Freddy Goes to the North Pole (4 page)

CHAPTER III

THE EXPLORERS SET OUT

Now there isn't room to tell about the party the Beans gave, nor how they invited all the animals and people for miles around, nor of the eating and drinking and dancing and merrymaking, nor of how the barns and pens and coops were illuminated with coloured lights, and fireworks were set off, and everybody had a perfectly grand time and didn't get home until after midnight. A little while after, the ninety-four tourist animals started off for Florida. They divided into four parties, and Freddy and Jinx and Robert and Hank were each put in charge of one party. The trip was a complete success in every way. When they came back in the spring, Hank's party brought back a wagon load of coconuts, which Mr. Bean sold to his neighbours for ten cents apiece, and Freddy's party brought back a lot of very handsome picture postcards of all the places they had visited, which Mrs. Bean was much pleased with and tacked up on the wall in the sitting-room. The others didn't bring anything, but two young alligators, named Armando and Juanita, came back with Robert. He had rescued them from a man who had caught them in the Everglades and was taking them to be sold into captivity. They were very grateful to Robert and cried so bitterly when they heard he was going back home and wasn't going to take them along that he decided to let them come. They followed him about everywhere. “Just like dogs,” said Mrs. Wiggins, and shook with laughter at the thought of a faithful pet like Robert having faithful pets of his own.

All that spring Barnyard Tours, Inc., was very busy. The roads were so full of travelling animals that automobile traffic was seriously interfered with and the Rome and Utica and Syracuse automobile clubs complained to the Mayor of Centerboro, and the Mayor of Centerboro called up Mr. Bean on the telephone and said that something would have to be done. Mr. Bean promised to do something, but before he could decide what to do, Freddy saw an editorial complaining about it in the Centerboro paper, and he told the other animals. So they were more careful after that and took back roads or went cross-country whenever possible.

The work on the farm was done as if by magic. Whatever Mr. Bean said he was going to do got done before he had time to do it. If he said in the evening: “Tomorrow I'm going to plough the lower pasture,” in the morning when he went out to plough it, the work would all be done. Even most of Mrs. Bean's work was done for her by the animals. At first when she came into the kitchen and found a dozen squirrels busily sweeping the floor with their tails, she shooed them out quickly. But after she found out that they were helping her, she let them alone. She would sit comfortably in her rocking-chair and doze while dozens of little animals ran all over the house, picking up and dusting and sweeping. Now and then she would smile and lean down and pat a mouse on the head who was hurrying out with a mouthful of threads he had picked off the floor, and now and then one of the squirrels or rabbits or cats would jump up in her lap to have his head scratched. Of course the animals couldn't cook and sew and make beds, but they were a great help and they kept the house as neat as a pin.

But Freddy and Jinx and the other members of the firm were growing restless. They had no regular work to do on the farm any more, for with so many animals paying for trips with work, there were more workers than work to be done. And after they had personally conducted tour after tour over the same ground, they began to get tired of it.

“Personally,” said Freddy, “I'm fed up. I'm sick to death of that Scenic Centerboro tour, of explaining over and over again to groups of silly animals about the Public Library and the Presbyterian Church and the fine view from the hill behind the Trumbull place. And the foolish questions they ask! And the complaints!”

“You said a snoutful, pig,” said Jinx, who was inclined to be a little vulgar in his speech, but was otherwise a very estimable animal. “And the smaller they are, the more complaints they have. A cow or a horse, now, will take things good-naturedly and won't expect too much. But there were a couple of beetles on that last trip—my word, but they were unpleasant people! I carried 'em all the way on my back, and first they couldn't see, and then the dust got in their noses, and then when it began to rain and there wasn't any more dust, they complained about that and tried to crawl into my ears to get out of the wet. Can you beat that?”

“We don't have to beat it,” said Freddy seriously. Freddy had become very serious during the past year, and rather dignified. Once he had been a carefree, light-hearted young pig, always playing jokes or writing poetry or inventing new games, but the cares of business had weighed him down, and nowadays he almost never even smiled. Which was too bad, since a pig's face is built for smiling, and Freddy never looked so handsome as when he was squealing with laughter. “You see,” he went on, “I've been figuring up and we've got enough work coming to us for the trips we've been taking animals on so that we could all go away for two years if we wanted to, and all the farm work would be done while we were away. We don't have to have any more trips for two years. Now I've got a plan. What do you say we go find the north pole?”

Jinx didn't want to let on that he had never heard of the north pole, so he just said: “Fine! That's a great idea, Freddy. How do we get there?”

So Freddy explained that the north pole was at the top of the world—that if you went straight north, you'd reach it, and that if you kept right on going in the same direction after you had passed the pole, you'd be going south again. Jinx didn't understand this very well; in fact, he didn't really believe it at all; but he was so tired of the life he had been leading for the past few months that he didn't care much what he did as long as it was something different. And so he was very enthusiastic about it and went with Freddy down to the study, where they got out maps and spent the whole afternoon laying out routes and deciding whom they would ask to go with them.

For this wasn't a trip that just any animal could go on. “We want only hard seasoned travellers,” said Freddy, “animals who can put up with danger and hardship, who are willing to be cold and uncomfortable and hungry and weary for days on end. This won't be like going to Florida. But who wants to go to Florida?—a soft trip like that! This will be a real adventure. And if we make it, think of the honour of being the first animals to visit the north pole! Why, I bet we get our pictures in the New York papers!”

