The Story of Freginald

by Walter R. Brooks

  “What’s going on?” Freginald asked Oscar, who was striding haughtily past.

  “Some vulgar brawl, no doubt,” said the ostrich disdainfully. “I don’t concern myself with the doings of the rabble.”

  Freginald went on. In the middle of the crowd of people and animals was Mr. Boomschmidt, looking perplexed, and Leo looking noble, and a young leopard with one paw to his face looking as if he was going to cry. Leo was looking noble because he had just done something he was a little ashamed of. Mr. Boomschmidt was looking perplexed because he was accustomed to asking Leo’s advice when things went wrong, and now he couldn’t, because Leo was the culprit. And the leopard was looking as if he was about to cry because he was about to cry.

  “I tell you, boss,” Leo was saying, “he was downright insulting. That’s why I smacked him. You’d have done the same yourself.”

  “I was not insulting,” protested the leopard. “I didn’t say a word.”

  “You giggled,” said Leo.

  “I don’t see how you can stop anybody giggling, Leo,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “If you stopped all the giggling, there wouldn’t be much fun left in the world.”

  “I don’t care how much he giggles. But he can’t giggle at me.”

  “How can you say that, Leo? He did giggle at you, didn’t he?”

  “Sure, That’s what I’m talking about. But—”

  “Then why do you say that he can’t?” demanded Mr. Boomschmidt distractedly. You get me all mixed up, Leo. Oh, Freginald, you’re here, are you? Look, I wish you’d straighten this out. Here’s Leo says this leopard can’t do something and then in the same breath he says he did do it. My goodness, he gets me all confused.”

  They all began talking at once.

  “Listen, boss, I didn’t say he couldn’t—”

  “Well, suppose I did—”

  “He means—”

  Mr. Boomschmidt flapped his handkerchief at them. “Quiet, quiet! I can’t make head nor tail of this, and I don’t think you can either. You’d better shake hands and make up.”

  Leo and the leopard looked at each other doubtfully. They both opened their mouths to say something and then closed them again. They knew it wasn’t any use arguing. This was the way Mr. Boomschmidt always settled quarrels. He got both sides so mixed up by pretending to be mixed up himself that they usually forgot what they were fighting about. They touched paws gingerly and walked away in different directions.

  Freginald fell in beside Leo. The lion was looking very self-conscious. He walked with a sort of dignified prance, lifting his forepaws high at each step like a circus horse, and bowing condescendingly with his neck held very stiff when anybody spoke to him. His mane with its new permanent wave fell across his shoulders in ringlets that glittered beautifully in the sunlight.

  “Well, my boy,” he said, “did you get your doughnuts?”

  “You needn’t be so magnificent to me,” said Freginald. “No, I didn’t. There wasn’t any Mr. Hamburger. Listen, Leo; did you ever hear of anybody named Hackenmeyer?”

  “Hackenmeyer?” said Leo, turning to look at him. “Sure. He used to be Mr. Boomschmidt’s partner. Why?”

  “Oh, nothing,” said Freginald. “I just heard the name.”

  “Sure, I remember him,” said Leo. “Tall, thin man with curly black hair and a long mustache. Nice man, too. He and the chief were together for years. Then they quarreled, and Hackenmeyer went west and organized a circus of his own. I believe he’s still out there.”

  “I shouldn’t think anybody could quarrel with Mr. Boomschmidt.”

  “Well, you see, it was this way: Mr. Hackenmeyer was a great practical joker. He was always playing tricks on people. Not mean tricks, he wasn’t mean. And he always laughed as loud as anybody when the joke was turned back on him. It’s funny you were talking about doughnuts today, because Mr. Hackenmeyer was very fond of them and always had a big jar of them handy, and he was always offering them to us. Sometimes he’d mix a few rubber doughnuts in the jar, and he’d laugh like anything when anybody tried to bite into one. Well, of course he played a lot of jokes on Mr. Boomschmidt. Like making up an apple-pie bed for him or bringing him a candy-box that went bang when you opened it.

