The Story of Freginald

by Walter R. Brooks

  “Well, well; this isn’t getting us anywhere, and it’s supper-time. You two men come along with me. We’ll have supper and then I’ll decide what to do.”

  Supper was ready when they got back, and Mr. Boomschmidt sat down at the head of the long table which was set under the trees back of the row of wagons. He had the two Mr. Hackenmeyers sit one on each side of him. The other performers took their places. Freginald and Leo and several of the other animals had been posted around the table to see that if Freginald’s plan worked and Mendoza was unmasked, he should not escape.

  Everybody was curious to know what had been going on, but Mr. Boomschmidt would talk about nothing but the weather. When he wished to exert himself he was a fine conversationalist, and so presently everybody got interested in what he was saying, and the two strangers were almost forgotten in a brisk discussion of the difference between weather and climate, upon which Mr. Boomschmidt had very pronounced views.

  Pretty soon the cook brought in a large plate of doughnuts and placed them before Mr. Boomschmidt. Without stopping in his talk he passed the plate first to the left-hand Mr. Hackenmeyer and then to the right-hand Mr. Hackenmeyer. The left-hand Mr. Hackenmeyer took a doughnut and bit into it and said: “Mmmm!” The right-hand Mr. Hackenmeyer said: “No, thank you.” Then he seemed to change his mind, and he also took a doughnut, bit into it, and said: “Mmmm!” But he did not say it as if he liked doughnuts, and Leo winked at Freginald and moved up a little closer to the table.

  But Mr. Boomschmidt went right on talking as if he had not noticed anything.

  Then Mademoiselle Rose got up and asked if she might be excused, as she had a letter to write before it got dark. She walked away from the table and went into her wagon, but in a minute she came to the door and called: “Oh, Mortimer!”

  The left-hand Mr. Hackenmeyer didn’t move except to look up, but the right-hand Mr. Hackenmeyer turned sharply and said: “What? What is it?” And Mr. Boomschmidt dropped a hand on his shoulder and said: “Well, well, so you’re Mendoza!”

  It was no use pretending any more, and Mendoza knew it. But he was too quick for them. He put his hands against the table and shoved. His chair went over backward, he turned a somersault, landing on his feet, and in a minute he had dodged past Leo and was running for life down toward the river.

  In a second the peaceful supper party was in confusion. Men and animals streamed out after the fugitive. Mr. Boomschmidt tried to stop them. “Let him go,” he shouted. “We don’t want him.” But no one paid any attention.

  Mendoza was a good runner. But the animals overhauled him slowly. In the lead was Jerry, but with no one to aim him he missed his mark by yards and thundered down into the river with a tremendous splash. And before the rest of the animals caught up, Mendoza had plunged into the water.

  “No use,” said Leo mournfully, as they lined up on the bank and watched the powerful overhand stroke drive their enemy on toward the farther shore. “Boy, I’d like to have got a swipe at him. Though it’s probably just as well. I’d hate to soil my claws with him. Particularly as I just had them manicured yesterday.” He examined them admiringly.

  “Oh, look!” said Freginald. “Baldy’s after him.”

  The eagle was soaring high over the river. Suddenly he closed his wings and dropped like a bullet. But Mendoza had seen him. He dove, and Baldy’s huge talons closed on nothing more solid than water.

  The eagle rose from the water, circled and dropped again, and again, and each time Mendoza dove. But when he came up after the fifth dive they saw that he had become confused and lost his sense of direction; he was swimming toward them instead of away. “Duck,” shouted Leo. “Everybody get down.” So they crouched behind trees and bushes.

  Baldy didn’t pounce again, but he kept swooping overhead to keep Mendoza from examining the shore which he was approaching. The regular splash-splash came nearer; then the man found bottom with his feet and waded in, to drop panting on the grass. Then the animals came out and surrounded him.

  CHAPTER 19

  Three days later the circus, which was now Boomschmidt & Hackenmeyer, started on the road again. Lucky and a number of the old Hackenmeyer animals had joined up, but more than half of them had decided to stay and work for Mr. McGinnis. Mr. McGinnis was pretty well pleased. Not only did he get the mill put up in record time, but when he went to other jobs with tigers and zebras and elephants and all the other queer animals to draw his wagons for him, he caused a good deal of excitement, which was good business. For not only did he get the work done quickly, but he charged ten cents admission to the neighboring farmers and townspeople who came to look on. On the bigger jobs he even started by putting up grandstands before the regular work began. In three years’ time he was a wealthy man. The fat man made money, too, selling popcorn and gum and pop, and didn’t have time to draw any more pictures.

  Both Mr. Boomschmidt and Mr. Hackenmeyer were very grateful to Freginald for all he had done, and again and again they asked him if there wasn’t something he’d like them to do for him, but he could never think of anything special. He liked the circus life, and he and Freddy the detective, who had decided to travel along with them for a while, had struck up a great friendship. They made up a lot of poetry together, some of which was pretty bad because they were always in such a hurry to show it to each other that they didn’t spend enough time on it. But they had a good deal of fun.

