Freddy and the Perilous Adventure (2 page)

“So you're one of the talking animals from the Bean farm,” he said. “Glad to meet you.” Then he shook his head. “'Tain't right for animals to talk, though,” he said. “Against nature.”

“Freddy's my good friend, Golcher,” said the sheriff. “Don't go picking on him.”

“Say no more,” said Mr. Golcher; “say no more. Any friend of the sheriff's a friend of mine, whether he be man, beast or insect; whether he talks, sings or merely grunts. What can I do for you, Mr.—er—”

“Just call me Freddy,” said the pig, and explained his errand.

“Two ducks, eh?” said Mr. Golcher. “Well now, Mr.—er, Freddy, I'll tell you. The balloon business ain't what it was. It's hard to get a crowd for an ascension nowadays, what with everyone wantin' to see nothing but airyoplane flights. Balloons is going out, that's the truth of it. Now you're offerin' me a pair of ducks to take up with me, and I'd like to oblige you, but it ain't enough. Two ducks goin' up in a balloon—that ain't anything to draw a crowd.—But hold on!” He struck his forehead sharply with the palm of his hand. “Golcher has an idea.” He looked sharply at the pig. “I expect you've made speeches in your time. Something of an orator, if what I hear is so, eh?”

“One of the finest public speakers in the county,” said the sheriff warmly.

“Oh, well; I wouldn't say that!” said Freddy blushing.

“Fine,” said Mr. Golcher. “That's how we can get our crowd. Ha, that'll bring 'em out. Patriotic pig makes Fourth of July address at balloon ascension. Think you could do it, Mr.—er Freddy? A good, roarin' patriotic speech just before the balloon goes up. Bringin' in America, and the flag—and balloons, of course. Think you could do that?”

Freddy had a sudden picture of himself, standing on a platform before a cheering crowd, with a flag waving overhead and a band ready to play when he had finished. “You bet!” he said enthusiastically.

“Good. That's champion, that is. Pig orator makes balloon ascension. I'll get me out some handbills right away, and those two ducks, they can go along with you as sort of trimming—they won't add nothing. But as long as they want to go—”

“You mean I'm to—to go
up
?” interrupted Freddy.

“That's just what Golcher means. Golcher has said so, and Golcher never goes back on his word.”

“Well,” said Freddy, “I don't know. The Fourth is a pretty busy day for me, and I don't know that I could spare the time. It's very nice of you, Mr. Golcher, but—”

“Eh?” said Mr. Golcher. “I don't get it. You said you had time to make a speech. You ain't afraid, are you?”

Freddy was indeed very much afraid. To see Alice and Emma go up in a balloon was one thing—after all, they had wings; but to go up himself was something different. He'd got himself into a nice fix.

But before he could say anything more, the sheriff said with a laugh: “Afraid? My friend Freddy afraid? I guess, Golcher, you don't know much about this pig's record.” And he went on to make a list of Freddy's brave deeds for the benefit of the balloonist.

And as Freddy listened he began to perk up. It's true, he said to himself; I really have done all these courageous things. I guess I can't just back down now. That's the trouble with a reputation for bravery: you have to live up to it. Oh dear, I wish I wasn't such a fearless character!

So when the sheriff had finished, and Mr. Golcher had expressed his gratification at being privileged to know such a celebrity, Freddy said why of course he would go up in the balloon. And then after making some necessary arrangements, he and the sheriff left.

Chapter 2

When the animals on the Bean farm learned that Freddy and the two ducks were going to take a balloon trip on the Fourth, they were very much excited. A number of them came and asked Freddy if they couldn't go too. Freddy thought most of them were rather relieved when he said it couldn't be arranged. But they all planned to go over and see the ascension, and Mrs. Wogus, one of the cows, was appointed chairman of the refreshment committee, to see that a nice lunch was put up and taken along. Of course the Centerboro Fair Grounds was too long a walk for some of the smaller animals, so Hank, the old white horse, said he'd get hitched up to the phaeton that they had taken with them on the trip to Florida, and the mice and the chickens and any other small animals could get a ride.

Freddy spent nearly all day on the Third looking through his encyclopedia, and trying to find out how far the balloon might be expected to travel before it came down again. He didn't look in the encyclopedia very often, and like everything else in his study, which was in the front part of the pigpen, it was pretty dusty. When he turned the leaves the dust went up his nose and made him sneeze, and then he would lose his place and have to turn back and try to find it, and that would make him sneeze again, and then when he found the place his eyes would be watering so he couldn't read what it said. So he didn't get much information. But he kept at it, and by four in the afternoon he did know a little more than when he started. He knew that nobody could tell where a balloon would come down.

So he put the encyclopedia away and blew his nose and went over to see Charles, the rooster.

Charles was sitting on a fence post in front of the henhouse. “Hello, Freddy,” he said rather distantly.

“Hello, Charles,” said the pig. “I suppose you've heard about this balloon ascension tomorrow?”

“Who hasn't?” said the rooster. “Anybody'd think nobody'd ever gone up in a balloon before, to hear 'em talk.”

“Oh, sure,” said Freddy. “It doesn't amount to anything. Only thing I'm worried about is this speech I've got to make. I'm no good as a speaker. Now if they only had you to make one of your good rousing patriotic orations—that would be something.”

“Oh, you'll make a good speech all right,” said Charles. “Of course, you haven't had the practice I've had, and maybe you aren't as eloquent as I am, but you'll do all right.”

Now what Charles said was perfectly true. When Freddy made a speech he said what he had to say and sat down. But when Charles made one, he said everything he had to say in six different ways, each more high-sounding, and with bigger words, than the last one. On days when Charles was to give an oration, animals came from miles around to shout and applaud and wonder how he could go on and on in such beautiful language without saying anything of importance at all. For a funny thing about Charles' speeches was that though they were so stirring at the time, when you got home and thought them over you couldn't remember what they were about.

