Freddy Plays Football (9 page)

“Make it two thousand,” said Freddy.

Mr. Doty laughed. “Ha! So you're after Doty's money too! Well, I'm glad to see we can do business together. Now all you've got to do is sit tight here for a couple of days. I'll tell the Beans I've had a talk with you, and we've settled to go back west together when I get the money. They'll be wanting to see you—”

“I'll not see them,” said Freddy. “It's best not. It's dreadful soft-hearted I am, and it's drownin' in me own tears I'd be at the sight of them, and I'd let the cat out of the bag entirely.”

Mr. Doty agreed. “I'll tell 'em you're too upset at finding me to talk to anybody. I'll make some excuse. Then when I get the money I'll bring you your share and—we'll be gone.”

They talked a little longer, but Mr. Doty was very cagey. The money, he said, was some that Mr. Bean owed his brother-in-law; he'd heard about it and decided to impersonate the brother-in-law and get it. But as to who he really was, or his connection with Mr. Garble, he said not a word.

But Freddy was well satisfied. He didn't think for a minute that Mr. Doty had any intention of paying him the two thousand dollars. He'd probably have to pay Mr. Garble, because Garble must know who he really was. Freddy still didn't have enough proof to convince the Beans, but it was enough for the animals. They could fix Doty somehow.

After Mr. Doty left Freddy took off his disguise and walked over to the athletic field. When Mr. Finnerty saw him he came over to him. “I'm sorry, Freddy,” he said; “I can't let you play. Mr. Gridley says nothing doing.”

“I thought he would,” Freddy said. “But suppose I was a regular pupil in the school? He couldn't say anything then.”

“He wouldn't let you go to his school. And there's another thing: there's a meeting of the school board tonight at Mrs. Winfield Church's, and he's going to propose that they drop football entirely.”

“Why, I know Mrs. Church!” said Freddy, brightening. “She's a great friend of Mrs. Wiggins'. Who else is on the board?”

“Why, there's Mr. Weezer, and Judge Willey—”

“I know them both.”

“And that Herbert Garble—”

“Wow!” said Freddy. “I'm going to that meeting! I can maybe kill two birds with one stone.”

“Which birds you going to kill?” Mr. Finnerty asked with a grin.

“Gridley and Garble,” said Freddy. “I'll go see Mrs. Church now. Wish me luck.”

“You're going to need a lot of it,” said the coach.

Mrs. Church lived in the upper part of town in a big house which was built of red stone and had a lot of little turrets sticking up all over it with queer little rooms in them. Mrs. Church's husband had built it. He had been a rich banker, and he had built it that way because he was fond, like so many bankers, of playing hide and seek, and the dozens of little rooms were wonderful for that. He used to give big dinner parties twice a week, and after dinner everybody would play, and then there would be handsome prizes. Some people thought it was silly for a grown man to be playing such games, but they were usually people who weren't much good at it. After he died, Mrs. Church kept up the parties, which were now famous all over the state, and even the Governor, who enjoyed a good game of hide and seek himself, occasionally came down from Albany for them.

When Freddy rang the bell, Mrs. Church herself came to the door. “Why this is a delightful surprise!” she said, “And how are Mrs. Wiggins and her charming sisters? I haven't had time to drive out lately; I've been pretty busy since I got rid of all my servants.”

Freddy followed her into the drawing room. “You got rid of them?” he asked.

“Sick of having them around. Really, Freddy, they're just a nuisance. I had six, you know, and I couldn't move without falling over one of them. They were everlastingly chasing me around and picking up after me, though there's nothing I hate so much as a too neat house. I tell you, Freddy, it takes too much time to have servants. You tell them what to do, and you could do it yourself in half the time. Same way with that cook I had. Cooks always serve a big dinner—think they must. And if you don't eat it they get mad. Maybe you want just crackers and milk but you have to eat a lot of stuff you don't want just to keep the cook happy.”

