Freddy and the Perilous Adventure (14 page)

Chapter 13

Uncle Wesley was rather quiet on the first part of the return journey, but gradually he picked up spirit, and by the time they reached the wood road he was lecturing them in quite the old style. And Alice and Emma were saying: “Yes, Uncle Wesley,” and “No, Uncle Wesley,” just as they had used to. But they weren't feeling the same way about Uncle Wesley as they had used to. For they knew now that he was not the hero he had pretended to be.

It was quite a blow to them. But they had been told so often, and had it so drilled into them, that they were poor weak timid creatures, that they still kept on acting that way. And so Uncle Wesley laid down the law, and they said: “Yes, Uncle Wesley,” and “You are always so right, Uncle Wesley.” But they weren't happy about it, as they had used to be.

By and by they got back to the balloon, and Mr. Webb came galloping down his ladder to greet Uncle Wesley, and hear about their trip, and tell them that Freddy hadn't come back yet. Uncle Wesley hadn't laid down the law quite so much during the last quarter mile, which was hard going and made him puff, but when he got his breath back, he started in again. He talked about travel. Travel, he said, was very broadening, and a valuable experience for those who, like Alice and Emma, had always lived sheltered lives. But such rough, and even dangerous travel was not the sort of thing they should attempt. And as for ballooning—well, he had no words, he said, to express his opinion of how vulgar and unladylike it was. And then he used about ten thousand words expressing it. It was quite like old times.

As they could not get back into the balloon basket, they had to wait on the ground. Mr. Webb listened for a while, and then he gave an angry snort and went back up the ladder. Uncle Wesley didn't hear the snort, of course.

Mr. Webb snorted several times more after he got back to where Mrs. Webb was sitting, and at last she said: “Well, what is it?”

“What is what?” asked Mr. Webb.

“You snorted just the way Mr. Bean does when he's reading the newspaper and wants Mrs. Bean to ask him what he's disgusted about.”

“I'm disgusted about that Wesley,” said Mr. Webb. “How on earth those ducks ever stood him all those years! And now they try to get him back!”

“Well, after all he's their uncle. There's such a thing as family feeling, father.”

“Yes, and there's such a thing as not knowing when you're well off.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Webb, “I daresay you're right. If you got all swelled up like Wesley, and started telling me everything I did was wrong, I'd just quietly drop you overboard some night when we were sailing along in the balloon.” She laughed comfortably. She had a laugh a good deal like Mrs. Bean's, only, of course, smaller. “And I wouldn't go looking for you afterward,” she added. “But if you ask me, Alice and Emma are going to find out before long that they had a pretty good time while their uncle was away, and from that to wishing he was gone again isn't very far. And after all—well, I don't think Uncle Wesley is going to have as much fun as he used to.”

Uncle Wesley was having plenty of fun now, though. He had a lot of back lecturing to make up, and the afternoon faded into evening, and the twilight waned, and the dark came, and still his voice went on. But just as it got so dark that Alice and Emma couldn't see him any more, there came a sudden crashing of branches from the direction of the wood road. And Uncle Wesley stopped.

The crashing grew louder.

“Mercy, what can that be?” said Alice. “It sounds like a tank going through the woods, and it's coming this way too. We must do something, sister.”

“What can we do?” said Emma. “Oh, Alice, I'm so frightened! Where's Uncle Wesley? He'll protect us. Won't you, uncle?”

There was no answer.

“Uncle Wesley!” they both called.

And Uncle Wesley's voice, shaking with terror, replied faintly: “Save yourselves, my dears. Your old uncle will p-protect your retreat.”

“But where are you?”

Uncle Wesley was under a log, but when they tried to seek shelter beside him, he pushed them out, protesting that there wasn't room for more than one. “Save yourselves,” he repeated. “Your legs are younger than mine; you'll get away.”

The crashing was very close now, and really terrifying, and then a lantern became visible, swaying high up among the trees, and behind it a white-turbaned figure, sitting cross-legged apparently upon nothing, and moving towards them ten feet up in the air.

“Oh!” exclaimed Emma weakly. “Oh! Uncle Wesley! I think I—I shall faint away!”

