Freddy and the Perilous Adventure

Freddy and the Perilous Adventure

Walter R. Brooks

Illustrated by Kurt Wiese

The Overlook Press

New York

Chapter 1

Alice and Emma, the two ducks, sat on the bank and watched the breeze crinkle the surface of the duck pond into a sort of blue and silver carpet. The pond was the ducks' home, and they were just as proud of it as Mrs. Bean, down at the farm, was of her front parlor, with the new wallpaper and the picture of Washington Crossing the Delaware.

“Sometimes I think,” said Emma thoughtfully, “that this is the most beautiful spot in the whole world.”

“It's pretty enough,” said Alice. “But as to its being the most beautiful spot in the world, how do we know? We've never seen anything of the world. Except for that trip to Florida we've hardly ever been off the Bean farm.”

“Why, sister!” exclaimed Emma. “I—I thought you loved it here as much as I do. I thought we'd been very happy—”

“So we have,” interrupted Alice. “So we have. But you must admit that there isn't anything very
new
about it. We swim round and round on the same water, and we dive into the same mud, and we see the same animals and hear them say the same things, day after day, week after week, month—”

“—after month,” said a pleasant voice behind them, and they turned to see Freddy, the pig, who had come up unnoticed.

Freddy, besides being a very clever detective, was also a very accomplished poet, and it was plain from the delicate way in which he sniffed at a buttercup as he looked at them that he was in one of his poetic moods. For as everyone knows, a buttercup has no smell, and so it was evident that he was sniffing it for effect, and not because he got any pleasure out of it.

“I wish you'd cough when you come up behind us like that,” said Alice a little sharply. “You quite startled us.”

Freddy smiled dreamily and looked up into the sky as if he were listening to music. Then he began to beat time slowly with one fore trotter, and said:

“Hour after hour, day after day,

I know just what everyone's going to say.

“Day after day, week after week,

I know what they'll say before even they speak.

“Week after week, month after month—”

He broke off at this point and said: “You see, ladies, I know just how you feel.”

“Oh, do finish the lovely poem, Freddy,” said Emma.

“You liked it?” said Freddy, flushing with pleasure. “That is very gratifying. But I'm afraid I could hardly finish it now—that is, not properly. Perfection, you know—we poets must aim for perfection. Of course I
could
finish it, but—”

“Is there a rhyme for ‘month,' Freddy?” asked Emma innocently.

“Dozens of them, my dear, simply dozens,” he assured her. “But one must choose the best—the exactly right one. Poetry is not an easy thing. H'm, no indeed. Hard, brain-racking work. Sometimes, after finishing a verse, I am so exhausted that—” He stopped. “But I mustn't bother you with my professional troubles. What is it that seems to be the matter, Alice?”

“Oh, I don't quite know, Freddy,” said the duck. “I'm tired of doing the same things over and over. I'd like a change. I'd like to take a trip. I'd like—” She hesitated, then brought it out, primly, but with determination. “I'd like to have adventures!”

“Sister!” exclaimed Emma with horror. “Oh, sister; how can you say such dreadful things?” And she began to cry.

“Well, I don't know,” said Freddy; “that is quite understandable. I've often felt the same way. And I really don't see why you shouldn't do it, if you want to.”

“But you're a pig, Freddy,” sobbed Emma. “You're so brave and resourceful. We're only ducks!”

“Only ducks?” exclaimed Freddy. “
Only
ducks! Why, that reminds me, there's something I wanted to tell you about, that I read the other night in my encyclopedia. You know on the Fourth of July, in Centerboro, they're going to have a balloon ascension. They have one every year. They fill a big balloon with gas, and it has a basket hanging under it, and then a man gets in the basket and the band plays and the balloon goes up in the air. And by and by it comes down again in the next county or somewhere. Well, I thought I'd read up about balloons, and what do you suppose I found out? Who do you suppose was the very first living creature to go up in any balloon, anywhere?”

“Mr. Bean?” asked Alice.

“No, no; this was long before Mr. Bean's time over in France. There was a man named Mont—Mont—Well, I won't give you his name because he was a Frenchman, and of course his name is in French and you wouldn't understand it. Well, anyway—”

“Do say it in French,” interrupted Emma, who had stopped crying. “Such a pretty language, I always think. And I'm sure you have a fine accent.”

“The name is unimportant anyway,” said Freddy firmly. “Now this, er—Frenchman made a big balloon, and when it sailed away up into the sky, who do you suppose was in the basket?”

