Freddy and the Flying Saucer Plans

Freddy and the Flying Saucer Plans

Walter R. Brooks

Illustrated by Kurt Wiese

The Overlook Press

New York

CHAPTER

1

Freddy, the pig, was sitting in a garden chair just outside the door of the First Animal Bank, of which he was president. During banking hours in the summertime he usually sat here. The banking hours were on Thursdays from two to three, the hottest part of the day; and the bank, which was just a shed at the side of the road, was like a furnace in the afternoon. But outside, under the shade of the roadside maples, it was always cool.

Freddy had on levis and boots and one of his thunder and lightning cowboy shirts; his ten-gallon hat was on the grass beside him, and he was strumming lightly on his guitar and singing one of the cowboy songs he had written when he first took up horseback riding.

Some folks think that I ought to settle down,

But I don't like the city and I don't like the town.

I don't like houses, I don't like walls
,

I don't like bedrooms, living rooms or halls.

For a life in the open, it is gay and it's free.

There ain't any limits on the wide prairee.

And I'm goin' right back where there ain't any fences,

Where trouble don't begin because it never commences,

Where I can sing, yell and holler till I'm ready to stop,

And there ain't anybody who can go call a cop.

Cy, Freddy's western pony, was standing beside the chair. “That's a right purty song, Freddy,” he said. “But for a guy that likes the wide open spaces, you sure do stick around that pig pen a lot.”

“I know it, Cy,” said Freddy. “We haven't been riding more than a couple of times this year. But I've been so busy—what with all the trouble the rats caused, and then before that, that flying saucer full of Martians, and the Martian baseball team we organized. And of course there's the bank here to attend to, and the
Bean Home News
to get out every week. I've taken on too much, Cy. I know it. It's more than one pig ought to try to handle.

“But I've made up my mind—I'm going to take a vacation. A nice long horseback trip—maybe we'll go West and have a look at a real prairie, instead of sitting here and singing about it. Just you and me and Jinx and Bill.”

Bill was the goat. Jinx had had a saddle made for him and for a couple of summers had ridden a lot. But like Freddy, the cat had been so busy with other things that for a long time Bill's saddle and bridle had been gathering dust on their pegs in the stable.

“That sounds swell!” said Cy. “Maybe we could get us some prize money at some of the rodeos. Enter me as a wild horse, same as we did before, hey? When we going to start?”

“Mr. Bean says it's O.K. if we go tomorrow. Jinx and I have got it all planned. Bill wants to go, and if it's all right with you …”

“You bet it's all right,” said the pony. “This is a nice place to live, the Beans are right nice folks and so are the other animals. But sitting round in a pasture with a lot of cows isn't my idea of a rich, full life. Not that I've got anything against cows, you understand, but they aren't very exciting.—Hey, here comes Jinx now.”

The cat had come out of the gate and was trotting down the road toward the bank. He had something in his mouth, and when he came up he laid it on the grass before Freddy. “Look what I found,” he said. “What is it, Freddy?”

The pig leaned over and examined the little animal, which peered up at him with nearsighted eyes.

“It's a mole,” he said. “Where'd you find it?”

“On the front lawn. It was—”

“I was not
on
the lawn—I was under it!” the mole said angrily. He had a small voice like a mouse, but huskier. He sounded like a hoarse mouse, if you can imagine that.

“Well, you were making a mess of it,” said the cat. “Little ridges all over the nice smooth lawn. What'll I do with him, Freddy? I don't want to eat him.”

“What's your name, mole?” Freddy asked.

The mole drew himself up, and recited:

Samuel Jackson is my name
,

America is my nation.

The Bean farm is my dwelling place

And heaven's my destination.

“Ha, a poet he is!” said Cy with a snicker, and Jinx said: “Heaven's your destination, all right, if you dig any more holes in Mr. Bean's lawn.”

“Aw, I didn't hurt your old lawn. Just little tunnels under the grass. Just little tunnels. All you got to do is stamp 'em down and your lawn's smooth again.”

“Stamp
you
down and it would save a lot of work,” said the cat. “Samuel Jackson, eh? The name's longer than you are.”

