Freddy the Magician

by Walter R. Brooks

  Charles was delighted to see them and he called Henrietta, and they both hopped down from branch to branch until they reached the ground. “Natural staircase,” said Charles. “Rather neat, eh? I do wish you could come up and see our view. Really, you know, we were extremely fortunate to find such a charming location.”

  “You sound as if you’d picked it our yourselves,” said Freddy. “But how about coming home? The Beans are pretty worried about you.”

  “Home?” said Charles. “But this is home—this henhouse. Penthouse, I should say. You don’t suggest that we should move back to that noisy barnyard? All that traffic and racket! Here it’s quiet and peaceful and the breeze every evening just rocks the house gently so the children go off to sleep without any fuss. When the wind blows the penthouse will rock, you know.”

  “Home?” said Charles. “But this is home …”

  “Yeah,” said Freddy. “And when the bough breaks, the henhouse will fall.”

  “Dear me,” said Henrietta, “after our experience in the hurricane we don’t worry much about that. I’m sorry about the Beans, though. But if you tell him that we’re all right and that we’re going to stay, I’m sure he’ll understand.”

  Mrs. Wiggins and Freddy looked at each other. “Well,” said the pig, “it’s up to you. We’ll tell him how things are.” They knew there was no use arguing, so they let Charles show them around. He spoke with such pride and eloquence of the beauties of the estate, that a stranger listening might have thought he had just bought the place from Mr. Camphor. And his plans for the future rather carried out that idea. He was going to do this, he was going to do that; he was going to have a little boat on the lake and teach the children to swim …

  Presently it began to grow dark, and Henrietta said they must be getting home; they wouldn’t be able to see their staircase after dark. So the two animals said good night to them and went back to the house.

  “Mr. Bean isn’t going to like this,” Mrs. Wiggins said.

  “You bet he isn’t,” said Freddy. “But I don’t know what we can do. You see how determined they are to stay here. And you know how pigheaded Charles can be. Goodness—pigheaded!” he exclaimed. “There I go using that word again! Pigheaded! I’d like to get hold of that Noah Webster for about five minutes—I’ll tell him a few things! He’s the one that caused all the trouble: putting words like that in his dictionary! I bet I could sue for libel or something.”

  “Well,” said the cow, “we only have to wait for the first good rip-snorting thunderstorm. You know how scared Charles is of lightning. They’ll come hotfooting it home as soon as they can get there.”

  “That’s all right,” Freddy said, “but the Beans will worry about them. They ought to come home now. I wonder … I think maybe we can work it. Let’s go in and have a talk with Bannister.”

  So they had a talk with Bannister, and then they talked together for a while, and then Bannister showed them up to the guest rooms he had prepared for them. Freddy had the Blue Room, and Mrs. Wiggins had the Ancestors’ Room, where the portraits of all Mr. Camphor’s ancestors were hung.

  At daylight next morning Charles came out of the henhouse door. He hopped up to the highest twig of the pine tree, and as soon as the top edge of the sun glittered above the horizon, he crowed. At the third crow, Bannister’s head popped out of an upper window. “Stop that racket!” he shouted.

  “Don’t be silly,” said Charles. “The sun’s coming up. I always crow when the sun comes up.”

  “Not on this estate, you don’t,” said Bannister. “Mr. Camphor doesn’t allow any crowing on his property.”

  “Nonsense!” said Charles superciliously. “I’m afraid you’re not very well informed. It is the unalterable custom of all roosters to salute the dawn with appropriate musical notes.”

  “Yeah?” said Bannister. “Well, it’s my custom to salute it with this musical note.” And he reached inside and brought out a shotgun, and aimed it well over Charles’ head and pulled the trigger.

  The gun made a terrible bang; and the dozens of shot zipped and whizzed around Charles’ head. The rooster gave a squawk and almost fell out of the tree; then he scrambled down from his twig and into the henhouse door. “Henrietta!” he shouted. “I’m shot! Get a doctor right away! I’m dying!”

