“Well,” said Adoniram, “I expect we’ll find him some day if we keep on looking. And in the meantime you like to be with me, don’t you?”
“Sure I do,” said the dog, wagging his tail as he looked up at the boy.
Adoniram thought for a minute. “I suppose,” he said, “anybody that found Byram would rate one of those medals of Uncle Ben’s, wouldn’t he?”
“Golly,” said Georgie, “that’s an idea! These animals would do anything to get one of those medals. Let’s go ask Uncle Ben.”
Life on the Bean farm had been pretty strenuous since the presentation of the medal to Ronald. All the animals had gone around being brave, in the hope that they would get medals, but so far none had been awarded. Henrietta had come nearest it, for she had jumped into the pond to rescue a grasshopper. But then she had eaten the grasshopper, so that didn’t count. Even the four mice, Eek and Quik and Eeny and Cousin Augustus, had been practicing up being brave by sitting at the doors of their holes and making faces at Jinx. At first Jinx didn’t know what was the matter with them. He was sorry for them because he thought they had stomach-aches. And when they explained that they were insulting him, he just laughed.
When Adoniram spoke to Uncle Ben about offering the medal to anybody who could find Byram, the old man nodded. “Find him in a brave way—get the medal,” he said.
“Yes, but suppose they aren’t specially brave about it,” said the boy. “I mean, suppose they just keep at it and keep at it until they find him.”
“Persistence,” said Uncle Ben. “No medal for persistence.”
“Oh dear,” said Adoniram. “Georgie and I thought it would be such a good way to get the animals to help find him.”
Uncle Ben shook his head and went back to his bench. He was working now on an improved firecracker alarm clock, which, instead of firing just one cracker, fired a series of them, one every two minutes, each one louder than the last. Even the soundest sleeper couldn’t sleep through the bang of the final giant cracker.
But the next day Uncle Ben called the boy up into the loft and laid a medal in his hand. On one side was a bee, and the words: “Diligence, Persistence, Industry.” On the other side it said: “The Adoniram Bean Diligence Medal. Awarded to——for distinguished service and stick-to-it-iveness.”
Adoniram was delighted with the medal. He thanked Uncle Ben and then ran out to tell the animals. But to his surprise, although they all said it was awfully nice and they hoped they could win it, none of them seemed very much excited.
“I tell you what’s the matter,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “Most people want to be thought brave, but they don’t much care about being thought diligent. Or take it the other way round. Call any animal a coward and you’ll make him madder’n a hornet. But call him lazy, and he’ll just laugh. I don’t know why that is, but I’ve seen it happen over and over again.”
“It’s harder to be diligent than it is to be brave,” said Mrs. Wogus. “That’s why. You can be brave for two seconds and then it’s all over. But to be diligent takes anywhere from a month to ten years.”
“I guess maybe that’s it,” said Adoniram. “Well, it’s too bad. I do want to find Byram, on Georgie’s account as well as my own.”
“Now, don’t you be discouraged,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “My land, these animals may not care such a lot about working for the medal, but as soon as they know about how you feel they’ll work their heads off to find that boy. Here, you stop fretting about it and leave it to me.”
When Mrs. Wiggins said something would happen, it pretty generally happened. She was big and clumsy, and she made more mistakes than you would believe one cow could make, but when anybody was in trouble he always came to Mrs. Wiggins, rather than her partner in the detective business, the brilliant but erratic Freddy, who was as likely as not to stop in the middle of tracking down a criminal case and start writing poetry or drawing plans for a new pigpen or doing any one of the thousand things to which he could turn his hand.
And so the next day Mrs. Wiggins said to her sisters: “I’m going out to take a walk. I want to think about this boy.” She always went out for a walk when anything was bothering her, because she said she thought better when she was walking. But the real reason was that she couldn’t think at home, because her sisters talked all the time. And then of course she’d get to talking with them, and her thinking just wouldn’t get done. Very few people can talk and think at the same time, even on the same subject.
Mrs. Wiggins walked down past the pond, and waved a hoof at Alice and Emma, but went on without speaking. The two ducks looked at each other.
