“Sure, ’tis sorry I am you’ll not be likin’ the good vittles,” Freddy said. “But tomorry I’ll make ye a shepherd’s pie—”
“I suppose you’d put the shepherd in, boots and all,” said Mrs. Kurtz sarcastically. “Well I’ll take care of the cooking from now on.”
“You’re givin’ me notice, ma’am?”
Mrs. Kurtz frowned. “No,” she said thoughtfully. “No. I’ve got to have someone for the housework. If you want to stay on till I can find someone that can cook, you can do so. Can you scrub? Without going through the floor?”
“Can I scrub, is it? You’ll not find the like of Bridget O’Halloran for scrubbing between here and the fifth of next March. Sure, show me the floor ye want scrubbed, and if it’s twice as dirty as Barney’s pig, I’ll scrub it as white as snow.”
So Mrs. Kurtz gave him a brush and a pail and set him to work, and she and Mr. Kurtz went off down to the lunchroom.
As soon as they were out of the door Freddy hurried down-cellar. He found the door to the wine cellar. There was a sort of hatch about six inches square in the heavy door, and Freddy slid it aside and said: “Squeak-squeak, are you there? This is Freddy. Are you all right?”
The Martian was so excited to hear a familiar voice that at first Freddy couldn’t understand what he said, but pretty soon he calmed down. He was all right, he said, but very sick of peanuts and water, which was all he had had to eat since he had been kidnapped. He was also sick of sitting on the floor in the dark. Had Freddy come to get him out?
Freddy said he had but he didn’t know yet how. And he was trying to reassure the Martian when they heard footsteps upstairs and realized that the Kurtzes had come back.
Freddy dashed up into the kitchen and dropped to his knees and resumed his scrubbing. Why had they come back so soon? They hadn’t had time to eat dinner. Did they suspect something? Then he found that they had bought sandwiches, and Mrs. Kurtz made some coffee and they sat down in the kitchen and ate, and watched Freddy scrub. Evidently they intended to keep an eye on him.
Indeed they kept so close an eye on him that for the next three days he was not given a chance to get down-cellar unobserved. Mrs. Kurtz kept him scrubbing and housecleaning and washing curtains and vacuuming rugs from the time he got up until it was time for bed. If he had really been Mrs. O’Halloran he would have walked out after the first day. But he felt that his only chance to release Squeak-squeak was to stick to the job.
It was on Friday—the day before the Mars-Tushville game—that Freddy decided that he would really have to take some action if Squeak-squeak was to be rescued in time to win. For unless he was free, the Martians would throw the game. They wouldn’t have any choice.
He had kept in touch with his friends through Mr. Pomeroy, who came to his window every evening. And that evening he told the robin to round up the wasps and have them stand by in A.B.I. headquarters at the old mill. “I managed today,” he said, “to empty all the DDT out of the spray gun and the bottle, and I refilled them with water. Now when we attack, the only damage will be a few wet wings.”
“You really think this will work?” said Mr. Pomeroy. “You think a few stings will make Kurtz hand over the wine-cellar key?”
“It won’t be a few, it’ll be a lot,” Freddy said. “And I don’t say the plan is perfect. It’s the only one I can think of. I think you’d better have some reserves handy. Leo and Mrs. Wiggins and Jinx and anybody else that will volunteer. We just might have to make a general attack in force, and we want to have the force where we can call on it. The wasps attack tomorrow morning at dawn. I’ve found that the Kurtzes are pretty dopey before breakfast.”
Next morning, just as the light began to grow in the east, Freddy unhooked the screen at his window, and Jacob and his family, with some twenty other wasps who had come along for the fun, flew in and lined up on the footboard of the bed. All the wasps wore an expression of pleased anticipation. It is considered bad manners for a wasp to sting anyone without provocation, although it is sometimes done out of sheer high spirits. But they enjoy using their stings; they like to see people jump; and to be asked to sting humans in a good cause was an unusual and delightful opportunity.
Freddy explained that what he wanted to get was the key to Squeak-squeak’s dungeon. “I’ll open the Kurtzes’ bedroom door as quietly as I can and you’ll all go in. Then when I’ve got the key out and locked the door from the outside, you boys can give ’em a few stings to wake ’em up. Don’t sting ’em any more after that; it’ll be enough if they find themselves shut in a room with a lot of wasps flying around and making passes at ’em. Then I’ll call to ’em from outside and tell ’em I’ll let ’em out if they’ll give up the key.”