“Cooks always expect you to eat at the same time, too” said Freddy. “That's what I wouldn't like. Sometimes I have supper at four, and sometimes as late as ten, depending when I'm hungry.”

“That's right,” said Mrs. Church. “Tonight I'm going to have peanut butter sandwiches and pickles and ice cream. Probably tomorrow night I wouldn't look at it, but that's what I want tonight. If you'll stay, I'll be very happy to have you. We'll have to eat early, because the school board meets here at seven-thirty.”

“That's one thing I came to talk to you about,” said Freddy. “I'd like to stay. Can't I help make the sandwiches?”

“I'll make them. You run down and get a quart of ice cream and charge it to me. No, better make it two quarts; it's no fun eating ice cream if it's all gone before you're so full you can't take another bite.”

Chapter 8

Since no outsider can be present at the meeting of a School Board, Freddy stayed in the dining room when the board members arrived, and finished up what was left of the ice cream. He had told Mrs. Church over the supper table all about the football situation, and also of course about Mr. Doty. She was very much upset to hear that Mr. Bean was in danger of losing his farm. “I think, however,” she said, “if we talk to Mr. Weezer after the meeting, maybe we can get him to refuse to lend Mr. Bean the money. At least we can get him to postpone lending it for a while. Bankers always listen to rich people, and as you know, I am pretty rich. If we can do that—well, maybe there are other things we can do later.”

At half past eight Mrs. Church came for Freddy, and he followed her into the parlor where the board was meeting. Mr. Weezer and Judge Willey smiled and nodded, but Mr. Gridley frowned, and Mr. Garble started up angrily. “Really, Mrs. Church,” he said, “I protest against turning this serious meeting into a barnyard frolic with pigs.”

“Sit down, Herbert,” Mrs. Church said calmly. “If I remember correctly, your last frolic with this pig very nearly sent you to jail. Now, gentlemen,” she continued, as Mr. Garble sank back in his chair, “we have voted down the proposal of Mr. Gridley and Mr. Garble to do away with the football team. But the team, as you know, has a bad record. It has never won a game against Tushville, its chief opponent. My friend here, Freddy, has a proposition to make to you. If you accept it, I believe Centerboro will have a chance to win.”

“Pah!” said Mr. Garble disgustedly.

Judge Willey looked at him. “Your contribution to the argument, sir,” he said, “seems to me of remarkably little value. It gives me no reason to classify you intellectually above hoptoads, much less pigs.” He turned to Freddy. “Let's hear your proposition.”

So Freddy told them how he had happened to get into the football practice, and how the coach had said that with him they'd have a chance of beating Tushville. “Of course,” he said, “I know I couldn't play unless I was a pupil in the school—”

“How does Tushville manage it?” Mr. Weezer asked. “You can't tell me some of those boys are in school. The left guard in that last game I saw had a full beard, and one halfback had his wife and three children cheering for him.”

“I believe,” Mr. Gridley said, “that they have an arrangement by which anyone can come into school one or two days a week for shop work, which, they say makes him eligible for the team.”

“And there's nothing you can do about it?”

“I haven't tried to,” said the principal. “There is little interest here in the game. And I disapprove of it anyway; it is a rough, unmannerly game—”

“So is life a rough unmannerly game,” said Judge Willey. “But about the only way you can get out of it is to go jump down a well. In my youth I played football. Do you consider me rough and unmannerly?”

“On the contrary,” said Mr. Gridley with a smile. Freddy was surprised to see that he could smile.

“Well, Freddy?” said the judge.

“Why, all I wanted,” Freddy said, “was to find out if I can't be a pupil in the school. And it's not just for football. I never had any education. All I've learned I've taught myself—”

“And you've done a very good job,” said Mrs. Church warmly.

“I consider you a thoroughly conservative banker,” said Mr. Weezer.

“And a highly successful detective,” put in the judge.

“And a confounded nuisance!” Mr. Garble grumbled.

