So for a second or two Freddy amused himself by watching what appeared to be a procession of giants, some with very short legs, others with heads as long and narrow as cucumbers, marching past. But when these were followed by a group of dwarfs, one with six legs, he got up and went to the door. For whether giants or dwarfs or just ordinary people, there were too many of them. They must be strangers, and what were so many strangers doing up here at the farm?
Uncle Wesley followed Freddy outside. “Well, upon my soul!” he exclaimed. “Who are these persons?” For straggling up towards the space ship from cars which they had parked in the road outside the gate were perhaps twenty people, and as they watched, two more cars drew up.
“We’d better find out,” said Freddy. “My goodness, there’s old Mrs. Peppercorn from Centerboro! What on earth—?” He went down to meet a little old lady in an old fashioned bonnet who was stumping up the slope with the help of a large umbrella. “How do you do, Mrs. Peppercorn? What has brought you way up here so far from home?”
“Judge Willey brought me,” she said, “if it’s any business of yours, young man.” She peered at Freddy. “Seems as if I’d seen you somewhere before,” she said.
“Why, I’m Freddy,” said the pig. “You know me.”
She peered closer. “Well, so I do, so I do,” she said. “Thought you were that fat Scripture boy—you’re enough like him to be his brother. Well, Freddy, are you going too?”
“Good morning, Frederick; good morning,” said Judge Willey, coming up. “You are also, I presume, a member of our little band of adventurers?”
“Say, what is this?” Freddy asked. “Going where? What adventure?”
“Why to Mars of course,” said the Judge, and Mrs. Peppercorn said: “I supposed you’d be the first one aboard the ship.”
“Aboard!” Freddy exclaimed. “Goodness, you don’t mean that all these people think they can go in the space ship? Why it wouldn’t hold more than two people.”
“Why it wouldn’t hold more than two people.”
“What’s this?” demanded the Judge. “You say there’s no room?” And Mrs. Peppercorn said: “Nonsense! We’ve paid our fare. Of course we’re going.”
“Look,” said Freddy; “I don’t understand this at all. Uncle Ben’s going to try to get to Mars, but the only ones who are going with him are Jinx and Charles and me. There’s no room in the nose of the rocket for anyone else.”
Judge Willey looked perplexed, but Mrs. Peppercorn pounded her umbrella on the ground. “I’m a’goin’, and that’s flat,” she said. “I’ve paid five dollars for my ticket, and I’m a’goin’, and I’d like to see anybody try to stop me!” And she started on.
“I don’t get this ticket business,” Freddy said. “You say you bought tickets?”
“We did; we bought them from the duly appointed representative of the Benjamin Bean Spaceship Co. Tall thin man with a long crooked nose.”
“Mr. Bismuth!” Freddy exclaimed. “Why, he has no right to sell tickets! Golly, we’d better get Bismuth and straighten this out.” He turned to Uncle Wesley. “Wes,” he said, “will you go tell Uncle Ben about this? I’ll try to find Bismuth. I guess he’ll have some explaining to do.”
Mr. Bismuth wasn’t around anywhere, so Freddy and the Judge hurried up to where an angry crowd surrounded the space ship. In the doorway at the top of the little ladder stood Uncle Ben, and at the foot of the ladder was Mrs. Peppercorn. She was addressing the crowd. “Are we a’goin’ to be put off with soft words and excuses?” she demanded.
“No!” yelled the crowd, among whom Freddy recognized most of the solid businessmen of Centerboro. Evidently Mr. Bismuth had gone right up one side of Main Street and down the other, selling his tickets. At five dollars a head he must have taken in well over a hundred dollars. Freddy wondered if they’d ever see him again.
Mrs. Peppercorn turned and shook her umbrella at Uncle Ben. “Now, Mr. Benjamin Bean,” she said, “are you going to let us aboard that there ship, or are we coming aboard anyway?”
Uncle Ben was on a spot. He was a fine mechanic but no talker. To make a speech and explain something to a crowd was impossible for him. He stood there looking sort of hopeless, and then he caught sight of Freddy and beckoned to him. So Freddy ducked around Mrs. Peppercorn and climbed halfway up the ladder, then turned.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” he shouted. “You have been deceived and cheated. But not, not by Uncle Ben! Listen to me!”
