The Clockwork Twin

by Walter R. Brooks

  All three turned to look at the figure, now quite close to them. He was striding along with a queer, stiff gait, coming straight toward them, and making a funny clicking sound.

  “Gosh!” said Freddy suddenly. “It isn’t Adoniram. It’s the clockwork boy. Uncle Ben’s finished him.—Hey, look out, you! You’ll go into the pond!”

  But the figure strode straight through them as they rolled aside to avoid being stepped on, and went over the bank and into the water with a splash. “Stop him! Stop him!” shouted a voice, and they saw Uncle Ben come stumping along toward them as fast as his short legs would carry him.

  Jock had jumped into the water, and Freddy and Georgie followed him. The clockwork boy was thrashing around in the pond, still making walking motions with his legs. He was dressed in a suit of Adoniram’s, and the animals finally caught hold of his coat-sleeves and dragged him in toward the bank.

  “Leave him there,” said Uncle Ben, who had come up by this time, “till he runs down.”

  “That’s right,” said Jock. “He can’t drown, can he?” The collie climbed out, and the others followed him. They all looked at Uncle Ben.

  Uncle Ben was evidently struggling with a thought. He had both hands buried in his whiskers and was tugging them frantically as he stared down at the figure, which was lying on its side with a placid smile on its face, as if entirely unaware of the furious activity of its legs. “’Twon’t work,” said Uncle Ben at last.

  “I should say it worked almost too well,” said Freddy.

  Uncle Ben shook his head. “Start him,” he said, “can’t stop him. Hadn’t been for pond—been in Centerboro by now.”

  “That’s right,” said Freddy. “You’ve got to be able to stop him doing things after you start him. I never thought of that.”

  “No engineer,” said Uncle Ben.

  Most of Uncle Ben’s conversation was like that. He could put a whole sentence into two words. Some people found it difficult to understand what he was talking about, but Freddy had worked with him so long by now that he knew what the old man meant. “Of course,” he said; “he’s no more good this way than an automobile without someone to drive it. We’ve got to have somebody to run him.”

  “Animals too big,” said Uncle Ben.

  “Yes, even Georgie would be too big,” said Freddy. “We’d have to build a place for him to sit inside, and—”

  “How about Ronald,” said Georgie. “He’s small enough.”

  “Ha!” exclaimed Uncle Ben. “Rooster!” He drew a sheaf of plans out of his pocket, spread them out on the bank, and began studying them. After a few minutes he nodded his head, folded up the plans, and went up to the barn for a wheelbarrow. When he got back he dragged the clockwork boy out of the pond with the help of the animals, loaded him, still kicking, into the wheelbarrow, and took him up to the barn.

  Freddy and the two dogs went over to the henhouse to talk to Ronald. The rooster was delighted with the idea of being engineer for the clockwork boy. “It’ll be just like having an automobile,” he said. “I can drive him to Centerboro—go anywhere I want to—”

  “The idea is to have a playmate for Adoniram, remember,” said Freddy. “Not just for you to have a lot of fun by yourself, and taking people for rides, and so on.”

  “Oh, quite,” said Ronald. “You leave it to me. When do I get my first lesson?”

  “You’d better go talk to Uncle Ben,” said Jock.

  It was several days before Uncle Ben completed the alterations which were necessary. But it was a nice job when it was done. There was a little door in the clockwork boy’s back for Ronald to get in by, and a window just at one side of his necktie to look out through, and inside there was a perch for Ronald facing all the little levers that controlled the arms and hands and head and legs. And there was also a microphone rigged up so that Ronald could talk for him.

  It took Ronald some time to learn how to work all the levers properly, for the boy was much more complicated to run than an automobile. Nothing had been said to Adoniram about all this, although most of the animals knew about it. So the first time Ronald took the boy out they waited until Adoniram had gone to bed.

  It was a bright moonlight night. The clockwork boy stood in the doorway of the big red barn, surrounded by a ring of excited animals, while Uncle Ben wound him up good and tight. Then Ronald fluttered up into the little door and closed it behind him. He pulled a couple of levers and the boy put his hand over his heart and bowed to the animals.

