Chapter 9

Most people think of pigs as lazy animals. As a matter of fact they are probably right. But like most lazy persons, pigs work harder, when they do work, than more energetic people. They do this because they are anxious to get through the work as quickly as possible, so they can lie down and go to sleep again. At least that was the way Freddy figured it out. And for that reason, he said, they do just as much work in a week as energetic people and should not be criticized.

But Freddy didn’t have much time to be lazy now. There was school two days a week; there was football practice nearly every afternoon; there was the Bean Home News to get out every week, and the affairs of the First Animal Bank, of which he was president, to be attended to; and there was Mr. Doty. This last was of course the most important, and so he spent as much time as possible at home, conferring with his friends on plans to get rid of the impostor.

He had to go back and forth so much between Centerboro and the farm that he got out his old bicycle and oiled it up. His legs were too short to touch the pedals at the bottom of their swing, but he could push the bicycle up the hills and then coast down the other side, so that it was faster than walking. He lost a lot of weight in the first week or so and Mrs. Bean had to take in the waistband of his trousers three times.

He was pretty puzzled about Mr. Doty. Anyone who could cheat nice people like the Beans was certainly a crook, and a mean one. When he was not around, the animals talked bitterly about him and tried their best to think up ways to get rid of him. But when he was with them he was a lot of fun telling stories and thinking up games, and then they forgot that he was a crook and began to like him again. Mrs. Wiggins had said that they ought to pretend to like him, so that he wouldn’t be suspicious of them. But they didn’t have to pretend much. Even Freddy, when Mr. Doty came down to watch football practice, and made suggestions for improving the game, had a hard time remembering what a low-down sneak he was.

“I suppose,” Freddy said, “that just as your friends have things about them that you don’t like, your enemies have things that you do.”

“The Beans are having the same trouble with him, only the other way round,” said Jinx. “We’ve got to hate him, in spite of the nice things, and they’re trying to like him, in spite of the things they don’t like. I’ve heard them talking—they don’t like his not getting up until ten o’clock. And he won’t help Mr. Bean with the chores—says he’s got a weak back, on account of he sprained it the day he won the international ski race. Huh! Only race he’d ever win would be when they ring the dinner bell.”

“Say, that’s an idea,” said Freddy. “If you want to get race records broken, instead of firing a pistol at the starting line, you ought to ring a dinner bell at the finish.”

Perhaps because the animals had this sort of sneaking liking for Mr. Doty, they couldn’t seem to think of any way to get rid of him. And then of course neither driving him away nor proving to the Beans that he was a crook would do any good—he was still Mrs. Bean’s brother. What they needed was proof that he wasn’t Aaron Doty. The only clue they had was the lettering on the big trunk he had brought with him. C.B.—Freddy was sure these were his real initials, although on the first day he had explained them to the Beans, by saying that he had been with a Wild West show, under the name of Cactus Bill. And the trunk was kept locked, so that even the mice hadn’t been able to look around in it.

But Freddy always worked on the theory that it is better to do something, than just to sit and wait. So he went into the closet where his disguises were kept, and picked out one.

Now Mr. Garble lived with his rich widowed sister, Mrs. Humphrey Underdunk, and one evening the two of them were sitting comfortably on the front porch, when a very small man in a bright checked suit much too big for him, came up the walk. It was so dark that about all they could see when he came up the steps and took off his hat, was that he had a heavy black beard and seemed to be completely bald.

He seemed to be completely bald.

Before he could speak, Mrs. Underdunk said severely: “Go away, my man. We have nothing for you.”

“Mebbe so,” said the man in a hoarse and indistinct voice, “but I got somefing—pfff!—something for you. Pfff!” he said again.

Mr. Garble laughed. “Pfff! to you,” he said. “What’s the matter—swallow a mosquito?”

“Got an impef—an impediment in my speech,” said the little man, and I guess we’d better call him Freddy, for you know as well as I do that that’s who he was.

The truth was, he had two impediments. One was the pebble he had put in his cheek to disguise his voice, and the other was the beard, which wasn’t fastened very tight over his ears, and kept slipping sideways and getting into his mouth.

“You’re Garble, ain’t you?” he asked. And without waiting for an answer: “My name’s Doty—Aaron Doty.”

“Doty!” Mr. Garble jumped. “Nonsense! I know Aaron Doty; he lives with his sister, Mrs. Bean, out west of town.”

“So I’ve heard,” said Freddy. “But he ain’t Doty. Pfff! I’m Doty.”

“Well, go be Doty somewhere else,” said Mrs. Underdunk. “It’s of no interest to us.”

“Oh, let him tell his story,” said Mr. Garble tolerantly, although Freddy thought his voice trembled a little. “So you’re the real Doty, eh? Well, if all I hear is so, you’ll get a nice sum of money if you can prove it.”

“I can pfff—prove it all right, but my proofs ain’t here, and it’s no use going to the Beans, because I under-pfff—understand Mrs. Bean is satisfied that feller is her brother. That’s why I come to fuff—to see you.”

