“H’m,” said the sheriff, “you’d better write Boomschmidt about it. I see by the paper the circus is in Binghamton this week; he could drive up and get his money. Hey, did you see this?” He pawed around on his desk until he found the Binghamton paper, which he folded and handed to Freddy.
“Well, well,” said the pig. “‘Boomschmidt’s Stupendous and …’ Yes, it’s the same ad he always uses. But what’s this?—‘The Great Bald African Lion. Only specimen of this gigantic and ferocious animal ever captured alive.’ My goodness, do you suppose that’s Leo? ‘The bald lion bears the same relation to other lions that the great American bald eagle does to other eagles. Captured at immense cost and at the peril of his life by Orestes Boomschmidt, in person, on the South African veldt. Mr. Boomschmidt enters the cage twice daily.’ Oh sure, that’s Leo, with his mane clipped. But I wonder how they manage it. Leo doesn’t like to be locked up. But if they’re pretending he’s so ferocious, they can’t let him run around loose and call on his friends the way he used to do.”
“Look, Freddy,” said the sheriff; “the hotel isn’t a very safe place for you. This Zingo is a tough egg—too tough for you to handle. I know you’re smart, and you’ve tangled with some bad characters in the past, but he’d shoot you as soon as look at you. I don’t know what you’ve got up your sleeve for Tuesday night, but my advice to you is: drop it. I know he stuck you for a lot of money. But it isn’t worth risking your life to get it back.”
But Freddy shook his head. It wasn’t the money—he could afford to lose that; it was his professional pride. Zingo had put one over on him; he had to get even. And there was Mr. Groper. He had promised Mr. Groper his help, but so far he had accomplished nothing.
They argued for a while but Freddy was firm, and at last the sheriff said: “Well, at least come stay here until after the show.”
“I’ll stay here tonight,” said Freddy. “Then we’ll see.”
So Freddy played croquet with Maxie the Yegg until suppertime, and after supper he entertained the prisoners with some magic. But at nine o’clock he got up and said he had to go out for a while. The sheriff looked worried but didn’t try to stop him. Freddy went down to the hotel and went in through the kitchen and up the back stairs. But as his head came above the level of the top step so that he could see down the hall, he stopped. For light streamed from the open door of Zingo’s room, and Zingo himself sat in a chair in the doorway. He had a heavy cane in his hand, and it didn’t take much detective ability to deduce what he was waiting for.
Freddy ducked down. And he was wondering what he had better do when something tickled his nose, and he felt the very smallest of small footsteps walking up towards his ear. “Webb!” he whispered. “I’d know that walk anywhere! What goes on here?”
“We’ve been waiting to drop on you if you came up—mother at the front stairs, and me here,” said Mr. Webb. “As far as we can make out, from what Zingo and Presto have been saying, you took something out of Zingo’s hat. He thinks you hid it somewhere, and he’s laying for you, and if he catches you he’s going to make you tell where it is. He said he’d beat you till you told him.”
“My goodness,” said Freddy, “I’m glad you stopped me. Has anything else happened?”
“Ain’t that enough?” said Mr. Webb. “Well, yes; Old Whibley came to the window a while ago. He had a pistol for you or something. Jinx offered to give it to you but Whibley wouldn’t let him have it—said nobody but a fool would trust a cat with firearms. He’ll be back in half an hour or so.”
“Well,” Freddy said, “we’ve got to change our headquarters to the theatre. Tell Jinx and Minx to pack my suitcase and throw it out the window. Then they and the mice can sneak out this way. I don’t think Zingo will notice them, and it won’t matter if he does. You’d better collect Mrs. Webb and ride along. I’ll meet you at the back door of the theatre—on the alley, you know—at ten o’clock.”
The second show was about half over when Freddy reached the back door of the theatre, which Mr. Muszkiski always kept unlocked until the show was over, in case of fire. His friends were waiting for him—even the beetles and caterpillars, who with the Webbs had ridden on Minx’s back. “It was a cinch, Freddy,” said Jinx. “Zingo heard your window go up when we hove the suitcase out, and he ran to his window to see what the row was about. And while he was there we unlocked the door and got out without his seeing us. So now what do we do?”
