Freddy the Magician
Page 14
Dinner on the second day finished the magician. He came in and sat down at his table, but although no caterpillars or beetles appeared, he shuddered so in anticipation of their appearance that he couldn’t hold his soup spoon, and in a few minutes he left and went up to his room. The mice, who were still posted in Freddy’s old room, reported that he was packing.
“That’s all right,” said Freddy. “I heard this morning that he tried to get a room at Mrs. Peppercorn’s. But she wouldn’t take him. I don’t believe anybody else would, either; he’ll have to leave town. That’s all right too, but he still owes Mr. Groper ninety dollars. Check up if you can, Eeny, and see if he has that much left.”
“Yeah, he has,” said Eeny. “You remember that hundred he had hidden in his suitcase? I saw him count it and put it in his pocket.”
“Oh dear,” said Freddy, “he’ll probably leave town today, then. If we could only get him alone—but I don’t see how we can, and anyway there aren’t enough of us to handle him.”
“Leo would help us,” said Jinx. “He hasn’t gone back to Binghamton yet; they’re having such a good time at the jail that Mr. Boomschmidt decided to stay a couple days longer.”
“I hate to let him get away without paying,” Freddy said; “but even with Leo I don’t see what we could do.”
They were in Mr. Groper’s private office at the hotel—the cats, two of the mice, the spiders, the bug volunteers, and Freddy. They all looked pretty gloomy, even the caterpillars, although they haven’t much in the way of faces to look gloomy with, and aren’t really very emotional anyway. And Cousin Augustus darted in.
“He’s leaving tonight on the eight-fifteen bus,” the mouse panted. “Just heard him tell Presto.”
“Well, I guess we’re sunk,” said Jinx.
“Wait a minute!” said Freddy. “That bus station is by the drugstore, up Main Street; opposite it there’s a vacant lot, isn’t there? Come on, Jinx, let’s walk up and look at the place; I’ve got an idea.”
Carrying his two suitcases and the bag in which Presto traveled, Signor Zingo left the hotel at quarter to eight to walk up Main Street to the bus station. He didn’t know it was quarter to eight; he thought it was eight o’clock, because at Freddy’s request, Mr. Groper had set the hotel clock ahead quarter of an hour. He was angry when he got to the station and found how early it was. He put his bags down outside the drugstore and sat on them, then he lit one of his long thin cigars and sat looking out across the vacant lot on the opposite side of the street.
Suddenly something caught his eye. Behind the stone wall on the far side of the lot something moved. He watched, idly at first, then with more interest as a head wearing an Indian war bonnet came up above the wall. Then a figure—which he couldn’t see very clearly because it was beginning to grow dark—climbed the wall and came dancing towards him. It wore an Indian suit, and it flapped its arms and made insulting gestures. “Yaaaah!” it shouted. “The big brave magician! Chased out of town by a big bad caterpillar! Haw, haw, haw! Who got kissed by a wasp!”
One or two people who had been standing around in front of the drugstore laughed, and one of them said: “Look out, mister; he’ll hypnotize you again.”
“Maybe he’ll make you pay your hotel bill,” said the sheriff, who was leaning against the side of the building, chewing a straw.
Zingo sneered at him. “If he can make me pay anything after the way I have been treated, I’ll eat my hat.”
The figure in the Indian suit thumbed his nose at the magician, and sang:
Zingo, Stingo had a new trick:
Kissed the wasps and made them sick.
When the wasps came out to sting
Zingo ran like anything!
And he sang:
Zing was in his bedroom, counting stolen money;
Zing was in his bedroom, talking to his bunny;
Zing came out upon the stage, in his best clothes,
And along came a big wasp and stung him on the nose!
And he sang:
Sing a song of Zingo, pocket full of lies;
Four and twenty waspses, baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened the wasps began to sting.
Wasn’t that a pretty dish to set before old Zing?
Zingo snarled at the crowd, which had grown larger, and was laughing heartily. He half-turned to pick up his bags and go inside the store. Then suddenly his temper blew up—as Freddy had been sure it would. He whirled and started running across the street towards his tormentor. The sheriff said: “Here, none of that, now!” and ran after him.
The Indian suit turned and ran too; it flopped across the wall and ducked down just as Zingo caught up. The magician vaulted the wall—and felt himself seized and held motionless by two immensely powerful forepaws. And a deep voice said: “Well, dye my hair if it isn’t old Zing! Hello, Zing; how’s the sorcery business?”
Of course it was not Freddy at all, as, in the dim light, Zingo had supposed, but Leo, wearing Freddy’s war bonnet and Indian suit—which aside from being rather short in the sleeves, wasn’t much too tight for him. Freddy was a rather portly pig.
“Dear old Zing!” said Leo, and hugged him. “My, it’s good to see you again!” And he gave him another hug.
“Dear old Zing!” said Leo, and hugged him.
Zingo’s breath went out of him with a Whoosh! He couldn’t have spoken even if he had had anything to say. The sheriff, who had come up, sat down on the wall and looked on with a pleased expression.
“Well, well; nothing to say to your old pal?” said the lion. “Kind of overcome with happiness, I expect. Well, let’s just sit down here a while and talk about old times.”
