The Story of Freginald

by Walter R. Brooks

  Mr. Boomschmidt pulled up beside Freginald. “My goodness, Freginald,” he said, “I’ve been looking all over for you. Where on earth have you been? And what have you been up to? A fine rumpus you’ve caused, I must say! Come out from behind that lumber, Leo. Come on, I can see the tip of your tail sticking out.”

  “Hello, chief,” said Leo, strolling nonchalantly out and smiling pleasantly. “I didn’t know you were here.”

  “No, I dare say not. Didn’t see me coming, did you? Well, so here’s where Hack’s animals are, hey? There’s a fine how-de-do down at the circus grounds. Hack sent the sheriff there. Accuses me of stealing his menagerie. Now we’ll have to round ’em up and send ’em back.”

  “You won’t be able to do that, chief,” said Freginald. “They wouldn’t go. They’re on strike.”

  “Good gracious! On strike, are they? What for?”

  “Oh, the usual thing,” said Leo. “Better living-conditions. You know how Hackenmeyer treats them. They’ve got sick of it, that’s all.”

  “My goodness,” said Mr. Boomschmidt, “it’s too bad if they aren’t happy, but after all, they belong to Mr. Hackenmeyer. You boys haven’t any right to interfere. I suppose it was you that let ’em out?”

  “Give ’em Hail Columbia, boss,” said Rod, turning around and looking up at his master. “You’re always too easy with ’em. You never punish Leo for anything he does. —Ouch!” He gave a sudden wild whinny of laughter and shied sideways, for Leo, who was standing close to him, had made a clutch at him. “Quit, Leo! You know I’m ticklish! Stop it!”

  “Stop it, Leo,” shouted Mr. Boomschmidt, whose hat fell off as he clutched Rod’s mane. “Darn you anyway, haven’t you caused enough trouble today without playing your silly jokes?”

  “Sorry, chief,” said Leo, handing Mr. Boomschmidt his hat. “I just couldn’t resist it somehow. Rod looks so silly when he giggles.”

  “Well,” said Mr. Boomschmidt, “I don’t know what I am to do, I’m sure. Oh, good gracious, there’s the sheriff now,” he said, as a buggy containing two men drove in off the road. One of the men was Lucky, Mr. Hackenmeyer’s drum major, and the other was an older man in his shirt-sleeves with a tuft of gray whisker on his chin and a silver star pinned to his vest.

  Mr. McGinnis came out to meet them, and Mr. Boomschmidt, followed by Freginald and Leo, rode over.

  “You got to get these animals back,” the sheriff was saying. “This here feller is Mr. Hackenmeyer’s assistant, and he’s lodged a complaint agin ye. He says they’re Hackenmeyer’s property.”

  “I don’t know anything about that,” said Mr. McGinnis. “I was approached yesterday by an independent contractor who said he could supply me with labor. He brought these animals here, and now they’re working for me. If you take ’em off the job I’ll have to sue you for restraint of trade or something.”

  “I don’t want to get involved in no lawsuit,” said the sheriff, looking worried. “That’s why I took this job as sheriff. I figured, whatever happened, they never could make me arrest myself. But let’s get to the bottom of this. Who’s your contractor?”

  “Fellow named Freddy,” said Mr. McGinnis with a grin.

  “Freddy!” exclaimed the sheriff. “Hold on, you don’t mean Mr. Bean’s pig?”

  “I don’t know whose pig he is, but he’s a smart business man.”

  “He’s all of that,” said the sheriff. “Why, Freddy’s the best detective in the county. He’s helped me on a lot of cases. Well, now, if Freddy is in this, mister,” he said, turning to Lucky, “it must be all right.”

  “These are Mr. Hackenmeyer’s animals,” said Lucky, “and he sent me over to bring them back. And, believe me, I’m going to. It’ll cost me my job if I don’t.”

  Suddenly he looked over Mr. McGinnis’s head and turned pale. “Good heavens!” he said; “you’re taking a terrible chance, McGinnis. Do you know that the tiger you’ve got harnessed to that wagon is one of the most ferocious tigers in captivity?”

  “He isn’t in captivity now,” said Mr. McGinnis. “Maybe that’s why he isn’t ferocious any more. Hey!” He motioned to the driver. “Pull that team over here.”

  Lucky seemed scared, but he kept his seat as the tigers approached. “Hello, Lucky,” said Rajah good-naturedly.