  “Quiet! Quiet!” said Freddy, as the animals started to raise a cheer. “Are you all right, Ronald?”

  “O. K. Here we go!” boomed a great voice, that echoed back from the surrounding hills.

  “Great Scott!” exclaimed Jinx. “We can’t have a voice like that in him! Sounds more like a lion than a boy.”

  But Uncle Ben stepped forward, opened the little door, and, reaching in over Ronald’s head, made a few adjustments in the microphone. “Now try.”

  “O.K. Here we go!” came a rather hollow, but much smaller voice.

  “Well, it might be a boy’s voice,” said Freddy, “if the boy had a bad cold and was talking with his head in a barrel. But I guess it’s all right.”

  “What’s his name?” came the hollow voice again.

  “That’s right,” said Freddy. “He’s got to have a name. Well, Uncle Ben, he’s your boy if he’s anybody’s. You name him.”

  “Bertram,” said Uncle Ben without hesitation.

  So then the animals stood back and Bertram walked slowly around the barnyard once, and then he ran around, and then he hippety-hopped around. By this time Ronald was pretty sure of himself, and he put Bertram through his paces. He closed the barn doors, and threw stones, and chased Jinx and caught him and pulled his tail, and did a lot of other stunts, and then he came up and shook hands with Uncle Ben.

  Most of the animals thought that Ronald had done so well that Bertram could be introduced to Adoniram the next morning, but Uncle Ben said no, he’d got to have more practice. And it was lucky he did. For the next night Ronald took Bertram out again. And they had an accident.

  It happened this way: Bertram had done a lot of stunts, and he was showing the animals how he was going to play ball with Adoniram. He was being a pitcher, and he was just showing them how he would deliver a fast one when his hand, which hadn’t been screwed on very tight, flew off and sailed up in a big curve and went Crash! through Mr. Bean’s bedroom window.

  All the animals ducked for cover. They were horrified to see Bertram still standing there in the moonlight. “Beat it!” they whispered. “Go in the barn.” But Bertram didn’t move.

  And then Mr. Bean’s head appeared at the window. On his head was his white nightcap with the red tassel, and his left eye was closed and his right eye was squinting down the barrel of his shotgun.

  “Halt! Who goes there!” he shouted.

  Now, Bertram hadn’t run away because when he wound up to pitch the imaginary ball his necktie had slid over the little window, and Ronald couldn’t see out. But he heard Mr. Bean’s voice, and he was so scared that he just opened the little door and jumped out and ran.

  Mr. Bean saw the rooster quite clearly in the moonlight. “Ha! Chicken-thieves, eh?” he shouted, and he aimed at Bertram’s legs and pulled the trigger. There was a loud bang and the rattle of shot, but of course they didn’t hurt Bertram any. “Well, I’ll be switched!” said Mr. Bean. “I know I hit him, but he never jumped. Well—” and he pumped another cartridge in and pulled the trigger.

  Bang! And this time one of the shot somehow hit the lever that made Bertram walk. He started off toward the gate, and he walked into the gate and knocked it flat and went on into the side of the cow-barn with a loud crash, and his head fell off. And at that Mr. Bean gave a loud yell and slammed down the window.

  For a minute there was a complete silence. Then from the shadow of the barn doorway where Uncle Ben was standing came a queer, rusty, creaking sound and Uncle Ben came out int
o the moonlit barnyard and danced around, waving his arms and stamping until he looked like a gnome out of some old fairy-tale book, and all the time that queer, wheezy, rusty sound came out of him. I think Freddy was the first who realized it was the sound of Uncle Ben laughing.

  Under the sound of the laughter Freddy could make out faint rustlings and scrapings, which was the sound of the other animals all sneaking off to bed. But he and Jinx stayed hidden in the little tool-shed where they had taken refuge, and pretty soon Uncle Ben calmed down and went up to the house. After a minute a light went on in the kitchen and for quite a while there was a rumble of voices, as Uncle Ben explained to Mr. Bean what had happened. Then Uncle Ben came out again, followed by Mr. Bean in his nightcap, long white nightshirt, and carpet slippers, carrying a lantern. The two men were both laughing now. They went down and picked up Bertram and stuck his head back on and carried him up into the loft. Then they went back into the house.

