The Clockwork Twin

by Walter R. Brooks

But in less than a minute she was back again.

  “There’s another sign on the door,” she said. “It says ‘Scarlet fever.’ I never had scarlet fever, but you did, so I guess you’ll have to go in.”

  “I can’t go in,” said Adoniram’s uncle. “This sign says ‘Measles’ and I never had measles.”

  “You had German measles,” said Adoniram’s aunt. And the argument began all over again.

  All around the barnyard, behind trees and bushes and sheds and fences, the animals were hidden, and as the argument went on and on and got hotter and hotter, they squirmed and panted and stuffed grass in their mouths to keep from laughing out loud. But pretty soon Adoniram’s uncle got so mad at Adoniram’s aunt that he slapped her, and then she pulled his hair, and then they fought each other until they were out of breath. And at last Adoniram’s uncle said: “Well, all right. We won’t either of us go in. No use wasting time here. We’ll go down to Centerboro and telephone. If Adoniram’s got something catching, we’ll have to come for him again when he gets well.” And he started up the engine and drove off.

  “Darn it,” said Freddy, “wouldn’t you think it would be enough for them just to see the signs? If they call up, Mrs. Bean’ll tell ’em that Adoniram isn’t sick, and then they’ll come back.”

  “I could stick around and answer the phone when it rings,” said Jinx, “if you can get Mrs. Bean out of the house for a while. Can’t you have a fit or faint away or something?”

  “Hey, look, Freddy,” said Georgie. “Hadn’t somebody ought to warn Adoniram? I mean, if these people go to Centerboro, they might see him.”

  “Good gracious, I never thought of that,” said the pig. “But we can’t get there before they do.”

  “I could,” said Ferdinand, who was sitting on the fence, listening to the conversation.

  “Main Street in Centerboro is no place for a crow, Ferdinand. You know that. But wait a minute. How about that friend of yours, Jinx, that wasp—what’s his name? Fellow that came in first in that free-for-all insects’ cross-country run last year.”

  “Jacob?” said Jinx. “Sure, he’d go. I’ll get him,” and Jinx dashed off.

  “All right,” said Freddy. “That fixes that. Now I’m going to faint. No giggling, you fellows.” And he walked out into the middle of the barnyard, gave a loud squeal, and fell over on his back with all four feet in the air.

  Meanwhile Jacob, swiftly instructed by Jinx, crawled out of his nest under the eaves of the barn, saw that his sting was in working order—“because you never know,” he said, “when you may have to fight your way out of a tight spot”—and took flight. He spiraled up until he was over the barn, and then, with all four wings whirring, aimed like a bullet for Centerboro church spire.

  He had gone about four miles when he saw below him on the road Adoniram’s aunt and uncle chugging along in the same direction. He overhauled them swiftly, then swooped down and flew just above them for a way, listening to their conversation.

  “You wait till I get my hands on him,” Adoniram’s uncle was saying. “I’ll bet he won’t try to run away again.”

  “I wonder how he’ll like being locked up in the cellar on bread and water for a week,” said Adoniram’s aunt.

  Jacob swooped down and lit on the seat just behind them. He took out his sting and polished it on the upholstery and looked longingly at the back of Adoniram’s uncle’s neck. But then he shook his head regretfully. “Mustn’t exceed orders,” he said. And he rose with an angry buzz that made them both duck, and flew on.

  Jacob flew up and down Main Street, looking in the windows of bakeries and candy stores for Bertram and Adoniram. They weren’t anywhere in sight. But at the curb in front of the Centerboro Cinema Palace he saw the old phaeton with Hank asleep between the shafts. So he flew into the theater.

  It was very dark inside after the sunlit street and he couldn’t see a thing. He flew down the aisle, buzzing rather loudly in his nervousness, and several people crouched down and said: “Look out! There’s a wasp in here,” and one old lady made a pass at him and hit the man next to her on the ear. The man hadn’t heard Jacob, and he was naturally surprised, and gave the old lady a shove. Then he saw that she was an old lady and started to apologize, but by that time the old lady was mad, so she hit him again, and another man behind him, who had seen him shove the old lady, also hit him. And then the first man got really mad and hit the second man, and everybody shouted: “Quiet, quiet! Throw them out!” And two more men joined in, and in about two minutes half the people in the theater were arguing and shoving each other, and five fights had started. But Jacob was sitting on the big chandelier above it all, looking for Adoniram.

