Freddy and the Perilous Adventure (16 page)

“Oh, Leo! He's hurt,” exclaimed Freddy.

“That's cherry juice on his face, not blood,” said Leo. “That's a cherry tree.”

“Yes, and that bulge in his back pocket is Mr. Bean's two hundred dollars,” said Freddy. “Not that I couldn't have taken it, anyway, for I didn't lick him, and I didn't jump. Leo, you oughtn't to have interfered.”

“Well, dye my hair!” said the lion. “Is that the thanks I get for spending two hours under a pile of hot blankets on a day when it's ninety in the shade? You carry your honesty too far, pal. That money doesn't belong to Golcher, and any way we can get it back to its rightful owner is an honest way.”

“Maybe you're right. And I've got an idea, Leo. See what you think of it.—Hey, what's the matter?” For Leo had leaned his head against the side of the basket and closed his eyes.

“Feel queer,” muttered the lion, waving a feeble paw. “Awful queer. Might have been—baked beans I had for supper last night. Ugh, mustn't think of that. Let me down out of here.”

“Maybe you're a little seasick.” Freddy saw that they had passed over the trees and were drifting across a wide hay field. He pulled the valve cord, and in a moment they began slowly to go down. A few minutes later they stepped out of the basket, and having let most of the gas out of the balloon, so that the half-collapsed bag rested like a giant mushroom on the ground, they started back towards the circus.

But they had taken only a few steps when Freddy turned around. “I forgot the Webbs,” he said. So he went back and got the spiders, but when he rejoined Leo, the lion was stretched out flat on the ground.

“Leave me, my friend,” moaned Leo tragically. “There is nothing you can do for me now. Tell Mr. Boomschmidt: just a small tomb—nothing expensive or ostentatious. With a few words carved on it. Perhaps you would write a suitable epitaph, Freddy. Just some modest and unassuming sentiment—”

“Nonsense,” said Freddy briskly. “You aren't going to die, Leo.”

“You think not?” murmured Leo. “You take from me my last hope.”

Freddy looked at him and grinned. “H'm,” he said thoughtfully; “perhaps I am wrong. You look pretty bad. Of course, dying from seasickness—well, it's sort of ridiculous, sort of like being run down by a baby carriage. But don't worry. I won't let anybody laugh, or say slighting things. I'll stand up for—”

“Funny, eh?” Leo jumped to his feet. “Just let 'em try laughing, that's all!” He glared ferociously.

“Come on,” said Freddy. “I want to try my plan.”

Chapter 15

Although the balloon ascension had been rather a fizzle, it had entertained the crowd, Mr. Boomschmidt said, and so he paid Mr. Golcher the two hundred dollars agreed on. When Leo and Freddy got back to the circus, Mr. Golcher arranged at once to have a truck go out and bring in the balloon. “And then,” he said, “Golcher is leaving this part of the country for good. And the next time Golcher gets chummy with a pig, the pig'll be on a platter, and Golcher'll have his napkin tucked under his chin.”

Freddy thought this remark in rather bad taste, but he only said: “Well, we might finish our wrestling match first, Mr. Golcher.”

“Oh,” said Mr. Golcher; “so you admit you didn't win, eh?”

“Of course I didn't. I didn't know Leo was there. My goodness, I didn't need Leo. I could win without his help.”

“You and a couple of hippopotamuses, maybe,” said Mr. Golcher.

“You and me in a ring together, and no lions or any other animals anywhere around, and Mr. Boomschmidt as referee. How about it?”

“My gracious,” put in Mr. Boomschmidt, “what a show that would be! Eh, Leo? Wrestling match between a man and a pig; best two out of three falls and no holds barred. Oh,
oh
, how that would pack 'em in!”

Mr. Golcher became interested. “You'd pay for that, Boomschmidt?”

Mr. Boomschmidt said he'd pay a hundred dollars.

“All of it to go to the winner,” said Mr. Golcher quickly.

“That's all right with me,” said Freddy. “But what I'm wrestling you for, Mr. Golcher, is Mr. Bean's two hundred dollars. If I win, you hand it over.”

“Yeah,” said Mr. Golcher, “and if
I
win, what do
you
hand over?”

“Why should he hand over anything, for goodness' sake?” demanded Mr. Boomschmidt. “That two hundred—”

“Wait a minute, chief,” put in Leo. “No use arguing with a crook. If—”

“Who's a crook?” demanded Mr. Golcher.

“You are,” said Leo, “and what are you going to do about it?” And he held up one forepaw and examined his three-inch claws thoughtfully.

“I—er … well, I'm not going to do anything, I guess,” said Mr. Golcher lamely.

“O.K. Then, as I say: no use arguing with a crook. As I see it, Freddy will have to put up something, or Golcher won't play. What do you say, Freddy?”

“I haven't got anything to put up.”

“Then we'll just wrestle for the hundred dollars,” said Mr. Golcher.

But Freddy said no, they'd wrestle on his terms or not at all.

Mr. Golcher argued, but in the end he agreed. He was sure he could win, and that meant another hundred dollars in his pocket. He didn't think there was the slightest chance of his having to give up Mr. Bean's money.

So it was arranged that the match should be put on right after the big show, which was about to begin. Freddy went into Leo's cage to rest up, and while Mr. Boomschmidt went in to take part in the show, Leo made the necessary arrangements. There was a large bandstand near the big tent, roofed over, but open at the sides except for a wooden railing. Leo had the railing taken down and ropes put up, and the floor covered with canvas. And then the enclosure around the bandstand was roped off, so that admission fees could be collected from the spectators. And then he made a few other arrangements.

