Thimble Summer (13 page)

“
Always
room for one more,” said Mr. Freebody gallantly, leaning across Garnet to open the door for Citronella.

Garnet squirmed around to peer through the window at Timmy in his box.

“He looks as if he had hurt feelings,” she said. “He'll probably never forgive me for this.”

“Just try giving him something to eat and see how he'll come around,” said Mr. Freebody, “Hogs are only sensitive between meals.”

By this time the truck was halfway down the side road.

“My, I was awful scared I wasn't going to get to go to the fair at all,” said Citronella. “Merle took the car to Hanson to get the springs fixed, and Cicero and Dad and Uncle Ed took our Holstein bull to the fair in the stake truck. Wasn't anything left for us but the team till Mama thought of asking you folks.”

“It's a good day for a fair,” remarked Mr. Freebody, “'t ain't cold, 't ain't hot, and not a cloud in sight.”

“Do you think he's warm enough?” asked Garnet.

“Who?” said Mr. Freebody, “Timmy? He's warm, don't you worry.”

When they came to Hodgeville, Mr. Freebody stopped the truck.

“How about some ice-cream cones?” he asked.

“It's a fine idea,” said Garnet.

“It's a marvelous idea,” said Citronella.

So Mr. Freebody went into a drugstore and got a maple-nut ice-cream cone for Citronella, and a chocolate ice-cream cone for Garnet, and a plain vanilla one for himself. But for Timmy he bought a strawberry one and let Garnet poke it between the laths of the crate. Timmy's snout trembled all around the edges with joy, and in a second he had gobbled every crumb. He looked less miserable.

“He knows you ain't betrayed him anyhow,” Mr. Freebody told Garnet.

Citronella just stood looking at them.

“Giving ice cream to a pig,” she said, and gave her cone a long, thoughtful lick. “To a
pig!
” she repeated and gave it another lick. “My land, what a waste!” she said.

“I'm doing lots of awful things today,” said Garnet complacently. “Leaving the dishes, feeding ice-cream cones to pigs, and eating one myself at nine o'clock in the morning!”

“Won't hurt you once in a while,” said Mr. Freebody and they all got back in the truck and slammed the doors.

On they drove through the burning blue day. There was no haze on the hills, no mist on the river. Everything was clear as crystal. They passed Melody, and Garnet remembered the people on the bus, and the wonderful ride after the people got off, and how she'd bounced around on the seat and tried not to scream.

She looked back at Timmy. He was lying down.

“Do you think he's all right?” she asked.

“Who?” said Mr. Freebody, “Timmy? He's fine, never felt better.”

Garnet looked at Mr. Freebody out of the corners of her eyes and laughed.

“You understand pigs pretty well, don't you Mr. Freebody” she remarked.

“Sure do,” said he. “Ought to. Raised enough of 'em!”

Now they could see New Conniston on its hill. Garnet felt the pinwheel in her stomach again.

They drove past the little shabby homes, and on through the main street with its big important stores and the dime store where Garnet had bought her presents; past the park with the fountain and on to the outskirts of the city where the fairgrounds were.

Then they drove through the wide gates into the new, gay world of the fair, which, like a magic city in a story, had sprung up over night.

It was a whirling, jingling, bewildering collection of noise and color and smell. Everything seemed to be spinning and turning; merry-go-rounds, the Ferris wheel, the whip cars. There were dozens of tents with peaked tops and scalloped edges, and little colored flags flying from them. Citronella grabbed Garnet and Garnet grabbed Citronella, and they bounced up and down shrieking with excitement. Mr. Freebody was calmer. “I always like a fair,” he said.

They drove directly to the stock pavilions and stopped in front of the one that was labeled SWINE in big black letters.

The man in charge of it was fat and kind looking. His name was Fred Lembke. He and Mr. Freebody carried the crate in, opened it, and put Timmy in a nice clean pen with hay on the floor. “He doesn't feel at home yet,” said Garnet apologetically to Mr. Lembke, because Timmy just stood where he had been set down, looking insulted and loathing everything.

“He's a mighty fine little boar, just the same,” said Mr. Lembke with real admiration in his voice (not just the nice-to-children sort). “Who's showing him?”

“I am,” replied Garnet, feeling very motherly towards Timmy.

Mr. Lembke took a notebook from his pocket and a pencil from behind his ear and asked Garnet her name, and all about Timmy. Then he put a sign above Timmy's pen that said:

Class 36: Boar under 6 months.

Breed: Hampshire.

Owner: Garnet Linden.

Garnet read the sign over three or four times to herself. Then she turned to Mr. Freebody. “Am I supposed to stay and watch him?” she asked.

“No, no,” replied Mr. Freebody. “You two little girls go on out and enjoy yourselves. You've got hours before the judges come. Three o'clock they'll be here, and see that you get back in time!”

“I don't know how I'll ever wait till three o'clock,” sighed Garnet, but in the next minute she had forgotten all about time and waiting. There were dozens, hundreds of things to see and do.

First they looked at all the other pigs in the shed. There were several others in Timmy's class, some bigger than he, and some more important looking. Garnet and Citronella examined each one with anxiety.

“Well anyway,” said Garnet, “I bet Timmy's got the nicest nature.” “He's the handsomest, too,” said Citronella stoutly.