  Now of course all this had been arranged the night before, and Freddy and Mrs. Wiggins hurried down to the pine tree. Henrietta, finding that Charles was, of course, not wounded at all, boxed his ears soundly, then went outside and began telling Bannister what she thought of him. He was a murderer and a dangerous criminal and she was going to call the police and wait till Mr. Camphor got home and heard about this, brutal attack on his guests.… But Bannister had shut the window, so finally Henrietta stopped.

  “This is terrible, Henrietta,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “Just when you were getting settled in your nice new home. What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” said the hen, “but we’re certainly not going to stay here!”

  Freddy shook his head gloomily. “It’s too bad. Well, I’ll go back and talk to Mr. Bean; maybe he’ll let you come back. But I wouldn’t count on it.”

  “Take us back!” Henrietta screamed. “What are you talking about, you silly pig? Of course he’d take us back if we wanted to come.” And Charles, who had finally decided that he wasn’t going to die heroically of his wounds, came out beside her. “Not take me back—the most talented singer in the state? He’d jump at the chance.”

  “Well,” said Freddy, “it’s rather embarrassing, but … I suppose I ought to tell you. When the Beans found that you were gone, they—well, they didn’t seem very much upset. Indeed, they … Oh, I’d better just tell you what they said. It was that they felt it would be a lot quieter and more peaceful around the barnyard with you gone. ‘All that everlasting cackle,’ Mrs. Bean said, and Mr. Bean—you know how he does—just nodded and puffed his pipe and said: ‘M-hm, m-hm. Untidy critters.’”

  “Untidy!” exclaimed Henrietta. “Me? That’s the best housekeeper in—”

  “I’m only telling you what they said,” Freddy protested.

  “And why didn’t we hear anything of this last night?” Charles asked.

  “We saw no reason to tell you then,” said the cow. “You were going to live here, and …”

  “Charles!” said Henrietta. “Pack up your things. We’re going back there at once. I’m going to have this out with the Beans once for all. Untidy indeed! I’ll get the children ready.”

  Chapter 4

  The next day Mr. Bean went up and got the henhouse. It was quite a job. He got some of the neighbors to help him, and they rigged a block and tackle and swung the house out of the tree and down to the ground, and then loaded it on a truck and brought it home.

  That evening Charles gave a lecture in the barn on My Experiences in the Big Blow. You wouldn’t think he could make much of a lecture out of it, for all that had happened was that he had heard the wind blow harder and harder, and then the henhouse had gone up in the air and turned over three times and come to rest. And when Charles got over being dizzy he staggered, to the door and looked out and there was a lake. But he made a story out of it that lasted two hours. Indeed he would have talked all night if at the end of the second hour he hadn’t noticed that his audience had gone home. He had talked the barn empty although it had been full when he started. Except for Hank, who was drowsing in his stall, only Jinx was left, curled up in a. corner asleep. The cat woke up when Charles’ voice finally stopped.

  “Ho, hum!” he yawned. “All through, Charlie, old fowl? Well, want to hear now about my experiences in the Big Blow?”

  “Your experiences!” said Charles contemptuously. “Nothing happened to you! You were safe in the house under the stove all the time.”

  “I’m not referring to the late hurricane,” said the cat. “I’m speaking of your lecture. Ha, talk about wind! Compared to you that hurricane was nothing but a mouse sneeze!”

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nbsp; “Very funny,” said Charles, and stalked with great dignity out of the door.

  Freddy and Presto had attended the lecture, but had left even earlier than the others to go back to the pig pen and continue the magic lessons. Freddy was practicing making small objects disappear. He had a piece of elastic, one end of which was sewed fast up inside the sleeve of his magician’s coat. On the other end was a little clip which he could fasten to a coin or a pencil or anything of the same size. Then, with Presto as audience, he would pick up a coin, and while he was handling it and talking about it, manage to fix the clip to it. Then he would hold it out as if about to give it to the rabbit. Presto would make a snatch for it, and Freddy would let go at the right moment and of course it would disappear right up his sleeve. On about the twentieth repetition the trick was beginning to go quite smoothly, when there was a knock at the door. Freddy opened it and admitted Leo.

