Freddy and the Men from Mars

by Walter R. Brooks

  “You sure won’t,” Jinx said. “All this burned-over piece of woods—my goodness, it’s so black there could be forty black cats sitting out here within a few feet of the house and you wouldn’t see ’em at all. But there won’t be forty black cats—there’ll be just one, watching, waiting, creeping around night and day, waiting to JUMP!” With the last word he leaped at Ezra and, holding him down, started to tickle him. “Where’d you get the money to buy this place, hey? Answer me and I’ll quit.”

  “Oh—yow!” Ezra squealed “Hee, hee, hee! Quit!”

  Jinx paused. “Ain’t got the nice clear tenor Simon has,” he said to Freddy. “Upper register’s very weak. I miss those clear bell-like tones his old man gives out with when you stick a claw into him—here.” He scrabbled with his paw at the rat’s side, and as Ezra wriggled and squealed: “How about it—where’d you get the money?” he demanded.

  But Ezra only continued to screech and giggle, and Freddy said. “Let him go, Jinx. I know where Simon got it. Come on; we can’t do anything more here.”

  Leo said in an undertone: “But aren’t we going down cellar and clean ’em out?”

  Freddy shook his head. “Too many tough fighters. It would be a lot worse than your Uncle Ajax’s goblins. Anyway, it wouldn’t solve our problem.”

  As they walked back down to the farm, Freddy said: “You see, we’ve got to get Mr. Boom out of trouble first. We mustn’t do anything that will give anyone the faintest suspicion that the Martians are rats. What we’ve got to do is get rid of them, but never let anybody guess what they are.”

  “But as long as the chief and all the public think they’re Martians, they’ll stay with the show,” Leo objected.

  “I think we can get around that,” said Freddy. He glanced at his two friends. They were staring at him, puzzled, giving him, he thought, an unusually respectful attention. So he at once put on his Great Detective expression. It is a hard expression to describe. He shoved his jaw out determinedly, and he tried to make his eyes as piercing and hawklike as possible—something that is not easy for a pig, whose features are arranged on a different plan. But he did come close to something which was a sort of combination of George Washington and Winston Churchill.

  “This case,” he said, “is one of the strangest of my entire career. Usually it is my task to solve some crime, to uncover all the facts, to track down the evildoer, and to bring him to justice. But here it is just the other way round. We know all the facts, we have tracked down the evildoer—and now we have to keep the facts covered up and protect the criminal. Truly a strange task for a skilled detective. However—”

  “Look, pig,” said Jinx, who was getting tired of the eloquence, “just skip all the salted nuts and little pink candies. What are you going to do?”

  “Well, the setup’s this,” Freddy said. “Somehow or other, Garble got in touch with Simon and fixed up this Martian business. Or maybe Simon thought it up; he’s got better brains than Garble. They put on their flying-saucer stunt at Lanksburg, because the circus was there, and it was almost a certainty that when Mr. Boom heard about Martians landing, almost next door, he’d try to get them for his circus. Well, we don’t know what kind of a deal the rats made with Garble, but they must have split the money they took in, and he must have agreed to buy the Big Woods for them.”

  “But why would they want the Big Woods?” Jinx asked.

  “They lived for a long time at the Bean farm,” Freddy said. “Several times they’ve come back, when they knew we’d drive ’em out and they could just as well have settled somewhere else. They have always wanted to get even with us, and with the Beans, for chasing them away, and my hunch is, they think they can make a deal to get back in the barn. Maybe they really think they can drive the Beans out. They tried it once before, you know—and they did drive that Mrs. Filmore out of her hotel, with the help of Mr. Eha, remember? And you know, with money behind them, and with Garble’s help, they might get away with it. They’ve been planning it for years.

  “But I’ve got an idea. Come on down to my study and talk it over.”

  So they went down and talked it over all the rest of the afternoon. They changed it some, then after supper they called a meeting of all the animals in the barn and Freddy made a speech.

  First, he outlined the situation, and when everybody agreed that they must protect Mr. Boomschmidt, even if it meant putting off trying to get rid of the rats, he said: “Now I have an idea how all this can be done. And I am going to call upon a group of animals whose record of patriotism and courage is known to all of you. I am going to call upon them to come forward and offer their services in helping to get rid of the rats. I call upon the Horrible Ten to come forward.”

