Читать книгу Freddy the Politician - Walter Rollin Brooks - Страница 5

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The next two weeks were very busy ones on the Bean farm. The idea of electing a president was enthusiastically received. It would be a great thing, the animals all felt, to found the first animal republic. Of course none of them knew very much about how to start a republic, or how to hold an election, but Freddy read up about it in his encyclopedia, and John Quincy was a great help too. For of course, living in Washington, the woodpecker knew all about government.

Freddy and Jinx and some of the others were all for holding the election right away, but when John Quincy heard of this he said he thought they ought to wait until they had got the bank started.

“Oh, you just say that because you are to be president of the bank,” said Freddy.

“Dear me,” said John Quincy, “I am in no hurry for that, I assure you. No, it merely occurs to me that your main reason for starting a republic is so that the farm will be well run in Mr. Bean’s absence. But Mr. Bean isn’t planning to go abroad for another month, so I am told, and in the meantime, if you don’t convince him that you are capable of taking on such a responsible job, he may not go at all. The quickest way to convince him is to start your bank.”

“Well, why can’t we do both right away?” asked Jinx.

“Because it will take longer to get the bank going,” said the woodpecker. “Anybody can start a republic in five minutes. But a bank—well, you haven’t even got any safe-deposit vaults yet.”

“Safe-deposit vaults?” said Freddy.

“Sure,” said John Quincy. “That’s what a bank has to have. Burglar-proof vaults. Underground, with steel doors and somebody to guard them. For money and valuables.”

They were going to have the bank in an old toolshed that stood by the side of the road some distance from the house. So Jinx hired a family of woodchucks that lived in the upper pasture to come down and dig some vaults under the shed. They dug a tunnel about twenty-five feet long, big enough for Jinx to crawl through, and at the end they dug two rooms: a smaller room for money and a larger room for valuables. They put a board over the opening to the tunnel, and whoever was on guard sat on it.

The day the bank opened for business Freddy brought out the sign he had painted and they hung it up. It read:

FIRST ANIMAL BANK OF CENTERBORO

President: John Quincy Adams Treasurer: Jinx

Secretary: Freddy

Capital: None yetResources: Unlimited

These names are the guarantee of your security. Why worry about the safety of your money and valuables? Bring them to us and let us do the worrying. Do business with the old reliable firm.

For the first few days the bank was crowded from dawn to dusk. Animals came from miles around to open accounts, or to leave valuables in safekeeping. Most of them came out of curiosity, to see how a bank worked, or to have a talk with its distinguished president, but of course they all brought something. There was a line at the door that extended away off down the road. And as each one came in, John Quincy would talk with him for a minute, explaining how the bank worked, and then Freddy would write down in a notebook what they had brought, and one of the squirrels whom they had engaged as cashiers and clerks would take it down to the vaults. By the end of the third day there was $21.03 in the money room, and the valuables room was so full that there wasn’t space for anything more.

“It’s a good thing the entrance to the vaults is so small,” said Jinx. “Suppose we’d had to take in things like that ox-yoke that that cow from Lakeville wanted us to keep for her because her great-uncle used to wear it!”

“We have to draw the line at foodstuffs, too,” said John Quincy. “I turned away several dogs that came in with bones. And squirrels have been bringing in thousands of nuts. What kind of a bank is that to be president of—one that has its vaults full of nuts?”

“Well, for that matter,” said Freddy, “what kind of a bank is it that doesn’t charge for its services? I vote we charge a cent a month on all accounts.”

As soon as this monthly charge was announced, business fell off badly. But although most animals haven’t much use for money, they can always get a little if they need it. In a district that has been settled for a hundred and fifty years, many thousands of coins have been lost. They have slipped from purses, dropped through holes in pockets, fallen through cracks and down mouse-holes. They are sprinkled all over the countryside, and it is the little animals, and particularly the birds, who know where they are.

And so if a squirrel knew where there was a nickel, it was worth his trouble to bring it along with his winter supply of nuts to the bank. For five months his hoard would be safe from the robbers against whom he must be always on the watch.

But there were many other things besides nuts brought in for safekeeping. Oddly enough, the three wealthiest depositors in the bank were Ferdinand, the crow, and Alice and Emma, the two ducks. Ferdinand, like all crows, was a great collector. In his nest in the dead pine over in the woods he was popularly supposed to have hidden a treasure worth a king’s ransom. Indeed, there were some valuable things in his collection—half a dozen gold coins, a brooch set with diamonds in the form of a rabbit, a number of unmounted emeralds and sapphires, and so on. But Ferdinand collected things that were bright and glittered, regardless of their value, and so mixed in with these things which men, too, like to hoard, there were bits of glass and shiny bottle-caps and pins and pieces of tin and a brass thimble. All these things Ferdinand brought into the bank for safekeeping, for lately he had noticed a number of blue jays hanging around the pine tree, and blue jays are great thieves.