“Well, I don't know,” said Freddy. “I'd hate to disappoint Mr. Golcher, and yet I'm afraid I'll make a poor job of it. I'd like the balloon ride all right; it'll be wonderful. But the important thing is to have the occasion a success, and with me as the principal speaker … Well, I tell you, Charles; much as I hate to pass up this wonderful experience, I've decided that you are the one who really ought to make the speech and go up. I've made up my mind for once to be unselfish about something, and to step aside and let you have the honor.”

“H'm, very generous,” said Charles, without much conviction. “But it doesn't seem to me that it would be fair. You were the one that thought up this thing, and arranged it—Of course,” he said, “I could make the speech, and then you and the ducks—”

“That wouldn't do,” said Freddy. “Whoever speaks has to go up. And another thing: you're a more suitable person, because it was a rooster, along with a duck and a sheep, that was the first living creature ever to fly. So the honor should be a rooster's, not a pig's. No pig ever flew.”

But Charles said no. “I wouldn't feel right about it, Freddy,” he said. He looked very noble and self-sacrificing for a minute, then he winked at Freddy, and edging closer along the rail fence he said in a low voice: “No, Freddy, my boy; I guess you're stuck with it.”

“I guess I am,” said Freddy to himself as he walked back home. “Oh,
why
am I such a fearless character?”

Two other volunteers for the ascension presented themselves, however. Unfortunately, as they had voices that could only be heard for about two inches, neither of them could take Freddy's place. They were Mr. and Mrs. Webb, the spiders.

Quik, one of the mice who lived in the farmhouse, came down to the pigpen just before supper time to tell Freddy that the Webbs wanted to see him. Since it was an hour's hard walk for Mr. Webb from the house to the pigpen, he usually asked one of the mice to go for Freddy when he wanted to talk to him. The pig found the Webbs in a crack between two boards on the back porch where they usually waited when they had an engagement with one of the farm animals. He put his snout down and they climbed up on it, and then, trying not to tickle, walked up close to his ear.

“How about taking us up on this balloon trip, Freddy?” said Mr. Webb. “Couldn't you smuggle us aboard?”

“I don't see why not,” said the pig. “But—are you sure you'd like it? We may be carried hundreds of miles before we get to earth again.”

“We went to Florida, didn't we?” said the spider. “And we'd like to get away. We both need a change—mother particularly. She's been trying to shake that cough ever since early spring. And you know how it is: you can't catch flies if you begin to cough every time you try to creep up on one.”

So Freddy said all right, he'd pick them up if they would ride over to the fair grounds in the phaeton with the other animals.

Usually on summer mornings Freddy woke up as quickly as possible and dashed off to the duck pond to take his morning dip with the others. But on the morning of the Fourth he tried to wake up as slowly as possible. First he just listened. That rushing sound—could it be rain? He tried to pretend it was rain and to go back to sleep, but he knew that sound too well—it was wind in the treetops. Wind! And he was going up in a balloon!

But maybe it was cloudy! He opened one eye and looked at the window. But the eye didn't tell him anything, because the window was so dirty that from the inside it always looked as if a storm was coming up. He opened his other eye, sighed, and slowly crawled out of bed. And then he saw a streak of sunlight under the door.

Now of course Freddy could have run away, or he could have pretended that he was sick or something like that, but he was not that kind of a pig. If something unpleasant had to be done, he did it. He just wanted to be sure first that it really
had
to be done. So now he went over to the looking glass and tried different expressions on his face, to see which one would be the most suitable for the occasion.

Of course pigs don't wear regular clothes, so all Freddy had to put on was an expression when he got up in the morning. And on important mornings it often took him longer to dress that it would you or me. For he had a good many different expressions. When he went down to the First Animal Bank, of which he was president, he wore the “serious-pig-with-grave-responsibilities-on-his-shoulders” expression. When he was doing detective work, he wore the “keen-eyed-pig-who-misses-nothing” expression. And when he was writing poetry the one he put on was the “dreamy-poetic-pig.” This morning he hesitated between the “in-trepid-pig-who-scoffs-at-peril” and the “pig-who-is-about-to-go-up-in-a-ballon-and-thinks-nothing-of-it.” They were a good deal alike, so he combined the two and wore them both.

The resulting expression was one of such iron determination that it greatly impressed all the animals with whom he talked that morning. “Why you aren't scared at all, Freddy,” said Mrs. Wiggins, the cow. “Land sakes, you wouldn't get me to go up in one of those contraptions.”

“Pooh, you wouldn't be any more scared than I am,” said Freddy truthfully.

He hung around the barnyard most of the morning, enjoying the admiration and congratulations of his friends, for he felt—very sensibly, I think—that he might as well get all the glory he could out of the ascension beforehand, in case he drifted out to sea and was never heard of again. And when, after dinner, the animals set out for the fair grounds, he and the two ducks rode in the place of honor, in the back seat of the phaeton.

The Bean animals were very popular in Centerboro, and Freddy bowed and waved to many old friends as they went along through the fair grounds to where the balloon, now almost fully inflated with gas, was tugging in the breeze at the ropes that held it to the ground. The sideshows and the merry-go-round were almost deserted, for everyone had crowded up to listen to Freddy's speech and see the ascension. Mr. Golcher greeted them warmly.

“How's this for a crowd?” he said. “We're going to have an ascension today that
is
an ascension! And these are the two ducks? Happy to meet you, I'm sure. And all these are your friends? Golcher welcomes you, one and all.”