Freddy and Simon the Dictator

by Walter R. Brooks

  “Golly,” he said to himself, “I wonder if I ought to go down! I don’t want to get massacred.” But the committee seemed to be taking it calmly. It looked pretty safe. So he went on.

  Miss Anguish had joined the committee on the terrace, and she waved to Freddy and patted the seat of a chair beside her. “Sit here, Chief,” she said. “Unless you’re taking part in the dance.”

  Mr. Camphor said: “This is Frederick Bean, the poet, Miss Anguish. You met him yesterday. The chief is the one with the feather headdress, just getting his make-up on.”

  “But that’s black and white he’s putting on—war paint!” Freddy exclaimed. “Is this business safe?”

  “Sure. I’ve known these Indians a long time. They’re Otesaragas—I think some offshoot of the Six Nations. They have a settlement about thirty miles north of the lake, and summers they come down and sell stuff to tourists and summer people. I asked them to come down and put on a dance for the committee.”

  Miss Anguish put fluttering fingers on Freddy’s arm. “Tell me, Chief, have you lifted any good scalps lately?” she asked, and gave a trill of silver laughter that reminded him of Uncle Solomon.

  Freddy said: “Haven’t had much luck lately. But—” he lowered his voice, “we’ve got a nice raid coming up. We’re planning to raid the Centerboro Rotary Club meeting tomorrow night. The trouble is, so many of the members are bald. Not much good as decorations.”

  “You ought to raid it on Ladies’ Night,” said Miss Anguish, and laughed again. “Look, they’re going to dance; aren’t you going to join them?”

  Freddy grinned. “I think I’ll sit this one out,” he said. “Hey, what’s Jimson doing?”

  Mr. Camphor, who had been talking with the chief, had suddenly stripped off his coat and shirt and the chief was painting his face and chest in broad bars of black and white. “For goodness’ sake, is he going on the war path?”

  Mr. Camphor swam a good deal during the summer; his skin was sunburned nearly as dark as the Indians’. Now when with a tomahawk in his hand he took his place among the others who began yelling and stamping and cavorting in a circle on the grass, Freddy had a hard time distinguishing him from the Indians. “Gosh, they look just like the Horribles!” Freddy thought, remembering the way the disguised rabbits had pranced and flourished knives about their scared victims.

  Now with a tomahawk he took his place.

  “Very pretty dance,” said Miss Anguish. “So dignified and graceful.” Freddy glanced at her, but she seemed to be quite serious. He wondered how she could always manage to make her remarks have so little reference to what she talked about.

  The dance went on for some time. Most of the Indians wore khaki pants and moccasins, and only two had their heads shaved except for the scalp lock; the others wore their black hair like white men, only rather longer.

  The committee paid little attention to the war dance. They were still busy digging into their memories for old jokes for Mr. Camphor to tell on the platform. They had decided that he should give each of them credit for his own jokes; as for instance—“This reminds me of a favorite story of Senator Blunder’s,” and then he would tell the joke. They liked this idea, because each was sure that his own jokes were the funniest, and each expected to get a good deal of credit from Mr. Camphor’s telling them. After all, what better reason is there for voting for a congressman than that he’s made you laugh?

  After the dance was over, the chief came up and was thanked and congratulated by the committee members. He smiled and grunted, and then turned back to the canoes. Presently they pushed off. It wasn’t until they were well out on the lake that Freddy noticed that the bowman in the first canoe had sandy hair. And then he looked around and didn’t see Mr. Camphor anywhere.

  Miss Anguish noticed that he was disturbed. She gave him a surprisingly shrewd glance. “I think they kidnapped the Governor,” she said.

  It seemed so unlikely that anything Miss Anguish said could have the faintest relation to the facts, that Freddy hesitated. Then without saying anything, he got up and went into the house to find Bannister.

  The butler, after a short search, said that Mr. Camphor wasn’t in the house. “But I wouldn’t worry, sir. They made him a member of the tribe last summer. Quite a gay ceremony, sir. They also honored me in the same way. We are both members of the Beaver Clan of the Otesaraga tribe. I could have joined the dance, but there is so little dignity here today … ,” he glanced out of the window towards the snickering committee, “that I thought, better not.”