But Alice's sharp eyes had seen the face beneath the turban. “Wait,” shesaid. “Don't faint yet, Emma. It's Freddy. He's come back.”

And sure enough, Freddy it was, seated on Hannibal's back, as the elephant held the lantern high in his trunk. And behind came Louise, the smaller elephant.

“Ha, ha!” said Uncle Wesley, coming out from under the log. “I knew it all the time! Wanted to see if you girls would really lose your heads in such a situation. And of course you did. Tut, tut, I'm afraid you're not the stuff of which true adventurers are made.”

“Oh, hush up!” said Alice sharply, and Uncle Wesley was so amazed at this sudden revolt against his authority, that he did hush up for nearly two minutes.

The elephants hung their lanterns on convenient branches, and when they had lifted Freddy and the ducks up into the balloon basket, Freddy let out enough of the grapnel rope so that the balloon was clear of the treetops. And then Hannibal and Louise took hold of the grapnel and started to tow the balloon back to South Pharisee.

Everything went smoothly, for the elephants had red lanterns tied to their tails, and though when they got on the highroad some passing motorists got a good deal of a shock, nobody bumped into them. The mice caused some trouble at first, for they were so anxious to try their parachutes that they kept jumping out and floating to the ground, and then of course they had to be picked up and put back in the basket. The elephants didn't like this much. Elephants are always a little afraid of mice. I suppose there are no animals bigger than themselves for them to be afraid of, and as they have to be afraid of something, they sort of start at the bottom again and pick out the smallest animal there is. I don't know how else to explain it.

Everybody else in the circus had gone to bed right after the last performance, but Leo had waited up for them, and when they got back to the circus grounds he helped them moor the balloon securely. Then he invited them to spend the night with him. The ducks were a little nervous about spending the night in a lion's cage, and the mice were too interested in the balloon to leave it, but Freddy accepted.

It was a long time before Freddy and Leo got to sleep. There was the gossip of the farm and the circus to exchange, and old friends to talk over, and above all, the plans for the following day.

“I've brought the balloon back,” said the pig, “and Mr. Golcher can make his ascension tomorrow all right, and I won't be sent to jail. But that won't bring Mr. Bean back his money. I'll have to get it somewhere.”

“Don't look at me,” said the lion with a laugh. “I've never been able to save a penny in my life, never. Had plenty of it in my time, too. Doesn't stick to my paws, somehow. But whatever I have is yours, Freddy; you know that. Teeth, claws, and a good loud roar. That's all there is. But if you can use 'em …”

Freddy thanked his friend warmly for this generous offer. “But I don't see,” he said, “what you can do. Mr. Golcher will walk off with four hundred dollars and we can't touch him.” He yawned. “Well, let's sleep on it. Maybe we'll think of something.”

“Have a little something before you go to bed?” asked Leo. “Cup of cocoa, or something? No? Well, pleasant dreams.” And the two animals curled up and went to sleep.

The first thing in the morning they went over to where the balloon was moored, and there was Mr. Golcher, and with him was Mr. Boomschmidt. They were watching some men pull the balloon down closer to the ground. Freddy was a little nervous, but as soon as Mr. Golcher caught sight of him, he came forward with his hand outstretched.

“Ah, the estimable Freddy. Well, no hard feelings, eh? You'll be glad to know that I have assured the police of your innocence. There'll be no further question of arresting you. We've examined the valve cord and found that it was quite impossible for you to bring the balloon down. Golcher was wrong, and Golcher apologized, and here's Golcher's hand on it. So we'll just let bygones be bygones, eh?”

“Well, I don't know,” said Freddy. “Mr. Boomschmidt is going to give you two hundred dollars to make an ascension this afternoon, isn't he?”

“Right,” said Mr. Golcher, rubbing his hands. “And dirt cheap, too.”

“But,” said Freddy, “you've already been paid two hundred by Mr. Bean, to make up for what you told him you'd lose by not making the ascension. And I think you ought to give that back.”

“My gracious, so do I,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “Eh, Golcher, how about it? You can't be paid for making an ascension and for not making an ascension. Can he, Leo?”

