“That’s a good idea,” said Freddy. “I second the motion.”
So they voted and passed it, and then John Quincy said: “Now we will go down to the board room and have our meeting.” He motioned to the squirrel that was sitting on the plank that covered the entrance to the vaults, and the squirrel tugged the plank aside, and the three woodpeckers started down the tunnel.
“Hey, wait a minute!” said Freddy. “That tunnel’s too small for me. I can’t get into the board room.”
“Dear me,” said John Quincy, “we should have thought of that before we voted.”
“But you can’t hold a meeting without me,” said the pig.
“You’ve had notice of the meeting and where it was to be,” said John Quincy. “If you aren’t there, the meeting goes on just the same.”
“All right,” said Freddy; “then I move we hold the meetings up here.”
“You can’t. Your motion has to be made at a meeting, and we’ve just passed the rule that all meetings have to be held in the board room. Come, Father! X!”
“Just a minute,” said Freddy. “X can’t go. He isn’t a member of the board.”
“Quite right,” said John Quincy. “Xie, you stay here.” And he and Grover disappeared down the tunnel.
“Well, what do you know about that?” said Freddy.
John looked at him and then at X, who was nonchalantly scratching his ear, and then he winked and went outside. In a minute Freddy followed him.
“Looks to me,” said John, “as if your bank was being taken away from you.”
“See if I care!” said Freddy. “We only started the thing for fun. If they want to run it, it’s all right with me.”
“Just the same,” said the fox seriously, “it’s got a lot of things that belong to Mr. Bean’s animals in it now, to say nothing of Mr. Bean’s own money. You don’t want these outsiders running it.”
“Oh, J. Q.’s all right,” said Freddy. “He’ll run it a lot better than we would. Still, I see your point. I’ll talk to Jinx.”
“And another thing,” said John. “When are you going to start this republic and have the election?”
“The election?” said Freddy. “Oh, we thought in a week or so we could get at it. Now the bank’s going.”
“Well, don’t put it off too long,” said the fox. “Unless you want to have a woodpecker as president of the farm as well as of the bank.”
“Why, what do you mean?” asked Freddy.
“Just this,” said John. “You aren’t around the bank much, you know, Freddy. But I’ve been working in the vaults, and I hear what’s going on. I won’t say I haven’t tried to hear, for I was always suspicious of woodpeckers. Even when I was a little cub I didn’t like them. Well, anyway, every customer that comes in, John Quincy starts in on him about what a lot of trouble there’s going to be on the farm when Mr. Bean goes away unless we elect a pretty high-class president. Well, there’s nothing wrong in that, but then he goes on to tell how much he and his father know about government, and how much experience they have had and so on. And then he says: ‘Of course we are practically strangers in your beautiful community, and so we don’t like to seem to criticize, particularly when everyone has been so kind to us. But do you really think that any of your good citizens are experienced enough to manage a big farm like this?’
“Well, of course, then the customer says: ‘Well, maybe they’re not.’ And a lot of them have said that they wished we could have someone like John Quincy or his father for president. Then John Quincy says: Oh, no, he didn’t mean that! My goodness, no! He wouldn’t think of trying to butt in and run for president. Well, you see what happens, Freddy. A lot of animals are getting the idea that one of these woodpeckers would make a pretty good president for us.”
“Oh, pooh,” said Freddy. “How many votes would he get on this farm? We’ll all stand together and elect one of our own crowd. Only, maybe you’re right. Everybody’s been having so much fun with the bank that we’ve sort of let the election slide. Well, I’ll get right at it.”
“Good,” said John. And he leaped up on the wall, ran along it a little way, and disappeared in the underbrush.
Freddy went into the bank. X was sitting in the same place, scratching his other ear. After a few minutes there was a tap on the plank and when the squirrel pulled it aside Grover and John Quincy came up.
“A very successful board meeting,” said John Quincy. “Sorry you couldn’t be with us, Freddy.”