“We go down and camp in one of those rooms under the stage,” said Freddy, “and get ready for Tuesday night.”
Old Whibley had evidently been watching when they left the hotel, for now he swept down and lit on the eaves trough over the door. “Hey! You!” he hooted. “You’d better have this.” And Zingo’s pistol thumped down at Freddy’s feet.
The pig picked it up. “Oh, thank you!”
“Would have let you have it before, but I wanted to try it out,” said the owl. “Figured if I could get the hang of the thing, ’twould simplify hunting. As it is now, I don’t have time to keep up to date in my thinking—have to spend it all hunting. If I could go out and pot a couple of field mice in the early evening—”
“You big cannibal!” squeaked Cousin Augustus angrily, and Eek sniffed. “Such talk!”
Whibley gave his hooting laugh. “Don’t worry about me, you scrawny little things,” he said. “House mice! Got no more flavor than something out of the dust pan! Now a good field mouse …”
“Did you shoot any?” Freddy asked.
“Guess I need practice,” said the owl. “Only had six shots in the gun, and missed every time. But you can get some more cartridges. And I’d like the pistol back after you’ve plugged Zingo. Know how to use it?” And when Freddy said he didn’t, Whibley said: “Glad I won’t be around while you’re learning. Don’t want to get a claw shot off.”
“Well, I guess I can equal your score anyway,” said Freddy. “Six misses in six shots—I ought to be able to do as well as that.”
Whibley clattered his beak angrily, but apparently couldn’t think of any comeback, and Freddy said quickly: “Excuse me—I don’t mean to be rude. Will you be around to help us out Tuesday night?”
“Can’t promise,” said the owl. “As I told you, I’m way back in my thinking. Pshaw!” he said. “I’m not catching up with it talking to you.” And he flew off.
When they were inside, Eek said: “Do owls do so much thinking, usually?”
“They say they do,” Jinx replied contemptuously. “Personally I think all their talk about being so wise is a lot of whoosh. It takes more than a pair of big eyes and a bad disposition to set up in the wisdom business.”
“Whibley’s wise all right,” Freddy said. “And he’ll be around, no matter what he says. He always comes through.”
With headquarters now established in the dressing room under the stage at the movie theatre, Freddy and his friends kept under cover for the next two days. On Monday Zingo had his magic paraphernalia moved from the hotel over to the theatre, and when he had checked the stuff over and had gone, the animals came out of hiding and went to work on it.
“Boy,” said Eeny, emerging from one of the secret pockets of the magician’s tail coat, “old Zing is going to be surprised at the way some of his tricks come out; eh, Freddy?”
“I hope so,” said Freddy. “We’ve sure put some extra magic in some of them. But he’s a smart magician; I hope he doesn’t turn the tables on us. I still don’t know how he spotted who I was. It must have been when I was in the hotel dining room, but I kept my face pretty well hidden by the war bonnet, and I didn’t eat anything—I mean so he’d see I had trotters instead of hands—except when his back was turned. He said he had eyes in the back of his head, and I guess it’s so.”
Late in the afternoon Freddy went over to the jail. He didn’t dare wear the Indian suit, or to be seen on the street just as himself either, so he wore the old woman disguise, with a shawl over his head, that he had used successfully several times befo
re. He wanted to see if anything had been heard of Mr. Boomschmidt, and sure enough, just as he was going in the gate a horn blared behind him, and he jumped aside as a big red and gold car, with a B surmounted by a crown painted on the door, swept past him up the drive. Bill Wonks was driving, and side by side in the back seat sat Mr. Boomschmidt and Leo. Leo had on a pair of sun glasses, he leaned back against the cushions looking very haughty and noble and relaxed, but the thing that startled Freddy was his mane. It was long and hung down in ringlets on each side of his face; and it was a sort of pinkish orange.
He leaned back against the cushions looking very haughty.
Freddy giggled under his breath, then pulled the shawl around his face and hurried after them. He came up just as they were getting out of the car.