Alice and Emma didn’t care much about collecting, although in exploring the mud in the bottoms of ponds and creeks they often picked up things that had been dropped out of boats. But they had inherited their Uncle Wesley’s collection, and that was a very fine collection indeed. For Uncle Wesley had traveled a great deal and had stirred up the mud at the bottom of many much-traveled lakes and streams and had found and brought home more jewelry than you could shake a stick at. Alice and Emma kept the collection at the bottom of Mr. Bean’s duck pond, but they were nervous, fluttery little ducks and were always worrying about it. Emma didn’t care for jewelry and never wore any, but Alice occasionally put on a string of pearls when she went calling. She would have liked to wear some of the diamonds, but Emma did not think that diamonds were refined. The ducks were very much relieved when they had entrusted all this wealth to the bank.

One day when the bank had been open about a week Mr. Bean harnessed Hank, the old white horse, to the buggy and started into town. But when he came opposite the shed, with the big sign in front, he pulled on the reins. “Whoa, Hank,” he shouted. “What in tarnation’s this?”

Hank looked around but didn’t say anything. Mr. Bean knew that his animals could talk, but he was a pretty conventional man. That means that he didn’t like new things very much. He liked to have everything go on as it had when he was a boy. That was the reason he still drove a buggy instead of a car. And so it made him feel uncomfortable and a little embarrassed when he heard animals talk. He just couldn’t get used to it.

It was a little confusing for the animals sometimes. Mr. Bean thought them impolite if they didn’t answer, and, on the other hand, it upset him if they did. But in this case Hank decided that no answer was necessary. If Mr. Bean wanted to know what the bank was, he only had to read the sign.

Which he did. “First Animal Bank, hey?” he said. “So that’s what they’ve started. Good, sound idea. Teach ’em the value of money. ‘President: John Quincy Adams—’ Hey, hey; we can’t have this! You animals’ll be getting me into trouble with the government—using that name. Tut, tut; we’ll have to see about this!” And he dropped the reins on the dashboard and climbed out.

He walked into the shed and up to the counter that the two boys, Byram and Adoniram, had built for the bankers. A horse with a straw hat on who had come in to inquire if the bank would lend him the money to buy a new pair of shoes moved aside respectfully, and John Quincy, who had been talking to the horse, hopped forward.

“Good morning, sir,” he said. “What can we do for you?”

Mr. Bean gave a slight shudder, as he always did when he heard an animal speak. “Who are you?” he said. “Stranger here, ain’t you?”

“Not any longer, I hope, sir,” said the woodpecker. “Let us say, rather, a new arrival in your delightful community.”

“This is John Quincy, Mr. Bean,” said Jinx. “The president of our new bank.”

Mr. Bean gave a grunt. Then he said: “Well, if his name’s John Quincy, his name’s John Quincy. If he’s president of the bank, he’s president of the bank. But you got to take that name Adams off your sign.”

“But that’s his name,” protested Jinx. “He was named after the President.”

“I was named after my grandfather,” said Mr. Bean, “but I don’t go round pretending I’m him.”

“Neither do I,” said the woodpecker indignantly.

“Go round pretending you’re my grandfather?” said Mr. Bean. “I should hope not.”

“Go round pretending I’m the President,” said John Quincy.

“Oh,” said Mr. Bean. “Well, maybe you don’t. But it looks like it. And whether you are or not, folks are going to criticize me for letting you do it. So fix up that sign.”

He turned to go, but the horse with the straw hat said nervously: “Don’t you—don’t you approve of this bank, Mr. Bean? Don’t you think it’s a good bank?”

“Approve of it? Certainly I approve of it. It’s the first animal bank in the country, ain’t it? It’s run by my animals, ain’t it? That is, all but this John Quincy, here, and I expect he’s all right. Who says it ain’t a good bank?”

“Why, n-nobody,” said the horse.

“Well, then,” said Mr. Bean. He looked sharply at the horse. “I’ve seen you before somewhere,” he said.

“I’m Zenas Witherspoon’s Jerry,” said the horse. “I just came over to see if I could borrow enough to buy some new shoes.”

“Oh, sure. I thought I recognized that long nose,” said Mr. Bean. “Why don’t Zenas buy shoes for you?”

“He hasn’t any money. He had a bad year last year.”

“Well,” said Mr. Bean, “he hadn’t ought to bought you that hat. In my day horses didn’t wear hats. They weren’t afraid of a little sun.”