  “Well, I don’t like it,” Freddy said. “He certainly wouldn’t go off with the Indians willingly.”

  “I think, sir, that’s just what he did do,” said Bannister. “I fancy he feels that the only way he can get out of being governor is to take to the woods.”

  “Well, it’s a poor place to take to right now,” said Freddy. And he told Bannister about the animals who were gathering there for the attack on the farms.

  “’Pon my word, sir,” Bannister said, “that is indeed serious. What do you suggest that we do?”

  “Get out those camping things we used when we went camping across the lake two years ago. We’ll have to go after him.”

  “Splendid, sir!” Bannister exclaimed. “As an adopted Otesaraga brave, I can take you straight to the Indian village. It’ll be very jolly to get into the woods again. All this dignity, it gets on one’s nerves a bit after a time, sir. But it is late, wouldn’t it be better to start in the morning? And what shall we tell the committee?”

  “I guess the easiest thing is to tell them that he’s been kidnapped by the Indians, and we’re going to rescue him. Now I’ll have to go back to the farm. I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”

  “I’ll have everything ready, sir,” said the butler. “Won’t you take the car? I’m sure Mr. Camphor would want you to.”

  “Maybe he would, since he’s never seen me drive,” said Freddy with a grin.

  Freddy had his own plane and was an expert flier, but he was not a good car driver. He explained this by saying that while up in the air, you had plenty of room; on the ground, there were too many things around: trees and telegraph posts and other cars and dogs and cats. He never hit things very hard, but he hit them often. Fortunately, he had no car of his own, and the first time he borrowed a car from one of his Centerboro friends was usually also the last.

  Now as he drove out of the gate, he heard a click as the bumper nicked the gatepost. “Confound it,” he said, “I gave that thing plenty of room. It just deliberately moved closer when I went through.” He drove more carefully after that. But as he turned into the Centerboro road, he narrowly missed a cat, who leaped aside with a screech.

  “Darn you, cat,” he shouted, “why don’t you—Oh, it’s you, Jinx,” he said, recognizing his friend.

  “Wouldn’t have been me if I hadn’t been darn quick on my feet,” said the cat. “I came to look for you, Freddy.” He hopped into the car. “Here’s news for you. I got a new title. I’m General Jinx, new head of the Bean farm. Henceforth and hereafter you don’t take orders from Mr. Bean, you take ’em from me.”

  Freddy wrinkled up his nose. “What are you talking about? You got delusions of grandeur or something?”

  “You bet I got something. Listen, kid. Just after you left a couple of J.J.’s spies brought word that old Garble was up at the Grimby house. So I went up and sure enough, there he was squatting on the edge of the cellar hole and talking to somebody down inside. I snuck up as close as I could but I couldn’t hear what they said. But at last Garble gets up and beats it. So I figure: What the heck, it can’t be any very big animal down in that mess of tangled up beams and stuff, so very carefully I tiptoed down the cellar stairs and crawled through and over and under until I got to the bottom. Then I stayed perfectly still for ten minutes. And what do you think came out? I’ll give you ten guesses.”

  “I can’t think of any animal that would stay in a place like that except a rat,”
Freddy said, “and the rats are all in Montana—all except Eli. But Eli was never a leader, he just obeyed Simon’s orders. This animal, whoever he is, is a bold and dangerous character.”

  “That’s fairly good guessing,” said Jinx. “Well, I’ll tell you a little more. There was a sort of box on the cellar floor, with what looked like a microphone attached to it. I’m certain it’s the one Uncle Ben rigged up in the clockwork boy. And then as I watched, an animal came out and began fooling with it. He was pretty near as big as I am, and he was gray, with a sharp nose and a long scaly tail—”

  “Not Simon!” Freddy exclaimed.

