Читать книгу Freddy and the Space Ship - Walter Rollin Brooks - Страница 4

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A day or two after the fire, Freddy was sitting in his study in the pig pen, writing a short farewell poem which he intended to recite to the assembled animals just before taking off for Mars.

Farewell my friends; farewell my foes;

To distant planets Freddy goes;

To face grave perils he intends.

Farewell my foes, goodbye my friends.

He had written this much when there was a tap on the door.

When interrupted in the middle of a poetic composition, Freddy sometimes found it difficult to speak in plain prose. So instead of just saying: “Come in,” he said:

“Turn the knob and open the door.

What on earth are you waiting for?”

But the door didn’t open. Instead, the tapping went on.

Freddy said irritably: “Open the door! Take just one more step

And come inside off my front doorstep.”

And then as the tapping continued—“Oh, gosh,” he said (in prose) and got up and threw the door open. A very plump and pompous middle-aged duck waddled importantly in.

“Oh, it’s you, Wes,” said Freddy. “Sorry; I didn’t realize you couldn’t reach the knob. What’s poisoning your mind this morning?”

Uncle Wesley lived up by the duck pond with his two nieces, Alice and Emma. He was rather tiresome, even for a duck, but Alice and Emma were so fond of him that the farm animals put up with his nonsense.

“I wish to put a letter in the next number of the Bean Home News,” said Uncle Wesley. This was the weekly newspaper which Freddy published for the animals on the farm. He handed Freddy a rumpled brown paper bag on which the letter had been written with a very hard pencil.

Freddy took it over close to the window and squinted at it. This was really not much help, for the window was so dirty that, as Jinx had once remarked, it was really harder to see anything there than it was in the darkest corners of the room.

“H’m, let’s see,” said Freddy, and started reading the letter. “ ‘A crocodile exists up at the duck pond which I wish to sing to this afternoon—’ What on earth, Wes!”

“It’s not ‘sing,’ it’s ‘bring,’ ” said Uncle Wesley testily. “And the word isn’t ‘crocodile,’ it’s ‘condition.’ Can’t you read plain English? ‘A condition exists up at the duck pond which I wish to bring to your attention.’ ”

Freddy said: “Oh. Sounds much more interesting the way I read it. But perhaps you’d better read it to me. Because I see something down here that seems to say that ‘we have five heavy hippos in the pond.’ Good gracious, Wes; hippos in addition to all your crocodile trouble—?”

“Oh, don’t be so witty,” said the duck angrily. “It’s ‘happy,’ not ‘hippos.’ It says: ‘we have been very happy in the pond.’ If you’re not going to pay any attention—”

“All right, all right; you read it,” Freddy said.

So Uncle Wesley read the letter. It stated that when the Centerboro firemen had pumped water from the duck pond to put out the fire, they had so stirred it up that a good deal of the muddy bottom had been pumped out too. And to ducks, the mud in the bottom of a pond is just the same as a refrigerator—when they get hungry they dive and hunt around in the mud for their dinners. It doesn’t seem very appetizing, but ducks like it.

Freddy didn’t see what could be done about putting the mud back, but he said he’d print the letter, and he was trying to get off the subject of mud by inquiring about the health of Alice and Emma, when he happened to glance out of the window and saw several figures moving up along the edge of the upper pasture towards the Benjamin Bean space ship.

Everything Freddy saw through the small wavy windowpanes was always so twisted out of shape that he couldn’t tell what it was. And the dirt made it even harder. Freddy liked it that way; he said that things were twice as interesting seen through those panes. It is not specially exciting to see a cow going by, but when you look out and see a two-headed giant anteater, it gives you something to wonder about. That’s the way Freddy felt about it. Jinx, a frequent caller, didn’t agree. He said that the sight of a lot of misshapen prehistoric monsters prowling around outside gave him cold chills. But cats don’t get as much fun out of imagining things as other animals do.

So for a second or two Freddy amused himself by watching what appeared to be a procession of giants, some with very short legs, others with heads as long and narrow as cucumbers, marching past. But when these were followed by a group of dwarfs, one with six legs, he got up and went to the door. For whether giants or dwarfs or just ordinary people, there were too many of them. They must be strangers, and what were so many strangers doing up here at the farm?

