Freddy Goes to the North Pole

by Walter R. Brooks

  All that spring Barnyard Tours, Inc., was very busy. The roads were so full of travelling animals that automobile traffic was seriously interfered with and the Rome and Utica and Syracuse automobile clubs complained to the Mayor of Centerboro, and the Mayor of Centerboro called up Mr. Bean on the telephone and said that something would have to be done. Mr. Bean promised to do something, but before he could decide what to do, Freddy saw an editorial complaining about it in the Centerboro paper, and he told the other animals. So they were more careful after that and took back roads or went cross-country whenever possible.

  The work on the farm was done as if by magic. Whatever Mr. Bean said he was going to do got done before he had time to do it. If he said in the evening: “Tomorrow I’m going to plough the lower pasture,” in the morning when he went out to plough it, the work would all be done. Even most of Mrs. Bean’s work was done for her by the animals. At first when she came into the kitchen and found a dozen squirrels busily sweeping the floor with their tails, she shooed them out quickly. But after she found out that they were helping her, she let them alone. She would sit comfortably in her rocking-chair and doze while dozens of little animals ran all over the house, picking up and dusting and sweeping. Now and then she would smile and lean down and pat a mouse on the head who was hurrying out with a mouthful of threads he had picked off the floor, and now and then one of the squirrels or rabbits or cats would jump up in her lap to have his head scratched. Of course the animals couldn’t cook and sew and make beds, but they were a great help and they kept the house as neat as a pin.

  But Freddy and Jinx and the other members of the firm were growing restless. They had no regular work to do on the farm any more, for with so many animals paying for trips with work, there were more workers than work to be done. And after they had personally conducted tour after tour over the same ground, they began to get tired of it.

  “Personally,” said Freddy, “I’m fed up. I’m sick to death of that Scenic Centerboro tour, of explaining over and over again to groups of silly animals about the Public Library and the Presbyterian Church and the fine view from the hill behind the Trumbull place. And the foolish questions they ask! And the complaints!”

  “You said a snoutful, pig,” said Jinx, who was inclined to be a little vulgar in his speech, but was otherwise a very estimable animal. “And the smaller they are, the more complaints they have. A cow or a horse, now, will take things good-naturedly and won’t expect too much. But there were a couple of beetles on that last trip—my word, but they were unpleasant people! I carried ’em all the way on my back, and first they couldn’t see, and then the dust got in their noses, and then when it began to rain and there wasn’t any more dust, they complained about that and tried to crawl into my ears to get out of the wet. Can you beat that?”

  “We don’t have to beat it,” said Freddy seriously. Freddy had become very serious during the past year, and rather dignified. Once he had been a carefree, light-hearted young pig, always playing jokes or writing poetry or inventing new games, but the cares of business had weighed him down, and nowadays he almost never even smiled. Which was too bad, since a pig’s face is built for smiling, and Freddy never looked so handsome as when he was squealing with laughter. “You see,” he went on, “I’ve been figuring up and we’ve got enough work coming to us for the trips we’ve been taking animals on so that we could all go away for two years if we wanted to, and all the farm work would be done while we were away. We don’t have to have any more trips for two years. Now I’ve got a plan. What do you say we go find the north pole?”

  Jinx didn’t want to let on that he had never heard of the north pole, so he just said: “Fine! That’s a great idea, Freddy. How do we get there?”

  So Freddy explained that the north pole was at the top of the world—that if you went straight north, you’d reach it, and that if you kept right on going in the same direction after you had passed the pole, you’d be going south again. Jinx didn’t understand this very well; in fact, he didn’t really believe it at all; but he was so tired of the life he had been leading for the past few months that he didn’t care much what he did as long as it was something different. And so he was very enthusiastic about it and went with Freddy down to the study, where they got out maps and spent the whole afternoon laying out routes and deciding whom they would ask to go with them.

  For this wasn’t a trip that just any animal could go on. “We want only hard seasoned travellers,” said Freddy, “animals who can put up with danger and hardship, who are willing to be cold and uncomfortable and hungry and weary for days on end. This won’t be like going to Florida. But who wants to go to Florida?—a soft trip like that! This will be a real adventure. And if we make it, think of the honour of being the first animals to visit the north pole! Why, I bet we get our pictures in the New York papers!”

  This was enough for Jinx. He was rather vain of his good looks, and thought how fine it would be to see his picture on the front page of all the papers and to have hundreds of people all over the country saying: “Look! Look! Here’s that wonderful cat that went to the north pole! Isn’t he a beauty?” But all he said was: “Well, when do we start?”

  “No reason to wait,” said Freddy. “We’ll go talk to the others right now.” And by bedtime Robert, the dog, and Hank, the old white horse, and Mrs. Wogus, who was Mrs. Wiggins’s sister, and Ferdinand, the sarcastic old crow, had all agreed to go. Some of the other animals they asked refused. Mrs. Wiggins said no, she was too old and she liked her comfort too much to go traipsing off into the wilds. Charles, the rooster, wanted very much to go, but his wife Henrietta wouldn’t hear of it. The general feeling in the barnyard seemed to be that it was very foolish to leave comfortable homes to explore a country that consisted of nothing but snow and ice, that was certainly uncomfortable and probably dangerous.