“It’s Mrs. Witherspoon’s hat,” said Jerry. “She don’t ever go out, so she gave it to me.”

“ ’Twa’n’t much of a present,” said Mr. Bean dryly. Then he said to John Quincy: “Well, president, what you going to do about this loan? I want to see how your bank works.”

“We can’t lend you our depositors’ money unless you can give us good security,” said John Quincy. “I guess we’ll have to refuse the loan.”

“Security,” said Jerry. “What’s that?”

“It’s anything of value that you’d leave with us. Then if you couldn’t pay back the money when you’d promised to, we’d sell the thing and get our money.”

“Or maybe you could get somebody to go on your note,” suggested Freddy.

“Gosh,” said the horse perplexedly, “you certainly have a lot of ways of saying that you won’t lend me the money.”

“He just means you might get somebody to promise to pay back the money if you can’t yourself,” said Jinx.

The horse dropped his head. “There ain’t anybody,” he said sadly. “I guess I’ll just have to try to do the spring plowing in my bare hoofs.” And he turned to go.

“I’ll go on your note,” said Mr. Bean suddenly. “Give him the money, Jinx, and I’ll sign the paper. I suppose I’ll lose out on it and old Zenas’ll laugh his head off at my buying shoes for his horse, but I can’t see an animal put on that way—even somebody else’s animal.”

So they gave Jerry six dollars and he thanked Mr. Bean and galloped off to the blacksmith shop, Mrs. Witherspoon’s hat cocked gaily over his right ear.

“What’s more,” said Mr. Bean, “I guess I’d better make a little deposit in the First Animal myself.” And he drew out a roll of bills and peeled off a hundred dollars and opened an account with it. Then he went out and got in the buggy and picked up the reins and said: “Giddap!”

When Mr. Bean got to town he went first into the First National Bank of Centerboro, which was an imposing white marble structure on the corner of Main and Liberty Streets. He went into the handsome office of the president, Mr. Henry Weezer, and sat down.

“Well, Henry,” he said, “you’ve got some competition out our way.”

Mr. Weezer was a small neat man with white hair, starched cuffs, and gold-rimmed nose glasses that fell off whenever you mentioned a sum of money larger than ten dollars.

“Yes, sir,” said Mr. Bean, “don’t my animals beat all? They’ve opened a bank.”

“Dear me,” said Mr. Weezer in a dry voice. He didn’t smile, but Mr. Bean didn’t mind, because Mr. Weezer never smiled unless you paid him something. He was not an unkind man, though—just terribly interested in banking.

“Yes, sir,” said Mr. Bean, “a regular bank. And they’ve got safe-deposit vaults that no burglar could ever get into.”

“You don’t tell me,” said Mr. Weezer.

“I do tell you,” said Mr. Bean, “and furthermore I tell you that they’re the smartest animals in the country. I was kind of hesitating about taking that trip abroad together with Mrs. Bean and the boys though Mrs. Bean has her heart so set on it; but my land! animals that can run a regular bank can certainly look after a farm for half a year.”

“I should think they could,” admitted Mr. Weezer. “Well, I’ll try to bear up under the competition. I expect they won’t cut into our business a great deal.”

“Don’t ye be too sure,” said Mr. Bean. “They’ve got deposits now of $179.42.”

Mr. Weezer’s glasses fell off, but he put them on again hurriedly and looked sharply at Mr. Bean. “What!” he exclaimed. “Animals have put that much money in a bank?”

“Animals and folks. They’ve got at least one man as depositor, I know.”

“Oh, but look here,” said Mr. Weezer excitedly, “they can’t do that, Mr. Bean. This is a real bank you’re talking about. There isn’t room for two real banks in Centerboro. Oh, dear me, I must ask you to stop it at once.”

“Now hold your horses, Henry,” said Mr. Bean. “If my animals want to start a bank, they can start a bank. They got as good a right as you have.”

“They have no right to cut into our business here,” said Mr. Weezer angrily. “I won’t have it! I’ll take it up with the authorities—”

Mr. Bean got up. “Stuff and nonsense!” he said. “I thought you’d like the idea, Henry. Smart animals. Credit to the town.”

But Mr. Weezer didn’t feel that way about it at all. He said again that he was going to complain to the authorities, and he picked up the telephone and called the authorities up. But Mr. Bean got mad, and he walked out to the cashier’s window and drew out all his money, which amounted to $4,845.92 and he drove back and deposited it in the First Animal.

So at the end of that day the deposits of the First Animal Bank of Centerboro came to a grand total of $5,025.44 as you can figure out for yourself. Only you won’t come out right unless you remember that while Mr. Bean was in town a rabbit had brought in a dime to deposit.