Alice and Emma shook their heads.

“A duck!” said Freddy.

“Dear me!” said the sisters together. “Really? A duck!”

“Exactly,” said the pig. “A brave and fearless duck. The first living creature to fly. The first aviator. And you say you're
only
ducks! You ought to be proud of your duckiness.”

“What was her name?” asked Alice, and Emma said: “Did she come down safely?”

“History does not record her name,” said Freddy, “but she did come down safely, and was, I have no doubt, rewarded for her gallantry with the highest honors. I should tell you that she was not alone in the basket; a rooster and a sheep were also passengers, but according to the encyclopedia they did not behave very well. At least when he came down the rooster had a broken leg because the sheep had kicked him. So we can assume that the duck was the only one that remained calm and unafraid. From what I know of you both I can only guess that she must have been an ancestor of yours.”

Alice and Emma tried to look worthy of so heroic an ancestor, and Alice said: “I'm sure our Uncle Wesley wouldn't have hesitated to go up in a balloon.”

“Dear Uncle Wesley!” said Emma. “He was
so
courageous!”

“Pooh,” said Freddy, “I knew your Uncle Wesley, and I don't remember that … Well, let's put it this way: I think you're just as courageous as he was. I tell you what, Alice. That balloon man is a friend of the sheriff's, and the sheriff is a great friend of mine. How would it be if I spoke to him and got him to take you up with him the Fourth?”

“Take
me
up?” said Alice. “Well, gracious, Freddy; I don't know that I—”

“You wanted to have an adventure,” said Freddy. “And here's one all ready-made for you.”

“Why that's—that's—I mean—” Alice quacked excitedly. Then she closed her bill with a snap and drew herself up. “Very well,” she said determinedly; “I'll do it.”

“Sister!” exclaimed Emma in horror. “Oh, you couldn't!”

“And why not, pray?” said Alice. “I guess if a French duck can do it, an American duck can.”

“But the balloon might be carried for miles; it might be carried out into the ocean by the wind. It might blow up.”

“Well, if there's one thing I can do, it's swim,” said Alice. “I've never had much practice flying—we domestic ducks aren't like the wild ducks—but if I fell out, I have my own parachute.” And she spread her wings and fluttered them.

“Really, sister, you quite terrify me,” said Emma in a faint voice.

“No reason for that,” said Freddy. “I'm sure she'd be quite safe. And it would indeed be an adventure. Yes, I may say that it has an attraction even for me. I've always wanted to fly.”

“Oh, would you go up too?” asked Alice. “That would be very nice. We could make up a party, and take a picnic lunch—”

“Well, really,” said Freddy, “if it was any day but the Fourth, I'd be delighted. But I have some—er, rather important engagements on the Fourth. And then, too, I weigh a good deal more than you do. The balloonist man might be willing to take a duck up with him, but I'm afraid a pig—no, I'm sure he'd object. Better not propose it to him at all. He'd very likely refuse you too, then.”

“Oh, dear,” said Emma; “sister, if you do want to have adventures, as you say, why can't you have them on the ground. You know how terrified I am of heights.”

“But you don't have to go up.”

“Naturally, I should insist on going,” said Emma decidedly. “Why, we always do everything together, Alice.”

“Then see if the man will take two ducks up, Freddy,” said Alice.

“Oh, dear,” said Emma, “I know I shan't enjoy a minute of it.”

Freddy laughed. “No,” he said, “you won't. That's the funny thing about adventures. I've had my share of them in my time, as you know, and my experience is that either you're too busy to think whether you're enjoying them or not, or else you're just scared. And yet there must be something about them that you like, too, or else you wouldn't go on trying to have more. But the nice thing is afterwards, with the crowds and the cheering and your picture in the paper and all.”

“I shouldn't care to have my picture in the paper,” said Alice. “Uncle Wesley always thought it was rather vulgar.”

“They never look like you, anyway,” said Freddy consolingly.

So after a while he left them, and that afternoon he walked down to Centerboro. At the jail he found the sheriff and some of the prisoners having a candy-pull, and he had to wait until the candy was cut up into lengths and rolled up in pieces of oiled paper before the sheriff could go over to the fair grounds with him. Mr. Golcher, the balloonist, was busy spreading out his balloon on the ground and getting ready for the ascension. He was a thin, rather sour looking man, but he shook hands with Freddy politely when the sheriff introduced them.