When the big show was over, Leo woke Freddy and brought him over to the bandstand. Several hundred crowded around the stand, and as the lion and the pig worked their way through, many of them pushed forward to whack Freddy on the back and shout encouragement, for nearly everybody now knew about the two hundred dollars and hoped that he would get it back. Mr. Boomschmidt, as referee, was already on the platform, introducing Mr. Golcher. “In this corner, ladies and gentlemen, Henry P. Golcher, known as the Bounding Balloonist.”

Mr. Golcher, dressed in a blue silk robe with a large G on the breast pocket, rose and shook his clenched fists above his head.

“And in this corner,” went on Mr. Boomschmidt, as Freddy climbed through the ropes, “that well known figure, that paragon of pugnacity, Freddy, the Perilous Pig!” He paused for the applause. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, this match will be for a purse of one hundred dollars, generously donated by Boomschmidt's Colossal and Unparalleled Circus. The best two out of three falls; no biting, gouging, scratching, no chawing or gnawing; and may the best man—or my goodness, the best pig!—win! Go!”

Mr. Golcher rose, tossed off the robe, and stood revealed in the close-fitting blue tights and star-spangled trunks he sometimes wore in his balloon ascensions. There were some cheers, for he was a fine figure of a man, though a little thin. He smiled confidently as he moved in a crouching position towards the center of the ring. Freddy tried to smile confidently, too, but he wasn't very successful. Still, he felt that he had a chance of winning. He had no hands, of course, with which to grab Mr. Golcher, and his legs were too short to get any sort of a hold with. But like every pig, he was a past master at wriggling. He was pretty sure that he could wriggle out of any hold Mr. Golcher got on him. And then, too, to get a decision, Mr. Golcher would have to put him down on his back—and a pig's back is a good deal rounder than a man's. As Freddy sized up the situation, it would be almost impossible for him to put Mr. Golcher on his back. But if he could wriggle and stall until Mr. Golcher got thoroughly tired out and winded, then he would have a chance.

And since the thing to do was to get Mr. Golcher winded, Freddy charged out of his corner at the run and drove straight at Mr. Golcher's stomach. The balloonist hadn't expected this, and he tried to sidestep. But it was too late. They came together with a smack, and Mr. Golcher said “Wha-a-a-a-a!” and sat down.

Freddy was pretty pleased with himself and would have liked to stop and acknowledge the cheers, but he knew he must follow up his advantage. Mr. Golcher had rolled over and was lying flat on his stomach, trying to gain time until he got his wind back. He was too close to the ground for Freddy to butt him again, so the pig jumped up in the air and came down heavily on Mr. Golcher's back. Mr. Golcher said “Wha-a-a-al” again, only not so loud this time, and lay without moving. And as he lay there, helpless, Freddy managed to roll him over on his back.

“First fall for Freddy!” shouted Mr. Boomschmidt. The crowd cheered itself hoarse, and Hannibal, who had been appointed to act as second for Mr. Golcher, reached out with his trunk and dragged his principal back into his corner, where he propped him up in the chair and fanned him with his big ears.

Back in his own corner, Freddy relaxed and listened to the advice which his second, Leo, was whispering in his ear. “You're doing fine. But look out for him; he's plenty tough. Look at him: he's pretending to feel a lot worse than he does. Be careful.”

“I will,” said Freddy. But he had no intention of being careful. Mr. Golcher looked pretty done up to him. And when Mr. Boomschmidt said: “Go!” and Mr. Golcher staggered out of his chair, he rushed out of his corner just as he had before.

But Mr. Golcher was ready this time. With a swift turn he twisted aside, and Freddy missed him entirely and charged right across the platform and through the ropes and came down Plump! on a little boy named Jimmy Wiggs, who was one of his warmest admirers. This was lucky for Freddy, because although it knocked the wind out of him, he wasn't really hurt. But it wasn't so lucky for the little boy, who had to be taken home and put to bed with a hot water bottle. It shows how much he admired Freddy, though, that as they carried him off, he said: “I hope Freddy wins.”

The spectators hoisted Freddy back on to the platform, and some of them wanted the match to stop until he got his wind back, but even Freddy admitted that this wouldn't be fair. And so Mr. Golcher won that fall with ease.

“I told you to be careful,” said Leo. “Now this time, lay off that butting. Close in and wrestle. After all, this isn't a collision contest.”

When Mr. Boomschmidt said: “Go!” for the third time, the two contestants approached each other warily, Freddy on all fours, Mr. Golcher crouching, with one arm guarding his stomach. Then suddenly Mr. Golcher darted forward and caught Freddy by the leg, and in two seconds they were at it hammer and tongs, rolling and thumping about the platform. Hold after hold Mr. Golcher tried, and each time Freddy managed to wriggle free. But no sooner had he escaped from one hold than another was clamped on him, and each time his shoulders got closer to the canvas. He could see Mr. Boomschmidt dancing about them, peering at his shoulders, watching for them both to touch the floor at the same time. He caught a glimpse of Leo, shaking his head hopelessly. He wriggled for all he was worth, but relentlessly he was forced down. His left shoulder-blade was on the canvas, his right one went down, down—and then suddenly something happened to Mr. Golcher. He gave a sort of yelp and slapped at the back of his neck. And Freddy, partly released, slipped away.

Mr. Golcher had him again in a second though, and the struggle went on. And then the same thing happened all over again. With Mr. Golcher's left arm around his neck, and Mr. Golcher's right arm locked about his left hind leg, he was panting and wriggling desperately to keep from being pressed flat, when an electric shock seemed to go through his opponent, who again yelped and, letting go with his left arm, clawed at his neck.