Freddy and the Dragon (16 page)

“Next appearance at two p.m.,” he announced.

The crowd was much bigger than Jimmy had anticipated. And while those that had seen Beelzebub's first appearance all stayed to see him again, new arrivals were pushing steadily through the gate. Among them were the sheriff and all the prisoners from the Centerboro jail. The sheriff always took the prisoners to circuses and clambakes and other entertainments; he did this partly because he liked such things himself, and partly because he said it kept the prisoners happy. Indeed, he had one of the most popular jails in the state.

The people milled around, looked at the other exhibits, sat on the grass and ate their lunches, and a good many lined up to go into the tent where Astro the Magnificent, the Invisible Prophet from Outer Space—otherwise Samuel Jackson, the mole—was telling fortunes.

Of course, since Samuel was under the grass beneath the table in the tent, he couldn't see who came in. But Jimmy Wiggs, who knew everybody in South Pharisee, and Mr. Pomeroy, who as head of the A.B.I., knew a great deal about everybody in Centerboro, wandered around and watched who went in. Then they went to a hole in the ground at the back of the tent, and Samuel, who had started his tunnel there to get into the tent, poked his nose out, and they would tell him something about the person who was waiting to have his fortune told. So Samuel really hit the high spots on those. Of course, there were a lot of people from Clamville and other places that neither Mr. Pomeroy nor Jimmy knew. But Samuel had a good line, and everybody was satisfied, and a good many were amazed, at the fortunes told them.

What usually happened was this; when the person who wanted his fortune told went into the tent and saw nobody there, even though Professor Astro had been advertised as invisible, he looked around, shrugged his shoulders, and started back out.

Then Samuel would say in his deep voice: “Don't you want your fortune told, Mr. Smith?” Or whatever his name was, because by this time the mole had got back from the hole at the edge of the tent, and had been told the customer's name. The person would come back and look around, and he'd look under the table, and maybe he'd run outside and see who was outside the tent. But even if he did see Jimmy and the robin, it was plain that they hadn't asked the question. So he went back in, and Samuel asked him to sit down in the chair. Then he got his fortune told.

Percy was one of the first visitors to the tent. He was too big to get inside, so he just poked his head and shoulders in. “Hey,” he said, “ain't there anyone here?”

“Certainly, I'm here,” said Samuel. “Don't the posters say I'm invisible?”

The bull said: “Say, your voice sounds kind of familiar. Yeah, I know who you are; you're my conscience. He was invisible, too.”

Samuel thought it was better not to try to fool Percy. He might go around talking to other animals, and there were a number on the farm who knew about his conscience stunt.

“Sure, I'm your conscience,” he said. “But I've got a lot of spare time, now you're behaving so well. Isn't any reason why I shouldn't come over and give Jimmy a hand with his show, is there?”

“Well, I don't know. I supposed your job with me was twenty-four hours a day.”

“I got to have a little time off, haven't I? Specially when you're behaving yourself, like you've been lately. You're being a gentleman most all the time; I just sit around with nothing to do.”

“We-ell,” said Percy thoughtfully, “I suppose it shows you're satisfied with me. So maybe it's all right. Only, if I did something that was out of line, I wouldn't want my conscience to be somewhere else.”

“Don't worry,” said the mole, “I'm keeping an eye on you. I say I'm keeping an eye on you.”

Percy said: “O.K. Let's skip the fortune, eh? It's too much like me telling my own. And I wouldn't like that. So long.” And he backed out of the tent.

The next customer was Mrs. Winfield Church. She was a very rich woman, and she was covered with jewelry, none of which was real. It was all glass. For, she said, why should she spend a lot of money on diamonds when for fifty cents in the five-and-ten she could get as much glitter and sparkle as she could for twenty thousand dollars on Fifth Avenue?

She swept in and seated herself in the chair. Then she looked round. “Invisible Prophet from Outer Space, hey?” she said. “Well, where are you, prophet?”

“Right here, ma'am,” said Samuel. “I say I'm right here.”

Mrs. Church looked under the table and the chair. “Where's here?” she asked.

“Right on the table in front of you.”

She swept her arm across the table. “Nonsense!” she said. “There's nothing on the table.”

“Oh yes there is,” said Samuel. “I am.”

It is hard to tell the direction from which a sound comes. If the mole hadn't said he was on the table, Mrs. Church might have located his voice under it. But because he said he was on it, the voice seemed to come from there.

“There's some trick about this,” she said. She lifted the table and chair and moved them around to see if there were any wires running down through the legs, and she examined the inside of the tent carefully. She didn't notice the little ridge the mole had made in the grass when he had burrowed in, because he had been careful to keep it as low as possible. So she sat down again.

“See here,” she said. “I hear you talk, and you claim you're on the table, but I can't see you. That doesn't make sense.”

“Why does it have to?” the mole asked.

“Why, because … well, then it isn't true.”

“Then why are you talking to me? Look, don't you want your fortune told?” Samuel asked.

“No,” she said, “I know what my fortune is going to be. I want to know how you work this trick. I'll give you fifty dollars if you'll show me. I'd like to work it at our church fair next Saturday.”

“I don't believe you could work it even if I did show you how it's done,” said the mole, grinning as he thought of Mrs. Church trying to burrow under the grass roots. “Still, if you want to give fifty dollars toward Jimmy Wiggs' baseball-suit fund, I'll call on you in Centerboro the first of the week and tell you the secret. Maybe,” he said, “I'll come to the fair and tell fortunes for you. If affairs in outer space don't call me home before that,” he added.

