Freddy the Politician (4 page)

“It's Mrs. Witherspoon's hat,” said Jerry. “She don't ever go out, so she gave it to me.”

“'Twa'n't much of a present,” said Mr. Bean dryly. Then he said to John Quincy: “Well, president, what you going to do about this loan? I want to see how your bank works.”

“We can't lend you our depositors' money unless you can give us good security,” said John Quincy. “I guess we'll have to refuse the loan.”

“Security,” said Jerry. “What's that?”

“It's anything of value that you'd leave with us. Then if you couldn't pay back the money when you'd promised to, we'd sell the thing and get our money.”

“Or maybe you could get somebody to go on your note,” suggested Freddy.

“Gosh,” said the horse perplexedly, “you certainly have a lot of ways of saying that you won't lend me the money.”

“He just means you might get somebody to promise to pay back the money if you can't yourself,” said Jinx.

The horse dropped his head. “There ain't anybody,” he said sadly. “I guess I'll just have to try to do the spring plowing in my bare hoofs.” And he turned to go.

“I'll go on your note,” said Mr. Bean suddenly. “Give him the money, Jinx, and I'll sign the paper. I suppose I'll lose out on it and old Zenas'll laugh his head off at my buying shoes for his horse, but I can't see an animal put on that way—even somebody else's animal.”

So they gave Jerry six dollars and he thanked Mr. Bean and galloped off to the blacksmith shop, Mrs. Witherspoon's hat cocked gaily over his right ear.

“What's more,” said Mr. Bean, “I guess I'd better make a little deposit in the First Animal myself.” And he drew out a roll of bills and peeled off a hundred dollars and opened an account with it. Then he went out and got in the buggy and picked up the reins and said: “Giddap!”

When Mr. Bean got to town he went first into the First National Bank of Centerboro, which was an imposing white marble structure on the corner of Main and Liberty Streets. He went into the handsome office of the president, Mr. Henry Weezer, and sat down.

“Well, Henry,” he said, “you've got some competition out our way.”

Mr. Weezer was a small neat man with white hair, starched cuffs, and gold-rimmed nose glasses that fell off whenever you mentioned a sum of money larger than ten dollars.

“Yes, sir,” said Mr. Bean, “don't my animals beat all? They've opened a bank.”

“Dear me,” said Mr. Weezer in a dry voice. He didn't smile, but Mr. Bean didn't mind, because Mr. Weezer never smiled unless you paid him something. He was not an unkind man, though—just terribly interested in banking.

“Yes, sir,” said Mr. Bean, “a regular bank. And they've got safe-deposit vaults that no burglar could ever get into.”

“You don't tell me,” said Mr. Weezer.

“I do tell you,” said Mr. Bean, “and furthermore I tell you that they're the smartest animals in the country. I was kind of hesitating about taking that trip abroad together with Mrs. Bean and the boys though Mrs. Bean has her heart so set on it; but my land! animals that can run a regular bank can certainly look after a farm for half a year.”

“I should think they could,” admitted Mr. Weezer. “Well, I'll try to bear up under the competition. I expect they won't cut into our business a great deal.”

“Don't ye be too sure,” said Mr. Bean. “They've got deposits now of $179.42.”

Mr. Weezer's glasses fell off, but he put them on again hurriedly and looked sharply at Mr. Bean. “What!” he exclaimed. “Animals have put that much money in a bank?”

“Animals and folks. They've got at least one man as depositor, I know.”

“Oh, but look here,” said Mr. Weezer excitedly, “they can't do that, Mr. Bean. This is a real bank you're talking about. There isn't room for two real banks in Centerboro. Oh, dear me, I must ask you to stop it at once.”

“Now hold your horses, Henry,” said Mr. Bean. “If my animals want to start a bank, they can start a bank. They got as good a right as you have.”

“They have no right to cut into our business here,” said Mr. Weezer angrily. “I won't have it! I'll take it up with the authorities—”

Mr. Bean got up. “Stuff and nonsense!” he said. “I thought you'd like the idea, Henry. Smart animals. Credit to the town.”

But Mr. Weezer didn't feel that way about it at all. He said again that he was going to complain to the authorities, and he picked up the telephone and called the authorities up. But Mr. Bean got mad, and he walked out to the cashier's window and drew out all his money, which amounted to $4,845.92 and he drove back and deposited it in the First Animal.

So at the end of that day the deposits of the First Animal Bank of Centerboro came to a grand total of $5,025.44 as you can figure out for yourself. Only you won't come out right unless you remember that while Mr. Bean was in town a rabbit had brought in a dime to deposit.

IV

On the other side of the stone wall that divided the orchard from the back pasture stood an old gnarled apple tree. There was a hole in the trunk right by the ground, and in it lived a fox named John.

John was one of the woods animals who had come down to live on the farm because they wanted to take part in the gay social life of the farm animals. A great many squirrels had moved down, and several porcupines and coons, and even Peter, the bear, often came down for a week when there was something special going on. When John had first moved into the apple tree, Charles, the rooster, and his wife, Henrietta, had been very much upset. For there is nothing that a fox would rather have for supper than a nice plump chicken. Unless it is two plump chickens. But a committee, consisting of Robert and Mrs. Wiggins, had called on John and made him promise to leave the chickens alone. John promised readily enough, for he liked society, and there wasn't much of that up in the wild and lonely woods. And anyway he didn't specially care for chicken. What he really liked was duck. But he didn't tell the committee that.