Freddy was well known and highly respected in Centerboro. Those who had never required his services as a detective admired him as a poet, and those who cared nothing for poetry respected his standing as President of the First Animal Bank. So they listened while he explained what had happened.
But they were far from satisfied with an explanation. “We want our money back!” they shouted. “This Bismuth man—he lives with you; you’re responsible for him. It’s up to you to bring him out here and make him give back our money.”
Freddy started to say that he’d try to find Mr. Bismuth, but Mrs. Peppercorn was getting impatient. “I don’t want my money back!” she said, “and what’s more, I won’t take it back. I’m a’goin’ to Mars!” She swung her umbrella over her head like a sword and charged up the ladder. Freddy ducked away from the swipe she made at him, and she climbed nimbly past him, pushed Uncle Ben aside, and went into the ship.
The crowd milled around and seemed undecided whether to try to follow Mrs. Peppercorn, or to continue demanding their money. But Freddy had spoken a word to Judge Willey, who now stepped forward.
“My friends,” he said, “you have been grossly deceived. The man who sold us these tickets is a certain Bismuth, a fraud and very evidently a crook. Mr. Benjamin Bean has no intention of taking passengers to Mars, for the very good reason that there is no room in the ship for passengers. This Bismuth has taken our money and run off with it. My friend, Freddy, tells me that, as a partner in the well known detective agency of Frederick and Wiggins, he will at once put every operative in his employ at work tracking down the said Bismuth. He assures me that full restitution will be made to each and every one of us.
“Now most of us know Mr. Benjamin; we know his reputation for probity and fair dealing. We also know Freddy—so well that I believe it unnecessary to remind you of his skill in detective work, in tracking down criminals, in clearing the innocent from false charges and in soaking the guilty with everything in the book. I believe that we can safely leave this affair in the capable hands—or should I say trotters?—of our respected friend.”
There was some applause at this and Freddy took a bow; then the crowd slowly straggled back to the parked cars.
Freddy went on up the ladder and into the ship. He climbed up through the hatchway from the living quarters into the control room. As his head came above the floor level, he saw Uncle Ben backed against the wall with his hands over his head, and the point of Mrs. Peppercorn’s umbrella poised ready to jab him in the stomach. With one hand the old lady held the umbrella drawn back like a bayonet; the other was on the big valve which controlled the fuel for the rocket.
“I’ve a good mind to give it a twist and see what happens,” she was saying, and her hand tightened on the valve. She caught sight of Freddy. “Keep off, young pig, or I’ll do it anyway.”
“No, no!” Uncle Ben begged her. “Dangerous. Ship’s not ready.”
Freddy knew that if she turned that valve it would fire the rocket, and the ship would whiz off up into the sky. It would travel up through the earth’s atmosphere, and off into space; and since it would be fired more than a week earlier than Uncle Ben had planned, it probably wouldn’t come anywhere near Mars, but would go circling around the earth like a very small moon for the next million years. The idea of spending even a hundred years whirling around the sky with Mrs. Peppercorn and Uncle Ben didn’t appeal to him much. But before he could think of anything to do Mrs. Peppercorn said:
“Well, make up your mind. Do I give it a twist o
r don’t I?”
Uncle Ben sighed. “I give in,” he said. “You can go.” And Mrs. Peppercorn took her hand off the valve and dropped the point of the umbrella.
“What goes on here?” Freddy asked. “You don’t mean you’re letting her go with us to Mars?”
“Got to,” Uncle Ben said. He looked hopelessly at Freddy.
“Well,” said the pig, “I suppose you couldn’t help it.” He looked thoughtfully at the old lady. “Of course I suppose she understands the dangers of the trip. You’ve probably told her what the Martians are like, and shown her pictures of them.”
“Pictures?” said Uncle Ben. “Aren’t any pictures.”
Freddy winked at him. “Guess you’ve forgotten. I mean those pictures Professor Gasswitz sent you—sort of like big two-legged spiders they are, with great yellow eyes and long poison fangs.”
But Mrs. Peppercorn wasn’t impressed. “Must be pretty,” she said drily. “I’d enjoy a chat with one of ’em.”