  But none of these sensible arguments could persuade the six adventurers, who, like all the brave spirits who have made history and sailed unknown seas and charted unknown continents in the past, cared less for ease than for glory and laughed at danger and hardship.

  And so on a bright morning a week later they set out on their perilous journey. First came Hank, the old white horse, harnessed to the rickety phaeton that they had brought back from their trip to Florida. Inside the phaeton rode Freddy and Jinx, but there wasn’t much room even for them, for most of the space was taken up with piles of cast-off blankets and old overcoats which they had gathered, with the help of their friends, from all the neighbouring farms and with which they planned to keep warm in the polar regions. Behind the phaeton walked Mrs. Wogus, and when it went up a hill, she helped Hank by putting her forehead against the back of the vehicle and pushing. Robert ran alongside, and Ferdinand, who had rather a sour disposition, sat on the dash-board, with his eyes shut, looking very bored and weary, as they drove out of the yard.

  The Beans, of course, knew nothing about the trip, but when they heard the commotion outside, they jumped up from their breakfast and ran out on the porch.

  “Why, I do believe,” said Mrs. Bean, “that they’re starting out on another trip! Well, well, will wonders never cease?”

  “So they are, Mrs. B.,” replied her husband. “Now I wonder where they’re off to this time. Consarn it, I wish we could talk animal talk; then we’d know. But hey, Hank!” he called. “Wait a minute! Whoa! Back up there!” And as Hank stopped obediently, Mr. Bean dashed into the house and presently returned with his second-best night-cap, a white one with a red tassel, which he tied to the top of the phaeton. “There,” he said, “now you’ve got a flag. Good-bye, animals! Have a good time, and remember there’s a good home and a warm welcome waiting for you when you get tired of the road.”

  “Good-bye!” called Mrs. Bean. “Be careful about automobiles and don’t sit in draughts or get under trees in thunder-storms or stay up too late nights or—” But the rest of her advice was drowned in the cheers of the animals who were staying behind, as the little procession march
ed out of the gate, with the standard of the house of Bean waving above them.

  But, for all the cheering and waving of paws and claws and hoofs and handkerchiefs, Ferdinand, perched on the dash-board, never even opened his eyes.

  CHAPTER IV

  FERDINAND RETURNS

  Life on the farm went along quietly all that summer. As the fame of Barnyard Tours, Inc., increased, more and more animals kept coming to inquire about trips, and Charles, the rooster, was kept very busy in the office from early morning till late at night, answering questions and making up parties. After the first week nothing was heard of the explorers until fall, when the birds began to fly past on their way south for the winter. Then an occasional woodpecker or white-throat would swoop down into the big elm and deliver a message. The animals learned that everything was going well; that Freddy had had a bad cold, but was better; that Ferdinand had had a fight with a gang of thieving blue jays and had beaten them badly; that the expedition had high hopes of reaching the pole before Christmas, in which case they would be back home by midsummer.

  The winter came and passed without more news. In the spring two chickadees who had been living in the elm since October announced that they were starting for the north, and agreed, in return for the grain and bits of suet with which Charles had fed them all winter, to come back if they learned anything of the wanderers and give their report before going ahead with the house that they planned to build that spring in Labrador. But the chickadees did not come back. They might, of course, have been caught and eaten by hawks or cats. They might have decided that it was too far to come all the way back to the farm, just to tell the animals that their friends were well. But still they hadn’t come back, and the animals worried. Every day Charles sent one of his eight daughters, who were growing up now into long-legged noisy chickens, with manners that were the despair of Henrietta, their mother, to perch on the gatepost and watch the road for the first sign of the returning travellers. But July passed, August passed, and no one came.

  And then at last the animals decided that something must be done. It was Mrs. Wiggins who really got things going. “I just can’t sleep nights,” she complained, “for thinking of those dear friends away off up there in the cold and the snow, maybe without anything to eat, and my own dear sister, Mrs. Wogus, with them; and her little girl, Marietta, sobbing herself to sleep every night because she wants her mother back. We’ve got to do something, and we’re going to do something. Even if I have to go alone, I’m going to start out and find them. If anyone else wants to come along, he can, but I’m going anyway.”

  “A very laudable resolve, Mrs. Wiggins,” said Charles. “A very brave and noble resolution. I’ve been thinking myself for some time that a rescue party should be formed.”

  “Then why didn’t you say something about it?” Mrs. Wiggins demanded. She knew perfectly well that the idea had never occurred to the rooster.

  “I thought it best to wait,” replied Charles with dignity, “until we were really sure that something hadn’t gone wrong. We’d look rather foolish starting out to rescue them and then meeting them half a mile down the road, wouldn’t we?”

  “There are some things worse than looking foolish,” snapped Mrs. Wiggins, “though no selfish, stuck-up rooster would ever know it.”