  “Er—hello, Rajah,” said Lucky nervously. “What’s all this about, anyway?”

  “We’ve all gone on strike.”

  “What for?”

  “You ought to know,” said the tiger. “You’ve always been pretty decent to us. We’ve got nothing against you. But that Hackenmeyer—” He snarled angrily. “You know how he treats us.”

  “Yes, I know, Rajah. But, just the same, you belong to him, and—”

  “Ah, baloney!” interrupted Rajah coarsely. “If he wants us back, tell him to come on over and get us. Boy, will we give him a reception!”

  Mr. Boomschmidt had moved closer, and now he said: “I can’t understand this. Hack was always kind to the animals. Everybody we had was kind to ’em. Except that Mortimer Mendoza, I never had a man who treated ’em badly. He—”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Boomschmidt,” interrupted Freginald excitedly. “Did you say that Mendoza’s first name was Mortimer? Your old ringmaster?”

  “Sure. That was his name.”

  “Oh, then I know who this Mr. Hackenmeyer is. He’s Mendoza.”

  “He couldn’t be,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “Mendoza was a clean-shaven man with—”

  “With straight black hair,” said Freginald. “Sure, but he’s grown a mustache, and he has his hair curled. He does that so he’ll look like Mr. Hackenmeyer. Listen, Mr. Boomschmidt, I heard him talking to himself one day, and he spoke of himself as Mortimer. I’ll bet anything he’s the man.”

  “Hello, bear,” said Lucky with a smile. “You’re right about that. I’ve heard him call himself Mortimer too.”

  “Well, upon my word!” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “But if he’s Mendoza, where’s Hack? What’s he done with him? Look here, sheriff; here’s a man that’s impersonating another man, and the other man has disappeared. Isn’t there some sort of a law against that?”

  “Good grief!” said the sheriff, “I should think there ought to be. I dunno. Anyway, you got me kind of mixed up. Which one has disappeared?”

  “Can’t you settle this later?” said Mr. McGinnis. “I’ve got work to do, sheriff. Now, as I take it you aren’t going to try to return these animals to the circus—”

  “You take it wrong, then,” said the sheriff. “I got my duty to do and I’m a-goin’ to do it.”

  “All right,” put in Rajah, “if you feel that way about it, suppose you begin with me.” And he grinned defiantly.

  The sheriff scowled at him. “You’re a big tiger, and you know darn well I can’t do anything about you by myself. But let me tell you something. There’s a law in this county, and if I can’t enforce it alone I’ll go to the Governor. And he’ll send a company of the National Guard down here with rifles and machine-guns, and if I was you I’d kind of hesitate before I talked so big.”

  Rajah looked a little thoughtful at this, but then he grinned again and said: “I’ll think over what you say, sheriff. I can tell better about the National Guard when I see ’em.”

  “Rajah’s right,” said Lucky suddenly. “Hackenmeyer or Mendoza or whoever he is does treat his animals badly. I wouldn’t have stayed with him as long as I have, only I have a family to support, and circus jobs are hard to find. But, just the same, I’m quitting. You can count me out, sheriff. If he wants his animals back he can come get ’em himself.”

  The sheriff scratched his head. “Sure,” he said. “Sure. But where does that leave me?”

  “Well, my gracious,” said Mr. Boomschmidt, “I guess it leaves you free to arrest this Mendoza. Or at least you can go over and make him tell you where Hack is. Why, to think that I split up with Hack because of something he didn’t do!”

  “I guess this Mendoza kind of made a monk
ey of you, boss,” said Rod.

  “You shut up, Rod,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “I guess I know my own business. I’m going over and see this fellow myself. Eh, Leo? We’ll go over and have a look at him. He’s refused to see me before. Probably afraid I’d recognize him. I’ll know whether he’s Hack or not. And if he isn’t, I’ll tell him a few things! But I wish I knew where Hack was.”

  “I’ve got an idea where he is,” said Lucky. “I’ll go with you. I think we can straighten things out.”

  “Well,” said the sheriff, “in that case I’ll be goin’ along—”

  “No you don’t,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “You’re coming. Good gracious, we must have the law with us.”

  “We don’t need the law, chief,” said Leo.

