Freddy Plays Football (5 page)

Mr. Webb got ready to jump to the young man's shoulder, then he hesitated. “We haven't ever flown, mother,” he said thoughtfully.

“Good grief!” Mrs. Webb exclaimed. “You don't mean you'd trust yourself to one of those flimsy contraptions?”

“Hollywood's quite a place, they tell me,” Mr. Webb continued.

Mrs. Webb laughed. “Well, I must say, Webb, you get some very unspiderlike ideas. But good land, there's nothing that calls us home. Though how you ever expect to get back—”

“Oh, we'll get back somehow,” said her husband.

So that was how the Webbs went to Hollywood. And they really had a wonderful time. They met several prominent West Coast spiders, and were royally entertained, and visited a number of studios, and their adventures would fill a book. They even got into the pictures, although you can't see them unless you know just where to look. Except in one called
The Masked Bandit.
In that one, the hero is sound asleep in bed, and the bandits are creeping up to break into the cabin. Mr. Webb was on the ceiling of the cabin when they were shooting that scene, and he got so worried that the hero wouldn't wake up in time, that he let himself down on a long strand and landed on the man's nose. The hero sneezed and woke up in time. Of course the director didn't plan it that way, but it was so exciting that he said he'd keep the scene the way it was. And I guess he would have made a big fuss over Mr. Webb, and maybe even given him a part in the next picture, but Mr. Webb couldn't be found. He had been blown on to the floor by the hero's sneeze and quite badly bruised, but he managed to crawl down a knothole so that he wouldn't be stepped on, and Mrs. Webb took care of him there for two or three days until he could walk without limping. After that she wouldn't let him visit the studios any more, and a few days later they started east.

The hero sneezed and woke up.

It took them nearly two months to hitchhike home. They didn't have much luck with planes. They only flew once—from Denver to Chicago; the rest of the way they traveled mostly by car. Often the car they were riding in would turn off in the wrong direction and carry them miles out of their way. But they were in no hurry. Sometimes when they found themselves in a quiet spot where there were plenty of flies, they would spin a web and rest a few days. They really had a wonderful trip.

They got back to Centerboro about the middle of September. They came in on a milk truck, and when it stopped at the filling station for gas, they hopped down, climbed to the top of the gas pump, and waited. Several cars stopped for gas, but they were going in the wrong direction. But at last one pulled in that was headed for the road that led past the Bean farm. It was a shaky old rattletrap and the engine seemed to be trying to smash its way out from under the hood.

“Well,” said Mr. Webb, “it isn't the kind of shiny powerful car us big movie actors are accustomed to riding in, mother, and that's a fact. But I guess it's all there is. Come along.”

So they climbed into the car. The driver was a small, shabby man, and when he had bought two gallons of gas he didn't drive on immediately, he pulled off to one side. Pretty soon another car drew up behind him and a man got out and came up and said: “Well, how's it going?”

The Webbs looked at each other. They didn't know that the first man was Mr. Doty, because they had never seen or heard of him. But they knew the other man all right. He was Mr. Herbert Garble, who had once given the Bean animals a good deal of trouble, and had even tried to kidnap and sell Freddy.

“Going fine,” said Mr. Doty. “Only how's about slipping your old pal Doty a little more folding money? I'm running short.”

Mr. Garble frowned. “I've already advanced your expenses getting here. I told you I wasn't going to keep shelling out after you got settled in. Anyway, you're taking too long.”

“You got to go slow in these things. Money I can't start talking about—not till they bring it up themselves. They'll get suspicious.”

“Yeah?” said Mr. Garble. “Well, you want to look out for that pig. He's a detective, and I'm telling you—he's good.”

“Well, well, well,” said Mr. Doty, “just because those animals can talk, you think they're smart, huh? Well, they're animals, ain't they? If they were smart, they wouldn't be animals, would they?”

“I don't know how you figure that out.”

“Never mind how I figure it. I'm telling you. Heck, I kid 'em along and they think I'm wonderful.”

“Well, I admit that's not too smart of them,” Mr. Garble said.

“Well, well;
ve-ry
funny!” said Mr. Doty. “I tell you I got 'em all eating right out of my hand. And now how about that money?”

Mr. Garble pulled a couple of bills out and handed them over. “I hope you know what you're doing,” he said. “And while those animals are eating out of your hand, keep an eye on your fingers. You might lose one or two.” He turned away. “Meet me here again Friday. So long.”

As they clattered out of town the Webbs sat on Mr. Doty's coat collar and talked over what they had heard. They couldn't make much sense out of it. “Well, mother,” Mr. Webb said at last, “whatever this Doty is plotting, I don't think he'll get very far with it. Not if he figures Freddy for stupid. We'd better tell Freddy all this right away.” He looked out at the landscape, familiar now that they were nearing home. “My, my!” he said. “Won't it be wonderful to get back and see everybody again! Aren't you excited, mother?”

She said: “I certainly am. I've been trying to think of that song Freddy made up—you know, about getting back home.” She began to hum it.

“You've got a real nice voice, mother,” said Mr. Webb. “I like to hear you sing.” And indeed her voice was very sweet, though of course pretty small, and about two octaves higher than a mosquito's.

“Sing with me, Webb,” she said. “You used to have a fine rich tenor.”

So Mr. Webb joined in. This is what they sang:

Oh, a life of adventure is gay and free
,

And danger has its thrill;

And no spider of spirit will bound his life

By the web on the windowsill.

