Chapter 7

Digging the pit had been an idea of Henrietta’s. She said it was the way they trapped elephants in India. I don’t know how she knew about it, for she had certainly never been in India, and I doubt very much if she or any other hen had ever gone in much for elephant hunting. But the idea, of course, was to get Jimmy to chase some animal along that path. The small animal would go across the pit without falling through, but Jimmy’s weight would be too heavy for the light branches and he would break through.

Then the animals would have him where they wanted him, and would be able to come to terms with him.

Freddy hadn’t thought it would work. He agreed to try it, but he wanted to try his own plan first. And so next morning after breakfast, when he was pretty sure Jimmy would be out scouting along the fence with a pocket full of stones, Freddy went out into what the animals now called no man’s land, near the fence, and hid behind a bush. He had with him a white rag tied to a stick, and a barrel head with a leather loop nailed to one side, to be used as a shield.

As soon as he caught sight of Jimmy, he came out and walked boldly, under his flag of truce, towards the fence. But he kept his shield handy too.

But Jimmy respected the rules of warfare. He didn’t have any handkerchief to wave because his father wouldn’t buy him any, but he came up to the fence and leaned on it and said: “Well, all right. What do you want?”

“I want to see if we can’t get together,” said Freddy. “There isn’t any reason for us to fight, and we could all have a lot of fun together.”

“I’m having fun,” said Jimmy.

“I don’t think it’s fun to hurt people,” Freddy said. “And that’s what you’re doing.”

Jimmy said: “Sure I am. I told you I’d get even with you. You threw me in the pond, didn’t you? And all I did was just pop that silly duck. It didn’t do her any harm.”

Freddy felt himself beginning to get angry, but he knew he wouldn’t get anywhere with Jimmy if he did, so he said quietly: “Well, I should think we were all about even, then. But the point of it is: you’re missing a lot of fun you might be having. Now, we’re going to have a party tomorrow night—you know, with games and refreshments and everything—and we’d like to have you come over. How about it?”

Jimmy hesitated. He had never been asked to a party before. At school he had heard other boys being invited to parties, and he had heard them talking parties over afterwards, but he was so ragged and unkempt, and so cranky, that nobody wanted to ask him. Once, Frank Farrell had said he’d invite him to his birthday party if he’d get his hair cut first. Jimmy had had a fight with Frank over that. But afterwards he had asked his father for money to get a haircut. Of course his father had refused. He had no money to fritter away on barbers, he said; Jimmy’s mother could cut his hair, as she always did. But that was no good to Jimmy. When his mother cut his hair she cut it all crooked, so that he looked more like a scarecrow afterwards than before. She did it on purpose, thinking that when Mr. Witherspoon saw how the boy looked, he might relent and get him a real haircut. But he never did.

“We’re going to have a lot of fun,” said Freddy. “And maybe Mrs. Bean will bake us a chocolate cake.”

The nearest Jimmy had ever come to a chocolate cake was to look at one through a bakery window. On his tenth birthday his mother had wanted to buy chocolate to bake him one, but his father had pretty near hit the ceiling. “What do you want to do—ruin us?” he roared. “If the boy wants something sweet, spread some molasses on a slice of bread. That’s good nourishing food; if you spread it thin it won’t hurt him.” So on birthdays and Christmas, Jimmy had as a special treat, bread and molasses. When Mr. Witherspoon wasn’t around, Mrs. Witherspoon spread on the molasses good and thick.

So the cake pretty nearly decided Jimmy. Freddy watched the boy’s eyes, and he could see hunger in them, and he could see suspicion. The hunger was really as much for friendship as for chocolate cake, Freddy thought. And the suspicion—well, Jimmy couldn’t help that, the way he’d been treated. The hunger had the best of it for a minute, but then the suspicion got stronger, and it fought with the hunger and drove it away. And Jimmy gave a harsh laugh.

“Chocolate cake for animals? I guess you won’t catch Mrs. Bean at any such foolishness! Anyway, why would I want to go to a party with a lot of cows and pigs and things? No, go on now; you beat it. I’ll give you till I count ten.”

Freddy saw it was no use. It would have to be the elephant trap after all. He dropped his flag of truce and turned and ran. But Jimmy was counting slowly—he was only up to eight when the pig was out of range. This puzzled Freddy; and when Jimmy threw a stone and it fell short, he took a firm grip of his shield and deliberately walked halfway back. “I’ll give you a shot at me,” he called, “if you’ll tell me what that tree was we saw the other day.”

“Pooh,” said Jimmy, and threw a stone.

“Pooh, that’s easy—moosewood,” said Jimmy, and he threw a stone. It whizzed straight for Freddy’s head, but he put up the barrel head and smack! the stone hit it in the center.

“Hey! That’s good!” said Jimmy. “Let’s try again.”

“Well,” Freddy said to himself, “this is one kind of game I’ve got him to play. If I don’t get an eye knocked out, maybe—” Tonk! went another stone—“maybe I can get him to playing less dangerous ones.”

“Say, you’re good!” said Jimmy. “Try this one.” And he scaled a flat stone, which swept around in a long curve. But Freddy caught it.

“Wow!” he said to himself. “I hope I’m getting somewhere!”

And maybe he would have, but suddenly he heard a familiar voice behind him. “Hey, you boy! Consarn you, what are you doing, throwing stones at my animals!” And swinging round, he saw Mr. Bean running towards him. And Jimmy turned and made for home as fast as his legs would carry him.

But Mr. Bean didn’t stop. And he could certainly cover the ground. He had his pipe between his teeth, and at every step a puff of blue smoke spurted into the air, so that he looked like a little steam engine. He took the path that went through the gap in the wall where the woodchucks had dug the elephant trap, because that was the shortest way to get across to the Witherspoon farm.

“Oh, stop! Stop!” Freddy yelled. But Mr. Bean paid no attention. He ran on, into the path, through the trees—and then he disappeared. There wasn’t any fuss or noise. He just vanished.

“Oh!” said Freddy. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!”