“Not when it's the same ascension,” said the lion.

“Golcher could argue that point,” said Mr. Golcher, “and Golcher will. Mind you, Golcher admits nothing. But what you're saying is that I can't be paid for both making and not making the same ascension. And yet, according to you, that is what has happened. So where's your argument? You say something has happened, and then you turn around and say it can't happen. It don't make sense to Golcher.”

“Dear me,” said Mr. Boomschmidt, “you seem to have something there. Eh, Freddy? What do you say to that?”

“I say he's trying to mix us up,” said the pig. “I told you and Leo about it, Mr. Boomschmidt, and there isn't any use arguing. Mr. Golcher got his balloon back in time for the ascension, and so he ought to give Mr. Bean's money back.”

“Golcher admits nothing,” repeated the balloonist. “If Mr. Bean thinks he has a claim against me, he can go to law about it. If he can prove he paid me two hundred dollars, the judge will make me pay it back. Has he got a receipt for it? Has he got any witnesses that he gave me two hundred dollars?”

“He's got me,” said Freddy. “I saw him give it to you.”

“You weren't there,” said Mr. Golcher.

“Where?” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “You mean, where the money was paid? Well then, my goodness, you admit that Mr. Bean gave it to you!”

“Golcher admits nothing,” said Mr. Golcher, looking rather embarrassed. Then he recovered himself. “Of course Freddy wasn't there,” he went on. “How could he have been there, when the money wasn't paid? There wasn't any ‘there' to be.”

“Oh, dear,” said Mr. Boomschmidt, pushing his hat back on his head perplexedly. “Oh, dear me! I can't get this straight at all. Leo, can you—”

“I was there, behind a bush,” interrupted Freddy. “And I'm a witness.”

“A pig!” exclaimed Mr. Golcher.

“Pig's good enough for me,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “Freddy, here—his word's as good as his bond. My goodness, I don't know but it's better.”

But Mr. Golcher shook his head. “Take it to law,” he said. “Golcher's a law-abiding man. If the judge says: ‘Pay it,' Golcher pays it. That's what the law's for—to tell us what's right and what's wrong. If there's an argument, Golcher says let the judge decide. That's fair, ain't it? Golcher's an honest man.”

“I don't think you're honest,” said Leo bluntly.

“All are entitled to their opinions, even lions,” said Mr. Golcher. He spoke respectfully, and edged away from Leo, for it was his first visit to the Boomschmidt circus, and he hadn't quite got used to social intimacy with the larger carniverous animals.

“Well,” said Freddy, “will you let Mr. Boomschmidt judge this case?”

“No,” said Mr. Golcher. “Mr. Boomschmidt's a fine man. He knows the circus from anteater to zebra. But he don't know the law. He ain't made a study of it. And not having made a study of it, he'd be the first to acknowledge that he hasn't the special experience to handle a law case.”

“I don't know that I'd acknowledge that,” said Mr. Boomschmidt.

“Well, I'll acknowledge it for you,” said Mr. Golcher. “No, no, my young friend,” he said, patting Freddy kindly on the shoulder, “let's just drop the matter, shall we? Good grief, money ain't everything in the world! 'Tain't healthy for a young smart fellow like you to have such a greed for money. Take Golcher's advice—”

“It's not my money,” said Freddy. “But I see you've made up your mind to keep it, so I won't argue any more.” He thought a minute. “Well,” he said, “I've got to get the money somewhere, because it was my fault that Mr. Bean had to pay it out. So maybe …” He looked thoughtfully at Mr. Golcher. “Over at Centerboro, on the Fourth, you said that it was hard to get a crowd for a balloon ascension unless you had some specially exciting features. You thought it would be something new if I made a speech, and then went up. Well, my jaws got stuck on some candy, and I couldn't speak when the time came. But you did get a big crowd all the same. Now suppose I really made a speech this time, and then went up with you. And suppose we took along four mice who would make a parachute jump when the balloon got up a ways. If you'd pay me something for that, then I'd have at least a start in paying Mr. Bean back.”