  “But after a while the jokes began to be sort of mean. I remember the first time Mr. Boomschmidt got mad. Somebody’d been clipping off little ends of a whisk broom with scissors into his bed and even into his clothes. They hurt, and he went to Mr. Hackenmeyer about it. But Mr. Hackenmeyer said he hadn’t done it. ‘Why, Boom,’ he said, ‘I wouldn’t do a thing like that!’ ‘Well, I didn’t think you would, Hack,’ said Mr. Boomschmidt. But he kept finding the things, just the same. And then one night when everything had been packed up and the wagons were just pulling out to go on to the next town, Mr. Boomschmidt’s wagon collapsed with a crash. And when they looked at it they found that both axles had been sawed almost through, so that as soon as they began to turn they would break.

  “Well, the chief wasn’t hurt, but he was pretty mad. He crawled out of the wreck just as Mr. Hackenmeyer came running up, and he said: ‘Hack, you’ve gone too far this time.’ Well, Mr. Hackenmeyer denied it and said he hadn’t been anywhere near the wagon, and I guess Mr. Boomschmidt was beginning to believe him, when Mendoza—he was ringmaster then, a Spanish-looking fellow with straight black hair—Mendoza came running up with a saw and part of a whisk broom and a pair of scissors in his hand. ‘Where’d you get these?’ asked the chief, and Mendoza said: ‘In Mr. Hackenmeyer’s wagon.’

  “So that settled it. The chief didn’t say anything, just motioned to Mr. Hackenmeyer, and they both went into Hackenmeyer’s wagon. After about an hour they came out, and Mr. Hackenmeyer had his suitcase in his hand. He just looked at Mr. Boomschmidt and said: ‘Good-by, Boom,’ and Mr. Boomschmidt started to hold out his hand and then pulled it back and said: ‘Good-by, Hack.’ And Mr. Hackenrneyer went off down the road. It wasn’t until a year later that we heard he’d started up another circus in the West, with the money Mr. Boomschmidt had paid him for his half of the show.” They had got to the big tent now, and they stopped for a minute before going in to line up with the rest of the performers for the grand march which always began the performance. Freginald wished that he hadn’t been obliged to give his word to Lucky not to talk about Mr. Hackenmeyer, for this certainly must be the same Mr. Hackenmeyer, and yet there were some things he didn’t at all understand. For, by Leo’s account, Mr. Hackenmeyer was a kind man who was, moreover, fond of doughnuts. And whatever else the Mr. Hackenmeyer of the beauty shop might be, he was not kind. And he had certainly said that he didn’t like doughnuts.

  Freginald was puzzling over it as he stood with Leo watching the other animals pushing past to get into line. For a moment everyone was held up by the politeness of a couple of zebras, each insisting that the other should go in first. There was a shrill little laugh, and over the backs of the crowding animals Freginald saw Eustace, riding on the back of one of the horses and staring hard at Leo’s mane.

  Leo had heard the laugh and he shoved through the crowd. “Are you laughing at me?” he demanded fiercely of the mouse.

  But Eustace wasn’t scared. “Why, no, Leo,” he said. “Ought I to laugh? Are you trying to be funny?”

  “You’d better not laugh, that’s all,” said Leo.

  “You mean you don’t want me to laugh,” said the mouse seriously. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place? I didn’t think you did, really, because—” He hesitated as the crowd surged forward again.

  “Well?” said Leo crossly.

  “Because if you had, you’d have tied some pink ribbons in that frizzy mane,” shouted Eustace as the horse carried him away from Leo. Then as the tent door swallowed him up: “Hey, Leo,” he yelled, “can I have the next dance?”

  “I think that permanent was a mistake, Leo,” said Freginald. “You can’t fight with a mouse, and you certainly can’t argue with all these animals.”

  “Maybe you’re
right,” said the lion. “But it does look nice, doesn’t it?”

  Freginald was about to say something consoling when there came a burst of band music. “Hurry,” he said, “or we’ll be late. They’ve started the march.”

  But Leo looked puzzled. “That music wasn’t from our band in the tent.” He looked over his shoulder, then gave a gasp. “Well, dye my hair!” he exclaimed. “Look at that!”

  Freginald turned. Along the road which ran past the circus grounds another circus parade was coming. It might have been the Boomschmidt circus except that the uniforms and wagons were blue and gold instead of red and gold.