  They did have one quarrel, though, which threatened for a time to break up the friendship. There was a leopard named Wilfred with the circus. He was very lazy and extremely fond of ham. Indeed, half of the time he would refuse to go through his tricks unless Mr. Boomschmidt promised him a slice of ham for supper. So Freginald wrote a poem about him. It ran like this.

  Oh, Wilfred is a funny beast;

  He always sleeps ten hours at least,

  And when he wakes he calls for jam

  And toast and tea and cold boiled ham.

  For lunch he usually eats

  Baked ham with beans and buttered beets,

  And frizzled ham with fresh ham roast

  Is what he likes for supper most.

  He scoffs at chicken, beef, and lamb.

  In fact he really does like ham.

  When Freginald read it to Freddy, the pig got very red and said stiffly: “I don’t like it.”

  Freginald knew it wasn’t very good; all the same, he was rather hurt, and he said: “Well, I—” And then he stopped and said: “Oh, all right,” and started to walk away. But Freddy said:

  “I want to ask you not to repeat those verses to anybody else.”

  Freginald was puzzled. “Why, all right,” he said. “But you might tell me what’s the matter with them. And why you’re so mad.”

  “Well, I am mad,” said the pig. “I think you’re being pretty personal, if you want to know.”

  “Personal!”

  “Sure. How would you like it if I wrote a poem all about how good roast bear was? I bet you’d be mad too.”

  “Oh, now I see,” said Freginald. “Goodness, I’m sorry, Freddy. I never thought. Listen, suppose I finish it this way. ‘He must be crazy to like ham.’ How’s that?”

  “I don’t like that, either. You might think that ham was something that made you sick.”

  “Well then,” said Freginald, “suppose I say this:

  “But this I wish to state: I am

  Opposed to people who eat ham.”

  “That’s better,” said Freddy. “That’s very handsome of you, Fredg. I’m sorry to have got so upset about it. But you see—”

  “Not another word,” said Freginald. “I was stupid. But you’ve forgiven me and that ends it.”

  It was after the circus had been for two weeks on the road again that a hawk who lived in the woods where Freginald’s parents had their cave flew into camp with a message for the bear. He talked with the hawk for a while and then went to see Mr. Boomschmidt.

  “I’m sorry, chief,” he said, “but I’m
afraid I’ll have to leave the circus. My family have been dispossessed. The farmer who owns those woods is going to tear them down and plant corn.”

  “Tear them down!” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “Who ever heard of tearing down woods! You can tear through the woods, but you don’t tear them down, you cut them down.”

  “Well,” said Freginald, “you can tear down a home. And that is my family’s home. And anyway I guess I’ll have to go.”

  “Of course,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “Gracious, of course you must. Dear me, that’s a great pity. I tell you what we’ll do, Fredg. We’ll all go. I’d like to meet your parents, anyway. And maybe we can arrange something.”

  So the circus set out for Hilldale. Three days they were on the road, and on the evening of the third day the wagons rolled into a big field half a mile from the woods where Freginald’s parents lived. It was nearly midnight, so Freginald decided not to go see them until morning.

  But next morning when he got up, the field was humming with activity. Men and animals were running about unrolling canvas and pounding in tent pegs and getting ready for a show.

  “What’s the idea, chief?” said Freginald to Mr. Boomschmidt. “You aren’t going to give a show here, are you?”

  “A surprise for you, my boy,” said the showman. “You see, Hack and I have wanted to show our appreciation for all you did for us, and we couldn’t think of any better way than to give a show just for your parents and friends. Sort of in your honor. So you run over and invite ’em. Oh, now, don’t thank me. My goodness, it’s little enough to do—eh, Hack? After all he’s done.”

  So Freginald dashed over to the woods and gathered together his parents, and his friends that he had played with as a cub, and even Dan, who had been so unpleasant the last time he had come home. And they all came down to see the show. Even his great-grandfather, who hadn’t been a hundred yards from his cave over the hill in twenty years, hobbled down to attend.

  It was a grand show. The performers all liked Freginald and they did their best in front of the little audience of bears and rabbits and squirrels and skunks and foxes and mice and kingfishers. And afterwards there was cake and ice cream for everybody. And while the guests were stuffing themselves as tight as they could hold, which is the way of guests whether they are animals or people, Mr. Boomschmidt invited Freginald and his relatives into his own wagon.