Most of Samuel's customers were like this; he spent more time arguing with them than telling their fortunes. He told Miss Peebles: “I see for you a long journey, across the water. Very soon, I think. To a country where they do not speak English, where when they want to say ‘yes,' they say ‘wee.' Only I don't think they spell it w-e-e. I think it is spelt o-u-i. At any rate, a curious custom. I wonder—could that country be France? Yes, I think so. I say I think you are going to France.”

Everybody in Centerboro knew that Miss Peebles was going to Paris that summer. But what bothered her was how word of it had got to outer space. Evidently she believed that Samuel was really the invisible prophet from outer space, and she tried very hard to find out how he had learned of her plans. He did think of telling her that a little bird had told him, referring to Mr. Pomeroy, but instead he just said that everything about earthly life was known to the Great Minds of outer space, so of course they knew all about her.

The sheriff and the prisoners from the Centerboro jail came together. The sheriff went in first. But he turned around and came right out again. “Ain't anybody there,” he said.

“Come back here!” Samuel shouted.

The sheriff went in again. “Who said that?” he asked.

“I did,” said the mole. “You came in here to have your fortune told by the invisible prophet, didn't you? Well, you can't see him if he's invisible, can you? What did you expect to see—an old man with long white whiskers?”

“Have you got long white whiskers?” the sheriff asked.

“I don't know. I've never seen myself, even in a mirror. How could I, if I'm invisible?”

“You could feel them.”

“I haven't any fingers,” said Samuel. “I'm just a voice. Do you want your fortune told?”

“Oh, I don't know,” said the sheriff. “There's no fun knowing what's going to happen to you. No surprises. I've got some of my boys out here. I'd like to have you give them some good fortunes.”

His boys were the prisoners from the jail. The first one in was Bloody Mike.

“Aha!” said Samuel. “You're a criminal. I say you're a criminal.”

“I didn't come in here to be called names,” said Mike, looking around at the tent and tipping up the table and chair to look for wires. “Besides, everybody knows that anyway.”

“Everybody doesn't know what I'm going to tell you about your future, though,” said the mole. “I, the Invisible Prophet of Outer Space, have seen your future in the stars, and a grim one it is.”

Mike didn't seem impressed. “Look,” he said, “are you really invisible?”

“What do
you
think?” said Samuel.

“Well, it looks like it. I can't see you inside the tent, yet your voice is inside, I'll swear. Say, could you teach me the trick? It would be useful in my profession.” His profession, of course, was that of a burglar.

“It would take you twenty years of hard study to attain to proficiency in vanishment,” said Samuel.

“How's that?”

“To learn how to be invisible, to vanish,” Samuel said.

“'T would be worth it, at that,” said Mike. “Where can I get in touch with you?”

Samuel laughed. “My friend,” he said, “when I leave here tonight I shall go straight up through the Milky Way, past stars and galaxies, to the farthest edge of the universe. My home there is a star a million times brighter than your sun, yet so far away that its light cannot even be seen from earth.”

Mike shrugged his shoulders. “Quite a walk,” he said. “Maybe you better get started. And how about that future of mine?”

Samuel said: “You're due to get out of jail in a few weeks, I think. But the next time the police pick you up, the judge is going to give you a good long sentence. Twenty years. How do you like that?”

“Will it be in the Centerboro jail?” Mike asked anxiously.

“Yes.”

Mike gave a roar of delighted laughter. “Boy, that's the best news you could have given me!” He rushed out to tell the others.

Samuel predicted years in jail for all the prisoners, and they were naturally all greatly pleased. For to a hard-working burglar, a sentence of several months at the Centerboro jail was like a long vacation at the seaside. It was, as I have said, the most popular jail in the state. To be sentenced to it was similar to being elected to an exclusive club. When a prisoner was released, the first evening he was almost sure to go force the lock on somebody's house door, or open a window as noisily as possible, and wait till the police came for him, so that he could go before Judge Willey in the morning and plead guilty and be sent back for another month or two. Some of them gave themselves up and pleaded guilty to crimes they had not committed, just to get back in the jail.

The Centerboro people were very proud of their jail. They often gave parties for the prisoners, who were always heartily welcomed at such things as church suppers and grange dances. Some of the prisoners who had children of their own at home always attended the P.T.A. meetings, and made many useful suggestions.

Everybody was surprised that Mrs. Underdunk came to the circus. I guess probably she was bored sitting around alone in her big house in Centerboro, for nobody went to see her much after her brother, Mr. Garble, was sent to the penitentiary for conspiring with Simon, the rat, to take over the government. When she came into the tent, she had to sit for some time while Mr. Pomeroy gave Samuel the dope on her at the hole outside the tent. Finally she got up.

“Well!” she said. “If nobody's coming to tell my fortune, I'm going out and get my money back.”

Samuel had just returned. “Maybe that's the best thing you could do, ma'am,” he said. “I always hate to bring bad news, and the reports on you aren't so good.”

“Reports!” She sniffed. “What reports could you have about me? And who are you, anyhow? Are you ashamed to come out and show yourself?”

“Not ashamed, ma'am. I stay invisible because I don't want to scare you to death. If I was to appear to you—well, instead of hair I've got a lot of little green snakes. My eyes are bright red. My mouth is two feet wide, and my teeth are six inches long, and I keep 'em filed as sharp as needles. My ears—”

“Stop talking nonsense!” she snapped. “I know who you are. You're that disgusting pig from the Bean farm outside Centerboro. You're a thief and a cheat. You're talking from outside through a microphone that you've rigged up in here, and I'm going to find it.” And she picked up the chair and brought it down hard on the table, smashing it to pieces. Then she began pulling the pieces apart, looking for concealed wires.