  Down the road they came—the drum major in a hat three feet high, tossing his shining stick into the air, the band, the elephants and camels, the performers in spangles and bright uniforms, and the long rows of barred wagons with “Hackenmeyer” printed on the sides. The drum major looked familiar to Freginald. Of course! It was Lucky. And the man on the pony who kept cantering up and down the line was Pedro. But Mr. Hackenmeyer himself was not to be seen.

  Many of the audience who had already taken their seats came rushing out to watch this new spectacle. A good many of the performers came out too. But Mr. Boomschmidt, shouting and gesticulating, herded them back in. “Good gracious,” he exclaimed, “haven’t you ever seen a circus before? Back—get back in your places! We’re going to start the show. What do we care if it rains circuses? Our show goes on.”

  Gradually they went back into the tent, the music started, and the grand march began. But though most of the audience who had already paid for their tickets came back, a great many who had been in line at the ticket booth followed the other parade. Some of Mr. Boomschmidt’s animals followed it too, for though they had been in a good many parades, they had never stood and watched one go by. Mr. Boomschmidt, standing by the ticket-taker, shook his head. “My goodness,” he said, “if Hack wants to come back and give shows in this territory it’s all right with me. But what sense is there in coming to a town the same day I’m here? He just takes people away from me and I take people away from him. We both lose money. I guess I’d better try to see him, eh, Jake?”

  “Suppose I go over after our show begins,” said the ticket-taker. “I think he aims to camp just below here by the river. I’ll ask him to come over and have a talk with you.”

  But just as Mademoiselle Rose galloped into the ring to give her exhibition of bareback riding, Jack came back. “Well,” he said, “I went down.”

  “Did you see him?” asked Mr. Boomschmidt.

  “He wouldn’t see me. And he sent out word that he won’t see you, either. He says—well, it don’t sound so pleasant, boss. He says he’ll mind his business, and you mind yours, and let the public decide which one has the best show.”

  Mr. Boomschmidt turned redder than usual. “Why, to think,” he said, “of old Hack sending me a message like that! Well, my goodness, if he feels that way, he can stay in Hilldale. We’ll give up the performance tomorrow and move on tonight.”

  And so that night, after the show was over, the tents came down and were rolled up and stowed away, and the red and gold wagons creaked off down the road toward the next stop.

  CHAPTER 14

  Mr. Boomschmidt felt pretty badly about the way his old partner had treated him. But it was nothing to the way he felt when the next morning, as the tents were being put up in the fair grounds at Seever Falls, the Hackenmeyer wagons and the Hackenmeyer animals came trooping in and the Hackenmeyer tents began to go up at the other end of the grounds. “My gracious,” he said, “what’s the matter with Hack, anyway? There isn’t room for two shows in a little town like this. Come along, Leo; let’s go over and have a talk with him.”

  So he started across to the other circus. But at the first wagon he was met by two rough-looking men who told him to go back. He explained and argued, but the men were firm. Mr. Hackenmeyer, they said, didn’t want to see him, didn’t want anything to do with him. He came back very pink and angry.

  “Very well,” he said. “Very well. If that’s the way he feels about it, that’s the way he feels. Now, Leo, Hannibal—all you boys; do your best today. We’ll put on a performance that is a performance. We’ll show him who’s got the best circus.”

  It was a great day for Seever Falls, having two circuses at once. The people put on their Sunday clothes and locked up their stores and put the keys under the doormats and came up to the fair grounds in a body. More than fifteen children got lost and had to be found and restored to their parents, and seven little boys and two grown-ups had stomach-aches from too much candy and lemonade. It was a day that was talked of in Seever Falls for months afterwards.

  But at two o’clock, when both performances began, Mr. Boomschmidt was pretty discouraged. For every person who had gone into his big tent, three had gone into Mr. Hackenmeyer’s. Three quarters of his seats were empty. And his side shows had not taken in enough money to pay for keeping them open. There was only one thing to do. As soon as the performance was over, the circus packed up and started off for Meigsville.

  But at Meigsville the same thing happened. Mr. Hackenmeyer’s wagons were not an hour behind Mr. Boomschmidt’s. The two shows opened together; and again the Hackenmeyer tent was packed to the roof, while the Boomschmidt tent held a mere scattering of people. And at Roberston and Brocknell and Panther Bay the story was the same. It was plain that Mr. Hackenmeyer intended to drive Mr. Boomschmidt out of business.

