Freddy Plays Football

Pretty soon he put it on to see what it was like.

Freddy Plays Football

Walter R. Brooks

Illustrated by Kurt Wiese

The Overlook Press

New York

Chapter 1

Jinx, the black cat, was curled up in the exact center of the clean white counterpane that Mrs. Bean had just put on the spare room bed.

Jinx had no business there. He had his own bed, a soft red cushion down behind the stove that Mrs. Bean had made for him. Mrs. Bean was fond of Jinx, but she wasn't fond of having him on the beds, and she particularly didn't like him on the spare room bed. He knew that if she caught him on her own bed she would pick him up and throw him off. But if she caught him on the spare room bed she would chase him with a broom.

Now Jinx's red cushion was much more comfortable than the bed, but there wasn't anything very exciting about taking a nap on it. In the spare room, on the other hand, you never knew when Mrs. Bean might appear in the doorway and a sweep of the broom would send you head over heels on to the floor. Like most cats, Jinx enjoyed a spice of danger, even when he was asleep.

He wasn't really asleep of course; he was just taking a cat nap. His eyes would close for a few seconds, then they would open and he would look at his reflection in the mirror over the bureau. He looked very black against the white counterpane. “My goodness,” he would say, “I certainly am a darned handsome cat!” Then he would close his eyes and purr for a minute. But pretty soon his eyes would pop open again. “Yes, sir,” he would say, “I certainly am distinguished looking. Elegant! That's the word—elegant!” And he would purr louder than ever.

He purred so loud that when the four mice, Eek and Quik and Eeny and Cousin Augustus, came into the room and climbed up on the windowsill behind him, he didn't hear them at all. They sat in a row and watched him admiring himself, and they poked one another and snickered until at last Eeny got to giggling so hard that he fell right off the windowsill. He only made a very small thump when he hit the carpet. But Jinx heard it, and in one bound he was off the bed and under the bureau.

In one bound he was off the bed.

The mice were delighted with this, because it isn't often that a mouse scares a cat—it's usually the other way round. They giggled harder than ever, and Eeny climbed up on the footboard of the bed and jumped down on the counterpane. “Come on, fellows,” he said, “let's see how we look.” So the others came over and they sat in a row with their paws on each other's shoulders and looked in the mirror.

“Boy oh boy!” said Eek. “What pretty little fellows we are, to be sure!”

“Very intellectual looking,” said Quik. “And such sweet expressions!”

“It isn't just good looks,” said Eeny. “We've got charm! That's the word—charm!” And they held on to one another and rocked back and forth with laughter.

“Yeah,” said Cousin Augustus, “what's an old cat got that we haven't got, hey?”

“He's got claws,” said Jinx, coming out from under the bureau. “Don't you know this spare room is out of bounds to animals?”

“Oh, yeah?” said Eek. “What are you doing here then?”

“I'll show you what I'm doing here,” said the cat, and made a leap for the bed.

The mice scattered, hopped to the floor, and then ran up the window curtains and sat on the curtain rod. They weren't really scared, for Jinx was not only an old and trusted friend, but a good-natured cat, who could take a joke on himself without getting mad. Still, he was apt to play pretty rough and if he caught them he would tickle them until they squeaked for help.

“Come down off there!” he commanded. “Do you want me to come up after you?”

“Sure, come on up,” said Eeny. He knew that Jinx couldn't climb the curtains without tearing them, and if Mrs. Bean found them torn the cat would not only get the old broom treatment, he would probably be banished from the house.

Jinx shrugged his shoulders. “Pooh,” he said, “I wouldn't demean myself!” He hopped up on the bed and lay down again. “I can wait. You'll have to come down some time.”

The mice giggled some more, and Quik shook his head. “Uh-uh,” he said. “We like it here. Matter of fact, we think of settling here. It's a fine location—lots of fresh air, beautiful view—except for cats, of course—” He broke off. “Psst! Beat it, cat,” he squeaked. “Mrs. Bean's coming up the back stairs!”

Jinx had heard the footsteps too. There was just a flicker of black as he disappeared through the doorway. The mice stayed where they were, for they were so close to the ceiling that they were sure of not being seen. People coming into a room seldom look above the level of their eyes.

