Freddy and the Perilous Adventure (15 page)

But Mr. Golcher shook his head. “I get two hundred for the ascension anyway,” he said. “Talking pigs and jumping mice is nice—Golcher don't deny it. But I won't get any more money by adding them to the show. 'Tain't business to give more than you're paid for. Anyway, you owe me a speech for the one you didn't make last time.”

“All right,” said Freddy. “I'll go up with you and make a speech for nothing. I wouldn't want to be in debt to you for even a speech. But how about the mice? Would you pay ten dollars to have them do their jump?”

“Golcher wouldn't pay a penny,” said the balloonist emphatically. “If Mr. Boomschmidt wants to pay for 'em, if he wants some extra frills on the ascension, why that's up to him.”

“How about it, Mr. Boomschmidt?” asked Freddy.

Mr. Boomschmidt's fancy had been tickled by a phrase that Mr. Golcher had used. “Mice is nice,” he chuckled. “Did you hear that, Leo? That's good, that is! Mice is nice. And how about lions? Lions is what, Leo? Give me a word.”

“Lions is—well, lions is—” Leo frowned thoughtfully.

“Ha!” said Mr. Boomschmidt triumphantly. “We've stumped Leo. Eh, Leo? Admit you're stumped.”

Leo grinned. “Leo admits nothing,” he said. “Because Leo says the whole thing's wrong, chief. You can't say: Lions
is
. It's: Lions
are
.”

“Why, that's right,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “Of course, Leo. See here, Golcher; you can't say: Mice
is
. It's not grammar. It's—”

“Listen, boss,” said Leo, twitching Mr. Boomschmidt's sleeve. “Freddy's making you a proposition.”

“Mice
is
,” murmured Mr. Boomschmidt. “Eh? Oh yes, Freddy. Shoot.”

So Freddy asked him again, and Mr. Boomschmidt was delighted with the idea. He would pay five dollars per mouse, he said.

“Four mice at five dollars is twenty dollars,” said Leo. “That's twice what Freddy offered them to Golcher for, boss.”

“Now don't try to beat me down, Leo,” said Mr. Boomschmidt.

“I'm not. I'm trying to show you that you've beat yourself up. But it's all right; you can afford it. And how about ducks? Freddy's got some duck jumpers, too.”

“Ducks?” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “Not as sensational as mice. Sort of—well,
you
know: fluff. Let's say two-fifty per—Hey, wait! How many ducks?”

“Three,” said Freddy. “But I'm not too sure of Uncle Wesley.”

“Two-fifty per duck, then,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “Or is that too much, Leo? My gracious, you can buy a duck outright for a dollar or so.”

“But you can't make him jump for a dollar,” said the lion.

“How do you know—have you ever tried, Leo? Oh well, never mind. Is it settled, then? I'll pay you after the show, Freddy. Come on, Leo; we've got to have a talk with Willy.” He turned to Mr. Golcher. “He's our thirty-foot boa constrictor. And you know what he did last night? He was invited to supper at Cephas Pratt's, but he got mixed up and went to Zenas Pratt's, and of course they didn't expect him, and when he came looping in the kitchen door, they went out the kitchen window. Willy thought it was funny, and I suppose in a way it was, but he hadn't ought to have done what he did because he ought to have seen they weren't expecting him. Their supper was on the table and he ate it all—a ham and a roast chicken and a lot of vegetables and jelly and pickles and a big chocolate cake. Come on, Leo. Willy will have to go over to Pratts' and apologize.”

Chapter 14

Although there hadn't been time to print handbills, or to get the names of Freddy and the mouse parachutists up on the posters, Mr. Boomschmidt had instructed Oscar to announce the facts about the balloon ascension to everyone buying a ticket, so that at two o'clock, the time announced, a large crowd had assembled. Men stood at the ropes, ready to cast the balloon off, the mice and ducks were lined up on the edge of the basket, and when Freddy and Mr. Golcher climbed up the little stepladder and got in, a loud cheer went up.

“Well now, make your speech,” said Mr. Golcher, “and we'll push off.” He glanced up at the big bag of the balloon which hung above them. “She seems a little heavy. Maybe we ought to have got more gas in her. But I guess we'll go up all right.” He stumbled, and looked down at his feet. “What's all this stuff in here?”

“There does seem to be a lot more of it,” said Freddy. “I guess maybe we didn't pack the blankets and boxes very well.”

“Well, we can fix it after we start,” said Mr. Golcher. “We can't have all these piles of stuff underfoot. But get on with your speech.”

So Freddy leaned over the edge of the basket. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “Friends and well wishers, animal and human; citizens of South Pharisee, Clamville, Upper Cattawampus, Bounding Brook, and all communities thereto appertaining and with them connected in whatsoever fashion and by whatsoever means, I greet you.” And then he stopped.

“Get on with it; get on with it,” said Mr. Golcher impatiently.

But Freddy realized suddenly that he didn't know what to say. He had been so busy wondering how he was to get the two hundred back that he had forgotten that he had a speech to make, and now here he was with a large audience hanging breathless upon his words, and there weren't any words for them to hang on.

But he had to say something. “Un—unaccustomed as I am,” he went on nervously, “to appearing before such a large and distinguished audience as I now see before me, I feel that no words of mine can express the great honor which you have done me. It is indeed a pleasure and a privilege to address you, and I wish to say that—that—”

He stopped again, but only for a moment. For suddenly he knew what he would say. “At Centerboro on the Fourth,” he said, “I went up in this same balloon. The valve cord was stuck, and I couldn't get down. But Mr. Golcher thought I had stolen it, and had the police looking for me. He also went to my owner, Mr. Bean, and demanded and obtained from him two hundred dollars. That two hundred was to pay him for—”

“Here! None of that!” said Mr. Golcher angrily, and he seized Freddy by the shoulder and pulled him back, at the same time giving a signal to the men to cast off.