  The Horrible Ten was a club composed entirely of rabbits. They had been organized first as a joke, when they wanted to scare some of the larger animals. With their ears tied down to disguise themselves, and brandishing glittering little tin knives, they would lie in wait at night and then rush out and dance a sort of war dance around their victims, brandishing their knives and chanting a bloodthirsty song. Evidently they were prepared for something of the kind this evening, for when Freddy called on them they came out and went into their dance in the middle of the barn floor.

  “We are the Horrible Ten, [they sang]

  We’ve warned you again and again.

  We’ve warned you by letter, we’ve warned you by phone.

  If you want to dodge trouble just leave us alone.

  For our appetite’s good, and our favorite food

  Is someone like you, either baked, boiled, or stewed.

  So beware and take care and don’t get in our hair,

  Or you may find your name on next week’s bill of fare.”

  There was enthusiastic applause at the end of the dance, and then Freddy said: “Thank you, gentlemen, that was very nice. And now I would like one volunteer for a duty which may be dangerous. Will one of you step forward?”

  The Horribles stepped forward as one rabbit.

  “Very well,” said Freddy, as the applause from the audience fairly shook the roof, “I had expected nothing less. But I think, then, that Rabbit No. 23 should be selected. He is, I believe, the Head Horrible, is he not?”

  No. 23 stepped forward. “I am ready,” he said simply.

  “Good,” said Freddy, just as simply. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, I will tell you what we propose to do.”

  CHAPTER

  11

  Late that night Freddy and Jinx and Leo and Rabbit No. 23 entered the circus grounds. They had hitched up Hank and driven to Centerboro in their old phaeton, instead of having Mr. Hercules drive them back, because they didn’t want Mr. Boomschmidt to know what they were up to. No. 23 had on a red suit like those the Martians wore. It was one of six that Mrs. Bean had made for Freddy out of an old suit of Mr. Bean’s red flannel underwear. And Freddy had made some luxuriant red whiskers out of a silk tassel off one of Mrs. Bean’s sofa pillows.

  The nice thing about Mrs. Bean, when you wanted her to do something, was that she didn’t ask a lot of questions. She said: “You want these suits just like the ones the Martians wear, is that right?” And Freddy said: “Yes. But we’d rather not say why we want ’em.”

  Mrs. Bean laughed. “All right, then, I won’t ask. And I guess you don’t want me to tell anybody about it, do you?”

  “Oh, you could tell Mr. Bean. But we don’t want Mr. Boom or Mr. Garble to find out. That would be bad for everybody.”

  Mrs. Bean said: “You’re making me pretty curious.”

  Freddy said he’d tell her the whole story as soon as he could.

  At the circus grounds they crept quietly in close to the Martian tent, then No. 23 and Jinx went inside and 23 climbed up and went in the little door at the end of the cage. There were electric lights strung around the grounds, so that it wasn’t entirely dark in the tent, and 23 could see that five of the little beds were occupied, and that the sixth, which must be Simon’s, was
empty. On the peg above it hung the little red nightshirt and nightcap, and he tiptoed across and took them down. Then, moving as quietly as he could, he got out of his red suit and into the nightshirt, and crawled into bed.

  But something had awakened the Martian in the next bed. He sat up and peered hard at 23. “Is that you, Granddad?” he whispered.

  “Your granddad sent me to take his place,” the rabbit replied. “He had to stay at the Grimby house.”

  Another Martian woke up. “What’s going on here?” he demanded. “Who’s this guy?”

  In a minute more all five of them were crowding around his bed, asking who he was and why Simon had sent a stranger to take his place, instead of one of his own family. There was not enough light for them to see that he wasn’t a rat, but he knew that they’d spot him in the daylight, so he said: “None of your family could come; that’s why Simon sent me.”

  “Why couldn’t they come?” one asked.

  “Oh, how do I know?” said 23 crossly. “I’m just telling you what Simon said.” He started to sit up, but in doing so knocked off his nightcap and disarranged his red whiskers.