  “I take no offence at your words,” said Charles, “since I realize the anxiety that you must be feeling, and that, after all, I share with you. Certainly, though, you won’t be permitted to go on this quest alone. I’m sure that every animal in the barnyard will want to take part. Personally—”

  “They can do as they please,” Mrs. Wiggins interrupted. “I start tomorrow morning.” And she turned her back on Charles and went on moodily chewing her cud.

  But the next morning when she came out of the cow-shed, firm in her resolve to start for the north without delay, she was surprised to find a great crowd of animals of all kinds waiting for her. The afternoon before, Charles had sent his eight daughters and his seven sons round to all the farms in the neighbourhood to call for volunteers for the rescue party, and as all the adventurers except Ferdinand were very popular, nearly every animal who could get away had agreed to go. There they were, waiting, and as Mrs. Wiggins came out they gave a cheer that brought the night-capped heads of Mr. and Mrs. Bean to the window.

  “What’s all this?” asked Mrs. Wiggins as the animals crowded around her.

  “What’s all this?” asked Mrs. Wiggins

  Charles stepped forward and explained. “Of course,” he said, “we can’t all go, for there are nearly a hundred of us volunteers here, and the rescue party shouldn’t consist of more than ten or fifteen. Some of us, therefore, will have to resign the privilege of engaging in this glorious venture and remain at home, disappointed, but happy in the knowledge that in volunteering we have done our manifest duty. In order to avoid the embarrassment which any of you may feel in dropping out now,” he went on, turning to the crowd of animals, “I will set the example by voluntarily withdrawing from the rescue party. Much as my heart has been set on it, eagerly as I have looked forward to this venture, I shall yet be able with dry eyes to watch the departure of the devoted band among whom I had hoped to number myself, since I shall—”

  But the speech was never finished, for with an angry clucking Henrietta, his wife, pushed her way through the circle of curious animals. “What’s all this I hear?” she demanded. “Not going, did you say? Well, just let me see you try to stay at home! You’ll wish you’d never been hatched, that’s all I’ve got to say! To desert your friends when they’re in want and danger—I never heard such cowardly nonsense! You’re going, and, what’s more, I’m going with you, to see there’s no shirking.”

  “Tut, tut, my dear,” said Charles in a whisper. “You don’t understand. Of course I’m going. But all these animals can’t go, and I was merely—”

  But Henrietta cuffed him aside with her wing. “You be quiet, young man, if you know what’s good for you.—And now, Mrs. Wiggins,” she went on, “I take it what you want is to get started as soon as possible. If we let my husband do any more talking, we shan’t get started for a week. What I suggest is that you select the animals you want to have with you on this trip yourself. Isn’t that fair, animals?”

  They all agreed and formed a long line, which went twice around the barnyard and out into the road, and Mrs. Wiggins walked up and down and tried to make her choice, but all the animals wanted to go so badly that she didn’t have the heart to dismiss any of them, and finally she got so mixed up and confused that she just sat down in the middle of the barnyard and cried.

  Mrs. Wiggins didn’t have much of an education, but she had a good heart, and all the animals were very fond of her, so they all crowded round to try to cheer her up. But there were so many of them that those on the outside of the crowd who couldn’t get near her began to push, and then the ones they had pushed got angry and pushed back, and pretty soon the whole barnyard was a mob of angry animals, growling and pushing and shoving, and in the middle, almost smothered, was Mrs. Wiggins.

  Goodness knows what might have happened if at that moment Charles’s eldest daughter, Leah, whose turn it was to sit on the fence and watch the road, hadn’t come dashing into the yard with the news that she thought she had seen Ferdinand away off up the road. At once all the animals disentangled themselves and rushed out the gate, and, sure enough, a quarter of a mile up the road they saw a small black figure coming slowly towards them. It limped, and one wing hung down and trailed in the dust, but it was certainly a crow, and as it came nearer, they saw that it was indeed Ferdinand.

  The animals surrounded him and nearly deafened him with questions. Since he couldn’t have been heard if he had tried to answer, he simply trudged along through the gate, across the yard, and into the barn, where he took a long drink from the watering-trough, then came outside and raised his claw for silence.

  “My friends,” he said when his audience had stopped whispering and shuffling and trying t
o edge themselves into a better position, “I have been on the road for nearly two months, walking all the time, for, as you see, my wing is broken. To tell you all that has happened is too long a story, for I have come back to get help, and we must start at once. But three months ago we had reached the Arctic Ocean. We had camped on the shore while Freddy worked out with his map the route we were to follow in our dash for the pole. Everything had gone well so far; we were very happy and comfortable in the tent we made with the blankets, and with few exceptions all the animals of the North had been very friendly and helpful. It was warmer that night than it had been in some time, and all around us we heard the ice cracking and booming as it split and melted. We thought we had camped far enough back from the shore to be safe, but in the morning when we stepped outside the tent door, there was water all around us. The piece of ice we had been camping on had split off during the night and we were on an iceberg in the middle of the Arctic Ocean.”