The Clockwork Twin

by Walter R. Brooks

  As the boy was wondering what to do, Leo appeared from somewhere. “Come on,” he said. “We’ll get out the back way. If you go out there now, they’ll all try to grab you and claim the reward, and they’ll get to fighting over you and tear you to pieces. The chief’ll calm ’em down as soon as they’ll let him speak. He’ll explain about that handbill.”

  “Maybe I could speak to them,” said Bertram. “I could make them hear.” And Ronald turned up the microphone and shouted: “Ladies and Gentlemen!” in Bertram’s loudest voice.

  “Well, dye my hair!” exclaimed Leo looking at him admiringly. “A natural baritone with all the power of a steamboat whistle! Sure, go out and explain.”

  So Bertram went out and got up beside Mr. Boomschmidt, and when that big voice rolled out across the crowd there was instant silence. So Bertram explained that the picture on the bill was not a picture of the missing boy, but of a boy who looked like him and who was thought to be his brother.

  There was a good deal of grumbling, and one man shouted: “Well, who are you, then? You look just like him, too.”

  So Bertram explained who he was, and why he had been painted to look like Adoniram, and then he showed some of the things he could do. Nearly everybody was satisfied with that, and they laughed and applauded when he did his tricks. But the man who had spoken before said: “Yah! You’re no more clockwork than my boy here. There’s some trickery, folks. I believe this is the missing boy, and I claim the reward.”

  And the man’s son, who was bigger than Bertram, came up close to the ticket booth and made a face and said: “Yah! Want to fight?”

  “No,” said Bertram, “I don’t want to fight. I just want to tell you—”

  “Yah!” said the boy again. “Don’t want to fight, hey? Want to rassle?”

  “No,” said Bertram, “I don’t want to rassle. I just want to—”

  “Yah, yah, yah!” said the boy, making still worse faces. “Scaredy-cat!”

  “That’s the stuff, Benjy,” said the man. “If we can’t get the reward, let’s have some fun. Rassle him—Hey, what’s this?” he shouted. For something like a thick rope had snapped around his waist, and he turned to look up into the calm eyes of old Hannibal, the elephant. And at the same moment, Louise, a smaller elephant, had grabbed the boy. Mr. Boomschmidt had slipped away and brought them back.

  “My goodness,” said Mr. Boomschmidt, “I don’t want to put you off the grounds, but this is a circus, not a battlefield. If you want to rassle, why, rassle these elephants.”

  “You put me down,” roared the boy. “You big coward,” he shouted to Bertram.

  Adoniram had come out, and now he said to Mr. Boomschmidt: “We can’t let him call Bertram names in front of everybody. But we can’t let him wrestle Bertram, either. He wouldn’t have a show. Let me wrestle him.”

  “You’re smaller than he is,” said Mr. Boomschmidt doubtfully.

  “Yes, but Bertram and I have wrestled a lot together, and Peter, the bear, has taught me a lot about wrestling, too.”

  But the boy didn’t want to wrestle with Adoniram. “I’m not going to fight with anybody who’s been taught by a bear,” he said. “Anyway, it’s that one I dared to rassle.” And he pointed to Bertram. “If he dassent, let him say so.”

  “All right,” said Bertram at last. “Put him down, Louise. I’ll rassle him.”

  So the people formed a ring about them, and Louise put Benjy down. Benjy took off his coat and crouched down as Bertram walked up to him with his arms spread wide apart. “Now I’ll show you something,” said Benjy, and he leaped at Bertram and threw his arms around Bertram’s neck and twisted.

  Well, he might as well have tried to wrestle with a telephone pole. Bertram just stood and let him work for a while, then his arms came together around Benjy’s waist and he lifted him right off the ground. Benjy yelled and grabbed Bertram’s nose and tried to twist that, but Bertram didn’t pay any attention. He shifted his grip until he had the struggling boy under one arm, then he went over and sat down with his back against a tree. “Guess I’ll take a little nap,” he said. And his head nodded and his eyelids clicked shut and he began to snore gently.

