“Why, yes, I s’pose I’d ought to. I hate to think of those poor fellows lying there starving in that dark cave. But I hate worse to think of Webb in that shoe box. Still, I wouldn’t be much help in fighting gangsters, would I?”
Walt, who was not afraid of spiders, had put his ear down close to Mrs. Webb too. “Hey!” he exclaimed delightedly. “She really can talk! Listen to her, Joe.”
Joe backed off.
“But what does she mean about fighting gangsters?” Walt asked.
So the animals explained about how Jack had come up and got the box with the money and—probably—Mr. Webb in it, and had gone to Anderson’s house.
Joe said: “Walt, you go in with your spider friend and get the boys out. I’ll go with these folks down to Anderson’s and see what there is to the story.”
So Mrs. Webb climbed up Walt’s arm and sat on top of his ear, trying not to tickle, as she gave him directions.
“I’d feel safer,” said Walt, “if I had a ball of string to play out behind us, so we’d be sure to find our way back. You certain you know the way in and out?”
“Shine your flashlight on that bough over the cave door,” said Mrs. Webb. “Move it a little. There, see something like a fine wire that leads into the cave? See the light shine on it?”
“A spider web,” Walt said.
“That’s your ball of string,” said the spider. “Mr. Webb and I went in spinning, and we came out following the strand we’d spun. We’ll get them and get back all right.”
Joe started up to get the police car, which was parked a little way up the road, and all the animals that could piled into the station wagon.
As Walt, flashlight in hand, went into the cave door, he turned back for a moment. “Hey, Joe,” he called. “This little lady says if you find that shoe box, handle it kind of careful. She doesn’t want her husband squashed.”
“We’ll be careful,” Joe called back, and the animals chimed in: “Don’t worry, Mrs. W. Take it easy. We’ll bring Webb back with every leg and feeler in place.”
Joe started off first in the police car. The animals were slower getting loaded into the station wagon. The larger animals were following on foot.
As he watched Joe’s tail lights getting smaller and smaller up the road, Freddy said: “If he gets there first, he’ll try to go in alone, and Jack’ll go out the back door and get away.”
“Hold tight,” said Uncle Ben. He stepped on the accelerator and threw the car into eighth gear. With a roar like an intercontinental rocket it streaked up the road. Round two bends, and there was the police car ahead. Uncle Ben didn’t try to pass; he jumped right over Joe. Then he braked and pulled across the road.
Joe stopped and got out and came up to the station wagon. “What kind of driving do you call that?” he demanded. “I ought to give you a ticket.”
“Go ahead,” said Uncle Ben.
Freddy started to explain, but Robert whispered to him to keep out of it. “There’s still a warrant out for your arrest,” he said, “and you can’t tell about this fellow; he might think he ought to take you in.” So then he told the trooper why they had stopped him. “You may need all of us to catch this guy. He’s tricky.”
Joe saw the sense in that. “O.K.,” he said. “You know Anderson’s house? Yes? I’ll park beyond it and you stop this side. Can’t you drive that thing any quieter? They’ll think we’re bringing up artillery.”
“Not driving ahead,” Uncle Ben said. “But—funny thing. In reverse, can’t even hear her purr.”
“Then you’d better turn around when we hit his street,” Joe said, “and back into position.”
In the driveway beside Mr. Anderson’s house there was a powerful car, headed toward the street. Its lights were on and the engine was running. There was no one in it. But there was something funny about one of the headlights. A little black spot kept moving up and down over the front of it, over the glass.
The bigger animals had gone around behind some of the other houses to take up their places in the back yard, and Uncle Ben and some of the others had lugged the dragon around back of the garage and were getting ready for action.
Alice and Emma had stayed in the station wagon. Then Alice noticed the black spot moving over the headlight.
“Emma!” she exclaimed. “Isn’t that—couldn’t that be Mr. Webb?”
“Of course,” said Emma. And without hesitation the two ducks hopped to the ground and waddled over to the car.
“No, it’s not Mr. Webb,” said Alice. “This one’s got yellow stripes, and his legs are longer.”
But the spider waved his front legs at them, and as they came closer he hopped on to Alice’s head.
“Name of Weaver, ma’am,” he said in a hoarse voice. “You friends of Webb’s?”
“Yes,” said Alice. “Are you?”
“Never saw him before in my life, but we spiders stick together. He left a message for you. Said he heard you comin’, and if I could attract your attention, I was to tell you these guys are running out. They’re beating it for Canada—at least one of ’em is. I don’t know about Anderson. Maybe he thinks the cops won’t have anything on him if the other guy gets away. But they’ll be out in a few minutes.”