“O.K.,” said Jacob. “But once they get started, I don’t know if I can hold my boys back. They’re going to want one sting apiece, anyway.”
“I’m sorry,” said Freddy firmly, “but that’s just out. These people are crooks, but I just want to get the key—I don’t want to send ’em to the hospital.”
“Well,” said Jacob, “I’ll do my best.”
The first part of Freddy’s scheme worked perfectly. He tiptoed down the hall, opened the Kurtzes’ bedroom door, and quietly changed the key from the inside to the outside of the lock. A loud and not unmusical duet of snores came from the darkness. “Boy, will they sing a different tune in just a minute!” Jacob whispered. Then as the wasps filed in, Freddy closed and locked the door. And the fun began.
The duet broke off in a series of sharp yelps; then there was the double thump of feet hitting the floor; the doorknob rattled, and Mrs. Kurtz’s voice shrieked: “Herb, you fool, you locked the door—we can’t get out!” Then there were some more yelps.
Freddy banged on the door. “Lay off a minute, Jacob,” he called. Then: “Mr. Kurtz, ’tis me thrained wasps I’ve set on ye, and I’ll not be callin’ ’em off until I have the key to the wine cellar in me hand. Sure, it’s ate up entirely you’ll be, for it’s determined I am to rescue the poor creature is your prisoner. So do ye hand me the key, sorr, or do I set the wasps on again, the way ye’ll be covered with bumps like an ould potato?”
“Open the door,” Mr. Kurtz groaned. “I’ll give you the key.”
So Freddy unlocked the door and pushed it open a crack. At the same moment it was violently pulled away from him from inside; he was yanked forward and fell into the room. Then he saw stars as something hit him on the head, and he passed out.
When he came to a few minutes later, a small voice said in his ear: “Are you all right, Freddy?” It was Jacob. A number of the wasps, perched on the rim of the sunbonnet, were fanning him with their wings.
Freddy sat up. He had a headache, and when he felt of his head, there was a good-sized lump on it, but the sunbonnet had protected him from a more serious wound. “The Kurtzes—did they get away?” he asked.
“They got as far as the cellar,” said the wasp. “They’ve locked themselves in there. Boy, we had some fun with them! They made a break for that sprayer first. They were going to have themselves a time, knocking us out with DDT. And were they surprised when we flew right through the spray and stuck ’em! I got old Kurtz in the back of the neck—my favorite place. They yell louder when they get it there than any other spot. Must be specially sensitive.”
Freddy got up. “We mustn’t let ’em get out of the cellar,” he said. “Keep ’em in a state of siege. Any of your boys in there with them?”
“No. They were too quick for us. Got through the door to the cellar stairs and locked it before we knew what they were up to. But we’ve posted sentries at the cellar windows. They can’t get out without getting some more doses of the poison.”
“Well,” Freddy said, “we can probably starve ’em out.”
“Before this afternoon?” said Jacob. “The game starts in just a few hours.”
“Well,” said Freddy thoughtfully, “they haven’t had any breakfast yet.” And he went down into the kitchen and made co
ffee and fried a lot of bacon. “Let’s see what happens when they smell that,” he said.
CHAPTER
19
The appetizing smells of fresh coffee and frizzling bacon filled the kitchen. They seeped through the cracks round the cellar door and rolled down the stairs and up the noses of Mr. and Mrs. Kurtz. And pretty soon Mr. Kurtz came up and rapped on the door.
“Yes?” said Freddy.
“We want to make a deal with you,” Mr. Kurtz said.
“I’ll not make any deals,” Freddy said. “You send that Martian up into the kitchen, and I’ll clear out and take the wasps with me.”
“Look, Mrs. O’Halloran,” said Mr. Kurtz, “what’s it worth to you to just go away and forget all about this Martian you’re talking about? I can promise you a lot of money—how about a thousand dollars?”
“Where you going to get it—from Anderson? Anderson’s in jail,” said Freddy.