“Something on her mind,” said Alice. “She isn’t usually so formal.”
“I wonder what it is,” said Emma. “I supposed everything was all right, now that Adoniram has been adopted. Dear, dear, I hope there isn’t any more trouble.”
“Let’s ask her,” said Alice.
So the two ducks swam ashore and waddled, quacking anxiously, after the cow. Pretty soon Mrs. Wiggins heard them and turned around.
“What is it, girls?” she asked. She always called them girls, because she knew it pleased them, although they had a dozen grand-nephews and nieces on the farm.
“Is—is anything the matter, dear Mrs. Wiggins,” asked Emma. “We thought you looked worried.”
“Good gracious, no,” said the cow with her deep hearty laugh. “I was just trying to think of some way of finding where that boy Byram is living.” And she told them of her talk with Adoniram. “He wants a real playmate, a real boy. Bertram’s all very well, but, after all, he’s really nothing but a rooster.”
“Deary me,” said Emma, “I do wish Uncle Wesley were here. His advice was always so sound. I’m sure he would have known just what to do.”
“I’m sure he would,” said Mrs. Wiggins, hiding a smile. It is hard for a cow to hide a smile, because she has such a large face, but Mrs. Wiggins did it. She did it by stepping behind a tree for a minute. She remembered the ducks’ Uncle Wesley well enough. He was a fat, pompous little duck who had tyrannized over his female relatives until the farm animals, who were fond of Alice and Emma, had kidnapped him one night and turned him over to an eagle, who for a small consideration had carried him off into the next county. Uncle Wesley had never come back, and Alice and Emma were at last able to call their souls their own. But they still revered his memory.
“But I should think the circus man could help you,” said Alice. “He’s an awfully nice man, and he travels all over the country.”
“My goodness,” said Mrs. Wiggins, “Mr. Boomschmidt! Of course—he’s just the person. Now, why didn’t I think of that?”
“You probably would have in a minute,” said Emma politely.
“Well, we’ll never know,” said the cow. “Anyway, I’m going to walk right over to the Centerboro fair grounds and see him. Freddy had a postcard from some of the circus animals yesterday saying they would get into Centerboro some time today. They give a show there tomorrow, and a lot of us were talking about going over.” And she thanked the ducks and trotted off.
The Boomschmidt circus came to Centerboro to give its performance twice every summer, and the animals on the Bean farm had got quite well acquainted with the circus animals. Two years before, Freddy had done some detective work for them helping to solve an extremely difficult case, and they were all pretty grateful. Mrs. Wiggins knew that they would help her if they possibly could.
On the way through the barnyard she found Adoniram and Bertram shooting marbles. “Hop up on my back, Adoniram,” she said. “We’re going over to Centerboro to see the circus come in.”
Adoniram had been hoping that someone would ask him to go over. He was going to the circus next day, of course, but it is almost as much fun to see the wagons come in, and watch the tents put up, and talk to the animals beforehand, as it is to see the performance. So he jumped on Mrs. Wiggins’s back and they set off.
When they got to the fair grounds the big tent was already u
p, but the side-show tents were still spread out on the ground, and men were hammering pegs, and elephants and tigers and camels and animals of all kinds were hurrying about as busy as ants in a thunderstorm, and all was bustle and confusion.
“Hello, Mrs. Wiggins,” said a voice, and a small and very nice-looking brown bear came up to them.
“Why, Freginald,” said the cow, “well, you’re looking fine! How are you? Shake hands with my friend, Adoniram R. Bean.”
The bear held out a paw. Adoniram shook it.
“Where’s Mr. Boomschmidt?” asked Mrs. Wiggins. “We want to ask his advice about something.”
“I’ll find him for you,” said Freginald. “Hi, Leo,” he called to a lion who was lying down in the shadow of a wagon, “where’s the chief?”