Sorry you couldn’t be with us
“Say, look here, you two,” said Freddy. “You put something over on me about this board-room business all right. I admit it. I don’t know what you got by it, but let me warn you: don’t try to put anything over on me a second time.”
John Quincy blinked and looked at Grover, who ruffled up his feathers angrily and said: “Mr.—ah—Secretary, I resent the tone of that remark, both as president of this bank and as an honorable woodpecker. You yourself voted to have the new underground room used as a board room, and to have all board meetings held there. You were notified that a meeting was to be held. If you did not choose to attend that meeting, why blame us for it?”
“Listen,” said Freddy. “You can argue a quart into a jelly glass. But I’m not arguing. I’m telling you. You think it over.”
And he walked out and picked up his bicycle and wheeled it up the hill.
In the barnyard he met Charles and Ronald.
“For goodness’ sake!” said Charles. “I thought you were half-way to Mexico by this time, the rate you were going down that hill. Have a nice ride?”
“Lovely,” said Freddy. “Simply lovely. Wonderful what a feeling of freedom it gives you, bicycling. Almost like flying.”
“And you didn’t fall off?” asked Charles, looking a little disappointed.
“Fall off!” said Freddy. “Who-me? Don’t be funny! I simply flew. Had plenty of time. I—er—I dropped in on them just as they were starting the meeting. Dropped in—h’m, yes. I startled them a bit. By the way, Ronald, I’ve got an announcement to make. Come on over and get Bertram out.”
Whenever any of the animals had an important announcement to make, he would tell Ronald what it was, and then the rooster would bring Bertram out into the barnyard and turn up the microphone so his voice could be heard all over the farm, and make the announcement. It was a pretty good arrangement, but at first the animals had used it so much that it had bothered Mr. Bean. And when one day Henrietta had used it to broadcast a full account of the wedding of one of her daughters, Calliope, to a young rooster from Taberg, with the names of the guests and a description of all the presents, he put his foot down. “For all the peace and quiet you get on this farm,” he said, “you might as well be livin’ down to the boiler works. If I want to hear a lot of yelling, I can turn on my radio. It’s getting so I can’t set down for a minute’s comfort without expectin’ to be lifted out of my chair by that dumb voice. Henceforth, you animals will confine yourselves to announcements that are really important, or I’ll chop up Bertram for kindling and have Ronald fricasseed for Sunday dinner.” So after that the animals were pretty careful what they broadcast.
Byram and Adoniram had got Bertram’s leg back on when Freddy and Ronald came up the stairs. “I think you’d better get in him now, Ronald,” said Byram, “and see if he works all right. We’ve done the best we can with him, but he was pretty well shaken up.”
Bertram was shaken up all right. He could do all the things he had done before, but every now and then there would be a click and a buzz in his insides and then he would begin to act queer. He would hippety-hop, or swing his arms around like a windmill, and once he reached around and opened the door in his back and pulled Ronald’s tail-feathers.
“I can’t do anything with him when he does that,” said the rooster. “But it’s always when I try to work his right arm. I guess some of the wheels must have got mixed up when he fell downstairs.”
“I wish Uncle Ben were he
re,” said Adoniram. “He could fix him.”
“Well, anyway, you can make my announcement,” said Freddy.
So Bertram went down into the barnyard—he walked downstairs on his hands, which was pretty hard on Ronald, sitting on his perch in the little control room—and said in his loudest voice: “Hear ye! Hear ye!”
The voice boomed out over the woods and meadows and hills, and all over the farm animals came out of their holes, or looked up from their work or their munching or their hunting, and pointed their ears toward the barnyard.
“Announcement from Freddy,” roared Bertram. “There will be a meeting tonight in the big barn to make plans for the formation of the first animal republic. Have your nominations for the presidency ready. Dancing after the meeting. Bring your own refreshments.”
Mrs. Bean looked up from Mr. Bean’s old carpet bag, which she was packing for the trip to Europe. “My land!” she exclaimed. “That Freddy is a card. What won’t he be up to next! First a bank and now a republic. Did you know about this, Mr. B.?”