  Pretty soon the noise got so bad that the movie stopped and the lights went on. A lot of people were starting for the door, and among them Jacob at last saw the two he was looking for. There was no use trying to get Adoniram’s attention, so he dropped down and lit on Bertram’s necktie and leaned out and waved his feelers in front of the little window to attract Ronald’s attention.

  “Wait a minute, Adoniram,” said Ronald, and he pulled some levers and Bertram sat down in a seat and Adoniram sat down beside him. Then he opened the door and let Jacob in, and after he had heard the news, he told the boy about it. “You stay here,” he said, “and I’ll go outside and scout around.”

  By now the people had quieted down and the show had started again, so Adoniram was perfectly willing to stay. Ronald steered Bertram out and woke Hank up and told him to go around into a back street. “Then,” he said, “I’ll sneak Adoniram out and we’ll take the back road home.”

  He had just finished talking to Hank when rattling down Main Street came the car containing Adoniram’s relatives. And then Ronald made a mistake. They were not looking for him, he knew, and he had forgotten that Bertram’s face looked exactly like Adoniram’s. So he didn’t move. And Adoniram’s aunt saw him.

  “There he is now!” she yelled, and jumped right out of the car and grabbed him by the arm.

  “Gosh, what’ll I do?” said Ronald to the wasp. He had to whisper so it wouldn’t be Bertram that spoke. “Shall I run? They couldn’t possibly hold on to Bertram.”

  “You can always get away later,” said Jacob. “Get in with them. You’ll be leading them away from Adoniram.”

  “You get into the car, you wicked little wretch,” said Adoniram’s aunt. “I’ll teach you to run away from home.” And she gave him a slap. And then she gave a yell of pain, for of course Bertram’s cheek was made of wood.

  When he saw his wife hopping around and shaking her hurt hand, Adoniram’s uncle got mad, and he jumped out and bundled Bertram into the back seat of the car. “You will strike your aunt, will you?” he said vindictively. “You just wait till we get home, young man.” And he backed the car around and started off up the street.

  “I don’t like this much,” whispered Ronald.

  “Don’t be silly,” said Jacob. “They can’t do a thing to you. It’s just as if you were in a fort. No, you stick it out awhile. I’ll fly back and report at the farm, and then I’ll come tell you what they say.

  “Well, Adoniram saved my life,” said Ronald doubtfully, “so I suppose I ought to do what I can.”

  “That’s the spirit,” said the wasp. “Well, so long. Don’t worry. I’ll be back.”

  “So long,” said Ronald as he opened the little door. Then he gave a deep sigh and settled himself firmly on his perch.

  VIII

  Bertram Visits Snare Forks

  Adoniram’s uncle kept his foot hard down on the accelerator, for they had a long way to go, and they wanted to get home that night. The car leaped and bounced, and Ronald had to hang on tight and didn’t have a chance to do much thinking. He did enough, though, to decide that there really wasn’t anything to worry about. They had been going about two hours when Jacob came back. He signaled through the window, and Ronald let him in.

  “I’ve talked to the animals,” said the wasp, “and t
hey think that if you’ll stick with Bertram for just a few days, then you can escape and drive him back home. And probably Adoniram’s folks will get discouraged if he runs away again and let the Beans adopt him.”

  “That’s all right,” said Ronald, “but I haven’t been married very long. One can’t desert one’s bride practically at the altar, you know, and go careering off in search of adventure.”

  “Oh, I talked to Cackletta,” said Jacob. “She said she thought it was just wonderful of you to do this for Adoniram. She said she thought you were terribly brave. And you’d have such marvelous adventures to tell her about when you got back.”

  There never yet was a rooster that couldn’t be flattered into doing something he didn’t want to do. Ronald puffed out his chest and tried at the same time to look modest, which is practically impossible. “Oh, I say!” he said. “Nothing brave about it, you know, old man. Line of duty. Have to do these things, what? Thought it was brave of me, eh?”

  “Brave as a lion.”