  Benjy wriggled and struck out, but the more he struggled, the tighter Bertram held him and the louder he snored. And everybody began to laugh. Everybody, that is, except Benjy’s father. He came forward and grabbed Bertram by the shoulder and said: “Hey, you; that isn’t wrestling. You don’t fight fair. Let the boy up.”

  Bertram’s arm loosened and Benjy got free.

  “He didn’t throw you,” said the man. “He didn’t get you down. Now go in and let’s see you put him on his back.”

  “I will not,” said Benjy. “I’ve had enough. I ain’t going to fight with no piece of furniture.”

  “Well, I will, then,” said the man. And he took off his hat and jumped on it, and he threw off his coat and dove at Bertram.

  Bertram didn’t even bother to wake up. The man was big and strong, and he tugged and heaved and tried hold after hold, but Bertram had a good firm grip of a tent peg with one hand, and the man couldn’t even turn him over. The more people laughed, the madder the man got. And at last he got up and jumped on Bertram.

  “Here, here,” said Mr. Boomschmidt, “that’s no way to rassle. Hannibal, pull him off.”

  But Ronald didn’t like the jumping either, for he was afraid that something might get broken. And before Hannibal could reach them, he grabbed the man by the leg, pulled him down, and fell on him.

  The man just went “Whoosh!” and didn’t move. Bertram wasn’t very big, but he must have weighed two hundred and fifty pounds with all the machinery in him. He didn’t move either.

  “Have you had enough?” he said.

  The man growled and grumbled for a little, but he had no breath left, and at last he said crossly: “Yes.” So Bertram got up and helped him to his feet and brushed him off, and then held out his hand. But the man wouldn’t take it. He seized Benjy by the arm and dragged him off through the crowd. He was never seen around Centerboro again.

  This wrestling match created a lot of talk around Centerboro and people came out to the farm to see the clockwork boy, and then the New York papers got hold of it and sent photographers to take Bertram’s picture and reporters to ask him how he liked the United States and what his favorite color was and things like that. Mr. Bean got pretty cross about people picnicking on his lawn, and knocking at the door at all hours of the day and night, and sneaking along behind fences and pointing cameras at him. So the animals got Peter, the bear, to patrol the barnyard, and they put Sniffy Wilson on the gate to scare away reporters and sightseers. They weren’t bothered much after that.

  But one thing all the stories in the papers did—they brought the reward for Byram to the attention of every man, woman, and child in the country. And two weeks after the circus left Centerboro, a big package came by express for Freddy from Mr. Boomschmidt. It contained nearly three hundred letters from people in every state in the union, claiming that they knew where Byram was and asking for the reward.

  Freddy took them to Adoniram. “I expect you and Georgie, as the people most concerned, ought to go through these,” he said. “Most of them are probably either fakes or cases of mistaken identity, but you can pick out those that look the best and I’ll investigate them.”

  “Here’s one from Cuba,” said Adoniram. “It isn’t very likely that Byram would have got down there.”

  “No,” said the pig. “I think we’d better investigate the near-by ones first.”

  So they sorted the letters by states, and then Adoniram read the New York ones out loud to Georgie, who had never learned to read, and they picked out six and took them to Freddy.

  Freddy looked thoughtful. “H’m,” he said. “One from Batavia, two from Binghamton—here, here’s one from Dutch Flats. That’s just down the river a way. Then—Lockport, Jordan, Rome. And Byram may not be in any of these places. Well, Adoniram, if we go through these,
and then Ohio and Pennsylvania, Byram will be an old man with long gray whiskers before we find him. Still, there’s one thing that strikes me. Most of the New York towns are on the canal. Looks as if maybe some of these people really have seen him if he’s traveling along the canal.”

  “Maybe he’s living on a canal boat,” said Georgie. “That’s where most of the letters say they saw him.”

  “All except the one from Dutch Flats,” said Adoniram. “That says there’s a boy that looks like the picture in the big orphanage down there.”

  “We’ll take that first,” said the pig. “Georgie and I will go down there this afternoon. Then if we don’t find him, I’ve got an idea how we can get to work on the other letters without too much trouble.”