Joe had moved up and was crouched by the porch with a pistol in his hand. When a duck came and told him that a spider had told her that the two men were planning to leave at once for Canada, he just shook his head bewilderedly.
“Don’t you believe me?” Alice asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I’ll believe anything now. Ducks and spiders! Who’s President of the United States—a centipede?”
He got up and walked up on the porch and rang the front door bell. A front window curtain moved slightly, then after a minute Mr. Anderson came to the door.
“Why, good evening, officer. Come in. What can I do for you?”
They went into the front room and sat down.
“Well, sir,” said Joe, “that racketeer who has been hiding out in the cave up on the lake has been seen hanging around your house. I’d like to make sure that he didn’t get in. Do you mind if I have a look around?”
“Not at all, officer,” said Mr. Anderson genially. “Help yourself.”
So Joe started toward the door which led into the dining-room.
Out in the back yard the animals were hiding behind the shrubbery. The dragon was behind the garage. The back door opened quietly, and Jack slipped out. He had a shoe box under his arm. He ran lightly down the steps and made for the car.
But the dragon was ahead of him. It came prancing out from behind the garage, its tail lashing furiously. It got between Jack and the car, and as the gangster approached it blew flames and a thick cloud of oily smoke, which enveloped him. Freddy had soaked some rags in oil for this special occasion, and the fire really singed Jack.
Jack yelled and tugged at a pistol in his pocket, but the animals had come up. Percy lowered his huge head almost gently, scooped the gangster up, and tossed him high over his back. Jack fell flat on the grass, the wind knocked out of him. The pistol flew into a flower bed; the shoe box opened, and bills were scattered on the grass.
Mrs. Wogus sat down on Jack to keep him quiet, and the others examined the contents of the shoe box. There was no sign of Mr. Webb.
“Doesn’t seem to me that there’s very much money here,” said Freddy. “Not all of it, anyway. They must have divided it up, and I’ll bet Anderson took the biggest share. Jack probably had to give it to him, to pay for help in escaping. We’d better search the house.”
The animals made a rush for the back door. They came into the kitchen just as Joe came into it from the dining-room.
“Here, here,” said the trooper, “you can’t pile in here like this.”
They told him about the shoe box.
“Can’t help it,” he said. “We’ve got nothing against Mr. Anderson. This Jack was hiding out in his kitchen, but there’s no proof Anderson knew about it. You’ll have to g
o out.”
“You can arrest us later if you want to,” said Freddy. “We know the money’s here. If we go now, we’ll never get it back.”
There was a crash outside. Joe looked out the window and saw that Mrs. Wiggins, Mrs. Wurzburger, and Percy had got their horns under Anderson’s car and turned it on its side. A minute later Mrs. Wiggins’ head appeared in the door. “Anderson can’t get away now,” she said.
Joe didn’t know what to do. The animals were all over the house now, pulling out bureau drawers, opening boxes, and ripping up mattresses. He gave a groan. His hand went to his gun, but dropped away again. He couldn’t control this mob with a gun. And probably they were right. Only if they didn’t find the money, everybody would be in trouble. Anderson would certainly make a complaint, and it might stick. He decided to go out and put handcuffs on Jack anyway. At least he wouldn’t have to see what was going on.
But Mr. Anderson stopped him in the front hall. “See here, officer,” he said, “you’ll have to clear these animals out of here. I know nothing about that man, never saw him before. I don’t believe he was even in the house. He was probably hiding on the back porch, waiting for a chance to steal my car. I left it out there with the engine running.”
“I can’t handle this mob, Mr. Anderson,” Joe replied. “They’re Bean’s animals, William F. Bean, lives out the other side of town. You can sue him for any damage they do. You could call up troop headquarters; they’ll send some more men, and then we can drive them out.”
“I can do better than that,” said Mr. Anderson. He went to a drawer and pulled out a pistol. “Man has a right to protect his own home.” He went into the front room. Mrs. Wiggins had turned over an overstuffed chair and was ripping it up with one horn, to see if anything was hidden in the lining. Georgie and Robert were pulling books out of the bookcase to see if anything was behind them. Alice and Emma were poking their bills around in a ripped-up cushion, and Bill, the goat, and Sniffy Wilson, the skunk, were rolling up the rug and looking for loose boards in the floor.
The second that Mr. Anderson appeared in the doorway with the gun in his hand, and before he had time to raise it, Bill went for him. He had a pretty short run for a take-off, but he hit dead center. With a “Whosh,” Mr. Anderson doubled up, and at the same moment Mrs. Wiggins, with a sweep of her right horn, knocked the gun out of his hand.