The hole in the apple tree was pretty small. It was so small that John could just get himself in when he curled up tight. And even then he had to leave his bushy tail outside. But he didn't mind. “For,” he said, “I'm not in it very much. I spend most of my time outdoors when I'm awake. All I really need is a place to sleep.”

One afternoon Freddy left the bank early and trotted off down through the orchard. He sprang over the wall as lightly as a cat. For although Freddy was getting fat, he exercised regularly and, like many fat people, was very light on his feet. He was a wonderful dancer.

As he walked toward the apple tree he paused to admire the cloud effects, and he murmured a verse or two of poetry to himself. Like most pigs, he was extremely artistic. He often felt that he might have been a great painter if he had only had time to turn his hand to it. “A lovely bank of clouds,” he said to himself as he moved on, and then he shook his head crossly. “Now, why did I say ‘bank'! Good gracious, can't I get my mind off business for a second?”

When he came to the tree he saw a reddish, bushy tail sticking out of the hole, and he was about to knock when he noticed a small sign tied to the end of the tail. The sign said: “Out.”

“Oh, dear,” said Freddy, “now I'll have to come back again this evening.” And he was about to turn away when the tail was whisked in and then pushed out again immediately with another sign on it which said: “In.”

So Freddy knocked on the tree.

The tail was withdrawn again and John's sharp little nose poked out. “Why, Freddy,” said the fox, “this is a pleasant surprise. Come in, come in! No, just a minute. I have to come out first.” For his house was so small that if he wanted to entertain anybody in it he had to sit outside himself.

“Let's just sit out here together,” said the pig.

So they sat down under the apple tree, which was covered with white blossoms, and Freddy said: “Why the signs, John? I could see you were in, with your tail sticking out in plain sight.”

“That's just the trouble,” said the fox. “It's the only drawback to this house. Of course I'm always in to you, Freddy, when you come to call, but there are some animals that come—well, I name no names. But you know how it is—they just never go
home.
Now if I had a regular-sized house, I just wouldn't answer when they knocked, or my butler would go and tell them I was not at home. But when they can
see
me—well, I thought if I had the signs made, then when they saw it read: ‘Out,' they'd understand I wasn't seeing anybody and go away.”

“Does it work?” asked Freddy.

“No. That is, with some of the more polite ones it does. But there are some— Why, that skunk, Sniffy Wilson, came yesterday. I had the ‘Out' sign on my tail. But do you think he went away? He did not. He actually pulled my tail until I answered him. Said he thought it was a doorbell. Some people simply don't know how to behave, Freddy; that's all there is about it.”

“Sniffy's kind of free and easy, and that's a fact,” said Freddy. “But he's a good fellow—always willing to help you out if you're in a jam. Well, that's one reason I came over to see you today. We're in sort of a jam at the bank. We've got to have some more vaults built, and this time it's a job for highly skilled labor—it's no woodchuck proposition. The rooms are full now, and even the tunnel is so cluttered up with stuff that the clerks can hardly get through. You're just the animal for the job, if you'll take it.”

Freddy was very diplomatic. He knew how to make people want to do the things he wanted them to do. John felt very much flattered, and he agreed at once to come and do the necessary digging. So they gossiped for a while and then John said:

“There's some talk up in the woods, Freddy, that you've given up the idea of founding a republic and electing a president. I hope that isn't so.”

“No,” said Freddy, and he explained that they had merely taken John Quincy's advice about getting the bank going first. “It's sound advice, I think,” said the pig. “Once we start having election speeches and going out after votes, nobody is going to pay much attention to the bank. But I think we will get at it pretty soon now.”

“Well, I hope so,” said the fox. “And of course it's none of my business—well, in a way it is, of course, because I'm a citizen of the republic, if there is a republic, and—well—”

“Well, go ahead,” said Freddy. “You're among friends.”

“Well,” said John, “I wouldn't take too much woodpecker advice, if I were you. I don't trust those boys, and that's a fact. Don't ask me why. It's just a feeling. Don't you have those feelings?”

“Why, now you mention it,” said Freddy, “I guess I do. Weasels, now. I don't trust weasels. And yet I haven't any reason not to, really. I don't know much about them. They may be the kindest, nicest people in the world. But somehow—”

“Yes,” said John. “That's how I feel about woodpeckers. Well, anyway, I just thought I'd mention it.”

“Glad you did,” said Freddy. “Glad you did. I'll keep it in mind. Well, I guess I must be getting back.”

So he said good-by, and John hung the “Out” sign on the end of his tail and crawled back into his house and took a nap.

When Freddy got back to the bank, Jinx, who had not been in all day, was still not there, and John Quincy was very much upset. “We've got to do something about Jinx, Freddy,” he said. “He's supposed to be here from ten to three, just like the rest of us. But sometimes he doesn't come in for days at a time.”

Freddy's ears turned pink, for he had not been any too punctual himself. He seldom got up before ten o'clock in the morning, and by the time he had done his exercises and had a leisurely breakfast and worked awhile at his poetry and at his plans for the election, it was time for dinner, and then after dinner there was his nap, and various other things to be seen to, so that he often didn't get to the bank before half past two. And the bank closed at three.