This was enough for Jinx. He was rather vain of his good looks, and thought how fine it would be to see his picture on the front page of all the papers and to have hundreds of people all over the country saying: “Look! Look! Here's that wonderful cat that went to the north pole! Isn't he a beauty?” But all he said was: “Well, when do we start?”

“No reason to wait,” said Freddy. “We'll go talk to the others right now.” And by bedtime Robert, the dog, and Hank, the old white horse, and Mrs. Wogus, who was Mrs. Wiggins's sister, and Ferdinand, the sarcastic old crow, had all agreed to go. Some of the other animals they asked refused. Mrs. Wiggins said no, she was too old and she liked her comfort too much to go traipsing off into the wilds. Charles, the rooster, wanted very much to go, but his wife Henrietta wouldn't hear of it. The general feeling in the barnyard seemed to be that it was very foolish to leave comfortable homes to explore a country that consisted of nothing but snow and ice, that was certainly uncomfortable and probably dangerous.

But none of these sensible arguments could persuade the six adventurers, who, like all the brave spirits who have made history and sailed unknown seas and charted unknown continents in the past, cared less for ease than for glory and laughed at danger and hardship.

And so on a bright morning a week later they set out on their perilous journey. First came Hank, the old white horse, harnessed to the rickety phaeton that they had brought back from their trip to Florida. Inside the phaeton rode Freddy and Jinx, but there wasn't much room even for them, for most of the space was taken up with piles of cast-off blankets and old overcoats which they had gathered, with the help of their friends, from all the neighbouring farms and with which they planned to keep warm in the polar regions. Behind the phaeton walked Mrs. Wogus, and when it went up a hill, she helped Hank by putting her forehead against the back of the vehicle and pushing. Robert ran alongside, and Ferdinand, who had rather a sour disposition, sat on the dash-board, with his eyes shut, looking very bored and weary, as they drove out of the yard.

The Beans, of course, knew nothing about the trip, but when they heard the commotion outside, they jumped up from their breakfast and ran out on the porch.

“Why, I do believe,” said Mrs. Bean, “that they're starting out on another trip! Well, well, will wonders never cease?”

“So they are, Mrs. B.,” replied her husband. “Now I wonder where they're off to this time. Consarn it, I wish we could talk animal talk; then we'd know. But hey, Hank!” he called. “Wait a minute! Whoa! Back up there!” And as Hank stopped obediently, Mr. Bean dashed into the house and presently returned with his second-best night-cap, a white one with a red tassel, which he tied to the top of the phaeton. “There,” he said, “now you've got a flag. Good-bye, animals! Have a good time, and remember there's a good home and a warm welcome waiting for you when you get tired of the road.”

“Good-bye!” called Mrs. Bean. “Be careful about automobiles and don't sit in draughts or get under trees in thunder-storms or stay up too late nights or—” But the rest of her advice was drowned in the cheers of the animals who were staying behind, as the little procession marched out of the gate, with the standard of the house of Bean waving above them.

But, for all the cheering and waving of paws and claws and hoofs and handkerchiefs, Ferdinand, perched on the dash-board, never even opened his eyes.

CHAPTER IV

FERDINAND RETURNS

Life on the farm went along quietly all that summer. As the fame of Barnyard Tours, Inc., increased, more and more animals kept coming to inquire about trips, and Charles, the rooster, was kept very busy in the office from early morning till late at night, answering questions and making up parties. After the first week nothing was heard of the explorers until fall, when the birds began to fly past on their way south for the winter. Then an occasional woodpecker or white-throat would swoop down into the big elm and deliver a message. The animals learned that everything was going well; that Freddy had had a bad cold, but was better; that Ferdinand had had a fight with a gang of thieving blue jays and had beaten them badly; that the expedition had high hopes of reaching the pole before Christmas, in which case they would be back home by midsummer.

The winter came and passed without more news. In the spring two chickadees who had been living in the elm since October announced that they were starting for the north, and agreed, in return for the grain and bits of suet with which Charles had fed them all winter, to come back if they learned anything of the wanderers and give their report before going ahead with the house that they planned to build that spring in Labrador. But the chickadees did not come back. They might, of course, have been caught and eaten by hawks or cats. They might have decided that it was too far to come all the way back to the farm, just to tell the animals that their friends were well. But still they hadn't come back, and the animals worried. Every day Charles sent one of his eight daughters, who were growing up now into long-legged noisy chickens, with manners that were the despair of Henrietta, their mother, to perch on the gatepost and watch the road for the first sign of the returning travellers. But July passed, August passed, and no one came.

And then at last the animals decided that something must be done. It was Mrs. Wiggins who really got things going. “I just can't sleep nights,” she complained, “for thinking of those dear friends away off up there in the cold and the snow, maybe without anything to eat, and my own dear sister, Mrs. Wogus, with them; and her little girl, Marietta, sobbing herself to sleep every night because she wants her mother back. We've got to do something, and we're
going
to do something. Even if I have to go alone, I'm going to start out and find them. If anyone else wants to come along, he can, but I'm going anyway.”