Mrs. Bean was a plump little woman with black hair and red cheeks and snapping black eyes. She came in and looked at the bed, and she frowned. You and I wouldn't have seen anything wrong with it. The counterpane would have looked to us as smooth and white as a fresh sheet of paper. But Mrs. Bean was, I guess, one of the best housekeepers that ever lived, and she spotted right away the faint indentation where Jinx had lain, and the two or three little wrinkles his feet had made when he jumped off and on the bed. She put her hand on the indentation and felt of it. “Warm!” she said. “Drat that cat!” She smoothed out the counterpane, and then after looking under the bureau to see if Jinx was hiding there, she went back downstairs.

Now when she was coming up the back stairs, Jinx was sneaking down the front ones, and when she got back to the kitchen, there he was, snoozing peacefully on his cushion back of the stove. She looked at him hard, but he kept his eyes shut and even threw in a little snore for good measure, so that she couldn't help smiling. “Jinx, you wretch,” she said, “I know you're not asleep.”

Jinx gave a start and his eyes snapped open. “What—what?” he said. “Oh, it's you, ma'am. You startled me.”

“I'd have startled you with a good box on the ear if I'd caught you on that spare room bed.”

“The spare room bed?” he inquired innocently. “Good gracious, has someone been up there?”

“I know you won't lie to me if I ask if it was you,” she said, “but you've put on such a good show that I won't ask. I'll just suggest that you'd better go without your supper tonight.”

“Oh, gosh, Mrs. Bean,” he protested, “I need my supper. I'm a growing cat—”

“You're growing much too smart for your own good,” she said. “Now let's not have any argument. You know perfectly well you're not allowed in that room. My brother is coming tomorrow to pay us a visit, and what do you think he'd say about my housekeeping if he saw his bed all mussed up?”

“He'd better not say anything in front of me!” Jinx exclaimed.

“That's very good of you,” said Mrs. Bean drily. “But, land sakes, I'm not going to stand here arguing all afternoon with a cat!” She went and opened the back door. “You go on out for a while. Go on. Scat!”

“Yes, ma'am,” said Jinx meekly, and went.

He went straight across the barnyard, past the stable, where he could hear Hank, the old white horse, munching hay, and past the cow barn, where he could hear the three cows munching their cuds. Everybody seemed to be munching something. Even Charles, the rooster, and his wife, Henrietta, were walking around in front of the henhouse, picking up kernels of corn. “If I'm going to get any supper tonight,” he thought, “I've got to get busy.” So he walked up to the pig pen and rapped on the door.

Freddy, the pig, had learned to read and write when he was quite young. Later, he had taught most of the other animals on the Bean farm. But it wasn't much good to them at first, because there was nothing for them to read. So Freddy started a newspaper for them. It was called the Bean Home News, and it is today the only important animal newspaper in New York State. Jinx knew that Freddy was getting the next issue of the paper ready to send to the printer, so when a voice called impatiently for him to come in, he pushed open the door.

“Hi, pig!” he said breezily. “Got a spot of hot news for the old scandal sheet!”

Freddy was sitting in his old armchair before the typewriter. He swung round. “The last bit of hot news you brought in here, Jinx,” he said, “was about as hot as a last week's griddle cake. About the cow that flew a plane across the continent. Not only did it happen three years ago, but a lot of your story wasn't true. She didn't fly the plane—she was just a passenger.”

“So what?” said the cat. “It was a good story, wasn't it? Caused a lot of talk, and that's what makes a paper interesting. Shucks, if a story's good, it's good, no matter how old it is. Look at the one about Captain John Smith and Pocahontas. That's hundreds of years old, and it's still a good story.”

“Sure, but it's not news. Look, Jinx; a news story is a
new
story, not an old one. Suppose I printed the story about Captain John Smith. With these headlines: ‘Capt. Smith to Wed. Pocahontas' Plea Wins Irate Father's Pardon For Gallant Soldier. Powhatan Sanctions Immediate Nuptials.' Why everybody'd laugh themselves sick.”