“Well, what's the matter with that?” the mole demanded. “It's a good name, ain't it? I say, it's a good name.”

“Look, mole,” said Jinx, “we don't care what your name is. Just get this through your head: Mr. Bean's lawn is out of bounds for moles. If you want to walk around on top of the grass, O.K.—nobody'11 bother you. But if you walk around
under
the grass, then you'll have me to deal with. And the next time I won't be so gentle.”

“Phooey!” said Samuel contemptuously. “You'd never have caught me if I'd seen you first. Can't catch me now, I betcha. I say you can't catch me now.”

Jinx crouched and prepared to pounce, but before he could move, Samuel seemed to dive into the ground, making swimming motions with his big, turned-out front paws, and then he was gone.

They could see the ridge grow in length as the mole tunneled swiftly under the grass roots toward the fence. When the movement stopped, Jinx dashed to the far end of the ridge and dug into the tunnel with his claws. But it was empty. The cat hesitated a moment, looking bewildered, and then Samuel's voice behind him said: “I told you you couldn't catch me.” The mole had made his tunnel and then backed quickly out of it, and now was sitting where he had been when he had issued his challenge.

Jinx whirled. “Why, you—”

“Take it easy, Jinx,” Freddy said warningly.

The cat relaxed. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess you're right. O.K., Sammy, you win. I didn't—”

“Don't call me Sammy!” the mole shouted, flying into a rage. “Nothing makes me madder than that silly nickname. Sammy, Sammy, Sammy!” he exclaimed disgustedly, and each time he said it he seemed to become more furious, so that he hopped right off the ground.

“
Don't call me Sammy!
”

Freddy thought: I've heard of people being hopping mad, but I never really saw anybody hop before. He said: “Well, my name's Frederick, but everybody has always called me Freddy. I like it.”

“Well, I don't,” said the mole. “If you want to talk to me, you call me Samuel. I say you call me Samuel.”

“All right, Samuel,” said Freddy. “Now let's start all over again. What are we going to do about you?”

“You don't have to do anything about me. Samuel Jackson can take care of himself.”

“Oh, yeah?” said Jinx. “Well, he's not going to do it in the Beans' front yard. If you want to eat grass roots, there's plenty of good grass here beside the road without crawling around under a nice lawn and humping it up.”

“What do you think I am, a cow?” Samuel sneered. “Moles don't eat grass, they're hunters. I say they're hunters. They pursue their prey in the dark among the grass roots, and they capture it and eat it.”

“Some prey!” said the cat. He wrinkled his nose distastefully. “I suppose you mean bugs and angleworms.”

“Sure he does,” said Freddy. “Moles are insectivorous.”

“Hey, you watch your language!” said the mole severely. He peered hard at Freddy with his nearsighted eyes. “You're a fine one to be calling names. What are you, anyway, in those fancy clothes—you out of a circus? I say, you belong to a circus?”

Freddy said: “I'm a pig. I'm president of this bank, the First Animal Bank of Centerboro.”

“Pig, eh?” said Samuel. “Never had much use for pigs. So you're president of this bank. Sort of a piggy bank, hey?” He doubled up with laughter.

“You're only about the two hundred and eighty-fifth animal to make that crack,” Freddy said. “But skip it. Yes, it's sort of like a piggy bank. You leave your money and valuables here for safe keeping. We look after 'em for you.”

“Yeah,” said the mole sarcastically. “I bet!”

“Sure,” said Freddy, “you bring money in, and then when you want some of it, you just come in and get it.”

“Sounds nice when you say it,” Samuel said. “But suppose I left some money here with you. How do I know you'd give it back to me when I wanted it? I say, how do I know you'd give it up?”

“Because we give you a receipt for whatever you bring in. And we guarantee its safety. We've got safe-deposit vaults underground, and they're guarded night and day so nobody can sneak in and steal the stuff. Why, look up there!” Freddy pointed to the sign:
FIRST ANIMAL BANK,
under which was printed:
NO LOSS TO ANY CUSTOMER IN OVER A CENTURY
.