The place was full of pigs. There were many different breeds with high sounding names like Poland-China, Chester White, and Duroc-Jersey. There were grumpy looking hogs, and sows with litters of pigs all different sizes. In one pen there was a whole group of baby ones fast asleep; white as thistledown, they were, with pale pink ears and little turned-up snouts. It didn't seem possible that they would someday grow up to be boisterous, bellowing, bad mannered pigs. In another pen, near the front of the shed, there was a prize hog, black and thundery, and big as a grand piano. On the sign above him were pinned the ribbons from past fairs, all blue!

The whole shed resounded with the snorts, grunts, squeals and grumblings of pigs conversing.

“How rude they sound,” said Garnet, “as if they never said nice things to each other, but just scolded, and snatched, and told each other to get out of the way.”

The cattle pavilion seemed very quiet and respectable after that. There was almost no noise. Cows stood in stalls on either side of the shed, with soft, dull eyes, and jaws moving patiently. There were little calves with pink noses, and magnificent, dangerous-looking bulls.

Garnet and Citronella stopped in front of the Hausers' Holstein, staring admiringly. He was massive and beautiful, with his shining black-and-white coat.

Mr. Hauser came and stood beside them with his hands in his pockets.

“Looks pretty good, don't he?” he remarked.

“He chased me once,” said Garnet rather proudly. “I was pretty scared.”

“Yes, and who saved you
that
time?” asked someone, giving one of her pigtails a jerk. Garnet turned around. Of course it was Mr. Freebody.

“You won't ever have to do it again,” she promised.

“Looks like you couldn't lose, Herman,” said Mr. Freebody to Mr. Hauser, and the two girls went on to look at the horses.

There were stallions in big stalls there, roan, and dapple-grey and black. They had huge arched necks and dark fiery eyes. Their hoofs made a heavy, restless noise upon the floorboards. And there was a little colt that was hard to leave. He had a satiny coat, and long unreliable legs that he could fold up like jack-knives. He looked delicate and mischievous standing by the strong, protecting shape of his mother.

“If he was mine I'd name him Ariel,” said Garnet stroking his nose. Oh, how soft his nose was! Like moss, like velvet, like the palm of a baby's hand.

“Of course it might not suit him when he grew up,” she added thoughtfully. “Ariel's a funny name anyway. Like on a radio. I don't see what it's got to do with a horse,” said Citronella. “If he was mine I'd name him Black Beauty like the book.”

“But he's not black,” objected Garnet. “Well, it's a good name for a horse,” said Citronella.

Finally they tore themselves away, and left the dim sheds where the air had a heavy smell of hay and animals, and went out into the blaze and flourish of the fair.

IX. Ice-Cream Cones and Blue Ribbons

THEY crossed a smooth dirt track that lay in a large oval enclosing the central section of the fair. Later in the day there would be trotting races on this track, and there would be crowds of excited people at either side, but now it was just a kind of road to be crossed.

They simply wandered for a while, pausing to look at the shies, and the shooting gallery, and the screaming people in the whip cars. They bought two ice-cream cones and poked along, stopping to read the signs outside of the tents that you had to pay to go into. There were a lot of them, all interesting. Aurora the Mystic Mind Reader. Professor Hedwitz, World Famous Phrenologist. Hercules Junior, the Samson of the Century. Dagmar, the Female Sword Swallower. Zara, the Jungle Dancer. Below the last name, Zara, there was a little notice saying: persons under 16 not admitted. Both Garnet and Citronella were dying to know why not. There were many other tents and sideshows but it was still too early in the day for them to be open, and those loud-voiced men who usually shout outside and take the money, had not yet appeared.

The flaps of the tent announcing Dagmar, the Female Sword Swallower, were open, and inside Garnet and Citronella saw a woman in a kimona sitting on a chair and darning a sock. She was chewing gum.

“Do you think it's her?” whispered Citronella as they went on.

“It
can't
be!” said Garnet. “I'm sure a sword swallower would look, you know,
different.
Not so much like other people. Wilder.”

“I bet it is though!” persisted Citronella. “Maybe she
has
to chew gum,” she added, “to keep her jaws limber or something. In order to swallow swords.”

They went back to take another peek but this time the woman noticed them, and though she smiled, she closed the tent flaps.

“I bet it's her all right.” said Citronella excitedly. This was something to have seen, a real lady sword swallower darning socks just like anyone!

The merry-go-round looked wonderful. It was the kind that has only horses, not wild animals; but they were strange beautiful horses with flaring scarlet nostrils and broad grins. Garnet and Citronella each paid a nickel and got on. After a while the music commenced and the merry-go-round began turning. Up went the horses, high, swooping in the air as they glided, and then down like winged horses following the wind.

“I'm kind of old for this,” remarked Citronella, who was eleven. “But I still like it.”

“I'm never going to be too old for it,” said Garnet. “All my life whenever I see a merry-go-round I'm going to ride on it, and when I have children I'm going to ride with them.”

They had two more rides and then they got off, and continued their exploring. They got some popcorn, too, and then they had a ride on the whip-cars. It was perfect. Their necks were nearly snapped in half, and all the little bones in their spinal columns kept feeling as if they were flying apart and then settling back in place again like something in a movie of Mickey Mouse.

“Oh, gee!” squealed Citronella as they rounded a curve with a particularly terrifying wallop. “Isn't this awful?”

“But fun!” squealed Garnet in reply, and clutched Citronella as they rounded another curve.