“Go on!” shouted the crowd. “Lethim talk!”

The balloon, released from its moorings, gave a lurch and started off, but instead of going up into the air, it swept across the circus grounds with the basket barely clearing the heads of the crowd, who ducked and ran in all directions.

Hastily, Mr. Golcher threw out half a dozen bags of sand that were hung on the sides of the basket, and the balloon rose a little, but sluggishly, and barely enough to keep them from catching on the tall fence that separated the circus grounds from the open fields.

“Feels as if she was full of lead,” said Mr. Golcher perplexedly. “Can't understand it. There should be enough gas in the bag to lift our weight.” He threw out the last of the sand and they gained a few feet more. “Not enough,” he said. “We'll foul those trees when we get across the valley. Well, pig, I guess one of us has got to jump out.” He grinned angrily at Freddy. “And that one ain't Golcher.”

“It isn't Freddy, either,” said the pig firmly. “If your old balloon won't go up, pull the valve cord and bring it down.”

“When Golcher gets paid for an ascension, he makes an ascension,” replied the balloonist. “Bring her down, hey? You don't suppose Boomschmidt will pay two hundred for this performance, do you?”

Freddy looked over the side. They were traveling with the breeze at a pretty good rate of speed, and the ground was ten feet below the edge of the basket. It looked pretty hard, and there were stones in it. Still …

“Give me Mr. Bean's two hundred dollars and I'll jump,” said Freddy bravely.

Alice and Emma began quacking excitedly. “No, no, Freddy. Good gracious, you'll be broken to pieces.”

“It won't hurt him in the slightest,” said Uncle Wesley. “Do be quiet, my dears.”

“Well, I'm going to jump out,” said Alice. “That will lighten the balloon some. Come, Emma.”

“Yes, sister,” said Emma obediently. And they jumped and fluttered to the ground.

The balloon went up perhaps a foot.

“We can jump too,” said Eeek, adjusting his parachute. “What do you say, boys?”

“Sure,” said Cousin Augustus. “But how about Wesley? Scared, duck?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” said Uncle Wesley in a superior tone. “If you can show me one good reason why I should make a public exhibition of myself in this vulgar way—”

“
One
good reason!” exclaimed Eeny. He winked at the other mice. “Here's four good reasons. Come on, boys.” And they rushed at the duck, nipping at him with their sharp little teeth, and pushed him struggling and protesting to the edge.

“Stop!” he quacked. “This is an outrage! This is—ouch! Oh! You're killing me—you're—oh!” And with a despairing quack he fell.

A distant cheer from the spectators they had left behind, came to the balloonists. For the sight of four mice, floating to earth on tiny parachutes, was, even at that distance, a remarkable sight. But even with Uncle Wesley and the mice gone, the balloon plainly would not clear the trees towards which they were rapidly drifting.

“You're next, pig,” said Mr. Golcher.

“Give me Mr. Bean's money and I'll jump,” said Freddy.

Mr. Golcher started to reach for him, and then drew back. It wouldn't be easy to throw Freddy out, because a pig is almost as hard to get hold of as a seal, and everybody knows that that is practically impossible. Mr. Golcher glanced at the approaching trees, then he said: “Ha! Golcher's a fair man. Golcher'll make you a sporting proposition. He'll wrestle you for it. If you can put Golcher down, he'll pay you the two hundred and you can jump. But if Golcher puts you down, you'll jump without the money.”

“I don't think that's very fair,” said Freddy, “but I want that money, so I'll do it.”

“No fair biting,” said Mr. Golcher, and grabbed Freddy around the neck.

Freddy's legs were too short to be of any use in a wrestling match, and he couldn't do much to put Mr. Golcher down. About all he could do was to struggle out of the different holds that Mr. Golcher got on him, and keep from being put down himself. They thrashed and rolled and kicked, and Freddy began to pick up hope, for every time he felt himself being forced down on his back, something strange seemed to happen to Mr. Golcher. He seemed to slip or trip over the huge pile of blankets that took up so much of the basket, and Freddy was able to pull free. And then suddenly Mr. Golcher seemed to have a convulsion, and he fell on his back and lay there with Freddy on top of him.

“I win,” panted Freddy, and got up. But Mr. Golcher lay still.

“Oh, goodness,” said Freddy, “I hope I haven't killed him!” And then he looked more closely and saw that an enormous paw was resting on Mr. Golcher's chest. And the paw was attached to a huge forearm covered with tawny fur, that came out from under the blankets. “Leo!” he exclaimed.

The blankets heaved, and the lion's head came out. “Congratulations, old boy,” it said. “That was a great fight you put up.” He took his paw off Mr. Golcher's chest. “Get up, mister,” he said, “and give this boy his money.” And as Mr. Golcher slowly opened his eyes, the lion bared his teeth and gave a rumbling growl that made the basket vibrate.

There was a gurgling noise in Mr. Golcher's throat, and his eyes kept on opening until they were twice as wide open as usual, and his mouth came open at the same time, and all at once a big yell came out of it, and he leaped up and vaulted right over the edge of the basket. And as the balloon, relieved of his weight, shot up into the air, they looked down and saw him slipping and slithering to earth through the branches of a small tree which had fortunately broken his fall.