The Clockwork Twin (12 page)

IX
Mr. Boomschmidt Takes a Hand

Ronald was a pretty popular rooster after he got back. A big banquet in celebration was given in the barn, and the animals for miles around turned out to do him honor. Afterwards he made a speech and told about his adventures, and Cackletta, who sat beside him, was so proud that she cried all through it. When he finished there was prolonged cheering, and then Charles hopped up on to the dashboard of the phaeton and said:

“Ladies and gentlemen, friends and fellow-animals—” But before he could get any further, Jinx reached up a claw and pulled him down.

“Shut up, Charles,” he said. “Freddy has got something to say first.”

“But I want to make a speech,” said Charles. “I want to respond on behalf of the—the management. I always make that speech, Jinx.”

“You always talk too much,” said the cat. “Let Freddy speak, will you?”

“I don't see why Freddy should speak,” said Charles stubbornly. “After all, Ronald is my son-in-law, a fellow-rooster—” He stopped, for Henrietta had pushed her way forward.

“And here's a fellow-hen that says you'd better come down off your perch and keep your beak shut,” said Henrietta. “Come on, get down now.”

“Oh, all right,” said Charles, and he hopped down and shoved his way peevishly through the crowd toward the door.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Freddy, getting up with some difficulty into the phaeton, “Mr. Benjamin Bean, whom we all know and love as Uncle Ben, has had an idea on which he has been working for some time and which I am sure you will agree is nothing short of a stroke of genius. He feels that conspicuous bravery should be rewarded in some more tangible way than by mere applause, which so often is quickly forgotten. He feels that, in the case of such distinguished service as our friend Ronald has rendered, there should be some lasting token, some badge of honor, which will serve always to remind us of—of, well, such distinguished service. You will forgive my hesitation; I am no practiced orator like our friend Charles, here. And so, on behalf of Mrs. Bean and Mr. Bean and Uncle Ben and Adoniram and all the birds, animals, and insects here assembled, I take great pleasure in presenting you, Ronald, as a token of our gratitude and admiration, with the Benjamin Bean Distinguished Service Medal.” And he flung over the rooster's head a ribbon at the end of which dangled a silver medal.

There were loud cheers, and the animals pressed forward to examine the trophy. Uncle Ben had done a nice job. On one side was a knight on horseback with an American flag in his hand, and on the other, Ronald's name, and the date, and the words: “Benjamin Bean Distinguished Service Medal. Presented for conspicuous bravery in the field.”

While the animals, formed into a line, were filing by to see the medal and congratulate Ronald, suddenly Bertram, who had been standing motionless beside the phaeton, raised his arm, and in a voice which shook the rafters, shouted: “Ladies and gentlemen, attention, please!”

The noise was terrific. For a moment, shocked and frightened, the animals stared at Bertram, then they bolted for the door.

“It's Charles,” said Georgie to Jinx. “I saw him sneak into the control room.”

“The lunatic!” said the cat angrily. “He doesn't know how to run Bertram. Hey, Charles, cut it out. Get down out of there.”

“Ha, ha, ha!” boomed Bertram. “Try and get me out, cat! I'm going to make my speech, and just try to stop me!” And his right arm made a wild swoop toward Jinx.

“Better get out of here,” said Jinx. “We can't do anything till he comes out, and he might hurt somebody.”

So Charles went on speaking. The barn was empty, but he didn't mind that. He knew that unless the animals left the farm entirely, they could hear every word he said. And as his speech boomed on, making the old barn tremble, and rolling out through the wide doorway into the night, to re-echo from the silent hills like thunder, he thought:

“Boy, what a magnificent speaking voice! If I only had a voice like that all the time, they'd
have
to listen to me.”

Even Henrietta, perched on one of the rafters and clucking furiously at her husband, did not dare go too near Bertram. And she knew that Charles could not hear her. But resting on a couple of nails directly over Bertram's head was a pitchfork. The tremendous vibrations of the big voice jarred and shook it, and gradually it began to slide off its supports. “It is courage, my friends,” roared Charles, “which we are rewarding tonight, the courage that fears nothing, that stands steadfast, in the face of surprise, of sudden attack—the courage, in short, of a rooster!” And at that the pitchfork slipped off the nails and came down on Bertram's head, knocking him flat on the floor.

The speech ended in a frightened squawk, the control room door popped open and out flew Charles. Henrietta was beside him instantly.

“Charles! Charles, are you hurt?”

“Where is he? Who did that?” demanded Charles belligerently. “Of course I'm not hurt. Who—”

“Then take that,” said Henrietta, and boxed his left ear. “And that,” she said, and boxed the right ear. “Courage of a rooster, eh? I'll give you something for your courage, you big noise. You're nothing but a loud speaker with tail-feathers. Get along home, or I'll—”

The animals didn't hear the rest of what she said, for Charles was in full retreat in the direction of the henhouse, and Henrietta was close after him. But they could hear her saying it for an hour or two more. Henrietta was a good forceful speaker, even though she never made speeches to anybody but her husband.

Adoniram was pretty happy after Ronald's return. He was glad to be adopted by the Beans, and he was glad, too, that the Smiths were not really his aunt and uncle.

“If I came down the river,” he said to Georgie, “and if my name isn't Smith why maybe I really am the brother of your Byram. Wouldn't it be great to have a brother!”

“Well, personally,” said Georgie, “I think you
are
brothers. I never saw two boys that looked more alike.”

“Well,” said Adoniram, “I expect we'll find him some day if we keep on looking. And in the meantime you like to be with me, don't you?”

“Sure I do,” said the dog, wagging his tail as he looked up at the boy.

Adoniram thought for a minute. “I suppose,” he said, “anybody that found Byram would rate one of those medals of Uncle Ben's, wouldn't he?”

“Golly,” said Georgie, “that's an idea! These animals would do anything to get one of those medals. Let's go ask Uncle Ben.”

Life on the Bean farm had been pretty strenuous since the presentation of the medal to Ronald. All the animals had gone around being brave, in the hope that they would get medals, but so far none had been awarded. Henrietta had come nearest it, for she had jumped into the pond to rescue a grasshopper. But then she had eaten the grasshopper, so that didn't count. Even the four mice, Eek and Quik and Eeny and Cousin Augustus, had been practicing up being brave by sitting at the doors of their holes and making faces at Jinx. At first Jinx didn't know what was the matter with them. He was sorry for them because he thought they had stomach-aches. And when they explained that they were insulting him, he just laughed.

When Adoniram spoke to Uncle Ben about offering the medal to anybody who could find Byram, the old man nodded. “Find him in a brave way—get the medal,” he said.

“Yes, but suppose they aren't specially brave about it,” said the boy. “I mean, suppose they just keep at it and keep at it until they find him.”

“Persistence,” said Uncle Ben. “No medal for persistence.”

“Oh dear,” said Adoniram. “Georgie and I thought it would be such a good way to get the animals to help find him.”

Uncle Ben shook his head and went back to his bench. He was working now on an improved firecracker alarm clock, which, instead of firing just one cracker, fired a series of them, one every two minutes, each one louder than the last. Even the soundest sleeper couldn't sleep through the bang of the final giant cracker.

But the next day Uncle Ben called the boy up into the loft and laid a medal in his hand. On one side was a bee, and the words: “Diligence, Persistence, Industry.” On the other side it said: “The Adoniram Bean Diligence Medal. Awarded to——for distinguished service and stick-to-it-iveness.”

Adoniram was delighted with the medal. He thanked Uncle Ben and then ran out to tell the animals. But to his surprise, although they all said it was awfully nice and they hoped they could win it, none of them seemed very much excited.

“I tell you what's the matter,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “Most people want to be thought brave, but they don't much care about being thought diligent. Or take it the other way round. Call any animal a coward and you'll make him madder'n a hornet. But call him lazy, and he'll just laugh. I don't know why that is, but I've seen it happen over and over again.”

“It's harder to be diligent than it is to be brave,” said Mrs. Wogus. “That's why. You can be brave for two seconds and then it's all over. But to be diligent takes anywhere from a month to ten years.”

“I guess maybe that's it,” said Adoniram. “Well, it's too bad. I do want to find Byram, on Georgie's account as well as my own.”

“Now, don't you be discouraged,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “My land, these animals may not care such a lot about working for the medal, but as soon as they know about how you feel they'll work their heads off to find that boy. Here, you stop fretting about it and leave it to me.”

When Mrs. Wiggins said something would happen, it pretty generally happened. She was big and clumsy, and she made more mistakes than you would believe one cow could make, but when anybody was in trouble he always came to Mrs. Wiggins, rather than her partner in the detective business, the brilliant but erratic Freddy, who was as likely as not to stop in the middle of tracking down a criminal case and start writing poetry or drawing plans for a new pigpen or doing any one of the thousand things to which he could turn his hand.

And so the next day Mrs. Wiggins said to her sisters: “I'm going out to take a walk. I want to think about this boy.” She always went out for a walk when anything was bothering her, because she said she thought better when she was walking. But the real reason was that she couldn't think at home, because her sisters talked all the time. And then of course she'd get to talking with them, and her thinking just wouldn't get done. Very few people can talk and think at the same time, even on the same subject.

Mrs. Wiggins walked down past the pond, and waved a hoof at Alice and Emma, but went on without speaking. The two ducks looked at each other.

“Something on her mind,” said Alice. “She isn't usually so formal.”

“I wonder what it is,” said Emma. “I supposed everything was all right, now that Adoniram has been adopted. Dear, dear, I hope there isn't any more trouble.”

“Let's ask her,” said Alice.

So the two ducks swam ashore and waddled, quacking anxiously, after the cow. Pretty soon Mrs. Wiggins heard them and turned around.

“What is it, girls?” she asked. She always called them girls, because she knew it pleased them, although they had a dozen grand-nephews and nieces on the farm.

“Is—is anything the matter, dear Mrs. Wiggins,” asked Emma. “We thought you looked worried.”

“Good gracious, no,” said the cow with her deep hearty laugh. “I was just trying to think of some way of finding where that boy Byram is living.” And she told them of her talk with Adoniram. “He wants a real playmate, a real boy. Bertram's all very well, but, after all, he's really nothing but a rooster.”

“Deary me,” said Emma, “I do wish Uncle Wesley were here. His advice was always so sound. I'm sure he would have known just what to do.”

“I'm sure he would,” said Mrs. Wiggins, hiding a smile. It is hard for a cow to hide a smile, because she has such a large face, but Mrs. Wiggins did it. She did it by stepping behind a tree for a minute. She remembered the ducks' Uncle Wesley well enough. He was a fat, pompous little duck who had tyrannized over his female relatives until the farm animals, who were fond of Alice and Emma, had kidnapped him one night and turned him over to an eagle, who for a small consideration had carried him off into the next county. Uncle Wesley had never come back, and Alice and Emma were at last able to call their souls their own. But they still revered his memory.

“But I should think the circus man could help you,” said Alice. “He's an awfully nice man, and he travels all over the country.”

“My goodness,” said Mrs. Wiggins, “Mr. Boomschmidt! Of course—he's just the person. Now, why didn't I think of that?”

“You probably would have in a minute,” said Emma politely.

“Well, we'll never know,” said the cow. “Anyway, I'm going to walk right over to the Centerboro fair grounds and see him. Freddy had a postcard from some of the circus animals yesterday saying they would get into Centerboro some time today. They give a show there tomorrow, and a lot of us were talking about going over.” And she thanked the ducks and trotted off.

The Boomschmidt circus came to Centerboro to give its performance twice every summer, and the animals on the Bean farm had got quite well acquainted with the circus animals. Two years before, Freddy had done some detective work for them helping to solve an extremely difficult case, and they were all pretty grateful. Mrs. Wiggins knew that they would help her if they possibly could.

On the way through the barnyard she found Adoniram and Bertram shooting marbles. “Hop up on my back, Adoniram,” she said. “We're going over to Centerboro to see the circus come in.”

Adoniram had been hoping that someone would ask him to go over. He was going to the circus next day, of course, but it is almost as much fun to see the wagons come in, and watch the tents put up, and talk to the animals beforehand, as it is to see the performance. So he jumped on Mrs. Wiggins's back and they set off.