“You are, then, absolutely certain?”
Mr. Metacarpus blew out his moustache. “Of course I’m certain. I remember the—the person perfectly. He had the same rather villainous expression, and he was acting in a very peculiar manner, walking around for upwards of two hours and fingering the articles for sale, and looking about furtively to see if anyone was watching him. It is quite easy for a person with my experience to spot the criminal type, and I had no doubt about him. I am not surprised to see him here.” And he sucked his moustache into his mouth and blew it out with a plop.
Bang! went the judge’s gavel. “The witness will keep his surprise to himself,” he said. “Also, the court will appreciate it if he will keep his moustache under better control.”
Bang! went the judge’s gavel.
Old Whibley resumed. “You would say then that the prisoner was in your store continuously from nine until eleven on the morning in question?”
“Until after eleven,” said Mr. Metacarpus.
“Did he buy anything?”
“No, sir. Just handled things and put them down. At least I hope he did. I watched carefully, and while I did not actually see him steal anything, I have no doubt that some small items found their way to his pocket.”
Freddy forgot for a moment where he was, for it made him angry to hear Weedly accused of shoplifting. He started up. “Why that’s not so! Weedly wouldn’t—”
“Shut up!” snapped Whibley, and the judge banged with his gavel. “Another disturbance of this kind,” he said peering severely at the pig, “and I will have you removed from the courtroom.”
“Why, that’s exactly what we want you to do, your Honor,” said Old Whibley.
“Eh?” said the judge. “Ah, I see. I forgot for the moment that the prisoner was—er—well, a prisoner. Continue, then.”
“There is nothing much to say, your honor,” said the owl. “I submit that my client has a perfect alibi. Mr. Weezer claims that it was the prisoner who took the money from him at 10 A.M., pretending to have been sent for it by Mr. Bean. Mr. Metacarpus, on the other hand, asserts that from nine to eleven on the same morning the prisoner was under constant observation in the Busy Bee. Now this pig cannot have been in two places at the same time. Mr.Weezer’s identification of him is doubtful, since his glasses were falling off at the time. Mr. Metacarpus’ identification of him extended over a considerable period of time, and is therefore reliable.”
“If the court pleases,” said Mr. Weezer, “why do we not ask the prisoner?”
“If the prisoner wishes to testify in his own behalf, he may do so,” said the judge. “On the other hand, if he does not wish to take the stand the law does not compel him to.”
“My client does not wish to testify,” said Whibley.
“But your Honor,” protested Mr. Weezer, “everyone knows that he took the money. He told a lot of people so.”
“I object,” said Whibley. “That is mere hearsay, and not admissible as evidence.”
“Objection sustained,” said the judge. “Quiet! Order in the court!” he shouted, for Freddy’s frends had begun to applaud. “Prisoner,” he said addressing Freddy, “the court pronounces you not guilty. But,” he said severely, “don’t for goodness’ sake do it again!”
Chapter 19
Freddy found out later that it was Mrs. Church’s influence with Judge Willey that had got his trial put forward. Having heard that one of the reasons why it had been set for February was that the judge had such a lot of Christmas shopping to do, she went to him and agreed to do all his shopping for him, even adding that she would pick out a small surprise present and give it to him herself. The judge always got a lot of presents for Christmas from people he had tried and found not guilty, but the thought of one more so delighted him, that he agreed to hold the trial right awav.
It made him for a time the most popular person in Centerboro, because now Freddy could play in the Tushville game. Even Mr. Weezer was pleased. He was one of the first to congratulate Freddy on his acquittal. “I knew of course that you didn’t intend to keep the money,” he said, “but I had to testify against you for the sake of appearances. What would all the people say whose money the bank takes care of if I just let somebody walk off with five thousand dollars?” He caught his glasses neatly and went on. “They would say that I was not protecting their interests.”
Freddy said of course he, as a banker, understood that, and that there were no hard feelings.
