Freddy’s Cousin Weedly

by Walter R. Brooks

  “I guess Henrietta does, too,” Hank remarked.

  “Oh, you heard that, did you?” said Charles. “Yes, Henrietta is very conscientious. She’s always afraid I’m not going to get out here in time. You know how women are! But, my goodness, I was all ready. I’d have been out here all right.” He crowed again. “You’ll excuse me, Hank, but I’ll have to go on singing for a while. Dear me, I’m in very good voice this morning.” And he crowed some more.

  “You and Jinx!” Hank grumbled. “There’s too much singing around here, if you ask me. And now that young Weedly has tuned up, too. You ought to get up a quartet and charge admission.”

  “I’m afraid you don’t know much about music, Hank,” said the rooster. “You have to have four for a quartet.”

  “Well, good grief, it ought to be easy to get a fourth. All you have to do is be able to yell. I can yell myself, if it comes to that.”

  “But it isn’t just yelling,” said Charles, and he crowed again. “You see? It’s a song. You have to sing the first notes just so, and then the last has to be a long, clear, beautiful note that dies away into silence. Gay, but with just a little touch of sadness, if you know what I mean. Listen.” And he crowed again.

  “Yeah,” said Hank. “It’s beautiful, all right. But now you listen to me.” He threw up his head and opened his mouth and let out a long, shrill neigh.

  “Good gracious, Hank,” exclaimed the rooster, “don’t. Don’t!”

  “Gay enough for you?” asked Hank. “And I hope you noticed the sadness. That comes in at the end. Listen; I’ll show you.” And he neighed again.

  But Charles had had enough. He tumbled off the fence and legged it for the henhouse, from which a number of startled heads were peering. Hank neighed once more for good measure, and then he trotted toward the barn. “Music, eh?” he said. “I’ll give ’em music.”

  But Hank’s musical efforts had startled others besides Charles and his family. In the house, Aunt Effie and Uncle Snedeker had been sound asleep. Charles’ crowing had awakened them, and they were just thinking about getting up when Hank neighed the first time.

  “What’s that?” said Aunt Effie, and she jumped up and ran to the window.

  “What’s that?” said Uncle Snedeker, and he pulled the bedclothes up over his head.

  Then Hank neighed twice more.

  Aunt Effie continued to stare out of the window, and after a minute she said: “Snedeker, there’s a horse down by the henhouse. He must have got out in the night. Go on down and get him into the barn.” But of course Uncle Snedeker didn’t hear her, because his ears were under a sheet and two patchwork quilts and a down comfortable.

  “Snedeker!” said Aunt Effie again, and then she turned around and saw that Uncle Snedeker was only a mound under the bedclothes. So she came and pulled the bedclothes off.

  “Indians!” moaned Uncle Snedeker. “That was the warwhoop. They’re coming, Effie. Eh, we’ll all be murdered in our beds.”

  “You will, if you don’t get out and catch that horse,” said Aunt Effie, and she yanked him out and pulled him over to the window. “See him?” He must have got out in the night.” And she pointed to Hank, who was trotting toward the barn.

  “Eh, Effie,” mumbled Uncle Snedeker, “but that’s the way they come. They hang down on the other side of the horse, and shoot at you under his neck. You want to send me out to be murdered?”

  Aunt Effie let go of him and shook her head. “Seems to me,” she said, “you’re old enough to stop playing Indians. Well, go on back to bed. I’ll get him myself.” And she put on a blue flannel bathrobe with yellow stripes, and a pair of slippers with pink bows, and she tied a red shawl over her curlpapers and picked up her broom and went out.

  But by the time she had done all that, Hank was back in the barn.

  Now most animals are accustomed to being waited on by humans, and so they get out of the habit of doing things for themselves. But the animals on the Bean farm had wanted to help Mr. Bean all they could, and so, even when the Beans were home, they looked after themselves, and even did most of the farm work. So Hank was used to doing his own housekeeping. He went over to the oat bin and lifted the cover with his nose, and started to eat his breakfast. Just then Aunt Effie came into the barn.

  Aunt Effie didn’t know much about horses, but she did know that they shouldn’t be allowed to help themselves to oats.