Uncle Wesley followed Freddy outside. “Well, upon my soul!” he exclaimed. “Who are these persons?” For straggling up towards the space ship from cars which they had parked in the road outside the gate were perhaps twenty people, and as they watched, two more cars drew up.

“We’d better find out,” said Freddy. “My goodness, there’s old Mrs. Peppercorn from Centerboro! What on earth—?” He went down to meet a little old lady in an old fashioned bonnet who was stumping up the slope with the help of a large umbrella. “How do you do, Mrs. Peppercorn? What has brought you way up here so far from home?”

“Judge Willey brought me,” she said, “if it’s any business of yours, young man.” She peered at Freddy. “Seems as if I’d seen you somewhere before,” she said.

“Why, I’m Freddy,” said the pig. “You know me.”

She peered closer. “Well, so I do, so I do,” she said. “Thought you were that fat Scripture boy—you’re enough like him to be his brother. Well, Freddy, are you going too?”

“Good morning, Frederick; good morning,” said Judge Willey, coming up. “You are also, I presume, a member of our little band of adventurers?”

“Say, what is this?” Freddy asked. “Going where? What adventure?”

“Why to Mars of course,” said the Judge, and Mrs. Peppercorn said: “I supposed you’d be the first one aboard the ship.”

“Aboard!” Freddy exclaimed. “Goodness, you don’t mean that all these people think they can go in the space ship? Why it wouldn’t hold more than two people.”

“What’s this?” demanded the Judge. “You say there’s no room?” And Mrs. Peppercorn said: “Nonsense! We’ve paid our fare. Of course we’re going.”

“Look,” said Freddy; “I don’t understand this at all. Uncle Ben’s going to try to get to Mars, but the only ones who are going with him are Jinx and Charles and me. There’s no room in the nose of the rocket for anyone else.”

Judge Willey looked perplexed, but Mrs. Peppercorn pounded her umbrella on the ground. “I’m a’goin’, and that’s flat,” she said. “I’ve paid five dollars for my ticket, and I’m a’goin’, and I’d like to see anybody try to stop me!” And she started on.

“I don’t get this ticket business,” Freddy said. “You say you bought tickets?”

“We did; we bought them from the duly appointed representative of the Benjamin Bean Spaceship Co. Tall thin man with a long crooked nose.”

“Mr. Bismuth!” Freddy exclaimed. “Why, he has no right to sell tickets! Golly, we’d better get Bismuth and straighten this out.” He turned to Uncle Wesley. “Wes,” he said, “will you go tell Uncle Ben about this? I’ll try to find Bismuth. I guess he’ll have some explaining to do.”

Mr. Bismuth wasn’t around anywhere, so Freddy and the Judge hurried up to where an angry crowd surrounded the space ship. In the doorway at the top of the little ladder stood Uncle Ben, and at the foot of the ladder was Mrs. Peppercorn. She was addressing the crowd. “Are we a’goin’ to be put off with soft words and excuses?” she demanded.

“No!” yelled the crowd, among whom Freddy recognized most of the solid businessmen of Centerboro. Evidently Mr. Bismuth had gone right up one side of Main Street and down the other, selling his tickets. At five dollars a head he must have taken in well over a hundred dollars. Freddy wondered if they’d ever see him again.

Mrs. Peppercorn turned and shook her umbrella at Uncle Ben. “Now, Mr. Benjamin Bean,” she said, “are you going to let us aboard that there ship, or are we coming aboard anyway?”

Uncle Ben was on a spot. He was a fine mechanic but no talker. To make a speech and explain something to a crowd was impossible for him. He stood there looking sort of hopeless, and then he caught sight of Freddy and beckoned to him. So Freddy ducked around Mrs. Peppercorn and climbed halfway up the ladder, then turned.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” he shouted. “You have been deceived and cheated. But not, not by Uncle Ben! Listen to me!”

Freddy was well known and highly respected in Centerboro. Those who had never required his services as a detective admired him as a poet, and those who cared nothing for poetry respected his standing as President of the First Animal Bank. So they listened while he explained what had happened.

