In the second Tushville got three runs, largely owing to the jitters that had come over the Martian team. The four Martians were of course useless; if they played well and won the game, Mr. Anderson had threatened that they would never see Squeak-squeak again. And the others, realizing this, were too worried to play well. Except Oscar, of course, who hadn’t brains enough to worry. And when Mars came to bat, Chirp, Click-two-squeaks and Two-clicks fanned out in that order.
By this time everybody in the stands knew that Mars was going to lose. It was perfectly plain that as long as the Martians swung at everything they would strike out. And the others weren’t strong enough to make up for it. Mr. Hercules and Leo and Hannibal were hitters, and played their positions well. But Oscar was uneven, and the alligator was a weak hitter and hadn’t much of a throwing arm.
By the end of the sixth the score was Tushville 11, Mars 1, and Leo was in despair. “What can we do, Hannibal?” he said. “Where is the chief? He’s had enough time to bust them out of that wine cellar, hasn’t he? And where’s J.J.? He’s gone now!”
Through it all Chirp-squeak pitched to the best of his ability. The crowd in the stands seemed to recognize this, for they jeered at the other Martians, but not at him. Even the Tushville rooters groaned when the Martians continued swinging at balls that were a foot out of their reach. And Mr. Anderson, in his front-row seat, wore a wide and happy grin.
And then Mr. Pomeroy came flying at top speed, banked sharply, and lit on Leo’s head. “They’re coming!” he panted. “Mr. Boom sawed a hole in the door. My gosh—what a job!—it’s four inches thick. Took nearly three hours.”
All at once Mr. Boomschmidt’s big red car, with the Boomschmidt coat of arms on the door panels, came into the ball park, swept around in a half-circle and drew up in front of the grandstand. And out climbed Squeak-squeak and Jinx and the Kurtzes and Mr. Boomschmidt. And Mr. Arquebus. For the beard and the wig and the Prince Albert coat and the hat and the spectacles had been in Mrs. O’Halloran’s shopping bag, and Freddy had changed into them on the road.
Well, the stands cheered and cheered, and Henrietta turned so many somersaults that she became quite dizzy and had to be laid down on the grass and have smelling salts held under her nose. The Martians were wild with delight at having Squeak-squeak back safe. But after a word with Mr. Kurtz, Mr. Anderson went quietly out to his car and drove off, taking his suitcase with him.
Then Leo told Mr. Boomschmidt and Freddy what the score was.
“Well, come on then,” Freddy shouted. “What is this—beginning of the seventh? We’ve got a chance. Come on, boys; for home, for Boomschmidt, and for Bean! Let’s show these Tushvillains how us Martians play baseball!”
But as the team started out to take up positions, Mr. Boomschmidt said: “Oh, my goodness, Freddy, I’m all worn out. I sawed on that old door for three hours straight. I don’t believe I can play. If somebody threw a ball at me I’d fall down flat. Look, Freddy, why don’t you take my place at third?”
“Why, I never played baseball in my life,” Freddy said.
“You coached, though.”
“There’s nobody else but that alligator,” said Leo. “Come on, pig; give it a try.”
“In this outfit—in these glasses?” Freddy protested. And then it occurred to him that, with Squeak-squeak back, it wasn’t necessary for him to be Mr. Arquebus any more. So he snatched off hat, coat, whiskers, and glasses, grabbed the glove from Mr. Boomschmidt, and ran out to third base. And when the people in the stands saw who Mr. Arquebus really was, they all jumped up and waved their hats and yelled themselves hoarse. And Mrs. Bean, in her front-row seat, yelled louder than anybody.
He snatched off hat, coat, whiskers, and glasses and ran out to third base.
From then on the Martians played magnificently. They had to; for to overtake a lead of ten runs was almost impossible. In the seventh inning Tushville didn’t get a hit, while Mr. Hercules’ home run brought in three Martians, who by refusing to swing at anything, had got their bases on balls. This made the score Tushville 11, Mars 5.
The eighth inning was much like the seventh, except that when Oscar went after a popup hit by Oigle, he tried to show off by catching it in his beak, and swallowed the ball. He just stood there, looking foolish, while the bulge made by the ball went slowly down his long neck, and the stands rocked with laughter. So Mr. Boomschmidt took him out and made him go lie down, while Squeak-squeak went in at shortstop.
At the beginning of the ninth the score was Tushville 11, Mars 9. Tushville was shut out in the first half, which put it up to Mars to pile up three more runs in the second half if they were to win.
The first man up to bat was Squeak-squeak, taking Oscar’s place. Squeak-squeak was a little smaller than the other Martians, and therefore even harder to pitch to. He just stood there and watched the four balls go by, and then trotted to first.
Freddy came next. He stood at the plate, watching Smith wind up before delivering the pitch, when something flashed in his eyes, blinding him. He didn’t even see the ball, but he heard it smack in the catcher’s mitt. “Strike!” called the umpire.
Again Freddy stood up to the plate, and again the light flashed just before Smith threw. This time the umpire called a ball.