  “Here, here!” she said. “Get back in your stall, you!” And she brandished her broom threateningly.

  Hank hadn’t finished, but he knew he could go back to the bin after she had gone, so he went into his stall. Aunt Effie scooped up a measure of oats, and poured it into his manger. “Poor creature!” she said. “No wonder you got in the oat bin. What a way to treat animals!” Then she saw the water that had leaked down through the floor above. She went upstairs, and Hank heard her walking around in the loft. Pretty soon she came down and went in the house, and after a while Uncle Snedeker came out. He had his big, wide-brimmed hat on, and was carrying a ladder and a hammer and nails. He found some shingles in the barn, and then he climbed up and started to patch the roof. He didn’t work very fast, because his hat brim was so wide that nearly every time he raised the hammer he knocked it off. Usually it rolled off the roof to the ground, and then he had to climb down and put it on again. After a while, though, he discovered that if he tilted the hat over to the left, the hammer didn’t hit the brim on the way up. But every now and then, on the way down, it hit his thumb. He wasn’t a very good carpenter.

  Jinx and Little Weedly, who had been sleeping late, were disturbed by the hammering, and by Uncle Snedeker’s remarks when he hit his thumb, so they got up, and were just going down to see Freddy, when Freddy came in the door.

  “Morning, boys,” said the pig. “Say, Hank, you were going to mow the upper meadow today, weren’t you?”

  “Well,” said Hank, “I sort of calculated to. If somebody’ll help hitch me up to the mowing machine.”

  “Well, now look,” said Freddy. “We don’t want Aunt Effie to think we can run this farm. Let the hay go. Then I’ll write a note on my typewriter, and leave it in the mail box. Something like this:

  “Dear Madam:

  The hay in the upper meadow must be mowed right away. Maybe it’s none of my business if Mr. Bean wants to let his farm go to rack and ruin, but I can’t stand by and see good hay spoiled.

  From an Admirer.

  “Then, you see, she’ll feel that she ought to stay until the hay is all cut and in the barn, and that’ll take several days. After that we can think of something else.”

  “That’s a good idea, Freddy,” said Jinx. “But why did you sign it ‘Admirer’? Why not just ‘Friend’?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said the pig. “I thought it would make her more anxious to get the hay in, for one thing. If you think somebody appreciates what you do, you like doing it better. And then, you know, I do sort of admire her, at that. She may be trying to steal that teapot, but on the other hand, she didn’t have to patch the barn roof.”

  “She was real upset when she thought I hadn’t had enough to eat,” said Hank.

  “I guess she’s good in spots, like a lot of people,” said Jinx. “I had a cousin like that. He lived with old Miss Halsey, down in Centerboro. If ever a cat was a saint, he was. He chased the mice out of the house, and he always sat in her lap and purred, even when he wanted to go hunting. And yet, every time she went out, he went up into the spare bedroom and curled up on her best lace counterpane.”

  “Don’t see what difference it made, as long as she didn’t find out,” said Hank.

  “It wasn’t very good for the counterpane,” said Jinx. “And she did find out, too. One day he jumped down quick when he heard her coming in the front door, and he caught a claw in the lace and couldn’t get loose. He struggled and struggled, but the harder he tried, the more he got wound up in the lace. Miss Halsey heard him, and she came upstairs and found him.”

  “
What did she do?” Freddy asked.

  “I don’t know. He never would talk about that afterward.”

  “Well,” said Freddy, “as long as you think it’s a good idea, I’ll go write that letter and get it in the mail box before the mail man comes along. And if either of you think of anything else, to keep the Snedekers busy, let me know.” And he trotted off toward the pigpen.

  “Come along, Weedly,” said the cat. “We’ll go over to the cowbarn and see if Mrs. Wiggins has heard anything from Mr. Webb yet. Though I don’t suppose she has. Webb won’t start out before the dew’s off the grass.”

  Little Weedly, who had been trying to hide behind Jinx during the talk with Freddy and Hank, gave a sigh. “Now—do we have to go see the cows, Uncle Jinx? I—I don’t like cows very well.”