As for the Beans, they were so happy anyway that they had their money back, and that Mr. Doty’s flight had made their great sacrifice unnecessary, that they welcomed Freddy with open arms. At least Mrs. Bean did. Mr. Bean didn’t say anything for a few days. Then, on the morning of the football game, just as Freddy was climbing on his bicycle to leave for Centerboro, the farmer stopped him.
“Got just one thing to say to you,” he said, and paused, puffing on his pipe so fiercely that Freddy expected any second to see his whiskers burst into flames. “You goin’ to apologize for taking that money?”
Freddy looked unhappy. “Why—I’m going to say I’m sorry if it worried you,” he said. “But I did what I thought was right. I can’t apologize for that, can I?”
“No!” shouted Mr. Bean. “No, you can’t! That’s the answer I wanted!” He took the pipe out of his mouth and gave Freddy a whack on the back that nearly tumbled him over his bicycle.
“And I ain’t going to apologize to you, either,” the farmer went on, “because I did what I thought was right, too.” He put his pipe back in his mouth. “Well, I guess that’s that.” He whacked Freddy again. “Now you go out there today and bust those Tushville rowdies into kindling wood.” And then as Freddy started out of the gate: “Just a minute,” he said. “Mrs. Bean—you know how women are-she’s kind of curious about that alibi of yours. Maybe you’ll tell her about it tonight.” He shook his head. “That alibi!” he said, and the creaking sound that the animals always thought was a laugh came out through the whiskers.
Freddy hadn’t wanted to ask if the Beans were coming to the game, but when he ran out with the others on to the field, there they were in the buggy. But this time they were right up in front of the crowd. “Golly, what a mob!” said Jason. The combined population of Centerboro and Tushville was probably not more than four thousand, but there was twice that number there. The bank and all the stores had closed so that everybody could come, and the sheriff had closed the jail. He had locked it and brought the prisoners along—it was the only time the jail had ever been locked. People were there from all over the state; Mr. Camphor was there, and Senator Blore had come up from Washington; and nearly everybody who wasn’t sick in bed had come over from South Pharisee. And not only people. There were many out-of-town animals—particularly pigs, who had assembled to cheer on the distinguished member of their race. And of course all the Bean animals—even the mice, even the Webbs, and Randolph, the beetle, and his mother, and Homer the snake, all in the buggy with the Beans.
“Hey, Jason,” said Henry James, “do you see what I see? There’s a horse over there in the Tushville crowd with knee pads on.”
“Gee whiz!” said Jason. “Do you suppose—?”
“I know what it is,” said Freddy, “but I didn’t want to say anything to you until I was sure. That Tushville man, Canner—remember? I had a note from him this morning. He says they plan to bring some animals to play. Let’s see what Mr. Finnerty says.”
Mr. Finnerty was pretty upset. “You boys can’t play against horses,” he said. “We’ll have to call the game off.”
Freddy took him aside and talked to him a few minutes. At first the coach looked doubtful, but then he said: “Well, we can try it. Line up as usual, so they can’t claim we broke the rules first. And then if it’s necessary, we’ll try it your way.”
When the teams took their positions for the kick-off a murmur of surprise and protest went up from the crowd. The make-up of the home team was the same as last time, but six
of the regular Tushville players had been replaced by strangers. Four of these were men, and two were horses. With Black Beard and Butcher playing, there were only four real schoolboys on the team.
The crowd had been taken by surprise, and before any real protest could be made Centerboro had kicked off. Black Beard got the ball, and then there was nothing to it. Behind the two horses he raced down the field straight through the home team, who merely scrambled to get out of the way. Even Freddy didn’t care to block a horse. The first touchdown was scored in less than a minute, and one of the horses kicked the goal.
One of the horses kicked the goal.
Then the crowd broke loose. While Tushville was cheering, Centerboro rushed out on the field, and I guess they would have chased the Tushvillers back home, horses and all, if a few of the more level-headed citizens hadn’t got in front of them and held them back. It took some time before any single voice could be heard, but at last, by waving his arms and yelling over and over again in his tremendous voice: “Ladies and gentlemen! Ladies and gentlemen!” Mr. Gridley got their attention.