  “To tell you the truth,” said the sheriff, scratching his head, “I wouldn’t know what to do. This is sort of a complicated case, and I ain’t used to dealin’ with such, and that’s a fact. We mostly get pretty simple crimes, like murder an’ pig-stealin’. No, you go along and settle it your own way. Besides, Centerboro is playin’ East Waddams up to the ball ground today and they can’t start unless the sheriff throws out the first ball. You wouldn’t want to spoil the game.”

  “You can’t spoil a ball game, boss,” said Rod. “It’s un-American.”

  “Well, all right, sheriff,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “But suppose I want to have this fellow arrested?”

  “The key to the jail’s under the front doormat,” said the sheriff. “You just shove him in and lock him up and put the key back.”

  So they said good-by to Mr. McGinnis and then Mr. Boomschmidt, with Lucky and Freginald and Leo, started back for the circus. And all the Hackenmeyer animals lined up and saluted as they went out the gate.

  CHAPTER 18

  Mr. Boomschmidt would have ridden straight into the Hackenmeyer grounds, but Leo and Freginald insisted that he must have a strong bodyguard in case of trouble. So they stopped to pick up Bill Wonks and two other men, who accompanied him, mounted on elephants. Even this did not satisfy Leo, who, after a whispered consultation with Freginald, said:

  “Listen, chief. Fredg and I are pretty tired. We were up all night. Do you mind if we don’t go along? We’d like to lie down and snatch forty winks before lunch, if it’s all right with you.”

  Mr. Boomschmidt seemed a little disappointed, but he agreed readily enough. As soon as he had gone, however, they got Hannibal and Jerry, the rhinoceros, and Uncle Bill, the shaggy old buffalo, and the two largest tigers, and Baldy, the eagle, and set out. They circled around and crept up toward the Hackenmeyer camp through the woods on the side away from the river. When they had got as close as they could without being seen, Baldy flew up into the top of the tallest pine, where he could watch and report on what was going on.

  As a matter of fact, they did not need Baldy, for the foliage was so dense that even Hannibal found that he could work up among the trees and underbrush until he could see and hear plainly everything that went on in the wide open space in front of the big tent. Mr. Boomschmidt, with Lucky and the three other men, had ridden into the middle of this space and was talking with a man who stood confronting them, a shotgun in the crook of his arm. At the door of the big tent was a group of men armed with sticks and clubs and one or two guns, who had been getting ready to go out after the striking animals. Mr. Hackenmeyer—or Mendoza, as we might as well call him now—was not in sight.

  “I tell you again, mister,” the man with the gun was saying, “he don’t want to see you. And you better get out of here before there’s trouble. He give us strict orders to throw you out if you wouldn’t go peaceful.”

  “You better watch your step, Joe,” said Lucky. “This fellow we’ve been working for is a fake. He isn’t Hackenmeyer. His name is Mendoza.”

  “Oh, I’m sick of arguing with you,” said Joe. “You fellows think you can get away with anything. First you steal all our animals, and then—”

  “My goodness,” said Mr. Boomschmidt mildly, “the animals didn’t belong to you in the first place. They belong to Mr. Hackenmeyer, but he isn’t here. Well, well, if you won’t come out, Mendoza, I’ll come in to you. All right, Rod,” he said to the horse.

  Rod shied sideways, knocking Joe off his feet. Then he dashed straight for the tent door. Mr. Boomschmidt bent low in the saddle, holding on his silk hat with one hand. The group of men jumped aside as the horse thundered down on them. Then horse and rider disappeared inside the tent.

  “After him, boys,” screamed Baldy, and rose with heavy downward beats of his powerful wings from the branch where he had been sitting. With a yell the animals broke from cover, just as Joe scrambled to his feet, shouting: “Come on, men, throw ’em out. Drive ’em off the grounds.”

  The men spread out in a line and came slowly forward. Joe’s gun snapped to his shoulder. It was aimed at Leo, but before he could fire, a shadow drifted across the grass in front of him and the gun was snatched from his hands. Baldy had dived straight down upon him. Now, flapping heavily with the extra weight, the eagle swung out over the river and dropped the gun into ten feet of water.

  The sight of all the animals charging down upon them was too much for the men. They dropped their weapons and dove for cover among the wagons. “Let ’em go,” shouted Leo. “Into the big tent. We must find Mr. Boomschmidt.”

  They all turned and made for the tent except Jerry, whose charge had carried him down past it among the wagons. As they crowded through the door, there was a splintering crash, and Leo laughed. “We’ll have to watch out for Jerry when he comes back. If he comes through this way we’ll have to jump quick. Well, dye my hair! Look at that!”