As a matter of fact Mr. Anderson, who, on the tip Freddy had phoned to the Rochester police, had been arrested, was again at liberty. Although he had been caught burglarizing Mrs. Van Snarll’s house, there was no proof that he was implicated in the other recent burglaries. That he had had a hand in them seemed pretty certain, and it seemed to the authorities more important to locate the stolen jewelry than to keep him in jail. So they had let him out on bail and had asked the state troopers in Tushville to keep an eye on him.
Mr. Kurtz was silent for a minute, evidently surprised that Mrs. O’Halloran should know about his tie-up with Anderson, which he had supposed well hidden. Then he said: “I’ll give you two thousand. That’s as far as I can go.”
It was just then that Jinx came into the kitchen. He jerked his head at Freddy to come away from the cellar door. “Mr. Boom’s down at the mill,” he said in a low tone. “And he’s getting worried. Gosh, Freddy, it’s only about four hours till the game starts.” He stared at the pig and grinned. “Gosh, you certainly look cute in that bonnet.”
“I don’t know what to do, Jinx, and that’s the truth,” Freddy said, and he told the cat what had happened. “I’d have sent J.J. for the elephants and Mrs. Wiggins and some of the bigger animals earlier, but I don’t believe even Hannibal could break down that wine-closet door. The wood’s four inches thick, and it’s bound with iron. I figured the wasps were a better bet. But now we’re stuck.”
A wasp buzzed in the window and lit on Freddy’s bonnet. “Anderson’s coming up the front walk,” he said. “Shall we chase him off?”
“No. Let’s see what he wants. Jinx, curl up in that chair and try to look at home.”
A moment later the doorbell rang. Freddy went to the door. Mr. Anderson put down a large suitcase and took off his hat politely. “Good morning, ma’am. Is Mr. Kurtz at home?”
“Ah, it’s sorry he will be to miss you, sir,” Freddy said. “He’s just stepped down to the school—”
At that moment from behind the cellar door came Mr. Kurtz’s voice. “She’s lying, Anderson. Help! They’ve got me locked down-cellar. Get the troopers.”
Mr. Anderson started toward the kitchen. “What’s going on here?” he demanded.
“Show him, Jacob,” said Freddy, and the wasps swarmed to the attack.
Mr. Anderson made one bound to the front door. He snatched up his suitcase and the second bound carried him down the steps and halfway to the gate. And with each bound he yelled. But Freddy called the wasps back. “It’s no good,” he said. “Let’s wait for the troopers.”
Freddy had been surprised to see Mr. Anderson. But he guessed why he had been released from jail. He didn’t think Anderson would come with the troopers—probably he would phone them. And indeed that was what happened. The troopers got there in about fifteen minutes. Freddy was sitting in a rocking chair by the window.
“Now, ma’am,” said the taller trooper, “what’s this all about? We got a report the Kurtzes are locked in the cellar.”
“Sure, they’re locked in, but the key’s on their side,” Freddy said. “Nobody’s keeping them there.”
“Who are you?” the trooper demanded.
“Bridget O’Halloran, at your service,” said Freddy. “Sure, I’m new in this place but I’ll not be here long. It’s ravin’ lunatics these Kurtzes are, officer. I was hired as a cook, not as a keeper. Runnin’ up and down and screechin’ that bugs are bitin’ them, and offerin’ me diamond necklaces if I’d keep still about the prisoner is locked up in the wine cellar—”
“Diamond necklaces?” The trooper looked interested.
At this moment the cellar door opened and Mr. Kurtz poked out his head. Seeing no wasps, he came out into the kitchen. “Arrest that woman, officer,” he demanded. “Certainly I’ve got a prisoner in the cellar. He’s this woman’s accomplice. I caught them in my bedroom last night. I captured him, but she drove us down-cellar again at the point of a gun.”
“ ’Tis a howlin’ great liar ye are, Kurtz, surely,” said Freddy. “Ask him about the diamond necklace that him and Anderson, over at Centerboro, stole. Then go down and look at his prisoner. Why is he keeping one of them Martians from the circus locked up, and them to be playing ball against his own team this day?”
The troopers looked at each other, and the smaller one said: “Let’s get this prisoner up and have a look at him.”
So he got the key from Mr. Kurtz and went down-cellar, and a minute later came up with Squeak-squeak.
The tall trooper said: “I guess we’d better take the whole lot in, and let the judge sort ’em out. I can’t make any sense out of it.”