Freddy gave up. “OK, so you’re going,” he said. “Well, Uncle Ben, you’d better explain to her how the ship works. I’ll go try to find Mr. Bismuth.”
CHAPTER
3
Mrs. Bismuth didn’t seem much worried about the disappearance of her husband. When Freddy told her what had happened, and that Mr. Bismuth had apparently run off with all the money he had collected, she did indeed burst into tears. But when Freddy tried to comfort her, and assured her that they would find Mr. Bismuth and make him give back the money, she explained (between sobs) that she had no fear that he was a thief: she wept, she stated, because of Freddy’s lack of confidence in her noble husband.
“Oh, how can you say such things about Pa?” she wailed. “Pa is a gentleman; Pa would not steal. Children, close your ears; do not listen to such dreadful stories about your noble Pa.” She wept bitterly, and the two little Bismuths wept with her.
But Freddy said: “Your noble Pa had better come back with the money he took for those tickets or our noble sheriff will put him in jail.”
Uncle Ben felt pretty badly about it. He said he was going down to Centerboro and pay five dollars back to everybody who had bought a ticket from Mr. Bismuth. But when he came to count up his money he had only eight dollars. He had spent all the rest for materials to build the space ship.
So Mr. Bean said he’d advance the money. “These Bismuths,” he said; “they’re relatives, ain’t they? Well, then, we’re responsible for them.”
Freddy said: “I don’t see why either you or Uncle Ben should have to give back the money just because the one that stole it married Mrs. Bean’s cousin.” He even argued with Mr. Bean about it, which is something almost none of the animals ever did. But finally Mrs. Bean said: “You can argue till you’re blue in the face, Freddy, but if Mr. Bean feels that we’re responsible, then we’re responsible. You’re right, Mr. B., as always.”
That settled it, and Mr. Bean was just getting ready to hitch Hank up to the phaeton and drive down to Centerboro to get the money from the bank, when Mr. Bismuth himself came riding up the road on a brand new bicycle.
Mrs. Bismuth was pretty emotional; that is to say, she yelled a lot when it wasn’t really necessary. She gave a loud yell now and started to fall over in a faint, and Mr. Bismuth jumped off his bicycle and propped her up, and the two little Bismuths, who were also emotional, began to cry again—probably from joy, this time.
Mrs. Bismuth’s yell had brought the Beans and all the animals out into the barnyard, and they surrounded Mr. Bismuth in an angry group, demanding to know where the money was that he had collected for tickets. But Mr. Bismuth held up his hands and said laughingly: “Please! Please! Why, my friends, here’s a great fuss over nothing at all. It was just a joke—ha, ha!—a Bismuth must have his little joke, mustn’t he? They’ll all get their money back. I’m off for Centerboro now to give it to ’em.”
Mr. Bean looked hard at him. “See that you do,” he said. “We don’t care for that kind of joke on this farm. Come along, Uncle Ben.” And the Beans went into the house.
But Freddy wasn’t satisfied. “Wait a minute,” he said as the other animals began to straggle away. “I want to know where that bicycle came from. You didn’t have it when you left here, Mr. Bismuth.”
“Well now, ain’t you the sharp-eyed one!” said Mr. Bismuth admiringly. “Who’d ha’ thought you’d noticed that! No sir, I didn’t, and that’s a fact. But I’ll tell you about it. Ha, ha! A Bismuth don’t have any secrets from his friends. Bein’ a plumber by trade, I done a little plumbing job for Dr. Wintersip. When I was finished, he says: ‘How you gettin’ back to the farm?’ ‘Walk,’ I says, and he says: ‘All that ways? Why that’s terrible! Here,’ he says, ‘take this here bicycle—I don’t hardly ever use it.’ ‘Oh, no,’ I says; ‘a Bismuth don’t ever take more’n what he’s entitled to, and you already paid me well for the job.’ But he insisted, and—well, I took it. Real nice of him, eh?”
Freddy didn’t say anything, and after a minute Mr. Bismuth untied a bag from the handlebars and gave it to his wife. “Some candy and little cakes for you and the kids,” he said. “I’ll probably be back to supper—hungry as a hunter, too, likely. So tell Mrs. Bean to save me plenty.” He jumped on the bicycle and rode out of the gate.
