked amazed for a minute, then they crinkled at the corners, and he said: “Good afternoon, Mrs. Church. I thought the sun had set and the stars were shining down on me. But it was only the sparkle of your eyes.”
So then Mrs. Church laughed out loud for quite a long time. But at last she said: “You always could turn a neat phrase when you wanted to, William Bean. Though it’s thirty years since I’ve heard you turn one. Well, you’re doing very nicely here and we won’t disturb you further. But I’ll leave a little of the eye-sparkle with you as thanks for a nice compliment.” And she detached a large brooch set with imitation sapphires from her dress and tossed it down to him.
“That is one of the best arrangements I have ever seen!” she said as they went on down to the house. “A thinking hole! I shall have one dug in my garden immediately!”
At the house a doughnut-stuffed Riley rose stiffly from the porch chair where he had been talking to Mrs. Bean, and started reluctantly towards the tandem bicycle. But Freddy called to Hank, and they went and got Mr. Pomeroy, and presently the phaeton, with Mrs. Church and Freddy on the front seat, Riley on the back seat, Mr. Pomeroy on the dashboard, and the tandem strapped on behind, rolled off towards Centerboro.
The rehearsal went off well, and the supper party afterwards was a great treat to Freddy, for Mrs. Church—as they say—set a fine table, and Freddy, like most pigs, was always well up in front when the refreshments were handed round. He got home at nine and went straight to bed, but the next morning he was up bright and early, making arrangements for carrying out his idea.
He worked and talked and persuaded and cajoled all morning, until he had got all his friends to agree. Most of them thought his idea might be fun, but they said—why take so much trouble for Jimmy? The boy wasn’t any addition to their games, and they always had to be so careful of him, and let him win at least half the time, and not kid him.…
“You won’t have to do that much longer,” said Freddy.
“Why do it at all?” said Jinx. “Why should we have to put up with his nonsense just because you think that way down inside him there’s some good qualities?”
“It’s like digging for buried treasure,” said Freddy.
Jinx said: “I’d rather dig where the gold is nearer the surface. It’s hardly worth while to dig for a week and turn up an old copper cent.”
But at last even Jinx agreed, and so that afternoon after the game Freddy went on and told Jimmy more about how tournaments were held. There was a long, open space, he said, called “the lists,” and at each end was a fully armored knight, with lance and shield. And when the heralds gave the signal, the knights scrounched down behind their shields and lowered their lances and galloped towards each other. And the one that succeeded in knocking his opponent off his horse with the lance was the winner.
“My goodness, we could have a tournament right here!” said Freddy, as if the idea had just occurred to him.
“Could we?” said Jimmy. “Gee, that would be fun! But we haven’t got armor or anything.”
“No. But we could get a couple of those light clothes props of Mrs. Bean’s for lances, and tie pillows on the ends so nobody would get hurt. And we could get Hank and Mrs. Wiggins to ride on.…” He thought a minute. “We ought to have padded clothes to wear,” he said. “If anybody gets knocked off, he might get hurt.”
“I thought that was the point of the tournament,” said Jimmy.
“Not to me, it isn’t,” Freddy said. “I want to have some fun, not break my neck. But I know what: we can have our lists right through the lower end of the pond. There’s only about a foot and a half of water there, and if anybody gets knocked off, he’ll just get a ducking. We’ll have to have some prizes, though. They always had prizes at tournaments. I’ll see if Mrs. Bean won’t get some for us.”
And so the tournament was held the following afternoon. Freddy had typed out a notice which he posted on the barn door. It read:
GRAND JOUST AND TOURNAMENT
Tuesday, at 2 P.M. Open to all comers.
War horses, lances, and shields provided
by the management.
Come one, come all, and try your luck.
Handsome and valuable prizes.
Jinx de Catte, HERALD.
“They always had to have a sort of noble name, the heralds,” he explained.
The notice had ensured a good crowd, and there were more entries for the contest than Freddy had expected, since most of the animals were too small to manage a lance. But one of them was surprising, not to say terrifying. The audience had all taken their places along the edge of the pond, and Jinx, as herald, was explaining the rules and conditions of the contest and exhibiting the prizes: a chocolate cake, baked by Mrs. Bean, a suit of Adoniram’s, a pair of his shoes, practically new, a lot of fishing tackle and some books and games. As there were, so far, only five entries in the tournament, this ensured a prize for every contestant.
“Why don’t you have just a prize for the winner?” Sniffy Wilson asked.
“The management feels,” said Jinx, “that while, of course, the winner should have a prize, there is every reason why the losers should have prizes too. For after all, the winner has won; the knowledge that he is the best should be enough of a prize for him. Whereas the loser, ladies and gentlemen, gets nothing. Not only is he disappointed because he has lost, but he gets nothing to make up to him for the time and trouble it has cost him. Indeed, in the future, should these contests continue, the prizes will be awarded only to the losers. That seems to us a much fairer arrangement.