“You have come out here,” he roared, “to witness a contest between two schools. Not a gladiatorial contest between hired fighters and wild beasts. I suggest that we call the game off, and all go quietly home.”
“Tushville is ready to play,” said the Tushville principal, Mr. Kurtz. “If Centerboro refuses, Tushville wins by default.”
There was a lot more angry yelling at this, but the two coaches and the referee, and several prominent citizens had joined Mr. Gridley in front of the crowd, which presently calmed down and waited to see what would happen.
At first there was quite an argument. The Tushvillers insisted on their right to play the men and horses, who, Mr. Kurtz asserted, were regularly enrolled pupils in his school. The Centerboro officials said nothing doing: let the regular teams play a decent game, as all the other schools did. Take out these ringers, they said, and they’d even take out Freddy. But the Tushvillers refused.
Now of course Mr. Gridley could have ordered the Centerboro team to leave the field. But he didn’t. It may have been because he knew that he would be pretty unpopular around town if he let Tushville get away with it, but I think it was because he was mad, and really at last wanted his team to win. So he said: “We have come out here to play Tushville, and we will wait until the Tushville team gets here. This aggregation of ruffians is not the Tushville team. If it does not put in an appearance before five o’clock, Centerboro will win by default.”
Well of course the Tushvillers just laughed at this. And it was then that Mr. Gridley’s eye fell on Freddy. “Miserable pig!” he said angrily. “You are the cause of all this. If I hadn’t been persuaded to let you in the school, we’d have had none of this trouble.”
“You wouldn’t have had any team either,” said the sheriff.
“I think we can play that team and beat them,” said Freddy.
Mr. Gridley said he was crazy. But Freddy went up and talked to him for a few minutes in a low voice.
“I don’t like it!” said the principal. “I don’t like it at all!”
But then Mr. Finnerty added his arguments. And at last: “All right! All right!” said Mr. Gridley. “But just how do you propose—”
“Just a minute,” said Freddy, and he and Mr. Finnerty went into a huddle. They called over the sheriff, who in turn called over some of the prisoners, and then Mr. Finnerty wrote some things on a piece of paper and handed it to Mr. Gridley. “Here’s our line-up,” he said.
Mr. Gridley was scowling angrily when he took it, but as he read his face lightened, and suddenly he laughed right out. Nobody had ever seen him do that before. Then he faced the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he shouted, “I heartily disapprove of the very lax admission requirements which the Tushville principal, Mr. Kurtz, has adopted for his school. However, in order that the game may go on, I have decided to adopt the same requirements. I have pleasure in announcing the admission of nine new pupils to the Centerboro school. Now let the game go on.” And I regret to say that he put his chin forward and stuck out his tongue at Mr. Kurtz.
So the teams lined up. And a roar of delight and laughter went up from the Centerboro crowd when they saw their home players take their positions to receive the kick-off. At left end was Mac, the wildcat. At his usual position, left tackle, was Freddy, and next him in order, Mrs. Wiggins, Hank, Mrs. Wurzburger, and Bill, the goat, at left end. The sheriff had said that several of the prisoners were anxious to play, so Red Mike, Looey and Big Sam went in. The only real Centerboro players were Irving Hill at quarterback and Jason Brewer at fullback. This was the line-up.
Left end............Mac (wildcat)
Left tackle............Freddy (pig)
Left guard............Mrs. Wiggins (cow)
Center............Hank (horse)
Right guard............Mrs. Wurzburger (cow)
Right tackle............Red Mike
Right end............Bill (goat)
Left half............Looey
Right half............Big Sam
Fullback............Jason Brewer
Quarterback............Irving Hill
Mr. Finnerty had told Jason and Irving: “You boys better stay out of all of the plays. After you’ve passed the ball to Looey or Sam, keep out of the way. We don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t think you need to worry about winning the game.”