  “Holy smoke! A rabbit!” a rat exclaimed. “Hey, Zeke, we can’t have this guy in here, can we?”

  Zeke was Simon’s oldest son. He was evidently in charge in his father’s absence. “Yeah, we can keep him,” he said. “We do need someone in Father’s place. But maybe we can get some information out of him first. Hold him down, boys. Banjo, where are those pliers?”

  No. 23 didn’t like the sound of that at all. But Freddy, who knew the rats, had thought something of the kind might happen, and he had arranged for it with Jinx. The cat had followed 23 in and concealed himself behind the Martian dinner table. Now he suddenly pounced. He landed on Zeke, knocking the wind out of him. The other rats scattered, squeaking, into corners.

  “Quiet, boys, quiet!” Jinx said. “You start a row and—well, I won’t tickle you like I tickled your grandpa: too noisy. But I promise you, by tomorrow morning you’ll be quiet, all right. Yes, sir; awful quiet, and laid out flat, side by side, with your poor little limp tails all tied together ready for Mr. Garble to pick you up and drop you in the trash can. Now you just hop right back between the sheets and go beddy-bye.”

  The rats hopped. And when they were all back in their beds, Jinx said: “Now I’m going to stay right here, to see that you boys behave. Right over here by the door, because I don’t want any of you to go wandering around and getting lost.”

  “You can’t keep us in here,” said Zeke. “You wait till Mr. Garble hears about this.”

  “He won’t hear about it,” Jinx said. “Because the first one of you that tries to say a word to Garble will get his little red suit all clawed to pieces, and maybe his handsome gray hide might get some rips in it, too. Also, anyone who bothers this gentleman here who is taking the place of your dear grandpa will get the same treatment.”

  “You mean you’re going to stay right here in the cage?” said Zeke. “You can’t get away with it, cat. Come on, rabbit; you’d better go, and take your bodyguard with you. You go quietly and we’ll just forget the whole thing.”

  But 23 wasn’t scared, now that he had Jinx with him. “Nothing doing,” he said. “I stay and so does the cat. If people ask questions, you’ll just say that Martians are fond of cats, and on one of your walks you found this cat and decided to keep him as a pet. The people will be delighted. Can’t you just hear them? ‘How sweet! What nice people the Martians must be! And what a pretty pussy! Come, Kitty, come little sweetums—’”

  “That’s enough,” said Jinx. “Just lay off the sweetums, rabbit.”

  Zeke said: “You don’t think Garble is going to be taken in by that kind of stuff, do you?”

  “Who cares?” said Jinx. “Just don’t try to explain anything to him, and let him think what he wants to.” He sat up and let Zeke go. “Now come on, rat, and get into bed. Come on, my pretty; Uncle Jinxy will tuck you in.” Which he insisted on doing, much to the rat’s disgust. “Shall Uncle Jinxy kiss him good night?”

  “Yah!” said Zeke, and burrowed down under the bedclothes.

  Morning, of course, brought Mr. Garble, and with Jinx’s yellow eyes on him, Zeke said his piece. This cat was an old friend; they had asked him to stay with them. Mr. Garble was puzzled, but made no objection. And when the people began filing through, and he saw how pleased they were that the Martians were fond of pets, he didn’t say anything more.

  Zeke, however, was a smart rat, and he very nearly managed to get rid of Jinx that first morning, for he remembered how the cat had teased him the night before. He’d wait until there was a good audience in front of the cage, and then he would call Jinx. “Come, kitty-kitty! Come, oo nice pussy-cat, oo!” He talked the most outrageous baby talk to him, and scratched his ears and patted him. “Just a precious ickle petty-lamb, so he is!” Jinx growled under his breath, but he didn’t dare do anything about it. And at last he whispered to 23 that he just couldn’t take any more. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but the next time that guy pulls that gooey line I’m going to give him the old claws, right in his gizzard. You’ve got to get a new bodyguard; I can’t take it.”

  “Come, kitty-kitty!”