“In addition,” Jinx continued, “the management wishes to point out that, with the exception of the cake, and perhaps the fishing tackle, the prizes are hardly suitable for animals. Freddy, of course, might use the suit as a disguise in the pursuit of his distinguished career as a detective. But it may be difficult for some of you to see just what use a pair of shoes, however shiny, would be to—for instance—our friend Bill, the goat.”
“He could eat ’em,” piped up Rabbit No. 13, and everybody laughed, for just as some people like to chew gum, there was nothing Bill liked better to chew on than an old boot.
“The point is,” said Jinx, “that they were the only prizes we could get at short notice. And if the winner has no use for them, he will certainly be able to take them over to Centerboro and trade them in for anything he wants. And now, my friends—”
Jinx stopped suddenly and froze, and the other animals, following the direction of his eyes, huddled together. For down out of the woods came strolling a large wildcat.
Chapter 12
The wildcat was very handsome. He had a thick tawny coat, elegant whiskers, and little ornamental tufts on his ears, but he had fierce yellow eyes, and his mouth was set in a ferocious grin.
There had been perhaps sixty rabbits in the audience, but in ten seconds not one was visible. The other animals bunched together and backed away, and Freddy and Jinx backed with them. The pig could feel his tail coming uncurled as it always did when he was n
ervous. But the three cows lowered their horns and advanced upon the intruder.
“What do you want here?” Mrs. Wiggins asked, and her voice was a menacing rumble. Cows lead very placid lives and seldom use that tone, but they can if they have to.
“Take it easy, sister,” said the wildcat, and he sat down and twirled his moustache with a big paw. “No harm intended. Can anybody tell me where I can find a bear named Peter in these parts?”
“He has a den up above here in the woods,” said Mrs. Wurzburger, “but he’s up in Herkimer County visiting relatives this summer.”
“So? That’s a pity,” said the wildcat. “Well, I guess I had my trip for nothing.”
“What did you want to see him about?” Mrs. Wiggins asked.
“Oh, just a personal matter. I know his folks up north.” The wildcat didn’t seem very communicative, and now he changed the subject. “Nice place you’ve got here. What’s going on?”
Mrs. Wiggins explained.
“Well, well,” he said, “since my old friend Peter isn’t home I’m rather at a loose end today. Guess I’ll enter your tournament. Nothing I like as much as a good fight.” And he unsheathed his long claws and made a lightning-like swipe at a daisy.
“This isn’t a fight,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “And I think you’d better go along about your business. We know all about wildcats, though there aren’t any around here, thank goodness. You may be all right, but until we know more about you—”
“Now, look, sister,” interrupted the wildcat, “I’m not looking for trouble, and don’t you try to wish it on me. I’ve got nothing to do this afternoon and I’d like to join your game. I’ll play it any way you say, and if anybody breaks the rules, it won’t be me.”
They knew that if they refused to let him play he would be angry, and wildcats have bad tempers. You have to be pretty careful with them. But they can be pleasant enough when they want to be; and evidently this one was laying himself out to be pleasant. It seemed to the animals that it would be all right to let him play, if they were careful not to offend him. So Mrs. Wiggins asked him his name.
“Eh?” he said. “Oh, just call me Mac.” So she introduced him to the others, and the tournament started.
Jinx counted out, and the first pair chosen were Jimmy Witherspoon and Weedly. Mounted on their warhorses—Mrs. Wogus and Hank—they cantered to their places on either side of the shallow end of the pond. As they sat there erect in their saddles, with shields on their arms and lances raised, they were indeed an impressive sight. They would have perhaps been more impressive if Mrs. Wogus hadn’t thrown herself quite so enthusiastically into the part of warhorse. She shook her head and pawed the ground, and then reared up—and Weedly slipped right off over her tail and fell on his back in the grass. Everybody thought it was very nice of Jimmy that in the general shout of laughter he kept a sober face.
When Weedly had remounted, Jinx gave a loud meouw, which was as like a trumpet as he could make it. It wasn’t much like one. And he shouted: “Ladeees and gentlemen! In this corner we have Lord William de Weedly, known as Wild Weedly, the Terror of the Tournaments. In the opposite corner, Sir James Witherspoon, otherwise Jumping Jimmy, the Human Hurricane. Now fall on, and may the best man win!” And the contestants lowered their lances as their steeds trotted down into the water.
As the water was knee deep, the pace of the warhorses was pretty slow. Lord William had hooked his short hind legs under the strap that had been fastened around Mrs. Wogus’s middle. He rested his lance on the cow’s head between her horns, and pointed it at Jimmy. He saw the pillow on the end of Jimmy’s lance approaching him, but just as it was about to touch his nose he ducked aside, and it went beyond him. At the same moment the padded point of his own lance struck Jimmy on the chest.
According to all the laws of knightly warfare, Jimmy should then have been smitten from the saddle. But the boy gripped Hank tight with his knees, and hung on to his mane with both hands. And as the pressure increased, it was Weedly who gave way. His feet slipped out from under the strap and he was pushed right off Mrs. Wogus’s back, and for the second time he landed on his back—only this time, in the water.
“Man overboard!” shouted Jinx. “Call the rescue squad!” But Weedly caught hold of the cow’s tail and was towed safely ashore.