  “Well,” said Jinx, “I guess the party’s over. Gosh, Mr. Bean must have been scared when he saw the chicken-thief’s head fall off. Ho, hum. Good night, Freddy.”

  “Good night, Jinx.” And the two animals went off to bed.

  VII

  Adoniram’s Uncle Comes For Him

  Uncle Ben repaired Bertram the next morning, and at noon Ronald hopped into the control room and drove the clockwork boy up to the house to meet Adoniram. Bertram shook hands with the boy, and with Mr. and Mrs. Bean, and walked and ran and sat down and threw stones and showed some of the things he could do.

  “Land sakes!” said Mrs. Bean, “you’d swear the creature was alive. What won’t Uncle Ben think up next!”

  “The Beans are a smart family, Mrs. B.,” said her husband.

  “It takes you to say it,” said Mrs. Bean.

  “Yes, sir,” said Mr. Bean, “smart’s the word for ’em. But I can only think of one of ’em that ever did anything smarter than what Uncle Ben’s done with this Bertram.”

  “And what was that, Mr. B.?”

  “That was when I married you,” said the farmer, and slapped Mrs. Bean on the shoulder.

  “Get along with you!” said Mrs. Bean blushing, and then she turned to Adoniram and said: “Well, how do you like him?”

  “Oh, I think he’s grand,” said the boy. “We can have lots of fun together.”

  “How about going fishing this afternoon, Adoniram?” said Bertram.

  Adoniram was delighted with the idea, and he ran and got the poles and dug some worms, and he and Bertram strode off down the road together, talking and laughing as happily as if they were really two boys going fishing.

  The animals had all gathered by the back door to see Bertram presented to the family, and now several of them started after the boys. But Mr. Bean called to them to stop. “You animals mind your own business. You’re going to have plenty of chances to look at Bertram without chasing after him now. What fun do you think Adoniram’ll have fishing if there’s an animal hiding in every bush? I know what it was like, that time you were all playing detective, and I couldn’t move a blade of grass without finding a pig or a rabbit under it. Leave ’em alone.” And he picked up his hoe and started for the garden.

  But Mrs. Bean stopped him. “Before you go,” she said, “did you see this letter that came this morning? It’s from Adoniram’s folks, but I didn’t want to speak about it in front of him.”

  Mr. Bean took the letter, put on a pair of very small steel spectacles, and read the letter through once upside down, and then he read it through right side up, and then he scratched his head and said: “Shucks!”

  “They’re comin’ for him tomorrow,” said Mrs. Bean.

  “What!” exclaimed Uncle Ben.

  “They won’t let us adopt him,” said Mrs. Bean. “They want him back.”

  “Fury!” said Uncle Ben.

  “Nothing we can do, Mrs. B.,” said Mr. Bean. “They got the rights of it, seemingly. Poor boy! I was gettin’ right fond of him, too.”

  “Well, they shan’t have him back,” said Mrs. Bean, getting very red. It was the first time any of the animals had ever seen her angry. “Horrid, cruel people! I won’t give him up. I—”

  “Now, now, Mrs. B.,” said her husband, “no use gettin’ het up over it. I talked it all over with Mr. Jerks, the attorney, over to Centerboro, and he says—”

  “I don’t care what your old attorney says,” burst out Mrs. Bean. “That boy’s not going back! Not if I have to get that old shotgun of yours and drive ’em off.”

  Uncle Ben and Mr. Bean looked at each other and pursed up their lips, and then they looked around at the ring of interested animals. “We mustn’t get the wrong side of the law,” said Mr. Bean at last. “Just the same, it seems as if we ought to be able to think up something. After all, we got a whole day. You animals,” he said suddenly “—what’s the matter with you all? You’re smart—you’ve got the name of being the smartest animals in York State. Well—prove it! Get to thinking. Hold a meeting. Hold six meetings. But think of something before tomorrow.

  “Wait a minute,” he added, as the animals started to walk away, all trying very hard to look thoughtful. “Remember, we don’t want to hurt these people. But remember, too, that animals can do things that humans can’t. If we drive these folks away, they’ll just go get the sheriff and maybe arrest us. But the law can’t touch animals.—Now, go think!”

