The Clockwork Twin (15 page)

“Well, well,” said Miss Threep, “I am certainly glad to make your acquaintance at last, Mrs. Church. How courageous of you to leave Paris in the spring! And I do want to show you over the building. I want you to see for yourself how things are run. And I hope you will let me introduce the other trustees to you, for they are all very anxious to meet you. But first perhaps there are some questions you'd like to ask.”

“Well,” thought Freddy, “I have got by so far, and maybe Miss Threep thinks this sunbonnet and gingham dress are the latest thing from Paris. Anyway, she doesn't act as if she thought I looked funny.” And as the other people had politely gone back to their tea and conversation, he began to feel better.

“Well,” he said, “there is one thing I'd like to ask. It is about a boy named Byram Jones, who I understand—”

But he never got any further, for at that moment the door flew open and a large woman all covered with pearls and diamonds and other jewels sailed into the room and said: “I am afraid I am very late. I am Mrs. Winfield Church.”

Miss Threep jumped up as if a pin had been stuck into her and said: “What! But this lady here has just told me that
she
is Mrs. Winfield Church.”

And everybody came up and crowded around Freddy.

Freddy was pretty scared. But there's one thing about a pig—he seldom loses his head. “Dear me,” he said, “your name really is Mrs. Winfield Church? How odd that there should be two of us of the same name here today.”

“Very odd,” said Mrs. Church dryly, and some of the trustees looked at Freddy's dilapidated clothes and compared them with Mrs. Church's rich garments, and then they snickered. But being trustees, they tried to do it as politely as possible, for trustees are not supposed to laugh out loud.

“Well,” said the head trustee, “I suppose it is possible. But as you are not a trustee of this orphanage, and as this lady is certainly
the
Mrs. Winfield Church, I suggest, madam, that you leave. I think you have made a mistake. You are probably looking for the poorhouse, which is about half a mile down this road.”

Now, Freddy was a good actor and if he hadn't looked so much like a pig, could have made his fortune on the stage. Indeed, when the animals put on shows, as they sometimes did, Freddy was always given the leading part, and his Hamlet was something to see. The secret of his success was that not only did he act like the person he was supposed to be, he felt like that person. He forgot that he was a pig and he
was
that person. And so now he was a little old woman in shabby clothing who had been insulted by a fat man with a heavy gold watch-chain. He stared at the head trustee for a minute, and then he said: “And why do you think I am looking for the poorhouse? Is it because my clothes are old and worn?”

“Oh, I'm sure Mr. Waldemar didn't mean that,” said Miss Threep kindly.

“But I did,” said the head trustee. “I'm a plain blunt man, and I say what I think.”

“Then you think a lot of foolish things,” said Freddy angrily. “There may be several reasons why my clothes are queer. Just as there may be several reasons why you are so fat. I may think it is because you eat too much. But I wouldn't say so unless I knew. Just because you have a gold watch-chain I wouldn't say that you stole it unless I was pretty certain. Just because—”

“That's enough of this,” said the head trustee, swelling up and turning dark red. “Miss Threep, either this woman leaves the room or I do.”

“Wait a minute,” said Mrs. Winfield Church suddenly, and everybody including Mr. Waldemar looked at her respectfully. She seemed to be smiling to herself, and Freddy thought that under all the diamonds and pearls and ribbons she had on she looked a lot like Mrs. Wiggins. “I have always thought,” said Mrs. Church, “that trustees' meetings and tea-parties were pretty dull affairs, and that is why I have stayed in Paris so long—so I wouldn't have to attend them. I find this one, however, is anything but dull. And in order to keep it from getting dull, I suggest that this lady, who seems to be my namesake, be asked to stay.”

There was a general murmur of assent, through which Mr. Waldemar's voice said: “But she is not a trustee.”

“What of it?” said Mrs. Church. “This isn't a secret meeting, is it? We're not going to have any of the boys executed, are we?”

“I shall leave,” said the head trustee pompously. “I do not propose—”

“Oh, go on—leave then,” interrupted Mrs. Church. And she turned away from him and went to the piano and began to play a dance. And pretty soon all the trustees were dancing together. But Mr. Waldemar sat in the corner and tried to look like a plain blunt man who disapproved of such goings on.

Well, Miss Threep sent for fresh tea and more sandwiches, and they played charades and had a fine time generally. Freddy sang several songs of his own composition and Mrs. Church accompanied him. And finally Mr. Waldemar got up and came out of his corner and said he'd like to sing. So he sang
Asleep in the Deep
in a fine bass voice, and everybody applauded, even the boys out in the playground. And Mr. Waldemar was so gratified that he came over and apologized to Freddy, and Freddy sang a duet with him.

But all this time Freddy hadn't given a moment's thought to what he had come there for, and it wasn't until the party began to break up that it occurred to him that he ought to ask about Byram. He went up to Miss Threep, who was talking with Mrs. Church by the piano, and said: “Excuse me, Miss Threep, but there was something I wanted to ask you—”

“Just a minute,” put in Mrs. Church. “You get your hat on, Miss Threep. I am going to take this lady home, and you come along for the ride, and she can ask you what she wants to know.”

So Miss Threep got her hat and they went out and got into a huge black shiny car that was almost as long as Mr. Bean's barn. As Freddy was getting in, Georgie ran up. “Oh,” said Freddy, “here is my Georgie. Could you take him too, Mrs. Church?”

Mrs. Church said she could, so Georgie jumped in beside the chauffeur.