The lion, whose mane was beautifully curled and arranged in a sort of swirl at the back of the head, said without opening his eyes: “In the big tent.” Then his eyes opened, he blinked twice, and jumped to his feet. “Well, dye my hair!” he said. “If it isn’t Mrs. Wiggins! How are you? And your charming sisters? I was just saying to Mr. Boomschmidt—‘Chief,’ I said, ‘if Mrs. Wiggins isn’t in the front row tomorrow, I won’t do my act. I won’t come on,’ I said.”
“Get along with you!” said Mrs. Wiggins, looking pleased. “They couldn’t keep you away from an audience if they locked you in a cage.” Then she introduced Adoniram, who was quite excited at meeting a real lion, and they went into the big tent.
Over in the far corner of the tent a crowd of animals and men were standing in a circle, watching a mud-turtle who was climbing up a rope. “Another amateur,” Leo explained, “who wants to get a job.”
As they came closer, a small round man in a bright-checked suit, with his hat pushed far on the back of his head, picked the turtle off the rope and set him on the ground. “All right,” he said. “That’ll do. My gracious, that’s a good trick, all right. But it won’t do for our audiences. Eh, Leo?” he said, catching sight of the lion. “Tell him why it won’t do for our audiences.”
“Quite right, chief,” said Leo. “He’s a turtle, and he can climb a rope. So what? What does he do when he has climbed it? Nothing. Well, you can’t ask an audience to look at that.”
“That’s it,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “That’s it exactly. See here, my boy,” he said to the turtle, “you go home and think up something to do. Then practice it. And come see me next year.”
“But what shall I do when I’ve climbed the rope, sir?” asked the turtle.
“Oh, dear me! Oh, my goodness!” exclaimed Mr. Boomschmidt. “How should I know? You’re the one to do it—not me. Think of something—a high dive, a juggling act, anything. Now run along. Sorry.” Then he turned around. “Well, as I live and breathe!” he exclaimed. “Mrs. Wiggins!” And he rushed over and held out his hand. “How are you, and the good Beans, and Jinx, and that clever pig—what’s his name? Now, why can’t I think of it? Gracious me, why can’t I ever remember names? I’d know his face anywhere, but his name—Leo, what is that pig’s name?”
“Freddy,” said the lion.
“Freddy! Of course. Handsome fellow, too. Well, well, it’s a pleasure to see you.”
When Mrs. Wiggins had finally explained about Byram, and how they had been unable to get any information about him, Mr. Boomschmidt said: “Well, well, I guess we’ll have to go into conference about this.”
“Where’s that?” said Mrs. Wiggins.
“Oh, dear me, it isn’t a place; it’s a state. Like—What is it like, Leo?”
“Like being in love,” said the lion. “Or in difficulties. Or—”
“Now you’re just being confusing,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “Good grief, being in love and being in difficulties—why they’re entirely different.”
“Not entirely,” said Leo. “But, chief, I was just illustrating—”
“Well, you’re not supposed to illustrate—not when you’re in conference. Now I call the conference to order. Anybody got any suggestions? No? Then what game’ll we play?”
“But, Mr. Boomschmidt,” protested Mrs. Wiggins, “we can’t play games—not now. I thought maybe you could help us find this Byram boy.”
“Dear, dear, so you did,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “I’m sorry. It was being in conference that got me mixed up. We always play games in conference. Well, Leo, speak up, what’ll we do about Byram? Offer a reward? Advertise?”
“I should think that would be a good idea,” said Freginald. “We could put up a notice offering a reward for information leading to the discovery of the whereabouts of a boy, such and such an age, such and such a name—”
“Why bring in his whereabouts?” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “We don’t want his whereabouts; we want the boy. And why say such and such? Why not give his name? What is his name, by the way?”
“Byram R. Jones.”
“Jones,” said Mr. Boomschmidt, “I’ve heard that name somewhere. And what does the R. stand for?”
“We don’t know.”
“Like the D. in John D. Rockefeller,” said Leo. “Nobody knows what that stands for either, I bet.”
The conference went on like this for some time, and it all seemed pretty confusing to Adoniram. He was surprised to find that when it was over, something had really been done. Since Georgie had said that he looked so much like Byram, it was decided to use his picture on the handbill that was drawn up, and a photographer was brought in to take it. Mr. Boomschmidt said he would have the bills distributed to everyone who came to the circus, and Leo and Freginald agreed to speak to all the animals. “And if we don’t find him before the summer’s over,” said Mr. Boomschmidt, “I miss my guess.”