  “Pooh,” said Jinx. “Everybody likes Mrs. Wiggins. She’s got a heart of gold. And so have Mrs. Wurzburger and Mrs. Wogus. Come along.”

  Weedly didn’t say any more, but when he came to the door of the cowbarn he drooped his ears, and the curl came out of his tail, and he pressed tight against Jinx.

  The three cows were standing with their backs to the door, but at Jinx’s loud “good morning” they turned around, and when they saw Little Weedly, all three sat down suddenly, and closed their eyes, and put their right front hoofs over their hearts, and said: “Oh! Oh, dear! Oh, dear me!”

  “Oh! Oh, dear! Oh, dear me.”

  Jinx had a hard time not to giggle, but he managed to keep a straight face. “Well, well,” he said, “what’s the matter?”

  “Oh!” gasped Mrs. Wurzburger, opening one eye, “take that ferocious animal out of here before I faint!”

  “Why, good gracious,” said Jinx, “it’s only Freddy’s cousin, Little Weedly, who has come over to pay us a visit.”

  “Take him away!” said Mrs. Wiggins without opening her eyes. “Oh, the great glaring eyes of him!”

  “What’s the matter with them, Uncle Jinx?” asked Weedly, looking over the cat’s shoulder.

  “Oh, that great voice!” groaned Mrs. Wogus. “It’s like the roaring of lions!” And then Mrs. Wiggins rolled right over on her side, apparently in a dead faint.

  “I guess we’d better get out of here,” said Jinx. Indeed he wanted to laugh so badly that he knew if he didn’t get out he would spoil the effect of the whole show. He led Weedly outside. “I guess they were afraid of you, Weedly,” he said.

  “But what are they afraid of me for?” asked the pig. He didn’t seem to want to leave the cowbarn, and he kept turning around and looking over his shoulder.

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” said the cat. “I expect they thought you might bite them. You do look pretty determined, you know.”

  “Do I really?” said Weedly. “But I wouldn’t bite them. I—I sort of liked them, Uncle Jinx. Couldn’t we go back now? Maybe they’d feel better if you told them that I wouldn’t hurt them.”

  “Later, perhaps,” said Jinx. Weedly had stopped pressing close to him, and was trotting along beside him almost self-confidently. “You see,” said Jinx, “most of the animals on this farm are a little timid with strangers. I thought we might look in on one or two of the others, so they’ll get to know you. They’ll probably be a little scared of you at first, so I’d be very quiet and not say very much until they know you better. Let’s go down to the pond and have a chat with the ducks. Maybe they’ll invite you to have a swim.”

  “Will they be scared of me?” asked Weedly.

  “They’re pretty bashful,” said Jinx, “but you just act as if you didn’t notice it, and it’ll pass off. It always does.”

  “Does it? I’ve always been pretty bashful myself, Uncle Jinx.”

  “Have you really?” said the cat. “I should never have suspected it. No,” he said thoughtfully, “to me you seemed quite sure of yourself. I should have imagined that you’d be at home in any company—sort of all things to all animals. That’s why I invited you to come over and stay with me. Of course, you acted bashful when Freddy and I came over to your house, but I thought you were just doing that to please your mother.

  “And of course you must remember,” he said, “that everybody is a little bashful. I suppose you wouldn’t believe it, but I am, myself.”

  Jinx’s whiskers twitched when he said this, and well they might, for if ever there was a cat who hadn’t an ounce of bashfulness in him from the tip of his black nose to the tip of his black tail, that cat was Jinx. But fortunately Little Weedly didn’t know that a cat’s whiskers always twitch when he isn’t telling the truth. For that matter, perhaps you didn’t know it either. But next time you suspect that your cat is not telling you the truth, you watch his whiskers.

  Chapter 5

  While Jinx was taking Little Weedly around to call on some of the other animals, Aunt Effie finished up her housework. Then she looked out of the window to make sure that Uncle Snedeker was doing what she had told him to, and then she went up in the attic to hunt for the teapot. She opened chests and barrels and boxes and trunks. She found a lot of queer things, as anyone does who hunts around in an attic, and at last she came to the old horsehide trunk.