“Ah, ye wretches,” he wailed at them; “steal in’ up behind in your great roarin’ engine and scarin’ a poor widdy woman out of her boots! Think shame to yourselves, ye rich and haughty misters! Ridin’ around the country in your plug hats and your moth-eaten wigs, and laugh in’ and roarin’ when you run over a poor old helpless body like meself, and if me dear husband, Patrick O’Halloran, was alive, the saints be with him, he’d have the teeth out of ye and you layin’ on your faces bawlin’ for mercy. But I’ll have the law on ye, so I will, or my name’s not …”
Mr. Boomschmidt interrupted him with a shout. “Your husband was Pat O’Halloran? Dear old Pat O’Halloran, that used to be—”
“He used to be nothin’ that you’re about to say he used to be,” Freddy cut in. He knew that this was always Mr. Boomschmidt’s method of avoiding an argument. He would pick on some minor detail and get everyone so mixed up that they forgot what they were arguing about. “And anyway,” the pig went on, “it’s not you I’m addressin’, me good man, but this long-tailed refugee from a mothball factory, this …”
“Easy now, lady,” said Leo, taking off his sun glasses. “Why, dye my hair,” he exclaimed, staring at Freddy, “aren’t you the Mrs. O’Halloran that used to live on—now let me see, what street was it? I’ve heard some nice things about you. I—”
“Have ye, indeed?” said Freddy. “Well, I’ve heard some things about you, come to see who you are, for I’m that Mrs. O’Halloran that you stole the leg of lamb from last time ye was through, the two of ye was in it.” He turned to appeal to the sheriff, who had come out to welcome his guests. “Arrest them, sheriff, the two villains. ’Twas them that broke into me house and grabbed me and the little one there sat on me head while the other ransacked me cupboard and stole a leg of lamb and off they run the two of them and …”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” said the sheriff calmly. “We’ll go inside and talk it over, ma’am. In with you,” and he caught Freddy’s arm and dragged him inside, while Mr. Boomschmidt and Leo followed, looking puzzled but not very much disturbed.
“Goodness gracious, sheriff!” Mr. Boomschmidt said. “Glad to buy this lady a leg of lamb if she wants it. Buy her all four legs if she says so, and two quarts of mint sauce to go with ’em. Hire her to write my advertising, too, if she’s willing. My, my, such wonderful language—eh, Leo? Fugitive from a mothball factory, why it’s a gift, that’s what it is, a gift!”
“If you say so, chief,” said Leo grumpily.
“Well I do say so,” Mr. Boomschmidt replied. “Look at what she called you for nothing, and imagine what she could think up if she was paid for it.”
“Ye’ll not have to pay me!” Freddy said. “It’s no trouble at all at all with a face like that to embroider me thoughts on, and an old floor mop tied on the top of it the way the prisoners here would go into roarin’ hysterics if it was stuck in the door at them.” He stopped suddenly, for Leo, with a swift swipe of his paw had snatched off the shawl.
“Well, boil my wig!” said Leo. “I thought there was something familiar about that figure. Little stouter, ain’t you, Freddy?”
“Upon my soul,” said Mr. Boomschmidt, “I’d have known that poetical language anywhere. I mean, I’d have known it was you anywhere, Freddy—if I hadn’t known it wasn’t.”
“But it was, chief,” said Leo.
“Sure,” said Mr. Boomschmidt, “that’s what I mean.”
“Look, Mr. Boomschmidt,” said Freddy; “I suppose you’ve come up for that money? It’s up in our bank. Shall we go out and get it?”
“No hurry. We’re staying over to see the show tomorrow night, if the sheriff can put us up. We don’t want to go to the hotel, on account of Zingo.”
“You mean you don’t, chief,” said Leo. “Can you beat it, Freddy? Guess why the boss doesn’t want to see Zingo: because it might hurt Zingo’s feelings to run into somebody he’d stolen money from!”
“Well, good gracious, I can’t help it; I can’t help it, Leo,” said Mr. Boomschmidt, sounding a little irritated. “I know you say it’s super-sensitive and silly, but oh my goodness, it would make me uncomfortable and I won’t do it!”
Freddy changed the subject. “Look, Leo; there’s something I don’t understand. According to the Binghamton paper you’re billed as the Great Bald African Lion. But why the pink wig?”