“Why me? I haven’t anything to do with it.”

“No, sir; but if I could put you in the way of making a thouff—a thouff—a thousand dollars—”

“Oh, good gracious, Herbert,” said Mrs. Underdunk, getting up, “send the fellow away. Good heavens, man, you puff like a walrus.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Freddy stolidly; “my mother was a walrus.”

“Are you trying to be funny?” she said coldly.

“I ain’t,” said Freddy. “You was. My muv—mother’s maiden name: Jenny Walrus.”

“I’ve heard quite enough about you,” said Mrs. Underdunk, and stalked into the house.

Mr. Garble laughed genially. “You mustn’t mind my sister,” he said. “She thought you were making fun of her.”

“I was,” Freddy said. “No walruses in my family. I just don’t like folks laughing at my impeff—impeff—”

“Impediment,” said Mr. Garble.

“Yeah,” said Freddy. “Thanks. Well now look, mister. This feller calls himself Doty—I been inquirin’ round town, and it seems like he’s due for some money in a couple weeks. That money ain’t his—it’s—pfff!—it’s mine. But I got to prove I’m Aaron, and I can’t do it in that time, and then pffff! ffffft! off this guy goes.”

“Pfff! Fffft! is the way he’ll go all right,” said Mr. Garble. “Excuse me. Well, where do I come into it?”

“Like this. My proofs—letters and such—are in a trunk in Mexico. I been livin’ there. I sent for it, but it won’t get here in time. So if you’d go to Mrs. Bean and tell her you know I’m the real Doty—”

“You’ll give me a thousand when you get the money is that it?” Mr. Garble interrupted. “Well, for one thing I don’t know it, and for another a thousand isn’t enough. Make it two, and prove to me you’re Doty, and maybe we can do business.”

“OK for the money,” Freddy said, “but if I could prove it I’d be talking to the Beans instead of you. What you got to lose, mister? If I don’t come through, you ain’t out anything.” And he thought: “Darned if I don’t think I’ve got him! If he takes me up, he’ll get rid of Mr. Doty, and then I’ll just disappear and everything’ll be all right.”

Mr. Garble thought for a minute, then he said: “Well, I don’t remember Aaron Doty, but I never heard that he was a dwarf. Come in the house and let’s have a look at you.”

“I’d rather not,” said Freddy. “I got weak eyes—can’t stand the light.”

Mr. Garble got up and came close and peered into Freddy’s face. “Say ‘Pfff!’ again,” he said.

“What for?” Freddy asked, and at the “f” in “for” his beard blew right out straight.

“Ha!” Mr. Garble exclaimed. “I thought so!” And he seized Freddy by the collar and the seat of the pants and rushed him through the door into the lighted hall, swung him round, and snatched off the beard. “You!” he shouted. “By thunder, I’ve got you this time!”

Freddy, whose collar was still in Mr. Garble’s grasp, tried to slip out of his coat, but the man shifted his grip and flung his arms around Freddy’s shoulders. They wrestled for a minute, each trying to trip the other. And just then Mrs. Underdunk came out into the hall.

“For heaven’s sake, Herbert,” she said, “if you want to waltz with this gentleman why don’t you—” Then she stopped. “Why, it’s the Bean pig!” she exclaimed.

“Go get the chauffeur,” gasped Mr. Garble.

Freddy knew that when the chauffeur came in, he would probably be tied up and put in a crate and shipped off to Montana. Mr. Garble had tried to do that to him once before. But his suit hampered him, and he couldn’t twist free. So he suddenly went limp, slipped down through Mr. Garble’s arms, and lay motionless on the floor. And then, before Mr. Garble had the presence of mind to see through the trick and grab him again, he jumped up and dove at Mrs. Underdunk’s knees, as if he were blocking an opposing tackler on the Tushville team. Mrs. Underdunk collapsed against the hatrack with a shriek that was quickly cut off, as Mr. Garble’s overcoat was shaken from its peg and fell down and enveloped her head.

Out of the corner of his eye, as he made for the parlor door, Freddy saw the hatrack tip slowly forward, and then come down with a bang on top of her struggling figure. Mrs. Underdunk was no friend of his, but as he galloped through the parlor he felt a little ashamed, and wished that he could stop and help her up. He had been well brought up, and he knew it was a breach of good manners to throw the furniture at your hostess, or even to knock her down. But his apology could wait. He ran through the front parlor and the back parlor and the dining room and the kitchen and out of the open kitchen door.

The cook was washing dishes in the sink. The sight of a dwarf in a checked suit, running on all fours through her kitchen, must have been rather unusual, but she merely glanced over her shoulder at him, then went on washing. But when he had gone she shook her head. “Guess I don’t have to work in no circus,” she said, and she dried her hands and went in and gave notice.

Outside in the shrubbery Freddy got his breath, and then plodded down to where he had left his bicycle, and rode home. “Darn that beard!” he said. “I almost had him. Well, I’ll have to think of something else. I wish I hadn’t swallowed that pebble.”