  The animals all stopped short. In the middle of the ring stood Mendoza. With one hand he was twirling the curled ends of his mustache, in the other he held a pistol pointed straight at Mr. Boomschmidt, who sat motionless on Rod with his hands above his head.

  “Don’t make a move, any of you, or I’ll shoot,” he called to the newcomers. “Now, Mr. Boomschmidt, suppose we come to terms. You say I’m Mendoza. But can you prove it? You can not. You haven’t a chance in the world of proving it. On the other hand, I can prove that you stole all my animals. I can cause you a lot of trouble—”

  “Look!” whispered Freginald. “Don’t move, any of you—don’t let him know you see anything.” For in the doorway to the dressing-rooms, behind Mendoza, a man had appeared. He might have been another Mendoza, or another Hackenmeyer, rather, for he was tall and thin, and he had black curly hair and a long wavy mustache. He even wore the same uniform of blue and gold.

  He paused a moment in the doorway, then with a warning gesture to Mr. Boomschmidt, tiptoed across to the trapeze whose wooden bar was hooked to a post beside the door, and whose ropes curved up and were fastened to another bar above Mendoza’s head.

  “Well, my goodness, Mendoza,” said Mr. Boomschmidt, “I don’t want to cause anybody any trouble, but you were the cause of my doing old Hack a big injustice, and that’s got to be made right. Grab him, boys!” he shouted suddenly. For the man had reached up, unhooked the trapeze bar, and then, holding it in his hands, kicked off and swooped across the tent. His feet caught Mendoza between the shoulders and sent him sprawling. Then he dropped the trapeze and fell on the impostor. Over and over they rolled in the tanbark, pummeling each other until the dust rose above them in a cloud.

  The animals rushed in and separated them. They stood glaring at each other for a moment, while Mr. Boomschmidt climbed down from his horse and went up to them. “My gracious,” he said, “I can’t tell ’em apart now. I thought I’d know Hack anywhere, too. But they got so mixed up just now— Leo! Oh, here you are. Leo, you’ve got sharp eyes. Which is which?”

  “Gosh, chief,” said the lion, “I don’t know. They both look alike to me.”

  Both of them spoke at once. “I’m Hackenmeyer,” they said. Then they both glared again and pointed at each other. “That’s Mendoza,” they said together. “Arrest him.”
>
  “Hey, boss! Where’s the boss?” came Jerry’s voice from the doorway. The rhinoceros had come in and was peering about with his short-sighted eyes. “Oh, there you are. Say, boss, I hit a wagon a minute ago—knocked the stuffing out of it. There was a man in it, too. He ran this way.”

  “It was me,” said one of the men.

  “No, it was me,” said the other.

  “I bet it was that gorilla wagon,” said Freginald. “Remember, Leo? The one that we couldn’t open up last night. I bet Mendoza was keeping Mr. Hackenmeyer a prisoner in there.”

  “Sure, boss,” said Leo. “That’s where Mr. Hackenmeyer has been. Mendoza stole the circus and locked him up. Now all you got to do is lock Mendoza up in the jail and give Mr. Hackenmeyer back his circus. The animals will all come back when they hear about this.”

  “All I’ve got to do! All I’ve got to do!” exclaimed Mr. Boomschmidt, mopping his forehead distractedly with his checkered handkerchief. “Sounds pretty easy, doesn’t it? Well, you’re so smart, go ahead and lock Mendoza up, then. I can’t. I don’t know which one he is.”

  “Don’t get so excited, chief,” said Rod. “There must be some way of finding out which is which.”

  “Oh, shut up, Rod,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “You’re a lot of help, I must say!”

  “Lock ’em both up for a month, chief,” said Leo. “Mendoza’s hair is really straight. The curl will come out of it in a month, and then you’ll know.”

  “You can’t lock me up, Boom,” said one of the men. “Not any more. I’ve had a year of it and that’s enough.”

  “I don’t mind being locked up if it’ll prove that that scoundrel there is Mendoza,” said the other. “What’s one more month?”

  All the animals thought that they ought to be able to tell from these remarks which of the men was which. They were silent for a few minutes, thinking very hard. While they were thinking, Freginald went up to Mr. Boomschmidt and whispered in his ear. Mr. Boomschmidt nodded thoughtfully, then he said: