Freddy Plays Football (2 page)

“OK, OK,” said Jinx. “Never mind the fancy talk. Anyhow, you've got it all wrong. Let me write your headlines, and I bet every animal on the farm would read the story. Something like this: ‘Love Halts Smith Execution. Princess Perils Life to Save Lover. Today, yelling “I love him,” Pocahontas, famous Indian beauty, grabbed her father's uplifted war club as he was about to sock that well known—'”

“Oh, skip it, Jinx,” Freddy interrupted. “I'm busy. What's your hot news?”

“It's something pretty special,” said Jinx. “If you'll invite me to supper, I'll be glad to give it to you.”

“What do you want to have supper with me for?” Freddy asked.

“Well, Mrs. Bean is sort of off me today. She has some idea I've been up on the spare room bed, and—well, she isn't going to give me any.”

“Ha!” said Freddy. “That's a good news story. ‘Jinx Ejected From Spare Room. No Supper, Mrs. Bean Rules.'” He turned to make a note with a pencil, but Jinx said: “Shucks, Freddy, that isn't news. I've been thrown out of that room more times than you could count. Look, do you want my news item?”

“Sure. But you know I only eat a light supper.”

“The lighter the better, as long as there's plenty of it.” The cat grinned. “OK, the news is that Mrs. Bean's brother is coming tomorrow for a visit.”

“Didn't know she had a brother,” Freddy said, and reached again for his pencil. “All right, what's the brother's name, and where does he live?”

“How should I know?” said the cat. “What's it matter?”

“Look,” said Freddy patiently. “A newspaper story is no good unless it has all the facts in it. Suppose a store is robbed. You can't just say: A store on Main Street was robbed last night and some things stolen. You have to give the name of the store and the name and address of the owner, and a list of what was stolen, and the names and addresses of the robbers—”

“Suppose they didn't leave them. Suppose they just took the things home and didn't have them sent? Oh well, maybe I can get some more facts. What time do we eat?”

“Six sharp. And remember—no facts, no food.”

Two minutes later Jinx was mewing hopefully at the back door of the farmhouse. Presently the door opened. “Oh well, come in then,” said Mrs. Bean.

“Look, Mrs. Bean,” said the cat; “you said your brother was coming tomorrow, and I—that is, some of us thought it would be sort of nice to have a reception committee, and maybe a little speech of welcome and a bouquet of flowers or something.”

“Why, Jinx,” said Mrs. Bean, “that's a very nice thought. I think it would be lovely.”

“Well, ma'am, the trouble is, we don't know his name or where he comes from or anything, and it's kind of hard to compose a speech unless we have—well, some facts—”

“Good land!” said Mrs. Bean. “I couldn't compose a speech if I had a bushel basket full of facts. Much less deliver it.” She went over and sat down in her rocking chair.

“Well, now, it's quite a story, Jinx,” she said. “Here, hop up in my lap and I'll tell you about it.

“You see, I had an older brother, Aaron. Aaron Doty. When I was about eleven, Aaron ran away and went out west somewhere, and we lost track of him. From that day to this we've never heard a word from him, although when my father died, we tried to find him, because my father left me some money, and half of it would have belonged to Aaron. Then I got married and moved out here, and to tell you the truth I haven't thought much about him since.

“Well, sir, one day I was talking with that Mr. Boomschmidt who comes through here with his circus every year, and I told him the story and said if he ever met an Aaron Doty, to tell him to write to me. Mr. Boomschmidt travels all over the country, and I thought he just might happen to run into Aaron. And sure enough he did! And now Aaron's coming to stay with us for a while.”

So Jinx thanked her and went back and told Freddy.

“Now we're getting somewhere,” said the pig. “I'll just jot that down. Now this reception committee—we'll have to go through with it, I'm afraid; but it's a good idea anyway. We'll let Charles handle it—he'll take care of the whole thing if we let him make a speech. Go over and tell him while I write this up for the paper. Then we'll have supper.”

Chapter 2

Just before sunrise the next morning Charles, the rooster, came sleepily out of the henhouse door. He flew up on a fencepost and crowed. For a minute nothing happened. Then something red and white appeared in the Beans' bedroom window, and Charles knew that it was Mr. Bean's nightcap, and that the farmer was looking out to see what the weather was. And at the same time the bright gold edge of the sun appeared above the eastern horizon.

Charles crowed some more, rather impatiently. He had got the Beans up, and the cows, too—they were coming out of the barn door. But even now the sun was barely peeking over the edge of the world, like a lazy boy who peeks out from the bedclothes and has to be called a dozen times before he will get up. This annoyed Charles. The sun ought to jump right up into the sky at the first crow. A good many roosters feel the same way.

Pretty soon the little revolving door in the henhouse began to go round and round as, one by one, Charles' seventeen daughters came running out. They were going up the lane to pick wildflowers for the bouquet. Charles glared crossly at the sun. “I suppose I'd better stay here a while,” he thought. “Just in case the lazy thing tries to crawl back into bed again. Ha, there's Freddy. He's another lazy one.”

The pig came down to the fence, rubbing his eyes. “Morning, Charles. Got your speech of welcome ready, I suppose?”

“Oh, I haven't prepared anything,” Charles said. “I prefer to leave what I say to the inspiration of the moment. Sounds more sincere, I always think. Excuse me a second.” He crowed again, then said: “It'll be the usual thing. Light and graceful, rather flowery, with a humorous anecdote or two.”

“Well, make it short,” said Freddy.