Adoniram and Mrs. Wiggins spent the rest of the day at the fair grounds, wandering around and chatting with the animals and seeing how the circus was run. And when they went home, Mr. Boomschmidt gave them each a free pass for the show next day.
Neither of them said much on their way back to the farm. But all at once Mrs. Wiggins began to chuckle. “That Leo,” she said. “He tickles me.”
“I thought he was awfully nice,” said Adoniram.
“He is nice,” said the cow. “But that mane of his—did you see how he had it arranged? They say he spends half his time looking at pictures in women’s magazines of new ways to do your hair. He gets a permanent wave twice a year, and he’s always running to beauty shops. I bet you that hair-do he had was the latest thing from Paris.” They walked a way in silence, then she began to chuckle again. “Him and his permanents,” she said. “Him and his permanents!”
X
Bertram Wrestles at the Circus
Mr. Boomschmidt and his partner, Mr. Hack-enmeyer, didn’t believe that animals should be shut up in cages. And so their circus was quite different from most circuses. The lions and tigers and bears and elephants and camels and all the other animals walked around among the people and chatted with them and cracked jokes and gave little boys rides, and often after the show started they would sit with friends in the audience until their act came on. It was all very friendly and nice. Of course people who had never been to this show before were sometimes scared, and you can’t really blame them, for it is a little terrifying to walk into the circus grounds and come face to face with a Bengal tiger, or to be tapped on the shoulder and turn around to have a boa constrictor say: “May I show you to a seat?” But Adoniram thought it was wonderful.
The animals from the Bean farm had come in a body, led by the phaeton, in which sat Mr. and Mrs. Bean and Uncle Ben and Adoniram and Bertram. After they had walked around for a while and renewed old friendships, and visited some of the side shows, they filed into the big tent to take the two rows of seats which had been reserved for them opposite the band. There was a burst of applause as they sat down, for they were quite famous in Centerboro. And then there was a roar of laughter. For Mr. Bean had risen to take a bow, and when he took off his old felt hat everybody saw that under it he still had on his white nightcap with the red tass
el. He had been so excited about going to the circus that he had forgotten to take it off when he got up.
Mrs. Bean’s face turned red and she jumped up and snatched off the nightcap, and Mr. Bean looked puzzled for a minute and then laughed and waved his hand. And everybody clapped. And then the show began.
I’m not going to tell you about the show. Maybe you’ll go some day and see it for yourself, and I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as Adoniram did. Mr. Bean bought peanuts and popcorn for all the animals, and they sat and munched and watched and applauded. Bertram didn’t applaud, because Ronald found that he couldn’t see everything that was going on through the little window in the clockwork boy’s chest, so he left the control room and came outside. He went back in once, though. That was when twenty-five roosters came out dressed up in red uniforms and did some fancy marching. Ronald scrambled back into the control room and made Bertram clap his hands until the splinters flew from them.
Adoniram saw a lot of the audience looking at the handbills offering a reward for Byram, which had been handed them as they bought their tickets. And a good many of them kept looking at him, too, and then whispering to their neighbors. And just before the show was over, quite a number got up and went out. Adoniram didn’t think anything about it then, but when the band played the final number and everybody started to go, he heard a commotion outside, and as he came out through the tent door, a big shout went up. “There he is!—I claim the reward!—That’s the boy!”
The rush of the crowd toward him shoved him back inside the tent. As he and the animals were pushed back, he saw Mr. Boomschmidt standing up in the little ticket-seller’s pulpit at the entrance, waving his arms and shouting over and over: “Ladies and gentlemen! Ladies and gentlemen!” But nobody listened to him.
Adoniram saw right away what had happened. The people had seen his picture on the handbill and had naturally jumped to the conclusion that he was Byram. For the bill had said: “Have you seen Byram R. Jones? This is what he looks like.” It hadn’t said that the picture was a picture of Adoniram.
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