The Tushville team was good and scared, but there was nothing they could do now but play. They kicked off to Red Mike. Of course Mike didn’t know one end of a football from the other, but being a burglar in private life he was a fast runner and when Jason called to him to run and pointed out the Tushville goal posts, he ran towards them. With Mrs. Wiggins galloping along on one side of him and Mrs. Wurzburger on the other, the Tushville tacklers didn’t dare to try for him. He went through with no opposition. And the score was now 7–7.
At the end of the quarter the score was 46–13, and Black Beard was out of the game. On one play he had got into the clear with the ball. He was running for a touchdown, and chasing along behind him were Bill and Mac. Mac would probably have been able to make a fairly good tackle if, in the excitable way of wildcats, he had not let out a screech before he leaped. But the sound of that terrible wildcat scream spurred Black Beard to just enough extra speed to forge ahead, and Mac missed. “Get him, Bill!” he yelled.
So Bill lowered his horns and dug in his toes. He caught Black Beard five yards from the goal line. But he couldn’t tackle, he could only butt. So he butted. He hit Black Beard square in the middle of the seat of his football pants with a smack that you could have heard for half a mile. And Black Beard went the last five yards without touching the ground, and landed sitting down for a Tushville touchdown. But when he got up, he said: “I’ve had enough!” and he hobbled off home.
The second quarter was much the same. Mr. Finnerty had advised Hank and the cows not to do any hard blocking. “We don’t want to kill those ringers,” he said. “Just try to box them in so they can’t tackle. With the horses use your own judgment. But I think they really just came out for fun, so take it easy.”
So it was more of a dodging game than a game of blocking and tackling. And Centerboro was 104 to 13 at the end of the second quarter.
Strangely enough during the rest of the game nobody got hurt. That is, not badly enough to be carried off the field on a stretcher. Mac kept his claws in, but he snarled and spit with such ferocity that the runners he started for just lay down and covered their heads with their arms. The cows tried to be careful with their horns, and even though a fight or two started they didn’t amount to much. Hank was the only one that got into what might have been a serious brawl.
There was a big bay horse on the Tushville team named Jock. Running down the field to intercept a pass, he fell over Mrs. Wiggins’ hoof. I don’t know whether she had put it out on purpose or not, but he went right down on his big Roman nose.
&n
bsp; “Hey, you stupid idiot!” he said. “Keep your clumsy feet out of the way!”
“That ain’t any way to speak to a lady,” said Hank.
“Oh, yeah?” said Jock. “Want to make something of it?”
“Why, I dunno,” said Hank in his slow way. “Dunno’s I want to make any fuss, but—”
“Oh, you dunno!” Jock mimicked him. “Well make something of this!” And he put back his ears and snapped with his long teeth at Hank’s shoulder.
Hank dodged. “Like I said,” he went on calmly, “I don’t want to create any disturbance, but I dunno—maybe it’s better to create it and get it over with. It’s going to hurt me worse than it hurts you though, because I got the rheumatism in my right hind leg.” And suddenly he whirled right around, put his head down, and kicked out with both hind legs, and the heavy iron shoes went Whang! against Jock’s ribs.
All the fight went out of Jock. “You big bully!” he said, and if a horse can look as if he was going to cry, he looked that way. And he trotted off.
The final score was 184–17. Freddy was surprised that Tushville didn’t protest it. But he found out why after the excitement and cheering was over, and after the prisoners had smashed up the goal posts and begun to peddle the fragments around as souvenirs at five cents apiece. The Tushville people, so Mr. Finnerty had heard, were going to train a lot of heavy farm horses for the game, and by next year they could lick anything Centerboro could bring against them.
“We’ll have to put a stop to that,” said Freddy, and he went over to talk to Mr. Kurtz, who was walking grumpily off the field behind his team.
“Just a minute,” Freddy said, and, when the Tushville principal turned angrily on him, he said: “I just want to tell you: Mr. Boomschmidt, the circus man who comes through here every summer, is a friend of mine, and I am going to write and ask him to lend our team a couple of elephants and a lion, and maybe that rhinoceros, Jerry, for next year’s game. I think,” he said, “that we’ll be able to give you some pretty good competition.”
Freddy Plays Football Page 14