Freddy stood back from the plate. “Somebody down by the fence is flashing a mirror in my eyes,” he called to Mr. Boomschmidt, who sat on the bench.
Mr. Boomschmidt got up and went over to speak to the two troopers who were standing at the end of the grandstand, pretending not to see their recent prisoners so that they wouldn’t have to arrest them again and miss the rest of the game. One of the men—the one with the motorcycle, jumped on his machine, kicked it into life, and cut off across the diamond to where, by the left-field fence, Mr. Anderson was standing with a pocket mirror in his hand.
Just what happened then Freddy could not see at that distance. But evidently Mr. Anderson hit the trooper, for he was sprawling on his back, and Mr. Anderson, astride the motorcycle with the big suitcase across the handlebars, was roaring back across the diamond. The only exit from the ball park was through the gate by the grandstand, and before anybody could move to stop him—if they could have stopped him—Anderson shot through the gate.
It was then that Mr. Hercules acted. He picked up a baseball, and as Anderson shot past him he began to wind up for a pitch. By the time he threw, Anderson was about the same distance a batter would have been from a pitcher. Nobody expected the ball to hit Anderson, or to do much harm if it did, for by this time he was going nearly fifty miles an hour.
But a fast pitch can travel nearly a hundred miles an hour, and Mr. Hercules had a very fast ball. The ball overtook Anderson at something like fifty miles an hour, struck him fairly between the shoulders, and knocked him neatly off the machine, which went on for nearly a hundred feet before tipping over and throwing off the suitcase, which burst open and spilled a flashing cascade of jewelry over the grass.
The stands were in an uproar. The crowd was on its feet, yelling, as the second trooper ran out of the gate and handcuffed Mr. Anderson, who was apparently dazed, but not seriously hurt, by his fall. After he was led away, and the jewelry was repacked in the suitcase and stowed in the trooper’s car, the excitement died down. Mr. Boomschmidt signaled to Henrietta, who was now on her feet again, and she ran out in front of the cheering section and called for a Martian cheer for Squeak-squeak—the one with the Martian “hurrah” in it. After that there was a sneezing cheer for Mr. Boomschmidt, and then she made up a special cheer for Freddy, ending: “piggy-wiggy-wiggy! Oink, oink, oink!” Freddy didn’t like it very much.
Then the game went on. Freddy watched Smith wind up for the pitch, he saw his arm come forward and his hand release the ball, which came toward him at what seemed like tremendous speed. This was the first fast ball Freddy had ever had to stand up to, for the mirror flashing in his eyes had blinded him to the other two. It scared him. He ducked and put up the bat, not to hit the ball, but
to protect himself from it. And there was a crack! and he felt his hands tingle. And then he looked and saw the ball sailing out just over the shortstop’s head.
For a second he stood there looking at it in amazement, then Mr. Boomschmidt’s voice shouted: “Run, Freddy! My goodness gracious, don’t stand there! Run!”
So Freddy ran. As he rounded first, his old enemy, Black Beard, deliberately put out a foot and tried to trip him. But Freddy saw it in time. He dropped to all fours and plowed right through the man, tossing him in the air to come down with a thud that knocked the wind out of him. Then he got to third before the right fielder got the ball back to the third baseman. That brought Squeak-squeak in, and the score was now 11 to 10.
Chirp-squeak and Chirp got their base on balls, then Click-two-squeaks walked, forcing Freddy in and tying the score. The Tushville pitcher was game. He stuck to his guns, and using every ounce of skill he had, he managed to get two strikes on Two-clicks. But he couldn’t keep it up. After that he pitched four straight balls, Chirp-squeak was forced in, and the game was won, 12 to 11.
After they had been cheered and shaken hands with and congratulated by what seemed to Freddy everyone in the ball park, he and Jinx and Leo slipped away from the crowd as it streamed out of the gates.
“It’s nice we won the game and the team will have its uniforms,” said the pig, “but I’m glad all this business is over. My goodness, I’d like a little peace and quiet.”
“I don’t know what you’re kicking about,” said Jinx. “You started the whole business—the Martian baseball team and all. And a couple of your old enemies—Kurtz and Anderson—have been hauled off to the hoosegow. Not to speak of the reward for finding all that jewelry, which you’ll get part of anyway.”
“Oh, sure; I know all that,” said Freddy. “But there’s been too much going on. I miss the barnyard, the long quiet evenings in the pig pen, working at my poetry. I miss the animals. I’ve had too much to do with people—humans, I mean. Oh, I don’t mean the Beans, and Mr. Boom, and the circus people. But all these mobs. Look at ’em.” He waved an arm at the crowds filing out of the gate.
“You’re getting to be a snob like Oscar, only the other way round,” said Leo. “There was a couple of years when he wouldn’t speak to anybody that had more than two legs. You’re going to stick up your nose at anybody that has less than four. Next thing, you’ll be taking off your hat to centipedes.”
“Oh, it isn’t that,” Freddy protested. “It’s just that I’ve been with humans so much lately that they begin to look funny to me. Look at that boy with his mouth open. A horse or a cow doesn’t look silly like that. Look at that woman with the hat with pink flowers all over it. You never see a pig wearing a monstrosity like that.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said the cat. “Might be right becoming to you. Like that sunbonnet. Hide your face, anyway.”