  “Silly little thing!” said Ronald tenderly. “Well, well, you can tell them that I shall try to live up to their expectations. Never fear, I will return triumphant.”

  “England expects every man to do his duty, eh?” said Jacob. “That’s the stuff. Well, I must push off. If we don’t hear from you inside a week, we’ll know you can’t get away, and Jinx said in that case don’t worry—the gang will come after you. So long.”

  Ronald had talked so bravely that he began to feel brave—which is something that quite often happens to people. At six o’clock Adoniram’s uncle and aunt stopped at a restaurant and had supper. They told Bertram that he couldn’t have anything to eat, but must stay in the car. But as Bertram never ate anything anyway this was no punishment. As for Ronald, he had a box of corn meal in the control room, so it wasn’t any hardship for him either.

  It was after midnight when they got back to the house by the river. There was some discussion whether they should spank Bertram then or wait until morning, but they were both pretty tired so they decided to postpone it, feeling they wouldn’t do justice to it unless they were fresh. So they sent him down to the barn to bed.

  When Ronald got Bertram into the barn he opened the door and hopped out and stretched his wings, and at first he thought he would spend the night perched on a tree outside, for the night was warm and close. But then he decided he had better not, for if he overslept after his long ride, and Adoniram’s uncle came down to the barn before he could get back into the control room, they might think Bertram was sick and send for a doctor. And then of course they would find out that he was a clockwork boy, and not Adoniram at all.

  So Ronald had Bertram walk over to a window and turn his back to it, and then he opened the little door so the breeze would blow on him, and went to sleep. And Bertram stood up all night.

  Early in the morning the rooster was awakened by a shout of “Adoniram!” He shook the sleep out of his eyes and pulled the right levers, and Bertram turned around and walked out of the barn.

  “Oh,” said Adoniram’s uncle, “you’re up and dressed, are you? Wonder you wouldn’t answer when you’re called.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t hear,” said Ronald.

  “Eh? What’s the matter with your voice, boy?” said the man, staring at him in surprise.

  “Got a cold,” said Ronald, and, to prove it, wiped his sleeve across his nose.

  “Use your handkerchief!” said the man.

  “I haven’t got one,” said Ronald.

  “That’s a fine excuse, that is,” said the other. “Well, take the hoe and go down and hoe the potatoes for an hour while I have my breakfast. Then come back here and I’ll give you your spanking. Then your aunt will give you your breakfast, and then she will spank you, and then you can go back to the potatoes.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Ronald, and Bertram got a hoe and strode off toward the potato patch.

  Adoniram’s uncle looked after him curiously. “Wonder why he walks so stiff,” he said to himself. “Can’t be rheumatism at his age. Well, maybe a good whipping will limber him up.”

  Bertram hoed for an hour, and as he never had to stop for a rest, he did as much hoeing as four men would have done in the time. The hoeing had been rather fun for Ronald, but “I don’t know,” he said as he went back to the house for his spanking; “if Bertram does as much work as that they’ll never let him get away again.”

  “Now, young man,” said Adoniram’s uncle, “get across my knee.”

  Bertram knelt down and leaned his weight on the man’s knees.

  “Quit making that clicking noise,” said Adoniram’s uncle. “Good land, you’ve put on a lot of weight. Been havin’ too much to eat, likely. Well, we’ll see if you get any fatter on bread and water.” Then he started to spank.

  But he didn’t spank very long. In fact, after the first spank he gave a yell and shook his fingers as his wife had done after she had slapped Bertram. Only it hurt him worse, because his hand had come down on one of the iron hinges that joined Bertram’s legs to his body.

  “Get up, consarn you!” he roared. “I’ll teach you to put bricks under your clothes. Luella, where’s the horsewhip?”

  So Adoniram’s aunt brought the horsewhip, and Adoniram’s uncle whipped Bertram until he was pretty nearly exhausted. And Ronald made whining noises every time the whip fell, so it would sound as if it hurt. Ronald enjoyed himself quite a lot at first. But then he remembered that this whipping was really intended for Adoniram, who was his friend, and he got mad. At first he thought he’d make Bertram hit Adoniram’s uncle, but he was afraid that they might put him in jail if he did that. So he thought a minute, and then he remembered how Uncle Ben had adjusted the microphone, so he turned it up to make it louder, and yelled: “Ouch! You’re hurting me! Ow-ow-ow!”