“We haven’t got any place to keep prisoners,” said the short trooper. “Unless one of us stays there this afternoon to keep an eye on ’em. And I want to go to that game over in Centerboro. You do too, I guess.”
“So does the judge,” said the other.
“Sure. The judge won’t thank us to bring these folks up before him now. Tell you what, Joe; let’s lock ’em in that wine cellar. After the game we can pick ’em up and take ’em down to headquarters for the night.”
Freddy and the Kurtzes all began protesting at once, but it did them no good. Five minutes later they were locked in the wine cellar, sitting on kitchen chairs which the troopers had thoughtfully provided. But Jinx and the wasps—except half a dozen who stayed with Freddy to keep the Kurtzes in order—set out for the mill, to tell Mr. Pomeroy and Mr. Boomschmidt what had happened.
At the mill, as soon as they arrived, things began to move; Mr. Pomeroy set out at top speed for Centerboro, with instructions to delay the game as much as possible. Mr. Boomschmidt hopped in his car, and after stopping to buy some tools at the Tushville hardware store, drove straight to the Kurtzes’.
By a quarter to two that afternoon a huge crowd filled the grandstand and the bleachers, and overflowed the grounds at the Centerboro ball park. Most of them were unaware that several of the most important figures in the afternoon’s program were not present; and it wasn’t until the two teams came out and started to warm up that the absence of the Martian coach, and the distinguished third baseman, Mr. Boomschmidt, was noted.
Henrietta, as usual leading the cheering section, noticed it first, and she soon had the Bean animals and the circus contingent chanting: “We want Arquebus! We want Boomschmidt!” But as neither of these gentlemen responded, Leo, who had had word from Mr. Pomeroy, stepped out and announced that there would be a slight delay; Mr. Boomschmidt, Mr. Arquebus, and Mr. Kurtz would be along soon. In the meantime, the circus quartet would oblige with a song.
So then Mr. Hercules and Leo and Uncle Bill, the buffalo, and Andrew, the hippopotamus, came out and put their arms about one another’s shoulders, and sang “Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep.” They all had deep bass voices, and when Andrew went way down on the last “deep,” the people in the stands glanced apprehensively over their shoulders at the sky. It was certainly more like a distant thunderstorm than a song.
They all had deep bass voices.
But after the quartet
had sung six numbers, the audience began to get restless, and began stamping its feet and yelling: “Come on! Play ball!”
So Leo went out again and introduced Mr. Hercules, who did some weight-lifting and juggled cannonballs. But this didn’t keep the people quiet much longer either, and the rougher element began throwing pop bottles at Leo. And Black Beard, the Tushville captain, said: “Get your team out here, or I’m going to claim this game by default.”
Mr. Pomeroy had told the Martians what had happened at the Kurtz house in Tushville, and that Squeak-squeak was found and would soon be at liberty. He urged them therefore to disregard Mr. Anderson’s threats and to follow Mr. Arquebus’s orders. “I tell you, Squeak-squeak is safe!” he insisted.
But they were not convinced. “We ’fraid for Squeak-squeak,” Two-clicks said. “You bring Squeak-squeak here, we play like Mr. Arky say—oh, very good.”
“We’ve got to start the game,” the robin said to Leo. “And they’re going to throw it; they’re going to swing at everything. We’ll just have to go as slowly as possible, and hope that Mr. Boom will get Squeak-squeak here in time. And just look over there.” Mr. Anderson, with a big suitcase in his hand, was standing by the corner of the grandstand. As they looked, they saw him motion to Two-clicks, who went over to him. Anderson said something, and the Martian nodded agreement gloomily.
So with one of the alligators in Mr. Boomschmidt’s place at third base, the game started.
CHAPTER
20
The first inning did not go so badly. Black Beard struck out, Smith singled but was caught trying to steal second, and Swiggett hit a high fly to Mr. Hercules. For the Martians, Hannibal singled but got to second on a fumble, Oscar surprisingly hit a two bagger and brought the elephant in, but tripped and fell over his feet and was tagged out trying to steal third. The alligator, never a strong hitter, hit one into the first baseman’s hands. And then Chirp-squeak came up. He swung at everything and was out.
Freddy and the Baseball Team from Mars Page 12