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

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When the detective firm of Frederick and Wiggins got back to the Bean farm they were met just outside the gate by the black cat, Jinx.

“Hi, sleuths!” he called. “Got any good clues today? Say, you’re a hot pair of detectives all right. How about getting your homework done before you go gallivanting off to the circus grounds?”

“What do you mean, homework?” Freddy asked, and Jinx said: “I mean there’s detective work for you right here on the farm, and you two walked off and paid no attention to it. Come along.” He led them through the gate and then stopped. “Now stand right still here a minute; take a gander at the old layout. See anything wrong?”

The animals were still busy around the barnyard, but most of the litter had been cleared away. Mr. Bean had come down from the roof and was tightening the screws in the hinges of the stable door.

“I don’t see anything,” said Mrs. Wiggins, and Freddy agreed. “Looks a little neater than usual, that’s all,” he said.

Jinx grinned. “Boy, oh boy! What a pair of dopes! Look around. Don’t you miss anything?”

They shook their heads, and Mrs. Wiggins said: “Good land, don’t be so mysterious, cat. If you’ve lost something and want us to find it, why not say so?”

Suddenly—“The henhouse!” Freddy exclaimed. “Where on earth is the henhouse?” They all looked across the barnyard at a bare strip of earth where yesterday the small but handsome building with its little revolving doors had stood. “And Charles! And Henrietta!” Freddy went on in a shocked voice. “And all those darned little chickens! That’s right; I didn’t notice them around this morning; but you mean to say—?”

“Yeah,” said the cat; “I mean to say that we were all so blamed busy this morning cleaning up after the storm that not one of us noticed that the henhouse was gone. And it wasn’t until Mrs. Bean came out to look for eggs that we discovered it. Blown away in the hurricane, and probably floating around in the middle of Lake Ontario by this time, with Charles standing on the roof and making one of his speeches to the wild waves. And the perch and the pickerel playing merry-go-round with the revolving doors.”

“Good grief!” Mrs. Wiggins exclaimed. “This is no time to be funny about it! We must find out where they are.”

“They probably wouldn’t come to much harm,” said Jinx. “They’ve got wings; if they get blown into the air they can always get down easy.”

“Well, come on,” said Freddy. “What are we waiting for? We only have to follow the wind. It came from the southeast, so we’ll send a search party out to the northwest. Hey, Mr. Pomeroy!” he called to a robin who was listening for worms at the corner of the garden.

The robin hopped over. He wore spectacles which made him look like a small owl.

“Look, J. J.,” said Freddy. “Will you get in touch with all the other birds and ask ’em to scout up northwest and see if they can locate our henhouse? It blew away in the hurricane, and we’re worried about Charles and his family. It can’t have gone very far, and I don’t think it will be hard to find. And—oh, yes; ask them to keep an eye out for a hat, a black stovepipe hat like the one Mr. Boomschmidt wears. That’s missing, too. It may be a lot farther away than the henhouse, but Mrs. Wiggins and I are offering a generous reward to the one that finds it. Just broadcast that, J. J., and report to me in the cow barn if there’s any news.”

When the robin had flown off, Freddy went in to see Presto, who had been entertaining Mrs. Wiggins’ sisters, Mrs. Wurzburger and Mrs. Wogus, with a few simple tricks. The cows were delighted with the charming manners of their guest, and had told them that they hoped he would make his home with them for as long as he liked. Freddy was not surprised at this. He had seen that Presto was a great flatterer, and neither Mrs. Wurzburger nor Mrs. Wogus ever got much flattery. Very few people ever bother to flatter a cow. “I’m afraid it won’t be very exciting for him,” Mrs. Wogus said to Freddy, “for we live very quietly, but if he cares to stay we will be only too happy to have him.”

“Their kindness quite overwhelms me,” Presto said. “There is so little that a poor lonely rabbit has to offer such highly cultivated ladies. I hardly know what to say.”

“I guess you’ll find something to say all right,” said Freddy drily. “Well, if they want to put you up here, it’s all right with me. But in the meantime, suppose we start in on those magic lessons. Come on over to the pig pen.”