  XI

  Freddy Becomes a Trustee

  Freddy did most of his detective work in disguise. He had a great many different costumes hanging up in his study, and whole drawers full of wigs and false beards and dark spectacles and various other things to use in changing his appearance. He usually had a good deal of trouble with the disguises. Most of the clothing was much too big for him and he was always tripping over it and getting tangled up in it, and sometimes parts of the disguise would fall off, disclosing him for what he was. Not that there was ever much doubt, for he always looked a good deal like a pig, whatever he put on. The other animals wondered why he used the disguises at all, but he always said it was a lot more fun to do it that way. And perhaps that is as good a reason for doing anything as you can find.

  Today he was disguised as an old woman. He had on an old gingham dress of Mrs. Bean’s, and a big sunbonnet from under which two long corkscrew curls hung down on his shoulders, and he had pulled on a pair of black lace mitts over his fore trotters. The dress was too long for him, and he had torn off part of the front, leaving the back to drag behind him like a train. On his arm he had a shopping bag with a picture of the Bridge of Sighs on it. As Jinx said when he saw him, if you didn’t guess who he was right off, you might think he was something human, or you might decide not to take any chances and run up a tree.

  As they walked along the dusty road, Freddy kept twisting around to try to see how he looked. This is almost impossible anyway unless you have a mirror, and if you are a medium-sized pig with your head concealed in a bonnet as big as a bushel basket, it is entirely impossible. Freddy just kept switching his train around and kicking up dust, and finally after Georgie had sneezed about twenty times, he said:

  “Say, look, Freddy. We’ve got a long way to go, and maybe you can get there in that rig, but if I swallow any more dust you’ll have to carry me too. Why can’t you take it off?”

  So Freddy reluctantly took off the disguise and rolled it up and slung it around his neck. He put it on again before they got to Dutch Flats a couple of hours later. He was just tying the strings of the sunbonnet when a boy on a bicycle came up behind them and stopped and said: “Excuse me, ma’am, is this glove yours? I found it back there in the road.” And he held out one of the lace mitts.

  “Dear me,” said Freddy taking the mitt, “how could I have been so careless! I wouldn’t have lost one of them for anything—they were a gift from my dear husband. Thank you, my little man. Here is a penny for you.” And he fumbled in the shopping bag, and then said: “Dear me, I don’t seem to have any pennies.”

  “Oh, that’s all right, ma’am,” said the boy. He said it rather indistinctly, for he was holding his hand over his mouth and evidently trying not to laugh.

  “What is the matter with you, boy?” said Freddy severely.

  At that the boy burst out in a loud and uncontrollable laugh. “Oh, please excuse me,” he said. “I—it was just so funny to think of a pig having any pennies.”

  “A pig?”

  “Sure. I saw you were a pig right away. But I thought you didn’t want me to notice it, and I did try not to, really I did. You’re that detective from over Centerboro way, aren’t you?”

  “Bah!” said Freddy crossly, and turned his back and walked off.

  Georgie winked at the boy and followed his friend. Neither of them said anything until they got to the orphanage. It was a long low white building, and fifteen or twenty boys were playing games on the wide green lawn in front. They didn’t pay much attention as the two animals went up the walk to the front door, and Georgie said: “They’re pretty polite boys.”

  “Too polite,” said the pig. “Somebody must be watching them from a window.”

  And sure enough, before Freddy could ring the bell, the door opened and a severe-looking woman in a sort of nurse’s uniform stood looking down on them.

  “How do you do?” said Freddy. “Is the matron in?”

  “Have an appointment with her?” asked the woman.

  “Oh yes,” said Freddy. “She’s expecting me.”

  Now, the matron was having tea that afternoon with the trustees of the orphanage, and so the severe-looking woman, whose name was Miss Winch, thought that Freddy was a trustee too. And she couldn’t see him very well because he was standing against the bright outdoor light. So she said: “Well, I guess you can go right in,” and stood aside.

  “Thank you,” said Freddy, and started in with Georgie after him.

  “You can’t take that dog in,” said the woman. “Miss Threep doesn’t like dogs.”