But Freddy just grinned. “I started a piece about how funny people look compared to animals,” he said. “It goes like this:
Oh, why do people go to zoos
To see giraffes and kangaroos,
When creatures just as odd may be
Observed among the bourgeoisie?”
“Among the which?” Jinx asked.
“Bourgeoisie,” said the pig. “That means just—well, people. Like that crowd there.”
“Children too?” Leo asked.
“Children mostly,” said Freddy. “We’ll come to them.” And he went on:
“I often wonder why giraffes
Are only rated good for laughs,
When they’re so dignified and loyal.
It sometimes makes me really boil.
By some, the hippopotamus
Is thought a quite odd-looking cuss
And at him, kids who’re impolite
Will smile, or even laugh outright.
Even the pig does not escape
From every kind of jeer and jape.
His air of calm and sterling worth
Does not protect from vulgar mirth.
Yet people should provoke your smiles
Much oftener than animiles
And as for children—goodness me,
How curious looking can you be?
For though by mothers deemed a blessing
To look at, they are quite distressing.
The toad, to look at, is no joy
But is he funnier than a boy?
The aardvark makes your senses whirl,
But he’s no curiouser than a girl.
To me, quite frankly, it’s bewilderin’
How folks can get so fond of children.”
“That covers that, I think,” remarked Leo.
“Not quite,” said Freddy.
“Had I my way, I’d put the skids
Under the whole darned race of kids,”
Jinx said dreamily.
“You take a slightly more comprehensive view than I do,” said Leo. “On the whole, I agree. Particularly when I think of the years I’ve spent in a cage, having my tail pulled and paper bags burst in my ears and things thrown at me. But I remember what my Uncle Ajax used to say. ‘Children,’ he said, ‘are not strictly speaking animals at all. They’re not grown-ups, either. More like some kind of very active bug. A bug with a habit of making loud noises that don’t mean anything. But you can get along with them if you can forget how funny they look, and if you remember to treat them as if they had a lot of sense. That, of course,’ Uncle Ajax said, ‘is important in dealing with grown-ups too. In fact,’ he said, ‘although in theory kids and grown-ups are different species, in practice there ain’t enough difference between ’em to fill the hole in a doughnut.’”
“Do you mind if I make use of some of your Uncle Ajax’s wisdom in completing this poem?” Freddy asked.
“Not at all,” said the lion. “Only-look, Freddy, I’ve got an idea. Let’s write a book on good manners. We’re agreed, aren’t we, that animals have better manners than humans? You never see a cow, for instance, eating with her knife. You never see a rabbit wearing his hat in the house. Well, why isn’t that important? Why shouldn’t we point out the things that are bad manners, and at the same time show that animals don’t do them?”
“Not a bad idea,” said Freddy. “Book like that would have a big sale among animals. Maybe among some humans, too, who wanted to improve themselves.”
“Yeah,” said Jinx. “What humans do?”
“How about doing it like this?” Freddy said.
“I bet you never saw a mouse
Keeping his hat on in the house.
I bet you never saw a yak
Make faces behind his teacher’s back.
I bet you never saw a bear
Put thumbtacks in his father’s chair.”
“Sure,” said Jinx. “That’s the way.”
“I bet you never saw a cat
Spill gravy on his best cravat.”
“I bet you never saw a lion,” said Leo,
“When asked to sing, bust out a cryin’.”
“I bet you never saw a moth
Wipe his mouth on the tablecloth,” put in Jinx.
“And I bet you never saw a grub
Hit his sister with a club.”
And Freddy added:
“I bet you never saw a cow
Using her knife to eat her chow.
I bet you never saw a bull
Talking when his mouth was full.
I bet you never saw a boar
Precede a lady through a door.
I bet you never heard a hornet
Say anything much worse than ‘Darn it!’”
There is no need to continue, since the book, recently published, had, as Freddy had foreseen, an enormous sale among animals. For as Freddy wrote in the Bean Home News (he reviewed the book himself): “Never before has it been brought so forcibly to the attention of animals how superior they are to humans. For centuries,” he went on, “humans have been telling themselves that they were the kings of the a
nimal kingdom. Yet from the facts gathered together in this book it appears that the so-called lower animals are indeed superior to the self-styled highest. For actions speak louder than words. Without boasting or bragging, let the facts speak for themselves.”
Unfortunately, there are always a few, among animals as among humans, who pride themselves on their bad manners. These frequently bought the book as a sort of guide to troublesome behavior. In later editions, therefore, Freddy plans to take out some of the verses which suggest the more unpleasant tricks to play on parents. He feels that the one about thumbtacks was particularly unfortunate, since some animal—he suspects Jinx—planted several of these objects in his study. After sitting on the first two, he of course hunted and found the rest. But the fear of finding others rather spoiled the fun of writing poetry for several weeks.
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 © 1955 by Walter R. Brooks
ISBN: 978-1-4976-9229-9
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This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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