“Let me go!” Zingo panted. “I—I’ll miss my bus. Sheriff, I appeal to you—”
“I’ll make a note of it,” said the sheriff indifferently.
“Lots of time,” said Leo. “I’ve got something for you—a little going-away present, you might say. Just reach in my pocket and pull out that paper.”
Zingo obeyed. The paper was a bill for ninety dollars for board and lodging, marked “Paid in full,” and signed by Mr. Groper.
“Isn’t that nice of Groper?” said Leo. “He knew you wouldn’t feel right about going away without settling your bill. And of course we all know how absent-minded you are.”
“Ninety dollars!” Zingo said. “I haven’t got any ninety dollars. You tell Mr. Groper …”
“Oh, pooh!” said Leo. “What’s ninety dollars to a magician? Just a few passes in the air and there’s your ninety bucks, right in your hand.”
“But I tell you,” Zingo began—
And then Leo growled. It wasn’t a loud growl, but it was so low, so ferocious, that Zingo shivered. “All right,” he said in a dull voice. “Let go my arm.” He felt in an inside pocket and brought out the money.
“Well, well,” said the sheriff; “there’s one other little formality, and then you can get your bus. Come along, mister.”
“Hey, what’s all this?” Zingo demanded. “You can’t hold me here. I—” He stopped and stared as Freddy and Mr. Groper came out from behind a shed that stood a little way above the wall, and walked down to the group. “This is a conspiracy!” he said. “Sheriff, I demand your protection.”
“Sure, sure,” said the sheriff. “Don’t you worry—I’ll protect you. That’s what the law’s for—to give you protection. And also to see that you keep your promises. Like paying bills, and so on.”
“Well, I’ve paid my hotel bill,” said Zingo. “What more do they want?”
“There’s another promise you just made,” said the sheriff. “About your hat. Remember? You were going to eat it. Twice you’ve promised that. Now you’ve got to come through.”
Zingo protested violently, but Leo and the sheriff took him by the arms and led him down to the drugstore. They made him unpack his hat; then they took him into the store and sat him on the end stool at the soda fountain, and they cut the hat up with scissors and p
ut it on a plate and salted and peppered it.
“OK, now eat it up,” said Leo.
Zingo looked with distaste at his plate. “I—I can’t,” he said. “Anyway, you’ll make me miss my bus.”
“If you eat fast you’ll catch it all right,” said the sheriff.
The magician put a piece of the hat in his mouth and chewed and swallowed it. Then he started on a second piece. Just then the bus drove up. Zingo tried to get down from his stool, but Leo pushed him back on and held him. The bus passengers, when they heard what was going on, got out and crowded into the drugstore, and after the driver had blown his horn a few times, he shrugged his shoulders and got out and joined the crowd.
Freddy turned to Leo: “I think we ought to let him go,” he said. “He’s had enough.”
“Well, crack my incisors!” said the lion. “Going soft on us again?” He stared at Zingo, who was doggedly chewing his third bit of hat. “We’ve got to teach him a lesson. Besides, it’s the first time he’s eaten anything he’s paid for himself in a long time. Still and all,” he added thoughtfully, “we don’t want the guy to get sick.”
“Inadvisable to produce digestive disturbances,” Mr. Groper agreed.
So they let Zingo off. The passengers crowded back, shouting and laughing, into the bus, and Freddy helped Zingo stuff the remains of the hat into a suitcase. Then he took a ten dollar bill from his pocket and held it out to the magician.
“What’s this?” Zingo asked suspiciously.
“For a new hat,” said Freddy. “I’ve no wish to take more from you than we’ve got coming.”
Zingo took the bill, folded it slowly and put it in his pocket. The anger faded out of his face. “Well,” he said awkwardly, “thanks. Nobody ever gave me a break before.”
“I don’t quite believe that,” Freddy said. “You worked for Mr. Boomschmidt, and I know he’d give you the breaks.”
“Yeah,” Zingo said. “I guess you’re right. I’ve got an awful bad temper—it’s always getting me into things.”
Freddy didn’t say anything. Zingo was just making excuses for himself; he wasn’t really sorry. If nobody ever gave him a break, it was because he never gave anybody else one. There wasn’t much you could do with a person like that. But Freddy had won; there was no use rubbing it in.
“Well, so long,” he said. “Good luck.” And Zingo got into the bus.
As they walked back to the hotel, Mr. Groper said: “I guess I got to apologize for my underestimation of the remarkable efficiency of your strategical manoeuvers, by the instrumentality of which same retributive justice has been unerringly dealt out. I also got to acknowledge gratitude, not only for monetary indemnification, but for elimination of the cause of the decrement in my assets.” Here he shook Freddy by the hand. “The comestibles prepared in the culinary precincts of my caravansary are your permanent perquisites and upon demand will be served gratis in unlimited quantity to yourself and companions whether extempore or at a predetermined time. This ain’t your pecuniary emolument, for which I anticipate you will render a statement, but is in the nature of an augmentation, subsidy or bonus in recognition of exceptionally sedulous assiduity combined with judicious and perspicacious opportunism. I trust you find it adequate.” And he patted Freddy on the shoulder.
“Why—why, sure,” said Freddy. He wasn’t certain that it was the right answer. But what would you have said?
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1947 by Walter R. Brooks
ISBN: 978-1-4976-9221-3
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