But they were far from satisfied with an explanation. “We want our money back!” they shouted. “This Bismuth man—he lives with you; you’re responsible for him. It’s up to you to bring him out here and make him give back our money.”

Freddy started to say that he’d try to find Mr. Bismuth, but Mrs. Peppercorn was getting impatient. “I don’t want my money back!” she said, “and what’s more, I won’t take it back. I’m a’goin’ to Mars!” She swung her umbrella over her head like a sword and charged up the ladder. Freddy ducked away from the swipe she made at him, and she climbed nimbly past him, pushed Uncle Ben aside, and went into the ship.

The crowd milled around and seemed undecided whether to try to follow Mrs. Peppercorn, or to continue demanding their money. But Freddy had spoken a word to Judge Willey, who now stepped forward.

“My friends,” he said, “you have been grossly deceived. The man who sold us these tickets is a certain Bismuth, a fraud and very evidently a crook. Mr. Benjamin Bean has no intention of taking passengers to Mars, for the very good reason that there is no room in the ship for passengers. This Bismuth has taken our money and run off with it. My friend, Freddy, tells me that, as a partner in the well known detective agency of Frederick and Wiggins, he will at once put every operative in his employ at work tracking down the said Bismuth. He assures me that full restitution will be made to each and every one of us.

“Now most of us know Mr. Benjamin; we know his reputation for probity and fair dealing. We also know Freddy—so well that I believe it unnecessary to remind you of his skill in detective work, in tracking down criminals, in clearing the innocent from false charges and in soaking the guilty with everything in the book. I believe that we can safely leave this affair in the capable hands—or should I say trotters?—of our respected friend.”

There was some applause at this and Freddy took a bow; then the crowd slowly straggled back to the parked cars.

Freddy went on up the ladder and into the ship. He climbed up through the hatchway from the living quarters into the control room. As his head came above the floor level, he saw Uncle Ben backed against the wall with his hands over his head, and the point of Mrs. Peppercorn’s umbrella poised ready to jab him in the stomach. With one hand the old lady held the umbrella drawn back like a bayonet; the other was on the big valve which controlled the fuel for the rocket.

“I’ve a good mind to give it a twist and see what happens,” she was saying, and her hand tightened on the valve. She caught sight of Freddy. “Keep off, young pig, or I’ll do it anyway.”

“No, no!” Uncle Ben begged her. “Dangerous. Ship’s not ready.”

Freddy knew that if she turned that valve it would fire the rocket, and the ship would whiz off up into the sky. It would travel up through the earth’s atmosphere, and off into space; and since it would be fired more than a week earlier than Uncle Ben had planned, it probably wouldn’t come anywhere near Mars, but would go circling around the earth like a very small moon for the next million years. The idea of spending even a hundred years whirling around the sky with Mrs. Peppercorn and Uncle Ben didn’t appeal to him much. But before he could think of anything to do Mrs. Peppercorn said:

“Well, make up your mind. Do I give it a twist or don’t I?”

Uncle Ben sighed. “I give in,” he said. “You can go.” And Mrs. Peppercorn took her hand off the valve and dropped the point of the umbrella.

“What goes on here?” Freddy asked. “You don’t mean you’re letting her go with us to Mars?”

“Got to,” Uncle Ben said. He looked hopelessly at Freddy.

“Well,” said the pig, “I suppose you couldn’t help it.” He looked thoughtfully at the old lady. “Of course I suppose she understands the dangers of the trip. You’ve probably told her what the Martians are like, and shown her pictures of them.”

“Pictures?” said Uncle Ben. “Aren’t any pictures.”

Freddy winked at him. “Guess you’ve forgotten. I mean those pictures Professor Gasswitz sent you—sort of like big two-legged spiders they are, with great yellow eyes and long poison fangs.”

But Mrs. Peppercorn wasn’t impressed. “Must be pretty,” she said drily. “I’d enjoy a chat with one of ’em.”

Freddy gave up. “O K, so you’re going,” he said. “Well, Uncle Ben, you’d better explain to her how the ship works. I’ll go try to find Mr. Bismuth.”