  At first nobody understood why the people seemed to prefer Mr. Hackenmeyer’s show. But after a week or so they began to understand. The Boomschmidt animals almost never went into their cages except when they wanted to get away from the people. They were tame—even the tigers could be seen any day walking around and giving little boys rides on their backs. They were clever; they could do some remarkable tricks. But they weren’t in the least dangerous.

  But the Hackenmeyer animals were really wild animals. They were kept locked up and not treated very well or given much to eat, and so they were cross, and scared people. And most people like to be scared by wild animals as long as they are sure that there isn’t really any danger to themselves. It was a lot more thrilling to see Mr. Hackenmeyer go into a cage of lions that might really eat him up than to see Mr. Boomschmidt riding around on a tiger that they had been playing checkers with in the grocery store that morning.

  And then, too, Mr. Hackenmeyer made his performers do tricks that were really dangerous, while Mr. Boomschmidt wouldn’t let his people or animals do risky things even if they wanted to. So of course Mr. Hackenmeyer’s circus was much more exciting to see, though not nearly as much fun.

  One evening after about two weeks Mr. Boomschmidt called a meeting of the entire circus. He explained that he was losing a good deal more money than he could afford, and said that he thought the best thing to do was to go back down to the farm they had got from the robbers and stay there for a while. They could live there comfortably and all have a good time together until they could make some other plans.

  There was a good deal of argument. Quite a large party, headed by Leo, were for fighting. Leo made a very stirring speech about it. “There are more of us,” he said, “and we are better fed. Why, they haven’t even got a rhinoceros. Look what Jerry could do to that outfit in just a couple of shots. Give the word, chief,” he said, “and we’ll march down on that gang of cut-throats tonight. Why, dye my hair!” he shouted, “are we men or are we mice? (I beg your pardon, Eustace,” he said to the mouse, who had risen to protest.) “Are we going to see Mr. Boomschmidt, our benefactor, put upon and insulted in our own tent and not raise hoof nor claw to avenge it? Are you with me, boys? Then come on!”

  There was a roar of approval and somebody started the marching song, but Mr. Boomschmidt waved his hands frantically. No, he said, there must be no fighting. “My word, we could win all right. But some of you would be hurt. And, my goodness, Hackenmeyer’s animals aren’t to blame, either. No sense punishing them. No, you’ll have to
think of something else.”

  But nobody could. And so at last Mr. Boomschmidt said that he’d wait another week, and then if nobody could think of a remedy, they would start south. And the meeting broke up.

  A number of the animals had already tried in various ways to spoil the Hackenmeyer show. They hadn’t said anything about this to Mr. Boomschmidt, for they had known that he wouldn’t approve of what they were doing. And they hadn’t really accomplished much, for Mr. Hackenmeyer’s people kept a good watch and it wasn’t easy to get anywhere near his tents without being observed. Eustace had sneaked over one night and stampeded the elephants. And another time, just before the show, when the circus grounds were crowded with visitors, Leo had taken the lions and tigers over. They had galloped around among the tents, roaring and snarling ferociously, and the people had run screaming from them, for they thought of course that they were Mr. Hackenmeyer’s bad-tempered lions and tigers who had broken out of their cages. That day Mr. Hackenmeyer’s show played to empty benches. But it wasn’t enough just to annoy Mr. Hackenmeyer and break up a few of his performances.

  The animals thought and thought. As soon as their work was over for the day they would go off by themselves where it was quiet and think. You could hardly walk in any direction from the camp between performances without stumbling over some animal sitting alone, with his eyes shut and ears drooping, thinking. You might almost have thought that they were asleep. And indeed quite often they were asleep.

  All this thinking going on depressed Mr. Boomschmidt even more. “My goodness,” he said, “it’s bad enough to have nobody coming to see the show without having all you animals acting this way. I wish you’d stop it. You don’t catch me thinking, do you? I guess not! I’ve got enough trouble without doing that.”

  The animals said: “Yes, sir,” and went right on thinking—all except Oscar, who said that it made him have bad dreams. Freginald was one of the chief thinkers, and indeed he had more to think about than the others. He wished that he hadn’t given his word not to say anything about Mr. Hackenmeyer getting his hair and mustache curled, for somehow, he felt, that fact was important. But he couldn’t seem to figure out why.