  “Whoo!” said the lion. “Stuffy in here. What you got everything shut up on a fine summer night like this for?”

  Freddy didn’t answer. He held out the coin to the lion. “Take a look at this,” he said.

  Leo reached for the coin which at once disappeared. “Well, dye my hair!” he exclaimed. “That’s a trick and a half! But it isn’t a good one for the president of the First Animal Bank to be doing. People won’t want to let you take care of their money for them if you make it disappear as quickly as that.” He glanced sharply at Presto. “How about making that rabbit disappear, hey? I’ve a private matter I’d like to discuss with you.”

  “Oh, sir,” said Presto, “I was just going. Good night, Mr. Freddy. And may I say, sir,” he said, pausing at the door to address the lion, “how very becoming your new haircut is? Very distinguished. Quite regal in fact.”

  “How very becoming your new haircut is.”

  “You may say anything you want to,” said Leo, “as long as you say it on the other side of the door.” And he grabbed the rabbit and unceremoniously shoved him outside.

  “Aren’t you being a little hard on him?” Freddy protested. “My gracious, Leo, you do look nice with your mane clipped!” he said as the lion came forward into the circle of lamplight. “It’s a great improvement. Don’t you think so yourself?”

  “Well, yes and no,” Leo said. “It’s cooler and of course it’s a lot less trouble and expense. But I keep having a feeling it isn’t me. You know what I mean? When I pass a mirror or a store window—you know how you just glance in to see if you’ve got any egg on your chin, or if you’re looking as dignified as you think you are? Well, I catch sight of myself and for a second it sort of scares me.”

  “You mean you think it’s another lion?”

  “Not exactly. It’s sort of hard to say just what I mean. You see, when I see myself, I think I look one way, and then I find out that I look quite different. And it makes me wonder if when I think I look sort of noble I’m not really looking just sort of half-witted. Like when I’m talking to you, now, for instance—I think I look probably worried, but reasonably intelligent. But—do I? I just can’t be sure. Maybe I’m really making idiotic faces at you. You got a mirror handy?” And he looked around anxiously.

  “You look all right,” said the pig. “And it isn’t a good idea to be watching yourself in mirrors all the time. Oh, I know, I know; I do it myself a lot. Everybody does. Except possibly Mr. Bean, who can’t see himself anyway behind those whiskers. I know how it is, sometimes, when you’re talking to people and you begin to worry that maybe your face has got out of control and your features are sort of wandering all over and making you look as if you were doing monkey imitations. But mirrors don’t help much.”

  “They help me,” Leo said.

  “Not really,” said Freddy. “You, being a lion, I suppose want to look dignified and interesting, with just a little touch of ferocity. I, being a pig, want to look clever and good-humored, with just a dash of romance. Probably neither of us will ever look the way we want to. But if we forget mirrors we may get somewhere close to it. Watching mirrors all the time just makes us look anxious and a little foolish.”

  “I suppose maybe you’re right,” said Leo with a sigh, “but—oh, well, that wasn’t what I came to see you about anyway. I wanted to tell you that we’re leaving early tomorrow—the circus, I mean—and to say good-bye. And to warn you about that Presto. Don’t trust that wretched little white hopper any farther than you can push an elephant.”

  “Why, he seems like a harmless little chap,” said Freddy.

  “That’s how he gets away with things,” said Leo. “That’s how Zing has got away with some pretty shady deals—using Presto to put up an innocent front for him.”

  “Are you sure of that?” Freddy asked. “I wouldn’t trust Signor Zingo, but there can’t be any harm in a white rabbit. Anyway, Zingo fired Presto.” And he told Leo about the missing hat, and how Presto had hired him to find it.

  “OK,” said the lion doubtfully. “You could be right, I suppose. But here’s something I guess you haven’t heard: the chief fired Zing tonight. Had a big row, so I hear, though I don’t know what it was about; and Zing packed his stuff and moved out.”

  “He won’t be going on with the show, then,” said Freddy.