“Oui, oui,” said Mr. Bean, looking up from the book of French conversation he was studying. “That means ‘yes’ in French, Mrs. B., in case you don’t know.”
“Sakes alive, you talk it like a native, Mr. B.,” said Mrs. Bean admiringly.
“Oui, oui,” said Mr. Bean again, proudly. “I guess I got a gift for languages. Well, yes, Mrs. B., I heard something about this republic. Sensible thing. They want to elect a president and have a regular government and all, to run things while you and I and the boys are away. I’ve always said there wasn’t no animals anywhere that could beat ’em for goodness and kindness—and smartness too. But now I say there ain’t any can beat ’em for responsibility.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Bean, “they’ve had a good example set for them—that’s why.”
“Yes, I expect I have set ’em an example of responsibleness. But I know who’s set ’em an example of goodness and kindness—and smartness too, Mrs. B.”
“Get along with you,” said Mrs. Bean, combing out the tassel of Mr. Bean’s spare nightcap before tucking it into the bag. “Let me hear you say that in French.”
So Mr. Bean began thumbing through his French book. But Jinx, who had been dozing on a clean calico dress in Mrs. Bean’s suitcase under the bed, grinned to himself, then tiptoed out to report the conversation to Freddy.
VII
There wasn’t much work done on the Bean farm that afternoon, though there was a good deal of activity. Animals hurried back and forth across the barnyard and gathered in groups to talk and argue, and there were even one or two fights among the rougher element down by the creek on the edge of the woods—the water rats and weasels. Freddy was a little worried when he learned that the bank had closed early and that the three woodpeckers were making a nest-to-nest canvass of all the birds on the farm. “Fine way to run our bank!” he said to himself. And he was even more worried when he met old Simon, the rat, and his son, Ezra, coming round the corner of the barn. For the rats had not been seen in the barnyard for over two years—not since the famous trial for murder in which Freddy had so ably defended Jinx against the false charge made by the rats of having killed and eaten a crow.
Simon grinned wickedly at the pig.
“Ah, my clever friend,” he said, “still a trifle overweight, are you not?”
“You’d better not let Jinx see you, Simon,” said Freddy, “or you’ll lose a lot more weight than you can afford to. What are you doing here, anyway? You’re not supposed to come up near the barn.”
“As a free citizen of this new republic of yours, I am exercising my rights,” said the rat. “I presume you won’t deny us our votes?”
“No,” said Freddy. “No. Though I’d like to.” And he hurried off to find Jinx.
He found him in the cow-barn, where Mrs. Wiggins, surrounded by a group of admiring friends, was exhibiting a flag which she had designed for the new republic. With a pair of old blue overalls and an old white nightshirt and some old red flannel underwear of Mr. Bean’s which Georgie had begged for her from Mrs. Bean, she had laid out the flag, and then Adoniram had stitched it up for her on the sewing-machine. It was a good deal like the American flag, with two stars for Mr. and Mrs. Bean, and thirteen stripes for the thirteen original animals who had taken that famous first trip to Florida. There were also a number of buttonholes scattered about, which didn’t stand for anything except that they hadn’t been able to avoid them in cutting out the cloth.
“I have to laugh every time I look at those buttonholes,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “What Mr. Bean will say when he sees his cast-off underwear flung to the breeze I’m sure I don’t know.”
“He’ll be very proud and happy,” said Robert.
“I was going to have Adoniram cut a couple of blue beans, instead of stars,” said the cow. “But it did seem as if beans would be sort of funny on a flag. You can’t imagine going into battle under a flag with beans on it.”
“Personally, I can’t imagine going into battle under any kind of a flag,” said Freddy. “But I’m not very warlike. Anyway, I think it was very clever of you. I don’t see how you ever thought of it.”
“I don’t know how anybody could help thinking of it,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “A country without a flag is as silly as a—as a—Well, I can’t think of anything it’s as silly as. As a pig without a tail, I guess, Freddy.” She laughed her deep, comfortable laugh. “And as far as being clever goes—well, you know what they usually say about me. They say: ‘That Mrs. Wiggins—she’s got a heart of gold.’ You notice they don’t ever say anything about my head. Still, when you all say I’m clever, it wouldn’t be polite to contradict you.—But what’s on your mind, Freddy? I can always tell when something is worrying you by the way you keep grunting.”