  “Yeah. It was the old wretch himself. Back from the wide-open spaces where rats are rats and men tip their hats to them. Yeah, he told me later that Garble sent for him and his family and paid the express. But I just watched, and then I pounced and got him. Golly, how he squealed when I tickled him—you know how he hates to be tickled. He spilled the whole thing —this revolution idea was Garble’s, and the rats hate us and the Beans; they were only too willing to take over the farm.

  “But listen—this is the pay-off. Finally, when I’d got it all out of him, I said: ‘Well, I guess this puts the lid on your revolution. This time we’ll ship you off to South America, and let’s see Garble get you back from there.’ So then he wanted to make a dicker with me. If I’d let him go, when the revolution got going he’d have me put in charge of the Bean farm. Boy, what a picture he painted! Me, sleeping every night on the guest-room bed, and Mrs. Bean cooking up fancy food for me, and a quart of cream every meal. I didn’t tell him I couldn’t have all that cream, that I had to watch my figure.

  “Or I could order the Beans into exile—off in Canada somewhere—and get some other humans to work for me. He sure almost had me sold on it.

  “Oh no, he didn’t really. But I got to thinking. I had Simon, but I didn’t have Garble, and even if we got rid of Simon, Garble could put Ezra or Zeke in his place, and the revolution would go on just the same. So I said to myself: Suppose I accept. I’ll be on the inside and know everything they’re up to. I can work with the A.B.I. and maybe I can blow their plans sky-high. Eh? How about it? Jinx, the old super-spy, hey? Jinx Tracy to the rescue!”

  Freddy said it was a good idea. “But it’s dangerous. If they find out—”

  “Who’s going to tell ’em? Nobody’ll know but you and J.J., and my contact—probably that bumblebee, Horace. There’s a meeting tonight again at the Grimby house. I said I’d speak. You better come—boy, am I going to blast your character!” He giggled. “You don’t merely steal candy from kids, you steal worms from robins!” He paused. “Well, what do you think?” he asked seriously.

  “It’s dangerous,” Freddy replied. “But if you’re willing to do it—well, Mr. and Mrs. Bean and every animal on the farm will be grateful. But they won’t be grateful until after it’s all over and Simon and Garble are in jail. Because you mustn’t let anybody but me know what you’re up to. Mr. and Mrs. Bean and all your friends must think you’ve sold them out, that you’re a traitor. Your good name will be gone. Why, the name of Jinx will be dragged in the gutter. Good gracious, it will be just sozzled up and down in the mud.”

  “I know.” For the first time since Freddy had known him, Jinx looked worried. “But what else can I do? Suppose Simon and these other animals do take over the farm. I could make things a lot easier for my friends—even for the Beans, maybe. No, I’ve got to do it, Freddy. I owe a lot to the Beans.” He grinned. “Sound pretty noble, don’t I? But I mean it. So let’s go have a talk with J.J.”

  CHAPTER

  9

  That night Freddy disguised himself and went up to the Grimby house again. There was a mob of animals there, and Freddy couldn’t get very close to the cellar, partly because there seemed to be a bodyguard of big shaggy dogs protecting the speakers. First, Simon spoke, urging his hearers to join up at once. “The hour of action draws near,” he said. “Do not delay. Soon we will march—and remember, my friends, when we do, those who are not with us are against us. Those who hope to stand idly by and watch to see which side wins—all those will be considered our enemies.

  “Join us now, or be crushed by us later. You have only a little time—a matter of hours. Delay means exile, or prison—or worse. I repeat—join us now, or be crushed by us later!

  “And now, my friends, I have a wonderful surprise for you. One of the staunchest defenders of the Bean farm, one of the oldest and most important of that group of barnyard animals who have for so long been trusted retainers of the house of Bean, has come over to our side. Friends, I present to you the new captain and leader of the Bean farm—that fierce fighter and distinguished statesman—Jinx!”

  There was a buzz of excitement among the audience, and some scattered cheering. But the little voice, that had spoken up for Mr. Bean at the previous meeting, cut through the noise. “Traitor!” it squeaked.

  There was a flurry of activity down by the cellar steps and a squeal of pain, and then Jinx’s voice said: “No, let him go. Don’t hit him. We can appreciate courage, my friends, and we can honor it, even in an enemy.”

