The Clockwork Twin

by Walter R. Brooks

  “It’s Mr. Bean,” said Freddy to his guests.

  The farmer pulled Jinx’s whiskers and poked the pig in the side. “Glad to see ye back,” he said gruffly. Mr. Bean was not a demonstrative man; he never gushed. “And who may these be?” he asked.

  “My name is Adoniram R. Smith,” said the boy, “and this is Georgie and this is Ronald. We thought—well, we’d like to live here if—if you’d like to have us.”

  “Glad to have you,” said Mr. Bean. “And Mrs. B.’ll be gladder. Consider that settled.” He scratched a match on the seat of his trousers and lit a small pipe that Adoniram hadn’t noticed before because it was almost hidden by his whiskers. He puffed hard at it for a minute until his whiskers oozed smoke like a brush fire, and then he said: “You look hungry, boy. You’ll find Mrs. B. in the kitchen. She’ll fix you up. Freddy, you know where to put the other two where they’ll be comfortable. And you other animals,” he added, “I suppose you’ll be havin’ a celebration tonight. But lights out at ten o’clock, remember.” And he turned and stumped away.

  As Adoniram went toward the house, Mrs. Bean came to the door to shake the breakfast crumbs from the tablecloth. She was small and plump, and as neat as Mr. Bean was untidy. She pushed her spectacles up on her forehead and stared, and then she said: “Land sakes, if it isn’t Freddy and Jinx!” And she ran out and hugged the cat and patted the pig and shook hands with Ronald and Georgie. Then she looked at Adoniram.

  “Well, well,” she said, “you’re a nice-looking boy, I must say. Now isn’t it lucky I baked a big batch of molasses cookies yesterday? Do you live around here?”

  “No, ma’am. I came with Freddy and Jinx. I—I ran away from home.”

  “Ran away from home!” exclaimed Mrs. Bean. “Well, you come right in the house and have something to eat, and then you can tell me all about it.”

  While Adoniram was inside telling his story, the animals went back to their work, for when anyone returned from a trip he always gave a lecture on his travels that night in the big barn, and they knew they would hear all about it then. Freddy and Jinx took Ronald down to the chicken house and introduced him to Charles, the rooster, and his wife, Henrietta, and saw that he was assigned to a perch. And they introduced Georgie to Jock, the collie, and saw that he was taken care of. And then they walked down to Freddy’s study, to arrange their picture postcards and make some notes for their lecture that evening.

  Freddy’s study was a comfortable little room that he had fixed up in a corner of the pigpen. Here were all his books and papers, and his typewriter, and an old easy chair that he could sit in when he wanted to think, or take a nap, or both. They slipped off their pockets and piled them on the floor, and Jinx jumped up on the typewriter table, while Freddy threw himself into the chair, out of which a cloud of dust rose that set the cat sneezing.

  “This place gets worse and worse,” said Jinx. “You haven’t house-cleaned since you moved in here, I bet.”

  “I know,” said the pig, “but I don’t want to do it myself, and I hate to get the squirrels to do it. Nosey little brutes, poking among my papers. They’d mix everything up, and probably lose half of ’em—”

  “No great loss, I should say,” remarked Jinx, looking over a heap of magazines and clippings piled beside him. “H’m. Cross-word puzzles. Old St. Nicholas with half the leaves torn out. Recipe for pumpkin pie—what use is that to you, I’d like to know?… ‘How to make your own lipstick at home’—ha ha! Freddy you slay me!… And here’s a piece about that mechanical man they had at the circus last year. ‘Walks, talks, plays games.’ With a plan of how he’s put together.… And an ‘Ode to Spring,’ from the Centerboro Guardian. Listen to this, Freddy. This is rich!

  O spring, O spring,

  You wonderful thing

  O spring, O spring, O spring!

  O spring, O spring,

  When the birdies sing

  I feel like a king,

  O spring!

  Six verses of it—golly, what stuff! And signed ‘Shakespeare, Jr.’ Can you beat that? Boy, how he fancies himself!—Why, what’s the matter, Freddy?”

  For Freddy had turned slightly red and was frowning at his friend. He didn’t have a very good frown, because he was pretty fat, and when he drew his eyebrows down, they just closed his eyes and he looked as if he was asleep. But Jinx knew what it meant.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Freddy, if I’ve hurt your feelings. Did you—was this something you wrote?”