  On a shelf over the trunk was a toy steam engine that Mr. Bean used to play with when he was a little boy. Mr. and Mrs. Webb were sitting in the engineer’s seat, looking out. They often sat there, because they were very fond of travel, and they could imagine that they were steaming off across the countryside at sixty miles an hour to visit strange distant lands. Mr. Webb was the engineer and Mrs. Webb was the passenger. “All aboard,” Mr. Webb would say: “All aboard for Persia, Mesopotamia, China and points east.” Then, after a minute he would say: “Here we are, mother. Just pulling into the station at Samarkand. See those Arabs there on the camels—that’s a caravan of rubies and pearls from the Persian Gulf.” And Mrs. Webb would say: “My land, father, let’s stop them and buy a couple of quarts to take home to Mrs. Bean.” They had lots of fun that way, and Mrs. Webb always said it was much the best way to travel. There was no bother of tickets, or catching trains, and you always slept in your own bed at night. And when you got tired of traveling, you just stopped, and there you were at home.

  When Aunt Effie came up into the attic, the Webbs were touring in the Desert of Sahara, but they stopped the tour right away and watched her. When she came to the horsehide trunk, she started to open it, and then she paused. “Goodness!” she said. “Look at those cobwebs all over the lock! That trunk can’t have been opened in years. Well, the teapot can’t be in there.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Webb giggled delightedly. They had spent half the night spinning those webs just to make the trunk look as if it hadn’t been opened in a long time. It was a smart idea, all right, but they hadn’t counted on the fact that Aunt Effie was such a good housekeeper. She took her broom and swept the cobwebs off the trunk. And then she said: “Well, I might as well see what’s in it, anyway.”

  Three minutes later she had rushed out to the barn with the teapot in her hand, and was holding it up triumphantly for Uncle Snedeker to see.

  And three minutes after that, every animal on the farm knew that the teapot was in the hands of the enemy.

  Aunt Effie didn’t hide the teapot away. She got out Mrs. Bean’s best tea cups and arranged them on a little table in the parlor as if for a teaparty, and she put down the teapot in the middle of them. She looked at them for a while, smiling and rubbing her hands, and then she sat down and practiced pouring out imaginary tea for imaginary guests.

  She was interrupted in this pleasant occupation by the sound of a car stopping at the gate. It was the mailman, so she went out to speak to him.

  “Good morning,” said the mail man. “Why! Are the Beans home?”

  “No,” said Aunt Effie. “I’m Mr. Bean’s aunt. We’re staying here while they’re away.”

  “I suppose you wonder why I’m stopping here, then,” said the man. “But there’s always a picture postcard from some foreign place for one of the animals. Mrs. Bean certa
inly is fond of those animals! There’s one for Freddy this morning.”

  “For the animals!” exclaimed Aunt Effie. “You mean she—she writes to them?”

  “See for yourself,” said the man, handing her the postcard.

  It was a picture of the Eiffel Tower in Paris, and on it Mrs. Bean had written: “This is quite a nice place, only Mr. Bean can’t get his Pride of the Farm pipe mixture here, and you know he never smokes anything else. Lovely weather. Wish you were with us.”

  “‘Wish you were with us’!” said Aunt Effie. “A pig in Paris! Well, that would be just fine!”

  The mail man looked at her curiously, and then he said: “Well, I must be getting on.”

  “Just a minute,” said Aunt Effie. “I wonder if you can tell me who our nearest neighbors are? I—well, I thought it would be nice to give some of the ladies a little teaparty—to get acquainted with them, you know. We didn’t get here until after the Beans had left, so I couldn’t ask them. But I suppose you’d know.”

  The mail man shook his head. “Most of the folks around here are too busy to go in for teaparties much. There’s Mrs. Witherspoon, over the hill. But she hasn’t been out of the house in ten years. Don’t get time. There’s old Miss McQuee. But she don’t ever drink anything but coffee. No ma’am, this isn’t very good teaparty territory, and that’s the truth.”

  He drove off. As Aunt Effie turned to go into the house she caught sight of the note Freddy had left in the mail box. She took it out and read it. Then she hurried across to the barn.

  “Snedeker!” she called to her husband. “Haven’t you finished that roof yet?”