So they went over into Freddy’s study, and Presto began by explaining some of the easier tricks that he had watched Signor Zingo do. Freddy saw very quickly that there wasn’t any use trying to do tricks with cards or any other sleight-of-hand feats. These depended on nimble fingers, and for a pig, who has no fingers, they were impossible. But there were a lot of other tricks that were worked by means of secret pockets, and by clips and other pieces of apparatus fastened inside the magician’s clothing, and Presto assured him that he could learn to do these very easily. So Freddy selected, from the row of hooks on which were hung the various disguises he used in his detective work, an old suit of Mr. Bean’s which Mrs. Bean had cut down for him; and with some pieces of cloth and with needle and thread he went to work under Presto’s direction to make himself a magician’s coat.

They had sewn in several secret pockets, and had made a number of clips out of wire and fastened them in under the lapels and inside the sleeves, when there was a light tap on the window and they looked up to see Mr. Pomeroy standing on the sill. Freddy let him in.

“Well,” said the robin, “we’ve located your henhouse. It got blown all the way up to Otesaraga Lake, and it landed in a big pine tree on your friend Mr. Camphor’s estate. My Cousin Isabel lives up there, you know, and she saw it and talked with Charles and Henrietta, and flew down to tell us about it.”

“Good gracious,” said Freddy, “how terrible!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I guess it was quite an experience, for the house turned over several times while it was in the air, but it landed right side up and nobody was hurt. Henrietta sent word not to worry—that they were all well and really enjoying a nice vacation.”

From his window Freddy could see that Mr. Bean had hitched Hank, the old white horse, to the buggy and was evidently just about to start off on a search for the henhouse. Although he knew that his animals could talk, Mr. Bean never liked to hear them. He said it was unnatural and made him nervous. There are a lot of people like that. Anything a little out of the ordinary disturbs and frightens them. But this was an important matter, so Freddy ran out and told the farmer what he had learned. “And I think, sir,” he said, “that it might be a good idea if Mrs. Wiggins and I went up there and brought you back a report on just how things are. Then you can arrange for getting the henhouse out of the tree and back here.”

Mr. Bean stared hard at the pig, puffing on his pipe; then he gave a grunt—which was his way of agreeing with anybody—and began unhitching Hank from the buggy. And Freddy ran to get Mrs. Wiggins.

It was a long trip up through the Big Woods and across country to the lake, and it was suppertime before they reached Mr. Camphor’s house. Mr. Camphor was in Washington, but he had left word with his butler, Bannister, that whenever Freddy and any of the Bean animals came they were to be treated as honored guests. So Bannister said they must certainly have dinner and stay the night, and what would they like to eat?

“Good land,” said Mrs. Wiggins, “don’t fuss for me. All I ever have is a little grass and a bucket of water.”

So Mrs. Wiggins had her dinner outside, but Freddy went in and ate a hearty meal.

Afterwards they walked down to the lake shore and Bannister showed them the henhouse. There it was, perched in the upper branches of a huge pine overhanging the water, and looking as if it had always been there. They could hear chicks chirping, and the scolding voice of a hen, but when Mrs. Wiggins rapped on the tree trunk with her left horn, there was sudden quiet, and then Charles, the rooster, came to the henhouse door and looked down.

Charles was delighted to see them and he called Henrietta, and they both hopped down from branch to branch until they reached the ground. “Natural staircase,” said Charles. “Rather neat, eh? I do wish you could come up and see our view. Really, you know, we were extremely fortunate to find such a charming location.”

“You sound as if you’d picked it our yourselves,” said Freddy. “But how about coming home? The Beans are pretty worried about you.”

“Home?” said Charles. “But this is home—this henhouse. Penthouse, I should say. You don’t suggest that we should move back to that noisy barnyard? All that traffic and racket! Here it’s quiet and peaceful and the breeze every evening just rocks the house gently so the children go off to sleep without any fuss. When the wind blows the penthouse will rock, you know.”

“Yeah,” said Freddy. “And when the bough breaks, the henhouse will fall.”

“Dear me,” said Henrietta, “after our experience in the hurricane we don’t worry much about that. I’m sorry about the Beans, though. But if you tell him that we’re all right and that we’re going to stay, I’m sure he’ll understand.”

Mrs. Wiggins and Freddy looked at each other. “Well,” said the pig, “it’s up to you. We’ll tell him how things are.” They knew there was no use arguing, so they let Charles show them around. He spoke with such pride and eloquence of the beauties of the estate, that a stranger listening might have thought he had just bought the place from Mr. Camphor. And his plans for the future rather carried out that idea. He was going to do this, he was going to do that; he was going to have a little boat on the lake and teach the children to swim ...