  Then he told them that he had been around to see the farmer that owned the woods where they lived, in the hope of being able to buy, but the farmer wouldn’t sell them to him. “My goodness,” he said, “I never saw such a man. I told him why I wanted them—so I could give them to Freginald for a home. I offered a lot more than he could ever make out of them, but no, sir! He wouldn’t listen to me. ‘But, my gracious,’ I said, ‘do you want to drive these bears out of their home?’ ‘Can’t be helped,’ he said. ‘It’s progress,’ he said. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘bears are old-fashioned. No up-to-date farmer has bears on his farm any more.’ So, I’m sorry about it; I wanted to make you and Freginald a present of those woods. But I failed.”

  “You’ve done more than anybody’d ever expect for Freginald as it is,” said the father bear. “If he’s been useful to you, we’re very glad. But I guess he’ll have to give up the circus now. It isn’t only that we miss him a lot around the cave, but with a new home to find and get in order and all, his mother’s going to need him here.”

  “We can’t ever thank you for all you’ve done,” said the mother bear. “You’ve been a very kind man, Mr. Boomschmidt.”

  “Pshaw,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “It’s a pleasure, ma’am, a pleasure.” He blew his nose very loud, then he said: “My goodness, I’ve got an idea!” He looked surprised for a minute, and then went on: “Down in Virginia we’ve got a big place—I guess maybe Freginald’s told you about it—and there’s woods enough there, goodness knows, just going to waste. Why don’t you join us for the rest of the season, travel around and see the country, and then in the fall come south with us and make your home there? I’ll put a wagon at your disposal. Then you’ll have a home, and Freginald will be with you and still won’t have to leave the circus. Gracious, why didn’t I think of that before!”

  The bears looked up with interest as Mr. Boomschmidt made this suggestion, and Freginald said: “Oh yes, can’t we do that?” But then they shook their heads. “That’s very kind of you,” said the father bear. “But we couldn’t leave grandfather. He’s getting pretty old you see, and he needs us to look after him.”

  “Bring him along,” said Mr. Boomschmidt.

  “I’m afraid it wouldn’t do,” said the mother bear. “Even if he would leave his old home, I don’t think he’d be happy traveling around—”

  “What do you know about it?” growled the old bear suddenly.

  They all turned and looked at him. He had been sitting humped over as if he was asleep, and as he usually did go to sleep when there was company around, or else got up with a grunt and went home, nobody had thought he was listening.

  “Well, grandfather,” said the mother bear, “you know you don’t like to be disturbed, and—”

  “No, I don’t like it,” said the old bear, “so be quiet. This gentleman here has made us a very handsome offer. We’re going to take it.”

  “But, grandfather,” persisted the mother bear, “stop and think. You won’t like it, at your age, traipsin’ around the country with a circus.”

  “Pah,” said the old bear. “How do you know I won’t like it? How do you know what I like, anyway? I been sick of these woods for fifty years, but there wasn’t any way to get away from ’em, so I made the best of it. I’ve got a reputation for being wise, because I don’t say much and because I’m cranky all the time. I’m not wise; I’m just bored. But, by gum, I’m old enough now to do what I’ve a mind to, and if I want to join a circus, I’m going to do it. Why, who knows—maybe I could perform a little myself. I used to be a pretty slick dancer.” And he got up and took a few shaky dance-steps.

  “Grandfather! Grandfather!” said Freginald’s mother. “Oh, stop him.” But the old bear sank down again, panting. “Ain’t as spry as I used to be, I guess. Need a little practice to get gingered up.”

  “Well,” said Mr. Boomschmidt, “I guess it’s all settled, then.”

  And indeed the grandfather had settled it. When the circus took the road again next day, Freginald’s parents had one of the red and gold wagons. The old bear moved in with his great-grandson. Freginald didn’t know at first whether he was going to like this or not, for he had always been afraid of his great-grandfather. But he soon found that the old bear was the best of company. For fifty years he had done little talking and consequently had done more thinking than most people ever get around to. So he had plenty to say that was worth listening to. And now that he was traveling he was willing to talk. He was soon one of the most popular animals in the circus.

  For several years he and Freginald traveled together every summer, and spent the winters with Freginald’s parents in Virginia. But one spring the old bear announced that he wasn’t going north again. He and the bull who had been the captain of the robbers had become great friends, and as neither of them had ever seen California, they decided to visit the coast together. One spring morning they set out. They never came back. Once or twice a year Freginald gets a postcard with pictures of palm trees or the sea, and a short message: “This is a fine town. Wish you were with us.” And once in a while Mrs. Boomschmidt will come back from the movies at Yare’s Corners, over the mountain, and tell how in some picture or other she has seen a bull and a bear, and she is sure she recognized their old friends. But no one really knows whether they ended up in Hollywood and are in the pictures, or whether they are living quietly somewhere in the mountains. For there is never anything on the postcards to tell.

  Freginald is still with the circus and is today one of the best-known bears in the business. He has given up performing now, but if you want to see him, inquire for the general
manager. If you tell him you know me, he will probably give you a free pass.

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 1936 by Walter R. Brooks

  ISBN: 978-1-4976-9212-1

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