  “He’s taken a room at the hotel, I heard. Going to stay there the rest of the summer. So I’m warning you, Freddy—keep an eye peeled for trouble.… Well, I must get going. Lots to do before I go to bed. Good-bye, old pig.” He whacked Freddy on the back with a huge paw, and by the time the pig had got his breath back the lion was gone.

  Nothing much happened during the next few days. A number of hats were reported by Mr. Pomeroy as having been seen in the countryside northwest of Centerboro, but upon investigation turned out to be old discarded soft hats or derbies. No tall silk hats were found. Freddy worked hard at his magic lessons. With Presto’s help he soon could do a dozen tricks skillfully enough to deceive an audience, and he began to talk about giving a public performance.

  “I don’t think you ought to yet, Freddy,” said Mrs. Wiggins. She was the only one to whom he had shown the tricks, for he had very wisely decided not to perform them for any of his other friends until he was ready to give a show. “Everybody is awfully curious and interested,” said the cow, “and they’ll expect something pretty wonderful. And these tricks of yours—well, they’re mysterious as anything, but they’re all small ones, if you know what I mean—with coins and handkerchiefs and eggs and things. What you need is one real big splashy trick to finish up with. Like sawing a girl in two, for instance.”

  “Could you show me how to do that, Presto?” Freddy asked.

  “Mrs. Wiggins is right, as always,” said the rabbit, “and I can show you easily. But may I suggest something smaller—a dog, perhaps. Or a cat. Something with a long tail is preferable.”

  Freddy wanted to know why and Presto told him how the trick was done. And then all three of them went up into the loft over the barn, where there were tools and a work bench, and spent the rest of the day building the necessary apparatus.

  But finding an animal who was willing to be sawed in two wasn’t so easy. Georgie, the little brown dog, declined with thanks. “I’m very happy just as I am, Freddy,” he said. “I can’t see any advantage in being bisected. How’d I control my hind legs and my tail if I was running around in two sections?”

  “We don’t really saw you in two, of course,” said the pig, who didn’t want to reveal how the trick was done unless he first had Georgie’s consent.

  “You’re darned right you don’t,” said the dog. “If you give a show, you’ll see me there, but you won’t saw me there.” And he began to laugh. Freddy tried to argue, but Georgie was laughing so hard at his own wit that he wouldn’t listen, and Freddy at last left him.

  But everywhere the answer was the same. Nobody wanted to be sawed in two.

  That evening Jinx dropped in to see Freddy. Jinx had been one of the first ones asked, and had refused with even more indignation than the others. Bu
t like all cats, he was curious, and wanted to know more about it. So Freddy, first binding him to secrecy, explained how the trick was done.

  “Oh,” said the cat. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place? Sure, I’ll do it. But we’ll have to wait till Minx gets here next week. She’s coming to spend the rest of the summer with me.”

  Minx was Jinx’s sister. She was a great traveler, had been abroad several times, and was always on the go. She never stayed very long in any one place. I guess maybe that was because nobody could stand her around for very long, for she was one of those people who always go you one better. If you had just been sick, she had just been sicker. If you had had a terrible experience, she had had the same one, only worse. Whatever you told her, the same thing had happened to her, only more so.

  So Freddy agreed to wait. For a performance that ended up with sawing a cat in two would be something pretty special. Perhaps, Freddy thought, too special to be given just for the barnyard animals and their friends. Perhaps he ought to hire a hall in Centerboro and give his show there. And he was thinking about this idea one afternoon when Mr. Pomeroy came in to tell him that a tall silk hat had been seen in the top of a tree on the eastern edge of the Big Woods. So Freddy and Presto went up to have a look at it.

  Chapter 5

  The hat was caught in the crotch of a spruce about fifteen feet from the ground. Freddy and Presto peered up at it.

  “It looks like the one, all right,” said the rabbit. “How we going to get it?”

  Freddy had on his magician’s coat. He couldn’t bear to be parted from it, so he wore it all the time, no matter how hot the weather was. He took out a rather grimy handkerchief and mopped his face all over. “We can shy sticks at it and knock it down,” he said.