Presently it began to grow dark, and Henrietta said they must be getting home; they wouldn’t be able to see their staircase after dark. So the two animals said good night to them and went back to the house.

“Mr. Bean isn’t going to like this,” Mrs. Wiggins said.

“You bet he isn’t,” said Freddy. “But I don’t know what we can do. You see how determined they are to stay here. And you know how pigheaded Charles can be. Goodness—pigheaded!” he exclaimed. “There I go using that word again! Pigheaded! I’d like to get hold of that Noah Webster for about five minutes—I’ll tell him a few things! He’s the one that caused all the trouble: putting words like that in his dictionary! I bet I could sue for libel or something.”

“Well,” said the cow, “we only have to wait for the first good rip-snorting thunderstorm. You know how scared Charles is of lightning. They’ll come hotfooting it home as soon as they can get there.”

“That’s all right,” Freddy said, “but the Beans will worry about them. They ought to come home now. I wonder ... I think maybe we can work it. Let’s go in and have a talk with Bannister.”

So they had a talk with Bannister, and then they talked together for a while, and then Bannister showed them up to the guest rooms he had prepared for them. Freddy had the Blue Room, and Mrs. Wiggins had the Ancestors’ Room, where the portraits of all Mr. Camphor’s ancestors were hung.

At daylight next morning Charles came out of the henhouse door. He hopped up to the highest twig of the pine tree, and as soon as the top edge of the sun glittered above the horizon, he crowed. At the third crow, Bannister’s head popped out of an upper window. “Stop that racket!” he shouted.

“Don’t be silly,” said Charles. “The sun’s coming up. I always crow when the sun comes up.”

“Not on this estate, you don’t,” said Bannister. “Mr. Camphor doesn’t allow any crowing on his property.”

“Nonsense!” said Charles superciliously. “I’m afraid you’re not very well informed. It is the unalterable custom of all roosters to salute the dawn with appropriate musical notes.”

“Yeah?” said Bannister. “Well, it’s my custom to salute it with this musical note.” And he reached inside and brought out a shotgun, and aimed it well over Charles’ head and pulled the trigger.

The gun made a terrible bang; and the dozens of shot zipped and whizzed around Charles’ head. The rooster gave a squawk and almost fell out of the tree; then he scrambled down from his twig and into the henhouse door. “Henrietta!” he shouted. “I’m shot! Get a doctor right away! I’m dying!”

Now of course all this had been arranged the night before, and Freddy and Mrs. Wiggins hurried down to the pine tree. Henrietta, finding that Charles was, of course, not wounded at all, boxed his ears soundly, then went outside and began telling Bannister what she thought of him. He was a murderer and a dangerous criminal and she was going to call the police and wait till Mr. Camphor got home and heard about this, brutal attack on his guests.... But Bannister had shut the window, so finally Henrietta stopped.

“This is terrible, Henrietta,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “Just when you were getting settled in your nice new home. What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” said the hen, “but we’re certainly not going to stay here!”

Freddy shook his head gloomily. “It’s too bad. Well, I’ll go back and talk to Mr. Bean; maybe he’ll let you come back. But I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Take us back!” Henrietta screamed. “What are you talking about, you silly pig? Of course he’d take us back if we wanted to come.” And Charles, who had finally decided that he wasn’t going to die heroically of his wounds, came out beside her. “Not take me back—the most talented singer in the state? He’d jump at the chance.”

“Well,” said Freddy, “it’s rather embarrassing, but ... I suppose I ought to tell you. When the Beans found that you were gone, they—well, they didn’t seem very much upset. Indeed, they ... Oh, I’d better just tell you what they said. It was that they felt it would be a lot quieter and more peaceful around the barnyard with you gone. ‘All that everlasting cackle,’ Mrs. Bean said, and Mr. Bean—you know how he does—just nodded and puffed his pipe and said: ‘M-hm, m-hm. Untidy critters.’”

“Untidy!” exclaimed Henrietta. “Me? That’s the best housekeeper in—”

“I’m only telling you what they said,” Freddy protested.

“And why didn’t we hear anything of this last night?” Charles asked.

“We saw no reason to tell you then,” said the cow. “You were going to live here, and ...”

“Charles!” said Henrietta. “Pack up your things. We’re going back there at once. I’m going to have this out with the Beans once for all. Untidy indeed! I’ll get the children ready.”