Freddy the Politician (21 page)

Mr. Weezer talked on awhile about the weather, but he was so nervous that he took a large bite out of his saucer instead of his piece of cake and had to go out and get another one. And when he returned he got terribly mixed up. “Yes, yes,” he said, “the weather, now. Such a lot of it as we've had! Day after day, nothing but weather, weather, weather. I don't know what people are thinking of, to be sure.”

“Weather never affects me,” said Bertram, and then suddenly he sat up very straight. “What's that?”

Mr. Weezer's front parlor had two windows on Winker Street, and two doors: one into the hall and one into the back parlor. And suddenly at each of the windows appeared a red glow that grew brighter every second, and heavy smoke, shot through with bright flashes of flame, poured in at the doors.

Now, if there was one thing Grover was afraid of, it was fire. For Bertram was made almost entirely of wood. And he was a year old now, and good and dry from sitting month after month up in the loft.

Bertram jumped up and went to the hall door, but the flames flared up brighter, and he dashed for the other door, only to be driven back into the room.

“Can't get out here!” called Mr. Weezer from the window. “Flames are licking the windowsills. Get the fire-extinguisher!” And suddenly he toppled and fell in a heap, as if overcome by the smoke.

Now, it was only the animals burning red fire at the windows, and burning newspapers in washtubs outside the doors. But Grover didn't know that. He saw himself trapped. He thought he could probably get through either the doors or the windows, but he saw there were flames there, and if a flame got one good lick at Bertram, there would be no way of putting him out. And without Bertram he could not rule the F.A.R.

There is only one way to work a fire-extinguisher, and that is with two hands: one to hold it, and one to pump. Bertram picked the extinguisher up and turned it on the door. But he hadn't pumped it more than twice when there was a loud click inside him, a whir and a rattle, and then his right arm seemed to go crazy. It whirled around three times, smashing Mr. Weezer's chandelier—which wasn't a very pretty one, however—and then grabbed his left leg and tried to pull it off. Then it did several other odd things, while inside Grover tugged frantically at the levers, and finally it did the thing it had done once before—it reached around behind and opened the little door and pulled the operator's tail-feathers.

Immediately the wasps swooped from behind the crayon pictures on the walls, and although the door shut again, there were ten of them inside with Grover. It was more than flesh and blood could stand—even the flesh and blood of imperial Grover. He wrenched open the door with a claw and flew out into the room, and the wasps followed him—not stinging, but merely buzzing and circling until they had driven him cowering into a corner. And old Whibley, who had been posing as a stuffed owl over the mantel, dropped down and held him with one claw until the animals came in out of the hall.

Bertram was lying on his face, thumping the floor heavily with his right arm. Ronald climbed into the little control room and managed to quiet him down. The room was full of smoke, but there was no fire to be seen, and Mr. Weezer was standing by the whatnot, panting with excitement.

“Congratulations!” he said to Freddy. “As one bank president to another, I've never seen a smarter piece of work.”

XIX

At ten o'clock that night Bertram came clumping up the stairs to the loft. The place was in an uproar. Eliphalet and Lemuel had returned a little earlier with a story of having been driven from their posts on Mr. Weezer's doorstep by a party of eagles, and of having watched from a distance the destruction of Mr. Weezer's house—and of course of Mr. Weezer and Bertram—by fire. The party of eagles was Vera, who, because she could see in the dark, had been able to make short work of the herons. And the destruction by fire was a slight exaggeration, due to the herons' anxiety to tell a good story.

A silence fell when Bertram came up the stairs, and John Quincy said: “Father! We were just about to send out a rescue party.”

“There is no need, my son,” said Bertram, with his voice turned up so high that it was impossible to tell whether it was Grover's or not. “A dastardly attempt was made on my life, but it has been foiled, and the conspirators will be punished. Eliphalet, and you, Lemuel, you deserted me in my hour of need. Go! Never let me see those beaks again!”

The herons looked at each other.

“That's gratitude for you!” said Eliphalet.

“Well, it's all right with me,” said Lemuel. “I never did think much of this job. Boy, will I be glad to get back to the swamp!”

“Me too,” said Eliphalet. “The heck with this military rank and martial glory. A couple of nice shiners for supper, and then a good snooze on one leg. Come on, Lem.” And the two walked to the window and spread their wings and disappeared in the darkness.

“Father,” said John Quincy, “let me take your place tonight in Bertram, and you perch on the rafters and get a good night's sleep.”

“No!” shouted Bertram. “Go to bed, all of you. Staff meeting and general audience at dawn, as usual.” And he sat down in the chair.

The birds, after whispering together for a few minutes, settled down and tucked their heads under their wings. But Simon, who had been looking a little puzzled, lifted his chin at Ezra, and followed by their entire family, the rats went down to the feed-bin, where they had taken up residence.

Now, the feed-bin had a cover, and the whole bin as well as the cover was lined with tin. When Grover's decree had given the rats the freedom of the feed-bin, they hadn't bothered to build for themselves in the barn any of the winding tunnels with many exits which are so useful in time of trouble and which make it so hard to drive rats from a barn they have once settled in. They had been so sure that Bertram would always keep the upper hand that they had merely got him to raise the cover of the bin. And here they were all now gathered.