Freddy grinned. “Thank you,” he said, “and you too, Mr. Garble. If I'm a nuisance to you, I'm very much pleased.”

“Well, Mr. Gridley,” said Mrs. Church, “what do you say?”

“I'm sorry, ma'am,” said Mr. Gridley. “Impossible.”

“And why, may I ask?”

“Because he's a pig!” shouted the principal. “And a very clever pig, I understand. What do you think would happen to me at the next P.T.A. meeting, if I had to announce that a pig stood at the head of all his classes? Those parents would tear me to pieces.”

“Not any smaller pieces than they'll tear you into if the team loses to Tushville again,” said Mr. Weezer, “and they find out it's because you wouldn't take Freddy. Remember, all those parents were once pupils in this same school. They had a good team in those days. They're proud of its athletic record. They're ashamed now when they see it beaten sixty or seventy to nothing.”

“But how could I admit a pig?” Mr. Gridley demanded.

“Legally,” said Judge Willey, “I see no bar. Speaking as one familiar with our legislative system, I would be of the opinion that since there is not, I am quite certain, any specific prohibition against admitting pigs to schools, these animals, or other animals, assuming that they can pass the necessary examinations, have an inherent right to all the privileges which the schools offer to the young. Should, therefore, this pig elect to take the matter up in court, and protest your refusal, I should be compelled under our Constitution to rule that you must admit him, or face trial for contempt of education.”

“Dear me,” said Mrs. Church, “I'm afraid I—well, could you put that in words of one syllable for me, judge?”

“Certainly. Unless the law definitely says: No pigs, Freddy must be admitted.”

Mr. Gridley shrugged his shoulders, and gave in. He turned to Freddy. “If you will present yourself at my office tomorrow morning I will give you the necessary examinations. If you pass them, you will be admitted to the school. And let me add that you need not fear unfair treatment; you will get the same examination, and the same treatment later, that I would give to any pupil in the school.”

Freddy thanked him and everyone seemed pleased except Mr. Garble, who said “Pah!” again and jumped up and stalked angrily out of the house.

“Thank goodness he's gone,” said Mrs. Church. “Now there is another matter which has nothing to do with the school, but which I should like to discuss.”

“Then I'd better go,” said Mr. Gridley, getting up.

“I think,” said Mrs. Church, looking at Freddy, “that although it doesn't concern you, you might have some helpful ideas. Unless Freddy objects.”

Freddy said he'd be glad to have the advice of anyone with such wide experience. So then Mrs. Church told them all Freddy had told her about the man who called himself Aaron Doty.

“Legally,” said the judge, “I don't think you have a case against this man. Of course it is plain that he and Mr. Garble are trying to get the money by pretending that he is Mrs. Bean's brother. But your only evidence comes from the Webbs, and I do not think that a jury would convict a man on evidence given by spiders. Unfortunately, there is a widespread prejudice against spiders. Put a spider in the witness box, and what would your jury do? Would they listen to him? They would not. They would do just what they do at home—they would rise up and try to swat him with a rolled-up newspaper.

“Furthermore,” continued the judge, “that evidence has been explained away by Mr. Doty. His evidence was not very satisfactory, but it was good enough for the Beans. I am afraid all you can do for the moment is prevent Mr. Bean from borrowing the money. That is up to Mr. Weezer and the First National Bank.”

“And I am sorry to say,” said Mr. Weezer, “that now that I have agreed to lend him the money, I can't back out. I respect Mr. Bean; I will do anything within reason to protect him from this impostor, and if I had known this before he came to me, I could have refused. But I can't now.”

Mrs. Church looked at him and smiled. “In that case,” she said, “I shall take all my money out of your bank and deposit it in our friend Freddy's bank, the First Animal. Furthermore, I shall explain this action around town by telling everyone that I no longer consider the First National a suitable place to keep money. I shan't say that it isn't safe, Mr. Weezer. Just—unsuitable. And as your largest depositor, I am afraid that it may have an effect on your other clients.”