  “Dear me,” said Freddy, “why I never go anywhere without my dear little Georgie. Still, of course, rules are rules, aren’t they?” He leaned down and patted Georgie kindly on the head. “There, Georgie, you run along and play with the nice little boys. Maybe you’ll see somebody you know. And please be a good little doggy. Mamma’ll be out pretty soon.”

  “Mamma’d better watch her step or she’ll be thrown out,” growled Georgie under his breath.

  Freddy of course didn’t know anything about the tea-party, and he was horrified when he went through the door which Miss Winch opened for him and found himself in a big room full of people. But he couldn’t back out. He edged around into a dim corner of the room, hoping that nobody would notice him. And for a few minutes nobody did. But then, one by one, the people who were sitting and standing about, drinking tea and nibbling sandwiches and talking, caught sight of him. And one by one they stopped drinking and nibbling and talking and just stared. And at last Miss Threep saw him.

  Miss Threep was almost as severe-looking as Miss Winch, and indeed she could be pretty severe when she had to, but all the boys in the orphanage liked her because she was fair about things, and she didn’t see why boys shouldn’t have a good time just because they were orphans. She had a nice smile, and she smiled it now as she went up to Freddy and held out her hand and said: “You’re Mrs. Winfield Church, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” said Freddy, because he didn’t know what else to say, and he shook hands with her.

  “Goodness, your hands are cold,” exclaimed Miss Threep. “Come have some tea.”

  “No, thank you,” said Freddy. “Couldn’t we—just sit here?”

  “Of course,” said Miss Threep, and they sat down.

  Now, the most important of all the trustees, and the richest, was Mrs. Winfield Church, but neither Miss Threep nor any of the other trustees had ever seen her because she lived in France. But she had come back to America that spring and had written Miss Threep that she would come to the tea-party.

  “Well, well,” said Miss Threep, “I am certainly glad to make your acquaintance at last, Mrs. Church. How courageous of you to leave Paris in the spring! And I do want to show you over the building. I want you to see for yourself how things are run. And I hope you will let me introduce the other trustees to you, for they are all very anxious to meet you. But first perhaps there are some questions you’d like to ask.”

  “Well,” thought Freddy, “I have got by so far, and maybe Miss Threep thinks this sunbonnet and gingham dress are the latest thing from Paris. Anyway, she doesn’t act as if she thought I looked funny.” And as the other people had politely gone back to their tea and
conversation, he began to feel better.

  “Well,” he said, “there is one thing I’d like to ask. It is about a boy named Byram Jones, who I understand—”

  But he never got any further, for at that moment the door flew open and a large woman all covered with pearls and diamonds and other jewels sailed into the room and said: “I am afraid I am very late. I am Mrs. Winfield Church.”

  Miss Threep jumped up as if a pin had been stuck into her and said: “What! But this lady here has just told me that she is Mrs. Winfield Church.”

  And everybody came up and crowded around Freddy.

  Freddy was pretty scared. But there’s one thing about a pig—he seldom loses his head. “Dear me,” he said, “your name really is Mrs. Winfield Church? How odd that there should be two of us of the same name here today.”

  “Very odd,” said Mrs. Church dryly, and some of the trustees looked at Freddy’s dilapidated clothes and compared them with Mrs. Church’s rich garments, and then they snickered. But being trustees, they tried to do it as politely as possible, for trustees are not supposed to laugh out loud.

  “Well,” said the head trustee, “I suppose it is possible. But as you are not a trustee of this orphanage, and as this lady is certainly the Mrs. Winfield Church, I suggest, madam, that you leave. I think you have made a mistake. You are probably looking for the poorhouse, which is about half a mile down this road.”

  Now, Freddy was a good actor and if he hadn’t looked so much like a pig, could have made his fortune on the stage. Indeed, when the animals put on shows, as they sometimes did, Freddy was always given the leading part, and his Hamlet was something to see. The secret of his success was that not only did he act like the person he was supposed to be, he felt like that person. He forgot that he was a pig and he was that person. And so now he was a little old woman in shabby clothing who had been insulted by a fat man with a heavy gold watch-chain. He stared at the head trustee for a minute, and then he said: “And why do you think I am looking for the poorhouse? Is it because my clothes are old and worn?”