  A rabbit bounded off away from the cellar, and then Jinx spoke again. “My friends, I have always had at heart the best interests of animals, and particularly of the animals of the Bean farm. In opposing my old comrades, in taking sides against them, I feel that I am acting in their best interests. If this is treachery—then I am indeed a traitor. If it is treachery to prevent them from destroying themselves out of a false loyalty to an unjust master, then I am indeed a traitor. If …”

  He went on for some time explaining how noble he was. It was really quite a good speech, considering that he didn’t mean a word of it.

  Freddy slipped away after a while. Crossing the back road, which divided the Big Woods from the Bean woods, he saw headlights approaching, and ducked back among the trees. When the car was almost abreast of Freddy, a big gray dog jumped out into the road and stood there, in the full glare of the headlights. The driver jammed on the brakes. “Get out of the way, you fool dog,” he shouted, and blew his horn. Freddy recognized Mr. Schermerhorn’s voice.

  But the dog didn’t move. He lifted up his muzzle and gave a queer sort of howl, and there was a rustling and trampling in the bushes and three cows came out into the road. They were rawboned, rangy creatures, with long horns. One of them said: “Get out of the car, bud, if you don’t want to get hurt.” And then all three hooked their horns under the car body and with a heave overturned it. Mr. Schermerhorn leaped out and ran off yelling.

  The cows broke into rough laughter. “I could ‘a’ hooked him and given him something to holler for,” said one.

  “No rough stuff,” said the dog. “Orders are, if they don’t resist, don’t hurt ’em.”

  Freddy tiptoed away. He shivered slightly. That big gray dog with the slanting eyes—wasn’t he a wolf? And if there were wolves in the Big Woods …

  He hurried back to the farm and reached the barnyard just as Jinx was coming home. “Been up to the Grimby house?” the cat asked. “Quite a meeting, hey? How’d you like my big treachery speech?”

  “You know about the wolves?” Freddy asked.

  “Yeah.” Jinx looked serious. “I found out Simon got a bunch of ’em down from the North on a promise of free chickens. That means we’ll have to move Charles and his family. How about up in the loft over the stable? There’ll be some raids from now on.”

  “I saw one tonight,” said Freddy, and told about the overturning of Mr. Schermerhorn’s car. “But there’s more trouble up at Camphor’s,” he went on. “I’m afraid Mr. Camphor’s in danger.” And when he had finished his story: “Darn it, Jinx,” he said, “how can I go after Mr. Camphor when there’s so much danger of trouble here at the farm? I ought to be here.”

  “Yeah?” said the cat. “What can you do against a gang of wolves? Look, Freddy; from what I’ve heard, we’ve got about three days. There’ll be some raiding first, then in two or t
hree days the big attack. As far as the farm goes, I can handle it for that time. Even after the farm’s taken over—and don’t kid yourself, it will be taken over—I can keep the Beans from getting hurt or being thrown out. I’m really in charge there—until they find me out. Shucks, I had a talk with Garble tonight. Boy, is he rabid against you! Know what I told him?” The cat grinned. “I said you were just the front in the detective business, the big mouth. I said Wiggins solved all your cases. And I said I wrote all your poetry. Yeah, and I said—” Jinx stopped. “No, I better not tell you that; you might get mad. Not that I’d blame you,” he added with a chuckle.

  Freddy knew that the cat wanted him to try to find out what scandalous thing he had said, so he changed the subject. “You’re sure it’ll be two or three days before there’s any trouble here?”

  “Any big trouble—yes. You can go after Mr. Camphor, get him, and bring him with you. You’ll be north of the lake. That’s where all those wild animals and the gangs from the hill farms are waiting.”

  “And the wolves,” said Freddy with a shudder.

  “Wolves won’t bother campers. They’ve had strict orders to wait for the signal, and the signal won’t be given for several days. Just be disguised, that’s all. Don’t let ’em know you’re a pig. Boy, I don’t suppose some of those big brutes have ever had even a nibble at a nice fat pig.” He smacked his lips. “Makes me kind of envious of them, when they do catch up with you.”