  “It’s the first poem I ever wrote,” said Freddy stiffly. “Naturally, I don’t think now it’s a masterpiece, but it showed enough promise for the Guardian to print it. And as to the—” He broke off suddenly as a queer jangling of chimes and little bells drifted in through the open window. “What on earth—!”

  The two animals dashed out. The sounds came from the big barn, but by the time they reached the door everything was quiet again. Inside they could see Hank, the old white horse, munching away peacefully at his hay.

  “What’s the row, Hank?” Jinx asked.

  Hank turned his head. He looked a little like Mr. Bean with the hay sticking out of his mouth in all directions. Then his voice came through the hay, saying something that they couldn’t understand.

  “What?” said Jinx. “I wish you wouldn’t talk with your mouth full.”

  Hank swallowed with an effort, coughed, and said: “Sorry, boys. What row you mean? I ain’t heard any row.”

  “Who’s upstairs?” asked Jinx, whose sharp ears had caught the sound of somebody moving about up in the loft.

  “That?” said Hank. “Why, Uncle Ben, of course. Oh sure, I forgot. He came while you were away. He lives here now.” And Hank turned to pull down another bite of hay from the rack.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” said Freddy. “If you begin chewing again we’ll never get a thing out of you. Who is he? Where’d he come from?”

  “Mr. Bean’s uncle. He used to be a clockmaker, but he’s retired now. Same as you retired, I guess, Freddy, because he keeps right on pulling clocks to pieces just like you keep on detectin’.”

  “What’s he like?” asked Jinx.

  “Like Mr. Bean, only more so. More whiskers, more not sayin’ anything. Go on up. He likes animals, seems like. At least he never throws ’em out. They say he’s smart as all get-out about machinery, though. I wouldn’t know about that. Never had much use for machinery myself since I got my tail caught in that thrashin’ machine that time. You can’t trust it. Though I dunno—I guess it’s useful, at that.”

  The two animals climbed the steep stairs and came out in the dimly lit loft. At the far end, by the big door through which the hay was hoisted in, was a long work-bench on which stood several clocks with their insides strewn about them, and on shelves and on the wall above, fifty clocks were ticking busily away. A little man who looked like a smaller and older and hairier Mr. Bean was working away at the bench.

  He turned as the animals came in, nodded to them, and went back to his work. They sat and watched him for a minute, then got up and walked around, looking at the clocks. There were banjo clocks and cuckoo clocks and grandfather clocks and clocks that told the month and the year and when the sun rose and even the weather. Some had little figures that came out and danced when they struck the hour, and there was one that delighted Jinx, because it had three mice that came out and ran up over the top every quarter-hour and then back into a hole underneath as a cat’s head poked out in the middle of the dial and grinned at them.

  Uncle Ben didn’t say anything, but he watched them, and by and by he got up and started some of the clocks striking so they could see how they worked. And when the clocks chimed or cuckooed or the little figures popped out and in again, he would wink at Freddy and pull Jinx’s tail. So they knew he liked to have them there.

  But after he had gone back to his work and they had watched him awhile, he took the clock he had been working on and wound it up and set it in the middle of the floor. Then he said: “Clear out now, animals
. Danger.”

  So they went downstairs again.

  “He told us to beat it,” Jinx said to Hank. “I thought you said he never did that?”

  Hank had finished his hay and was taking a nap until Mr. Bean should come out to give him some more. His eyes were closed, but he opened them very quickly.

  “Eh?” he said. “What? Ordered you out, did he? Thunder! I suppose he’s going to shoot that thing off again. I do wish he wouldn’t. Goodness knows I don’t think I’m asking too much—just a little peace and quiet to—”

  Bang! There was a loud explosion upstairs. Jinx gave a screech and leaped three feet in the air and Freddy tried to dive under the old phaeton that stood on the barn floor, but missed his aim and got his head stuck between two spokes of a front wheel. There was a patter and jingle of little pieces of metal falling to the floor upstairs, and a small brass clock-wheel bounced down the stairs.

  “There, thank goodness,” said Hank, swishing his tail nervously, “it’s over for today. Until he gets a new one built tomorrow.”