  The amount of thinking that a couple of dozen farm animals can do in an afternoon is quite surprising. By supper time, when Adoniram and Bertram came back with a nice string of yellow perch, they had thought of sixteen separate plans. The meeting they held in the barn that night was one of the hottest debates in the history of the Bean farm. They voted and voted, and at last at midnight, when several animals had fainted from excitement and had to be carried outside, and Charles had spoken until he was so hoarse he could no longer be heard, a plan was adopted. It wasn’t a very good plan, but it seemed the best of the sixteen.

  The following day scouts were posted on the hills overlooking the road by which Adoniram’s relatives were expected to arrive. Adoniram had been got out of the way by sending him and Bertram off to Centerboro in the phaeton, drawn by Hank. Mr. Bean had given them each fifty cents and told them to have a good time, and he had privately told Hank not to get them back before supper.

  At two o’clock a handkerchief fluttered on the top of Swan Hill, and was answered from half a dozen other heights, and from the roof of the Bean house, where two squirrels were keeping watch. Adoniram’s uncle and aunt, rattling along eastward in their old car, saw nothing unusual in the peaceful countryside until, about two miles from the Bean farm, they came upon three cows standing in the middle of the road, who lowered their horns threateningly as the car came to a stop.

  Adoniram’s uncle got out and picked up a stick to drive the cows away, but as he did so eight skunks came out of the bushes and advanced upon him. These were Sniffy Wilson and his family, who had volunteered for the first line of defence. Adoniram’s uncle bounced back into the car as if he had springs in his heels. But instead of turning around, as the animals had expected, he swung out into the ditch around the cows, knocked over Snuffy, Sniffy’s little brother, and two seconds later was roaring on up the road.

  “Well, that’s that,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “He’s got more spunk than I thought he’d have.”

  “He isn’t a man that gives up easy,” said Mrs. Wurzburger. “I’m afraid he’ll get Adoniram yet.”

  “Well, so long, girls,” called Sniffy. “Sorry we had no better luck. But if you need us again, we’re ready.” And they dove back into the bushes. The cows followed along after the car at a trot, and a quarter of a mile farther on came up with it. It had stopped again, and Adoniram’s uncle was working at a small tree which had fallen across the road. Freddy had hired a couple of beavers to cut it down that morning.

  “Look out,” yelled Adoniram’s aunt, “here comes those cows!”

  The man turned to face them, an
d at that moment out of the bushes burst a dozen animals—horses, sheep, a goat, and Peter, the big bear from down in the woods. They closed in on Adoniram’s uncle, and Peter held him while Jinx, who was clever at knots, tied him up tight with a length of clothesline.

  “Load him in the car, boys,” yelled Jinx. “We’ll drag them down to the river and give ’em a good ducking. We’ll teach ’em to be mean to little boys! We’ll send ’em back where they came from.”

  Now this part of the plan would probably have worked all right, and Adoniram’s aunt and uncle would probably have been so thoroughly scared by the behavior of such wild animals that they would never have ventured into that part of the country again. But they had thought there might be trouble in getting Adoniram back, so they had brought along a gun. They weren’t very nice people.

  The first thing the animals knew about the gun, there was a bang, and the whistle of a bullet over their heads. Fortunately, Adoniram’s aunt wasn’t a very good shot, so she didn’t hit anybody. But there was nothing for any sensible animal to do but run. In three seconds after the report there wasn’t an animal in sight.

  Adoniram’s aunt got out and untied her husband, and after he had danced up and down the road for a few minutes in his rage, he got back into the car and they drove on. And pretty soon they came to the Bean farm.

  Everything was quiet around the farm; not even a chicken was in sight. The car drew up at the gate, and Adoniram’s uncle started to get out, and then stopped suddenly. For on the gate was a large sign: “MEASLES.”

  “Look at this,” he said. “I can’t go in here. I never had measles.”

  “You had German measles,” said his wife.

  “It ain’t the same thing,” he said. “Anyway, what’s the use of arguing? You’ve had both kinds. Get out and go in and get Adoniram.”

  So after quite an argument she got out and went in the gate.