“I think I'm quite capable of handling a few informal remarks without any instructions from you,” Charles said huffily.

“Sure you are. Just see that it
is
a few. I don't want this Mr. Doty to fall flat on his face with exhaustion before you finish.”

Charles hopped down from the post and strutted off angrily, and Freddy walked down to the old elm that stood beside the house and rapped on the trunk. “Hi, Freddy,” said a small sleepy voice from high up among the branches.

“Morning, J.J.,” said Freddy. “I've got everything ready. Drop around when you've had breakfast.”

“I'm ready now,” said the voice. “I'll have breakfast at Miss McMinnickle's on the way to town. She's been digging in her garden and I expect she's turned up some nice fat worms.”

Mr. J. J. Pomeroy flew down and lit on a branch above Freddy's head. He was a plump and handsome robin, and the little spectacles which he wore for his nearsightedness glittered in the early sun. Every week, when Freddy had typed out all the stuff for the next issue of the Bean Home News, Mr. Pomeroy flew it down to the printer in Centerboro.

Freddy shuddered at the thought of angleworms for breakfast, and he shuddered again when Mr. Pomeroy turned and called up to his wife that he would bring back a few for the children.

“Those little green ones, dear,” Mr. Pomeroy called back. “The children are so fond of them.”

Freddy hurried back to the pig pen and tied up the roll of typewritten sheets with string, and Mr. Pomeroy picked it up by the loop in the string and flew off to Centerboro. And the pig went back into his study and sat down in his big chair and put his feet up on the typewriter and took a little nap.

Along about half past ten all the animals on the Bean farm suddenly stopped whatever they were doing and lifted their heads and listened. First they thought Mrs. Bean had fallen down the back stairs with her arms full of tin pans. But the sound kept on growing louder and louder, with sort of a sputtering under the tin pan clatter, and then down the road came a little rusty old car, and as everyone rushed out into the barnyard, it roared in the gate, gave a couple of extra loud bangs, and stopped with a jerk by the back door. And with a final bang a little man was blown right out of it and up the steps, and knocked on the door.

He was a small wiry man in rather shabby clothes, and as he knocked, he shouted: “Hey, Martha! Martha Doty—I mean Bean! It's me—it's your long-lost brother Aaron.” And when Mrs. Bean came to the door he seized her and hugged her, and then held her off with his hands on her shoulders. “Well, well, well!” he exclaimed. “The same old Martha! Yessir, old Martha! well, well, well!”

“Old, your grandmother!” said Mrs. Bean. “I'm five years younger than you are, Aaron. If you
are
Aaron!” She pushed him away and looked at him. “I'd certainly never have known you.”

“Well, well, I'm Aaron all right,” he said. “And I'd certainly 'a' known you. Look of father you've got—round the eyes. Not the beard, of course. Remember that beard, how it tickled when he kissed you goodnight? And how he used to put it in curl papers at night?”

“I guess you're Aaron all right,” she said. Then she called to Mr. Bean, who was coming across from the barn. “Mr. B! Brother Aaron's here at last!”

“Well, I kinda thought I heard somebody tiptoein' in the gate,” said Mr. Bean. “How are you, Aaron?”

Mr. Doty seized Mr. Bean's hand. “So this is William, eh? Well, well, well!”

“He hasn't got much of a vocabulary,” said Jinx, who was sitting with the mice in the window.

“He's got a good big trunk there in the back seat though,” said Eeny. “Must be planning on a long visit.”

“My land, Aaron,” said Mrs. Bean, “you must be about tuckered out, driving so far. Come in and sit down. —Or, no, I guess we'll have to wait a minute—the animals want to welcome you,” she said, as Charles, leading his entire family, and followed by the three cows and Freddy and Hank and the two dogs, Robert and Georgie, and Bill, the goat, strutted up to the back porch.

Mr. Doty turned to face them. “So these are the talking animals old Boomschmidt told me about! Well, well, well! Howdy, animals.”

Charles flew up on to the porch. “Mr. Aaron Doty, sir,” he said pompously, “as chairman of the reception committee, and as spokesman for the animals here assembled, I wish first to present you with this inexpensive, yet heartfelt token of our affectionate friendship.” He motioned with a claw to Georgie, who walked unsteadily up the steps on his hind legs with an enormous bouquet of daisies and black-eyed Susans, and presented them to the visitor.

Georgie … presented them to the visitor.

“Well, well, well!” said Mr. Doty. “Flowers and friendship, eh? Flowers I ain't got much use for. Hundreds here, and only one buttonhole to put 'em in. But friendship—yes; friendship I go for. Yes, sir, I do.”

“Also and furthermore,” Charles continued, “on behalf of all the livestock here represented, on behalf of every animal, bird and insect; on behalf of every creature that walks, flies, hops, creeps, crawls or slithers over the fields of Bean; on behalf of the inhabitants of every barn, nest, den, hole, burrow or coop on these premises, I welcome you, and extend the warm claw of—”

At this point the animals all began to cheer. Charles looked annoyed, but when the cheering died down, he resumed. “I extend the warm claw—” Again the cheering interrupted him.

Four times he tried angrily to go on, but each time cheers drowned him out. And at last Mrs. Bean held up her hand for silence. “Come, come, animals,” she said. “Let Charles finish.”

But Charles was mad. He hopped down from the porch. “Let 'em make their own speech—they're so darn smart!” he said, and stalked off towards the henhouse. So then after Mr. Doty had shaken hands with all the animals and thanked them he and the Beans went into the house.