“Children,” said Simon, “there is something strange going on. Something queer. I don't like it.”

“In other words, Father,” said Ezra with a laugh, “you smell a rat.”

“It is no joking matter, son,” said Simon. “When Bertram came in just now, there was a tail-feather sticking out of the little door in his back. And it was not a woodpecker's tail-feather.”

“Father!” said Ezra. “You don't mean—?”

“I mean—” Simon began. And then he stopped. “What's that?” he asked sharply, for a faint giggle had come out of the darkness beyond the feed-bin.

Simon made a jump for the edge of the bin, but he was too late. With a bang the cover came down, shutting them in as tightly and as hopelessly as if they had been locked in the vault of the Centerboro National Bank. And Jinx's voice mocked them. “Sleep well, my little darlings,” he said soothingly. “Jinx is watching over you. Jinx is right here. He will stay on the top of the bin all night. Good night, my little dears.”

At dawn, as the birds took their heads out from under their wings and shook themselves, they saw Bertram still sitting in the chair. They ranged themselves in a row on the bench, and after a while Bertram said: “John Quincy, beat assembly.”

So John Quincy went over to the door and drummed assembly on it with his beak.

Grover had established a strict discipline in his army. Within three minutes they were lined up in the barnyard and ready to march, and many of the other animals, too, had roused at the sound of the drumming and come out to see what was going on. Then Bertram went to the door.

“Soldiers,” he shouted, “you have served me well and faithfully. But I have come to see that the sacrifices which war entails are too great. You have worked hard—too hard. No empire is worth such labor. Therefore I dismiss you. Go to your homes. Let us give up this dream of empire and cultivate the arts of peace.”

There was a lot of excited cheering from the army, for most of them hadn't found it such fun to march half-way across the county and back every day just in order to say that another state had been added to the F.A.R. But John Quincy and X were astonished.

“Why, Father,” said John Quincy, “you just passed a law yesterday about military service for rabbits and some other animals. What will we do with them when they report for duty?”

“What was the law?” asked Bertram. “Repeat it to me.”

“Why, I don't remember exactly,” said John Quincy. “Do you, Xie? Only it was rabbits and—and chickens, I guess. They have to serve three months, or was it five?”

“It must be a pretty poor law,” said Bertram, “if you can't remember it the day after it was passed. I declare that law repealed. I declare all laws which I have made since I came into office repealed, and all orders void.”

Hank was standing with the rest down in the yard. He had a feather stuck in his mane. It looked like a woodpecker's tail-feather.

“Do you mean I can go back and live downstairs in the barn, like I always used to do?” he asked.

“You can,” said Bertram. “And the mice can come back, and the chickens can go back into the chicken-house. The rats—”

“Down with the rats!” shouted Charles, and a number of the animals drew away from him, looking scared, for the rats stood high in the new government's favor.

“The rats are guilty of conspiracy,” said Bertram. “They have been imprisoned.”

At this there was a great whispering among the members of Grover's staff, and one of the hawks said: “Mr. President, with all due respect, the rats are our most able military advisers. We should be lost without them.”

“Yes, Father,” said John Quincy, “listen to Cecil. You can't mean to punish them. What did they do?”

“Silence!” said Bertram, turning on the woodpeckers. “My orders for you are to proceed at once to Washington, and to wait there until I come.”

“But, Grandfather—” said Xie.

“At once!” said Bertram, and as they still hesitated, he picked them from his shoulders with his left hand and tossed them out of the window into the air, where they circled once or twice and then flew up into the elm, to talk excitedly together.

“Now, my friends,” said Bertram, “I will ask you one question. Are you pleased with me, or do you still want to go on with the conquest of more and more territory for the F.A.R.?”

“Good for you, Grover!” the animals shouted. “No more war. Let's go back to the way we used to live.”

“Very well,” said Bertram. “And now I will tell you that it is not Grover who is speaking to you; it is Ronald. Last night, under the leadership of Freddy, and with the help of Mr. Henry Weezer and a company of wasps, we captured Grover. We have banished him, and he will not return. Since he no longer controls Bertram, he no longer holds the power. And I am at last at liberty to invite our real president, the one whom we elected, and who will run this farm in Mr. Bean's absence, to enter into office. Ladies and gentlemen, animals, birds, insects, and hoptoads, I give you Mrs. Wiggins!”

And through the ranks of happy and shouting animals Mrs. Wiggins came slowly forward. There were tears in her eyes when she faced them—good big honest tears, such as only a generous-hearted cow like Mrs. Wiggins can shed.

“Well, dear me,” she said, “I must say you animals have gone through a lot to make me your president. So I guess the only thing I can do is to be as good a one as I can. And I expect the thing I'd like you to do best is to just go on doing the things you want to do, as you always have. As for you, John Quincy and X—” She looked up into the elm. “Oh, well, they've gone. Just as well, I guess. So now, animals, I thank you. I guess that's all I've got to say.”

An hour or so later, Freddy went down to the bank, to see how things were getting on. He was outside, busily painting the words: “For Animals Only” under the bank's name on the sign, when he heard a faint tapping on the roof of the bank, and looking up, saw John Quincy and X sitting there watching him.