“Wrong color, isn’t it?” said Leo distastefully. “Pink and tawny yellow are a horrible color combination—you needn’t tell me, I know it. But it was all I could get in Binghamton—can you imagine?—not a single artificial lion mane in the whole burg. I found a beauty shop, and they made this up—it was this or platinum blonde, and I thought this was—well, more suitable, somehow.”
“But why wear one at all?”
“Oh, good gracious,” put in Mr. Boomschmidt, “I couldn’t have him running around the fair grounds out of his cage when he was billed as the most ferocious animal in the whole Dark Continent, could I? When I’m supposed to be risking my life every time I enter his cage. We’ve had wonderful attendance in Binghamton—wonderful. People all coming and bringing their kids in the hope of seeing me torn to pieces. Wouldn’t have much hope of that if they’d just seen him having a coke at the soda fountain ten minutes before, would they? So he wears this mane outside the cage.”
“I see,” said Freddy. “Well, come on; let’s go out and get that money.”
Chapter 16
The curtain rose Tuesday evening before what the Bean Home News later described as “the most distinguished animal audience—not to speak of the prominent humans—ever gathered together in the fair city of Centerboro.” All of those who had attended Freddy’s performance were there, and many others—some drawn by the fame of Signor Zingo, others by the rumor that Freddy intended to expose the magician’s tricks and thus win back the money he had lost on his own show. There were even two cows and a horse who had walked all the way over from Tushville.
Signor Zingo, in his tall silk hat and his redlined cape, twirled his moustache and smiled in gratification as he stood in the center of the stage and looked out upon the rows and rows of faces that were turned towards him. He might not have smiled so confidently if he had known that there were several dozen of Freddy’s friends concealed in various parts of the theatre, ready to take parts in his performance which he had not assigned to them. Or if he had seen the short round man in a plug hat and the very large and queerly shaped lady with a mop of pinkish orange hair only partly tied down to her head by a large scarf, and with fingernails four inches long, who slipped into the back row just after the lights in the house went down.
On the previous evening, after Mr. Boomschmidt had collected his money from the First Animal Bank and, with Leo, had gone in to pay a short call on the Beans, Freddy had got together all the animals who were to help him at the show, and the big red car had taken them back to the theatre. Tuesday morning Freddy had drilled them in what they had to do, and then they had gone to their positions where they stayed till the show began.
From the reports of the mice, who had watched Zingo practicing and had heard him discussing his tricks with Presto, Freddy had got a pretty good idea of just how the program was to go, and
he had made elaborate preparations. When the curtain went up, Zingo had planned to step forward, wave his magic wand, and produce presumably from nowhere a large bouquet of paper flowers which he would present with a pretty speech to some lady in the front row.
The wand, of course, was hollow, and the bouquet, folded very tightly, was inside it. But although Zingo waved the wand gracefully several times and commanded the flowers to appear, nothing happened. For Freddy had poured a little glue into the wand.
Zingo however was quickwitted enough to produce from a secret pocket a couple of little silk flags, and he made it appear that these were what he had expected, and he leaned down and presented them to Mrs. Bean and Mrs. Weezer, who sat side by side in the first row. But the applause was rather lukewarm.
The second trick was called “The Dancing Cane.” Zingo balanced a cane upright on the floor in front of him, and then without touching it, he moved his hands about it, and the cane danced and jigged all by itself. It was a good trick, and everyone had started to clap, when down the aisle came Freddy. He had on his war bonnet, but instead of the Indian suit, he wore his own magician’s coat with the secret pockets and clips.
He stopped just below the stage and said in a loud voice: “I claim the ten dollars you offer to anyone who can duplicate or explain any of your tricks, Signor Zingo.”
Zingo scowled ferociously at him, but Freddy climbed up on the stage and showed how by means of black threads, which the audience of course couldn’t see, and which were looped around the cane and fastened at the ends to the magician’s fingers, he could make the cane dance.
Zingo showed a thin line of white teeth in a tight smile. “Very good,” he said. “Very clever of you. I will instruct the box office to pay you ten dollars when you leave the theatre.”
Freddy the Magician Page 11