Yet many a wandering spider sighs

For the pleasant tang of the home-grown flies.

But one tires at last of wandering

As summer fades to fall.

And the year is old, and the wind grows cold
,

And the flies are few and small.

Then each spider knows that, by Jan. or Feb.
,

He'll be better off in the old home web.

Mr. Webb had changed the song a good deal so it would be about spiders. But it sounded quite nice, though naturally nobody heard it. And pretty soon their car drove in the Bean gate, stopped with a final bang, and Mr. Doty hopped out.

The Webbs of course hopped out with him, but as he went in the back door they dropped off and went up to Jinx, who was asleep in the sunshine, and swung on his whiskers until he woke up.

“Well, where did you two come from?” the cat demanded. “Golly, this calls for a celebration. Where've you been all summer—on one of those trips of yours? You might have dropped us a postcard.”

“Look, Jinx,” said Mr. Webb, “we've got some important news. About this Mr. Doty we drove home with. Who is he anyway?”

“That's right,” said the cat, “you don't know about him. Why, he's Mrs. Bean's brother. If you've got news about him, let's go up to the pig pen and talk to the big editor. If you aren't too proud to travel by cat, after riding in that high-class thunder-buggy of Doty's.”

Freddy and Jinx were both puzzled by what the Webbs had to tell. “Let me see, now,” said the pig, frowning importantly and putting on his Great Detective expression and no nonsense about it either, please! “Doty claims to have come straight on here from the west, where he's been all these years. How is it he knows Garble, then? And why is Garble giving him money? And what did Garble mean—”

“Hey, look, pig,” said Jinx impatiently, “those are questions we're asking
you
. What's the sense of asking them back to us again?”

“Quiet,
please
!” said Freddy, closing his eyes and putting one fore trotter to his brow. “In detective work you know very well that I am competent and reliable. Mr. Garble, although an old enemy of mine, has himself admitted it. Now in considering a case, my method is to ask all possible questions about it, and then to find a theory that will answer them all. Then the case is solved…”

“OK, OK,” said Jinx, winking at the Webbs. “Give with the theory, master mind.”

“Well,” said Freddy, “you remember, Jinx, that Mrs. Bean told you that they tried for a long time to find her brother, because half the money her father left really belonged to him.”

“You mean Doty's here for the money, and he's going to split it with Garble?”

“Please let me continue,” said Freddy severely. “Doty is certainly here for the money. But why should he split with Garble? Have you ever asked yourself—is Doty Doty?”

“I certainly have not!” said Jinx. “You trying to be funny?”

“I'm trying to show you that Mr. Doty isn't what he says he is. I don't think he's Mrs. Bean's brother at all. I think he's somebody that Garble got to come here and pass himself off as Aaron Doty, in order to get the real Doty's money.”

“But Mrs. Bean says he's her brother,” said Mr. Webb. “Didn't she recognize him?”

“How could she recognize him when she hasn't seen him since she was a little girl? He said he was her brother, and he told her a few things about when she was little that probably Mr. Garble had found out for him. So she believed him. It's pretty easy to believe something when you want to a lot.”

“ 'Tisn't easy for me to believe that you owe me a lot of money,” said Jinx, “though I sure want to.”

“But what can we do about it?” Mrs. Webb asked.

“If there was time,” said Freddy, “we ought to do some detective work on Doty—find out who he really is. But Mrs. Bean may turn over the money to him any day, and as soon as she does he'll be off over the hills, and our chance is gone.”

“She's going to give him the money,” said Jinx. “They were all talking about it the other night. Doty said there wasn't any hurry, but Mrs. Bean said: ‘Yes, there is, too! That money belongs to you, Aaron, and you're going to have it.' But later that night, after Doty had gone to bed, the Beans were talking, and I guess they're going to have a hard time raising the money. They were thinking of selling something—I couldn't make out whether it was land, or some of the animals.”

“My goodness,” said Freddy, “that would probably be the cows. Wouldn't it be awful if he had to sell Mrs. Wiggins!”

“Well, the Beans are worried about it,” said Jinx. “Mr. Bean's going down to see Mr. Weezer, at the bank, to see if he can borrow some money. He said: ‘Likely we won't have much besides beans to eat for a few years. But don't you worry, Mrs. B.,' he said; ‘we've been through hard times before. We'll get by.'”

“It's worse than I thought it was,” said Freddy. “We ought to go down right away and tell Mrs. Bean what we know.”

“Wait a minute,” said Mrs. Webb. “I know Mrs. Bean would listen to you, but wouldn't it be better if all the animals on the farm went down together? We're all concerned in it, and wouldn't that carry more weight?”

“I believe you're right,” Freddy said. “I tell you what—we've got all afternoon to round everybody up and tell 'em about it; I guess we'd better call a meeting in the barn and tell 'em all at once. Then after supper, go over to the house. Come on, Jinx; we'll go down to the barn and run up the flag. You Webbs going down, too?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Webb, “I'd like to get the place tidied up a little before nightfall. That web was as neat as a pin when we left it last spring, but it beats all how much dust and dirt accumulates when you leave a place, even for a few days. I expect I'll have my hands full. But Webb can go to the meeting. He's only in the way, housecleaning time.”

So the Webbs climbed up on Freddy's nose, and they all started for the barn.