  “Hey, what is all this?” asked Freddy. “Get me out of this, will you?” He jerked and shook at the wheel, but his head was stuck fast.

  Hank backed out of his stall and walked over and looked at the pig, and Jinx joined him.

  “We’ve got him where we want him now, eh, Hank?” said the cat.

  “Looks like he was going to stay there for a spell, anyway,” said Hank.

  “Oh, quit being funny!” said Freddy angrily. “Can’t you do something? Catch hold of me and pull.”

  “We could if you weren’t so fat,” said Hank, “but there ain’t anything for anybody to get hold of. There’s your tail, of course, but I dunno. It ain’t much of a tail, and if I was to give a good yank on it, I wouldn’t say but it’d come off. Try it if you say so, though.”

  “No, no!” said the pig anxiously.

  “I’ve got it,” said Hank suddenly. He turned with his back to the wheel, lifted one of his iron-shod hind hoofs, glanced over his shoulder to aim, and then kicked hard against the rim. The wheel flew off of the wagon with a crack and it and the pig slid across the floor.

  Freddy struggled to his feet with the wheel still around his neck. “Now you have done it!” he said crossly. “I’ll never get it off now. There’s nothing to push against.”

  “Well, I shouldn’t mind,” said Jinx with a grin. “Looks kind of nice that way. You look kind of like Queen Elizabeth, with a big ruff around her neck. Eh, Hank?”

  “Maybe his head would slip through if you was to soap it,” said the horse.

  “That’s an idea!” said Jinx. He dashed out of the barn and was back presently with a piece of soap. “Come over to the watering trough, Freddy. I couldn’t get kitchen soap; Mrs. Bean was there. So I snuck upstairs and got some of her best soap out of the bathroom. It’s perfumed, I guess. Do you mind?”

  “I don’t care what it is,” said Freddy. “Get me out of this thing.”

  So Jinx went to work and shampooed the pig thoroughly. Freddy squealed and twisted, for a good deal of the soap got in his eyes and mouth. But when Jinx said: “O.K. Now pull,” his head slipped out easily.

  Freddy didn’t dare open his eyes, so his friends led him down to the duck pond. Alice and Emma, the two ducks, who were swimming about like two white powder puffs in their little pond, began to quack nervously when they saw this strange animal with the body of a pig and a shapeless white head of soapsuds.

  “It’s all right, girls,” shouted Jinx. “It’s only the great detective in disguise.”

  “Good gracious!” said Alice. “How clever! I should never have known him.”

  “Nor should I, sister,” said Emma. “Mercy, you’d never guess he was a pig. And he smells so nice. But what is he disguised as, Jinx?”

  “A marshmallow,” said the cat. “Put him in a candy box and tie him up with a pink ribbon, and you’d never know the difference.”

  “I guess you could tell when you bit into him,” said Hank.

  “Oh, come on, come on!” said Freddy angrily. “Get me into the water.”

  “You asked for it,” said Jinx, and he led the pig to the edge and shoved him in.

  You hardly ever find a pig who is an expert swimmer, but then you hardly ever find one who is a good detective. Freddy was both. He swam across the pond with a fine racing stroke, then came back under water and stuck his head up between the two ducks, scaring them good. Then he climbed out and chased Jinx, who hated to get wet, twice around the pond and up a tree. And then he sat down and laughed good-naturedly.

  “Come on down, Jinx,” he said. “I won’t shake water on you. I’m really much obliged to you. And I want to find out about that explosion.”

  So Jinx came down and they all three sat down on the bank, and Hank said:

  “Well, you see Uncle Ben has invented a new kind of alarm clock. He says that the kind with bells aren’t much good, because people get used to the bells after a while and don’t wake up when they ring. I dunno. What folks want alarm clocks for anyway beats me. What’s the use of getting up unless you have to?”

  “Well, but they do have to get up,” said Freddy. “That’s why they set the alarms.”

  “So Uncle Ben says. But I never could see why.… Well, anyway, he’s invented a clock that fires off a firecracker. That ought to get ’em up, he thinks. But the trouble is, when the firecracker goes off, it blows the clock all to pieces. So it isn’t any good now except for rich folks who can afford to have a new clock every morning.”

  “Yes,” said Freddy thoughtfully. “Yes. But there ought to be some way of getting round it.”