“Man overboard,” shouted Freddy.
There was some argument as to whether Jimmy had really won or not. Some felt that since Weedly’s lance had hit the mark, and Jimmy’s had not, the pig should be counted the winner. But Jinx ruled that since Weedly had been pushed off his warhorse, even though it was plain that he had pushed himself off, he had lost the course. And he then called on the second pair of contestants, giving them the noblest names he could think of.
These were Robert, mounted on Mrs. Wurzburger, and Bill, mounted on Mrs. Wiggins. These two were evenly matched, and they ran four courses. In the first, they both missed; in the second, both lances hit fair and they were both knocked into the water. In the third they missed again, but as they passed each other, Bill leaned out and hooked one of his horns under Robert’s hind leg and flipped him into the pond. Bill tried to claim a victory on this, but Jinx ruled that they would have to run again, so they did, and this time Robert got a square hit on Bill’s nose and sent him flying.
There was some delay in starting the third bout, between Freddy and Mac, because none of the warhorses wanted to be ridden by a wildcat. Mac however was so polite and so reassuring, and promised so faithfully not to put out his claws under any circumstances, that Mrs. Wiggins finally agreed. But the fight was a short one. Freddy’s lance hit Mac on the shoulder and slipped off, but the padded end of Mac’s weapon struck fairly. The pig swung the clothes prop like a club, trying to knock the cat off sideways, but before he could get his blow in he was falling through the air, over Hank’s hind quarters.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” announced Jinx, “the winners of the preliminaries will now take their places for the final trial of strength. And since there are three of them, it is the judgment of this court that they shall all enter the water at the same time and fight a free-for-all, and he shall be declared the winner who keeps his seat when the others have been defeated. On the north side of the pond, Sir James Witherspoon, the Human Hurricane, mounted on Hank; on the west, Lord Robert de Bean, hero of many battles, Hereditary Guardian of the Lands of Bean; on the south, that fierce fighter, Mac the Merciless, mounted on Mrs. Wiggins. Let all keep silence until the issue is decided.” And he gave the word to go.
The knights dropped their lances into position and the warhorses trotted down into the water. As they came closer together, it was plain that Mac and Jimmy had both had the same idea—to put Robert out of the contest first, and then go after each other. But as he saw both lances converging upon him, Robert got the idea too, and just before they would have struck him he whispered in Mrs. Wurzburger’s ear, and the cow plunged off sharply to the right.
This brought the two others together, almost head on, and it also brought Robert alongside Jimmy, but facing in the opposite direction. Jimmy and Mac were too close together to try for a straight push with their lances, and they began swinging wildly at each other. And that gave Robert his chance. As he passed Jimmy he dropped his lance horizontally across Hank’s shoulders in front of the boy, and it scooped Jimmy off the horse’s back and into the water.
There was loud cheering at this, and Mac, who like all of the cat family had nice manners when he wanted to use them, saluted Robert with a congratulatory wave of the paw. He waited until the collie had turned, then pointed his lance and moved towards him.
Robert knew that he was no match for the wildcat. He hadn’t the weight, and he couldn’t hold his lance as steady. But he came very close to winning. As the pillow tied to the end of Mac’s lance passed over Mrs. Wurzburger’s head on its way to strike Robert, she raised her head a little, and one of her pointed horns ripped through the cloth. Immediately a great cloud of feathers puffed out, hiding
the contestants from the shore, and even from each other. Both of them missed, but the cows, breathing in the feathers, began to sneeze and, instead of going on, stopped where they were in order to sneeze more comfortably. All that could be seen from the shore were the legs of two cows, going down into the water, and above, a cloud of what looked like white bees that swirled and boiled as the contestants swung at each other and the sneezes blew the feathers out in all directions. And then there was a splash, and no one was greatly surprised when Mac came riding up out of the water, so plastered with feathers that he looked as if he had fallen into a snowdrift.
Then Mac dismounted and knelt down before Emma, and she put a wreath of daisies on his head and presented him with the cake. Emma trembled a good deal, particularly when the wildcat got to his feet and looked at her with his fierce yellow eyes and licked his chops delicately. But he thanked her in a very polished way, and was so courtly and refined that the animals began to lose their fear of him, and some of the rabbits came out of hiding and joined the crowd.
Then Emma distributed the other prizes. Robert got the shoes, and Jimmy the suit of clothes, and Freddy and Weedly and Bill divided up the books and games. Jimmy was delighted with his prize and tried it on at once.
“Fits you as if it had been made for you,” said Robert. “I wish I could say the same for these things,” he added, looking down at the shoes. “If my prize had been a nice bone, now—that would have been something!”
“You could probably get a dozen bones for them, down in Centerboro,” said Jimmy.
“I’d never get out of that town with even one bone, let alone a dozen,” Robert said. “The way those town dogs gang up on you if you’ve got something. No, I guess I’ll just have to put ’em away and forget about ’em.” Then he looked at the boy hopefully. “Unless you’ve got a bone or two about you? You’d be doing me a great favor.”
Freddy and the Popinjay Page 8