“That's my little man,” said Freddy, leaning forward from where he sat between the two ladies and patting the dog on the head. “Was he a good little doggy today? And did he miss his mamma?”

“He's a nice little dog,” said Miss Threep.

“He means well,” said Freddy, “and he's very affectionate, but he's not very bright.” He was going on to say more, but Georgie gave him such a grim look that he decided not to.

“Well,” said Miss Threep, “what was it you wanted to see me about?”

“I wanted to ask you about a boy who, I was told, is in the orphanage,” said Freddy. “But first—you've been so nice to me I think I ought to tell you—my name isn't Mrs. Winfield Church.”

“How could it be?” said Mrs. Church easily.

“I mean, I'm—I'm not a lady. I'm—well, I'm a pig.”

“Dear me,” said Miss Threep. “I don't think you ought to feel that way.”

“No,” said Freddy, “I don't mean that. I mean I really am a pig.”

“Of course he's a pig,” said Mrs. Church. “I saw that almost from the first. Yes, and I think I know who you are, too. I saw a piece about you in the Paris
Herald
awhile ago.” And she began to laugh.

“Good heavens!” exclaimed Miss Threep. “A pig! Of course I'm rather nearsighted, but those curls—”

“Pinned in the sunbonnet,” said Freddy. “See?” and he took the bonnet off.

“Well, I declare,” said Miss Threep. “You fooled me completely.”

“It's about the first time I ever did, then,” said Freddy. “But perhaps I'd better tell you the whole story.” And so he did.

“I'm afraid I can't help you much,” said Miss Threep when he had finished. “We had a boy named Byram in the orphanage for about a month. And he had been traveling along the canal. But he ran away again three weeks ago, and we haven't been able to find him. He was a nice boy, too. But why did you disguise yourself to come ask me about him? I'd have told you what I know anyway.”

“Well, I thought he might be in the orphanage, and if he was, I was going to try to adopt him. And I knew you wouldn't let a pig adopt a boy.”

“No,” said Miss Threep thoughtfully. “I suppose the trustees wouldn't have approved. We've never had any applications like that. Well, I'll let you know if we hear any more about him. Then your Mr. Bean can apply for him. But I'm afraid we won't see him again. That boy is a traveler, and he is pretty well able to take care of himself, too. But one thing I can tell you. Hunt along the canal east of here. He was going toward Albany, and that's where you are most likely to find him.”

The big car had turned in at the Beans' gate by this time, and as it drew up in the barnyard, half a dozen animals came out to look it over.

“What a nice farm!” said Mrs. Church.

“Land's sakes, Freddy, is that you?” said Mrs. Bean, coming to the door. “Won't you ask your friends in?”

So the two ladies got out and met Mrs. Bean and Adoniram. “Well, I never!” said Mrs. Bean, when she heard about Freddy's visit to the orphanage. “What won't these animals be up to next! They're nice animals, all of 'em, and as good as gold, but there's never a dull moment on this farm. But won't you ladies stay to supper? I know Mr. Bean'd be as pleased as Punch.”

So they stayed to supper, and afterwards Adoniram and Freddy took them out and introduced them to all the other animals, and to Uncle Ben and Bertram. Uncle Ben gave each of them one of his new firecracker alarm clocks, and they were much pleased with them. Miss Threep had to be back at the orphanage by nine o'clock, but Mrs. Church was so delighted with everything that when it was time for them to start she hadn't yet got back to the car. She was down in the cow barn, where she had struck up a great friendship with Mrs. Wiggins; and the others, waiting by the car, could hear their laughter. But at last she came.

“Goodness,” she said, “I haven't laughed so in years. I'm coming out here again. That Mrs. Wiggins! Why, she's as like my sister Eva as two peas.”

“It's a wonderful place for Adoniram,” said Miss Threep. “I wish my boys at the orphanage had a lot of nice animals to play with.”

“Good land, bring 'em out any time,” said Mrs. Bean. “There's plenty of animals here, and they like boys. Glad to have 'em.”

“I'll send them over in my car any time, Miss Threep,” said Mrs. Church.

When they had gone, Freddy went down to his study and brushed and hung up his costume, and then threw himself down in his big chair. But he jumped up again with a squeal, for several large stones had been shoved in under the cover of the cushion. As he stood rubbing himself, he heard a faint giggle, and he made a dive under the table and pulled out Georgie.

“Hello, mamma,” said Georgie, struggling to get away. “How's my mamma? Did she hurt herself on the nassy old chair?”

“You—you pup!” said Freddy. “Playing tricks on me, are you?”

“Oh, no, mamma!” said Georgie. “I was just trying to make my mamma's chair nice and comfortable, but I'm not very bright, and maybe I did it wrong. Did I, mamma, huh?”

Freddy scowled at him, then he laughed and let him go. “Well, I guess we're even,” he said. “But now get out of here. I'm going to bed.”

“Kiss Georgie good-night?” said the dog, then turned and dashed through the door, and heard the bolt snap into place behind him.

XII
The Expedition Sets Out

The four mice—Eek and Quik and Eeny and Cousin Augustus—were sitting on the end of a beam that stuck out under the gable of the barn. It was the first really hot day of summer, but up there there was always a little breeze. Eek and Eeny were talking about things they liked to eat, and Cousin Augustus was asleep as usual, and Quik had a toothache, so that he was pretty quiet. Only now and then he would say: “Ouch!” so that the others wouldn't forget his tooth, or to feel sorry for him.