Mrs. Bismuth and the children opened the bag and began gobbling the candy and cakes as fast as they could. They didn’t offer the animals any. Freddy thought there must be several dollars’ worth of stuff in the bag, and he wondered if some of the ticket money hadn’t bought it, for he was sure the Bismuths couldn’t have that much to spend on candy. He went into the barn where Mr. Bean was starting to unhitch Hank from the phaeton. “Would you let me drive into Centerboro?” he said. “I’d like to check Mr. Bismuth’s story. I don’t think he was telling the truth.”
“Know durn well he wasn’t,” said Mr. Bean. “Go ahead. But no racing.” Mr. Bean was referring to the last time Freddy had driven Hank to town, when he had raced a trailer truck and had been sideswiped.
It had been more Hank’s fault than Freddy’s, as a matter of fact. Going up a long hill the truck had slowed down, and Hank had tried to pass. But the truck wouldn’t let them by, and the driver leaned out and jeered at them, calling Hank “king of the boneyard,” and “old snort-and-heave.” This made Hank mad. He took the bit in his teeth and tried to pass anyway.
Freddy protested, but he couldn’t pull on the reins to stop Hank, because there weren’t any. Mr. Bean never used reins to steer the horse with; he just told Hank where he wanted to go, and Hank took him there. It was a handy arrangement, but in this case it didn’t work well. The phaeton went into the ditch, a wheel came off, and Freddy was thrown out and hit his nose on a rock. Although the phaeton really belonged to the animals, who had brought it back from their trip to Florida, Mr. Bean was upset because he said both of them might have been killed.
The phaeton went into the ditch.
Hank was more careful this time and they got into Centerboro all right and drew up in front of Dr. Wintersip’s little white house. Freddy jumped out and ran up the steps and gave a pull at the old-fashioned doorbell. But instead of ringing a bell, the knob came right out in his hand and he nearly fell backwards off the porch. He started to knock, but just then the door opened and Dr. Wintersip stuck his head out.
“Well, well,” he said. “It’s Freddy. Thought I heard someone. Come in.” Then he saw that Freddy was still holding the bell knob. “Aha,” he said, “I expected that. That bell was one of the things your Mr. Bismuth repaired for me.”
“I thought he said he did a plumbing job for you,” Freddy said.
“He did several jobs. If he’d stayed a little longer I guess I’d have had to move out of the house. Come in; I’ll show you.”
They went out into the kitchen. There were muddy tracks all over the floor, and beside the sink was a big hole in the wall, with a heap of plaster under it. There was also a good deal of water on the floor.
“
This Bismuth person answered an ad I had in the paper for a handyman to come make a few repairs,” Dr. Wintersip said. “He gave Mr. Bean as a reference, so I thought he must be all right. First thing he fixed was the back door. It would blow open in the wind because the latch was loose. ‘Ha, ha,’ says Bismuth: ‘we’ll fix that all right!’ And he did. He took half a dozen spikes and nailed it shut. Now we can’t use that door any more.
“Well, I thought maybe he’d misunderstood me, so I had him fix the doorbell, and a couple of other little things, and then there was a little leak in the hot water faucet out here. He looked at it and said: ‘You got any adhesive plaster?’ I thought maybe he’d cut himself, so I got him some. He tried to mend the leak with it, and of course when we turned the water on again it blew out all over everything. Then—well, I don’t know what he did, but you see what a mess he made. And the water won’t run at all out here now.”
Freddy said: “Dear, dear!” and he said: “Tut, tut!” and he said: “Mr. Bean will be pretty upset about this. I’m sure that he’ll make things right. By the way, Mr. Bismuth came home with a bicycle he said you’d given him. You didn’t, did you?”
“A bicycle?” said Dr. Wintersip. “No, of course not. I …” He stopped suddenly. “Gracious me, you don’t suppose … I left my bicycle out back …” He made for the back door, but of course that was spiked shut. They had to go out the front door and around to the back porch. The bicycle wasn’t there.
Freddy and the Space Ship Page 2