  “What do you want to get round, Freddy?” said a deep voice, and they turned to see Mrs. Wiggins standing behind them. “My goodness,” the cow went on, “first it’s detecting and then it’s pockets for animals. All this thinking! I don’t believe it’s healthy. What is it now?”

  So Freddy explained.

  “Well, good grief!” said Mrs. Wiggins, “if the firecracker blows the clock to pieces, don’t put the firecracker in. That’s just common sense.”

  “Yes,” said Freddy, “but it’s part of the clock. You have to put it in, or you haven’t got an alarm clock that shoots off a firecracker.”

  Mrs. Wiggins looked puzzled. “You’ve got your argument wrong end to, Freddy. It’s when you put it in that you haven’t got the clock. My stars, if I want to shoot off a firecracker, I don’t swallow it first! Not if I ever want to shoot another.”

  “Now don’t you start shooting firecrackers,” said Hank. “One around the place is enough.—Hey, Freddy, what’s the matter?” For the pig, who had been looking thoughtfully at Mrs. Wiggins, suddenly leaped up, shouted: “I’ve got it!” and dashed off toward the barn.

  The others looked after him. “I expect he’s got another idea,” said the cow placidly.

  “I dunno where he gets ’em all,” said Hank. “In fact, I dunno as I know what an idea is. I never had any myself, I’m thankful to say. They look kind of unpleasant to me—make you run around and yell. Folks are better without them.”

  But Freddy’s idea carried him up the barn stairs two at a time. On the stool in front of the work-bench was Uncle Ben, his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands. Freddy could not see his expression because of the whiskers, but his eyes were shut and his forehead drawn together in a deep frown, denoting thought.

  Freddy hesitated a minute, but Uncle Ben did not open his eyes, and the pig tiptoed over to the end of the bench on which lay the plan of the alarm clock that Uncle Ben had been working from. It was a perfectly clear plan. There was the outline of the clock and pictures of all the little wheels, and the wheel that went around when the alarm went off and struck a match that lighted the firecracker fuse. There was the firecracker, too, and Freddy could see where Uncle Ben had erased it several times in order to put it in another place.

  So Freddy picked up a pencil and erased the firecracker again, and then he drew a big fire
cracker outside the clock and drew a long fuse leading in to where the match was. Then he took the plan over to Uncle Ben and nudged him. And Uncle Ben opened his eyes.

  Uncle Ben was a smart man all right. As soon as he saw the changes that Freddy had made in the plan, he realized that if he had the firecracker go off outside, the clock wouldn’t be blown to pieces. He jumped up and grabbed Freddy and waltzed all around the loft with him and then he got his tools and went to work. He didn’t say anything at all, but it is surprising how little you have to say to let people know you are pleased.

  After a while Freddy went downstairs again. Going through the barnyard he passed Mrs. Wiggins. The cow lifted her big nose and sniffed appreciatively. “H’m,” she said. “Roses!” And passed on.

  Freddy looked after her suspiciously, then started for the pigpen. A group of chickens were standing by the corner of the barn. When they saw him they began to whisper and giggle and then started toward him. He tried not to notice them as they, too, began sniffling the air ostentatiously, but when one of them simpered: “Oh, how too, too delicious! Like a breath of Spring!” he turned and chased them, fluttering and squawking, back to the henhouse.

  Then he sniffed himself. Undeniably there was still a faint odor of perfumed soap clinging to him. But he decided it wasn’t worth the bother of taking another swim to try to get it off. Whether he smelt of it or not, he knew that it would be weeks before the joke would completely lose its savor for his friends. He shrugged his shoulders and went on.

  V

  The Clockwork Boy

  Mr. and Mrs. Bean had been pretty lonesome after Ella and Everett, their adopted children, had gone away. But after Adoniram came they weren’t lonesome anymore. Mrs. Bean was happy because she had someone else to make pies for, and someone to talk to when Mr. Bean was out working or when he went to sleep after supper. And Mr. Bean was happy because Mrs. Bean was happy. Mrs. Bean went around singing a good deal. She sang different words, but it was always the same tune—if it is really a tune when it is all on the same note. But that doesn’t mean that she wasn’t just as happy as if she had had a fine soprano voice and had gone around singing grand opera.