  “You don’t go at it right,” said 23. “Look, when somebody pulls a line on you that you don’t like, you can’t get anywhere by getting mad, or by arguing. Particularly when you can’t fight. And you can’t fight now. But we rabbits aren’t fighters anyway, and there’s one way we’ve learned to handle such things. Don’t argue, don’t oppose the fellow; agree with him. Take it right up and carry it on farther than he does. If he’s sticky sweet to you, you be stickier and sweeter to him. Do you get it?”

  Jinx thought about it for a while; then he began to grin. And the next time Zeke called him, he went right over and began to purr. “Oh, oo tunnin’ ittle kitty-witty, oo,” said Zeke. “Wants his ittle ears scratched.” He reached out a red-gloved paw towards the cat’s head. And Jinx turned quickly and rubbed his cheek against the rat’s face. He was of course twice as big as Zeke, who was pushed right off balance; and immediately he rubbed his other cheek against Zeke’s shoulder. Zeke fell over on the floor.

  Then Jinx, purring as loudly as he could, did as No. 23 had advised: he showed exaggerated affection for the rat. He rubbed against him, pushing him all over the cage, and he got him down and kneaded him with his forepaws, taking care not to let his claws go far enough in to make the rat squeal. Then he licked him affectionately on the face until the red whiskers were limp, and Zeke was practically crying with anger and embarrassment, while the audience roared with laughter, and even the other Martians had to hide their faces in their pillows.

  That was the end of any attempt to get rid of Jinx. After that the rats let him alone. All that day he stayed on guard. After the show that evening Zeke and the rat called Banjo came towards the little door. “We’re just going out for a stroll,” Zeke said, in a careless tone.

  “Oh no you’re not,” Jinx replied. “From now on no more evening strolls.” He curled up in front of the door. “If you need exercise, my little popsy-wopsies,” he said, “you stroll around the cage. And if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just take forty winks.” He closed his eyes. “But remember,” he said sharply, “first one that tries to get past me gets scalped.”

  None of them tried.

  CHAPTER

  12

  Along about midnight there was a faint scratching at the little door in the Martian cage. Jinx, who was sleeping right against it, got up and opened it. Another member of the Horrible Ten, Rabbit No. 34, dressed in a red suit, came quietly in. And after him about six feet of Willy came smoothly gliding. The snake’s head swayed for a moment above the row of little beds, then darted down quickly. He picked up the rat called Banjo by the head and shoulders, snaked him out from under the covers before he could squeak once, and the next thing Banjo knew, he was in a wire rat-trap under an old blanket in a dark corner of Willy’s cage. And No
. 34 had slipped into his bed.

  It was of course Freddy’s plan to turn all the rat-Martians into rabbit-Martians without Mr. Garble’s knowledge. Then if they could all disappear some night, leaving a note saying that their friends had come for them and they had gone back to Mars, Mr. Boomschmidt’s reputation would be saved, and Mr. Garble couldn’t say a word.

  This evening Freddy had left his plan in charge of Leo and Willy and Jinx and the Horribles, and they worked so quietly that by morning there were five rats crowded into the trap in Willy’s cage, and six Horribles in the little red nightshirts—which were much too small for them—sleeping more or less peacefully in the Martian cage. But Freddy was in trouble.

  After he had arranged the plan of substituting Horribles for Martians, Freddy had had to go to Mr. Weezer’s for supper. He would much rather have stayed and supervised the operation, but the invitation had been given nearly a week before, and as Mr. Weezer was President of the Centerboro Bank, and as Freddy was also a bank official (he was President of the First Animal), it was not an invitation that could be lightly disregarded. Then too, Freddy thought that he might be able to get some information about the sale of the Big Woods to the rats.

  The talk at the supper table was mostly about banking and money matters. Freddy had to be careful, however, for Mr. Weezer had a peculiarity which is not uncommon among bankers—at the mention of any sum larger than ten dollars his glasses fell off. Freddy had to regulate his conversation so that Mr. Weezer’s glasses were never in danger of falling into soup, or any squashy vegetable, or ice cream. Occasionally, in order not to have too long pauses in the conversation, Freddy would give a word of warning; he would say, for instance: “I believe that Mr. Billgus sent a check for—please hold onto your glasses—eighteen dollars.”