  Well, you know what happens when you turn the radio on too loud. That was just what happened to Bertram. Adoniram’s aunt and uncle yelled and ran outdoors, and farmers plowing on distant hillsides and housewives washing up the breakfast dishes stopped work and looked up and said: “My goodness, somebody bein’ killed? Over toward the Smith place, seemin’ly.”

  Ronald bawled for quite a while, but at last he stopped and went to the door. Adoniram’s uncle and aunt were whispering to each other and they were as white as two sheets. They stopped when they saw him.

  “Don’t you ever make such a noise again,” said Adoniram’s aunt coming toward him. “My goodness, what will the neighbors think?”

  “We won’t whip you any more,” said Adoniram’s uncle.

  So Ronald turned the microphone down and said: “All right.”

  “Go in and eat your bread and water,” said Adoniram’s aunt.

  “I don’t want anything to eat,” said Bertram, and he picked up his hoe and went back to the potato patch.

  But this time he didn’t do any work at all. He leaned the hoe against a tree and sat down in the grass. Pretty soon he heard a shout: “Adoniraaaam!” But he didn’t move. And presently Adoniram’s uncle came along.

  “Get up,” he said, and when Bertram still didn’t move, Adoniram’s uncle kicked him. And, of course, hurt his toe.

  “See here boy,” he said when he had stopped hopping around, “there’s some things you’ve got to understand. One is, you’re going to work on this farm like you used to do. And the other is, if you try any more monkey business of putting stones in your pockets, I’ll give you a beating you won’t forget.”

  Bertram turned the microphone up again and said: “What?” in a voice that could have been heard six miles.

  “Quiet!” said Adoniram’s uncle, looking around apprehensively. “All right, I won’t whip you again. But you’ve got to do your work. If you don’t, you just won’t get fed, that’s all.”

  “That’s all right with me,” said Bertram.

  “What!” exclaimed Adoniram’s uncle. “You dare say that to me?”

  But Ronald had learned how to talk to him. He turned
the microphone up again and bawled: “I won’t eat and I won’t work!” And Adoniram’s uncle put his hands over his ears and ran.

  “Well, what happens next, I wonder?” said Ronald to himself. But what happened was a pretty big surprise. For Bertram hadn’t been wound up since the morning of the previous day. And suddenly he ran down and fell over flat on his back.

  Ronald was in real trouble now. For the little door he got in and out by was in Bertram’s back, and he couldn’t open it. He got hold of the key that wound Bertram up, but he wasn’t strong enough to turn it. And then he thought for a while, but that didn’t do any good either, because the only thought he had was that he had been a fool to come.

  But after Bertram had lain there for an hour or so, Adoniram’s aunt came out to see if she couldn’t shame him into working.

  “You big lazy hulk,” she said, “aren’t you ashamed of yourself, lying there with all this work to be done!”

  “I’m sick,” said Bertram weakly. “I can’t get up.”

  She stared at him, frowning. “Well, what do you expect,” she said, “if you won’t eat your breakfast?”

  So she stood and argued with him for a while, and then as he still said he was too weak to get up, she went and called her husband.

  “If he’s really sick,” she said, “we must get him in the house.”

  So Adoniram’s uncle leaned down to get hold of him.

  “No, no, it hurts,” said Bertram. “Don’t touch me.” For Ronald was afraid that if they tried to carry Bertram, they’d find out what he really was.

  “Have to call a doctor, I guess,” said Adoniram’s uncle.

  “Nonsense,” said his wife. “Spend good money on doctor’s bills for a worthless lump of a boy? I guess not! I guess you wish you’d let those people adopt him now. What good is he?”

  So they argued for a while, and at last agreed to call the doctor.

  Dr. Murdock was a red-faced old gentleman with white whiskers and glasses that kept falling off. “Well, well, well,” he said when he saw Bertram, “what have we here?” And he felt of Bertram’s wrist. “Pulse very feeble,” he said. “Looks like starvation to me.” And he stared very hard at Adoniram’s uncle and aunt.