“I wasn’t grunting,” said Freddy. “I may have sighed once or twice—”
“It sounded like a grunt to me,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “But, as I say, I’m not clever. Well, out with it.”
“I just met Simon and Ezra out here,” said Freddy. “And if you ask me, they’re up to something.”
“What!” said Jinx, jumping up. “You mean that they’ve dared to come into the barnyard? Why, wait till I get my paws on that old sneak-thief! I’ll—”
“Hold on, hold on!” said Freddy. “You can’t do that. Not until after election, anyway. As long as he behaves himself every animal that lives on this farm has a right to be at this meeting tonight, and to vote at the election. And as far as we know, the rats have been behaving themselves for the last two years. But here’s what’s worrying me. We’re the old crowd—the animals here in this cow-barn now. And as long as we stick together we won’t have any trouble in electing the president we want, and running things the way Mr. Bean wants them run. But there are a lot of animals living on this farm that we don’t ever have much to do with. Field mice, woodchucks, squirrels, chipmunks—and the birds. I dare say there are a hundred birds, and they all have votes. A good many of them will vote as we want them to. The squirrels will be with us. And I think I can guarantee the rabbit vote. I’ve employed a good many of them at one time or another in my detective work, and I’ve looked after their affairs for them.
“But what I want to point out is that we’ve got to stick together. If we don’t, twelve or fifteen rats, all voting together, can upset all our plans. And how would you like it if Simon was president?”
The animals all looked pretty scared, and Mrs. Wogus said: “Freddy! You don’t mean there’s a chance of that?”
“Not if we stick together,” Freddy repeated. “And of course, if he did get elected, we’d all get together and throw him out. But that’s revolution, and we don’t want a revolution on this farm.”
“How about bugs?” asked Hank, the old white horse. “Seems to me if you’re going to be so fair to rats, you ought to be fair to bugs, too. Ain’t a bug got any rights on this farm?”
“It’s kind of funny to hear you standing up for bugs, Hank,�
�� said Mrs. Wiggins, “remembering how you pestered the life out of Mr. Bean until he bought some fly poison for the barn, so you could take naps in the afternoon.”
“Flies ain’t bugs, are they?” said Hank. “They’re pests. Still, I dunno; maybe you’re right. You got to draw the line somewhere.”
“We can’t give bugs the vote,” said Robert. “Ants and beetles and butterflies and—why, there’s millions of ’em. It would take five years to count the votes.”
“Yes, and suppose they all stuck together and voted alike,” said Emma. “Dear me, suppose we had one of those dreadful centipedes for president!”
“That’s so,” said Freddy. “Bugs are out. Besides, this isn’t a bug republic. It’s a government of animals, by animals, and for animals. And birds of course,” he added with a nod to Charles.
“And birds!” said Charles bitterly. “And birds! Why not for birds and animals, I should like to know. Why not—”
“No oration, Charles, please!” said Freddy. “When we say animals, we mean birds. And anyway, Charles, you’re really not a bird. You can’t fly.”
No oration, Charles, please
“Oh, is that so!” shouted the rooster. “And you can, I suppose? Like you did this morning, hey? Can’t fly! I suppose you don’t remember that time down in the Everglades when I saved all your lives by flying. I suppose—”
“Of course we remember it,” said Freddy. “What I mean is that your normal mode of progression—or shall we say locomotion?—is by walking.”
“Come again?” said Charles, who, although he used a great many long words in his speeches, seldom knew what they meant, and was wondering if perhaps he oughtn’t to get still madder.
“Skip it,” said Freddy. “I’m only saying that if you want to go anywhere, you walk. You don’t fly. I’m surprised at you, Charles. I’ve just explained that we all must stand together, and right away you start a row about an unimportant thing like that.”
Freddy the Politician Page 5