Bill went for him.
Freddy and Jinx had been poking around in the kitchen. They had examined cupboards and shelves, and had then looked into the refrigerator.
“Nothing much here,” said the pig. “Couple cartons of milk, bacon, cans of fruit, lettuce, and stuff. That’s a big box of sausages up there.” He wrinkled up his nose, for the idea of sausage is naturally not appealing to a pig.
“Funny, that spider web on the sausage box,” Jinx said. “I didn’t suppose spiders ever lived in an ice box.”
“A web? Where? Oh, I see,” Freddy said. “Hey, wait a minute! Let’s have a look at those sausages.” He pulled the box down and they took off the cover.
There were no sausages in the box. Instead, it was nearly full of bills—fives and tens and twenties—with some jewelry on top. And on top of the jewelry lay a small black spider. He waved a feeble foreleg at them.
“Webb!” Freddy exclaimed. “You must be frozen. Let’s carry him over by the stove, Jinx.” So they carried box and all over to the stove. Mr. Webb recovered quickly in the warmth. “Boy,” he exclaimed, “was it cold in there! Did you ever try to spin in a refrigerator? No, I suppose not. Tell me, is Mother all right?”
They assured him of Mrs. Webb’s safety, and told him she had gone to the rescue of the two lost troopers. Then they carried the box into the front room.
Mr. Anderson was just getting off the floor, and the animals, under the gun of the trooper, had moved back. Freddy spread the contents of the box out on a table.
“This was in Anderson’s refrigerator,” he said. “Perhaps Mr. Anderson would like to explain how it got there.”
Mr. Anderson had nothing to say. His eyes slid around to the door, but Joe’s gun was pointed at him now.
“I guess you’d better come with me,” said Joe, and went over and snapped handcuffs on his wrists.
Jack was still in the back yard. “He got sort of restless,” said Mrs. Wogus, “so I called Father to help me.” Percy had apologized handsomely for any discomfort he might cause Jack, but when he sat down on him too, the gangster wasn’t restless any more. In fact, when Joe came out to put him in the police car, he had to be almost carried.
So they took the two crooks down and locked them up, and in due course they were tried and sentenced and went to the penitentiary. The money and jewelry was given back to its owners, and the set of Dickens was returned to Dr. Wintersip.
There had been quite a large reward for the return of the stolen property, and everybody decided that the Webbs should have it. At a ceremony at Mr. Muszkiski’s movie theater the reward was presented. On a white cloth on a table on the stage the two spiders sat side by side. Mr. Weezer, the bank president, made the presentation. There was uproarious applause. Then Mr. Weezer asked the Webbs if they’d care to tell the audience what they proposed to do with so much money. He put his ear down close to the table and listened for some time. Then he stood up.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “as you know, Mr. and Mrs. Webb are fond of travel. They have been pretty well all over the country. But, as they say, they have always had to hitchhike. Their custom is to drop in a car that is going in their direction, but often the cars turn off, and before they can get down, they have been carried miles out of their way.
“They have always wanted to visit Montreal and Quebec. But with this money they intend to hire a car, and a chauffeur, of course, to drive them there. They can think of no better way of spending the money.”
So that was what they did. Naturally, the newspapers picked it up, and all along the way they were met by deputations of city officials and congratulated and invited to banquets. In Canada they were dined and feted, and they even went to Ottawa for an official reception. They had a wonderful time. When they got home Lieutenant Sparrow invited them to come down to troop headquarters for a special citation. He was very much moved, and would have liked to pat them both on the heads, but then he looked at the size of his hands and changed his mind.
There was a ceremony too at the Bean farm. Percy was given a hand-lettered scroll, prepared by Uncle Ben, which read:
This is to certify to all animals, birds, and bugs on the Bean farm, to Mr. and Mrs. Bean, Mr. Benjamin Bean, Mr. Walter Brooks, and all other interested parties, that Percy, the bull, is a gentleman, and is hereafter to be so treated and considered. Any infraction of this rule will be severely punished.
Jinx continued to go down to Centerboro twice a week to give the hotel kitten purring lessons. At last reports it was thought to have been overdone, as she now purred so loud that the stove lids rattled.
But they never did recover Mrs. Peppercorn’s bicycle.
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 © 1958 by Walter R. Brooks
Cover design by Kathleen Lynch
ISBN: 978-1-4976-9232-9
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DDY THE PIG EBOOKS
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Freddy and the Dragon Page 13
