CHAPTER 19

A TALK ABOUT MONEY

In almost everyone’s life there is one event that changes the whole course of his existence. The day Sam Beaver visited the Philadelphia Zoo was the turning point in his life. Up until that day, he had not been able to decide what he wanted to be when he grew up. The minute he saw the Zoo, all his doubts vanished. He knew he wanted to work in a zoo. Sam loved every living thing, and a zoo is a great storehouse of living things—it has just about every creature that creeps or crawls or jumps or runs or flies or hides.

Sam was eager to see them all. But he had Louis’s problem to solve first. He must save Serena from captivity. So he picked up his rucksack and his sleeping bag and walked into the Bird House and entered the office. He walked tall and straight, as though he were on a forest trail. The Head Man liked Sam’s appearance and noticed that he looked a little like an Indian.

“So you’re Sam Beaver,” said the Head Man, as Sam advanced on him.

“Why did you come here?” asked the Head Man.

“To defend freedom,” replied Sam. “I heard you intended to clip the wing of a swan. I’m here to ask you not to do it.”

Sam sat down, and they talked for a whole hour. Sam assured the Head Man that Louis was an old friend. He told about discovering the swan’s nest almost three years ago in Canada, about how Louis came into the world lacking a voice, about Louis’s attending school in Montana and learning to read and write, about the theft of the trumpet by Louis’s father, the old cob, and about Camp Kookooskoos and the Swan Boat in Boston.

The Head Man listened with great attention, but he wasn’t sure he believed a word of this strange tale.

Then Sam explained his proposal for allowing Serena to go free instead of making a captive bird out of her. He said he thought it would be a good arrangement for the Zoo, because any time they wanted a young Trumpeter Swan, Louis would give them one of his cygnets. The Head Man was fascinated.

“You mean to say you came all the way to Philadelphia to help a bird?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Sam. “I would go anywhere to help a bird. Besides, Louis is special. He’s an old friend. We went to the same school. You’ve got to admit he’s quite a bird.”

“He sure is,” said the Head Man. “His Sunday afternoon concerts have been the biggest attraction the Zoo has ever had. We had a gorilla once named Bamboo—he’s dead now. Bamboo was great, but Louis draws even more of a crowd than Bamboo did. We have sea lions that draw big crowds, but nothing to compare with Louis when he plays that horn on Sunday afternoons. People go crazy. And music is good for the animals, too—it soothes them, and they forget the cares of the day. I’m going to miss Louis when he’s gone. The whole Zoo will miss him terribly. I wish he’d stay and keep his bride right here—it would be just great.”

“Louis would pine away in captivity. He would die,” replied Sam. “He needs wild places—little ponds, swamps, cattails, Red-winged Blackbirds in the spring, the chorus of the frogs, the cry of the loon at night. Louis is following a dream. We must all follow a dream. Please let Serena go, sir! Please don’t clip her wing!”

The Head Man closed his eyes. He was thinking of little lakes deep in the woods, of the color of bulrushes, of the sounds of night and the chorus of frogs. He was thinking of swans’ nests, and eggs, and the hatching of eggs, and the cygnets following their father in single file. He was thinking of dreams he had had as a young man.

“All right,” he said, suddenly. “Serena can go. We will not clip her wing. But how can I be sure that Louis will bring me a young Trumpeter Swan when I need one? How do I know he’s honest?”

“He’s an honorable bird,” said Sam. “If he weren’t honest and true to his word, he wouldn’t have bothered to go out and earn a lot of money to pay the storekeeper back for the trumpet his father swiped.”

“How much money has Louis got, anyway?” asked the Head Man.

“He’s got four thousand six hundred and ninety-one dollars and sixty-five cents,” said Sam. “We just counted it a few minutes ago. He received one hundred dollars from Camp Kookooskoos for playing bugle calls, and all he spent was sixty cents for postage stamps. So he arrived in Boston with ninety-nine dollars and forty cents. Then the Swan Boat man paid him a hundred dollars for one week’s work, but he spent three dollars in tips at the hotel where he spent a night. So he had a hundred and ninety-six dollars and forty cents when he got to Philadelphia. The nightclub paid him five hundred dollars a week for ten weeks, which came to five thousand dollars, but he had to pay his agent ten percent of the five thousand dollars, and he also spent seventy-five cents for some new chalk pencils and four dollars to send the telegram to me. So that makes a total of four thousand six hundred and ninety-one dollars and sixty-five cents. It’s a lot of money for a bird.”

“It sure is,” said the Head Man. “It sure is.”

“But he is going to pay my airplane fare from Montana to Philadelphia and back again. That will bring the total down to four thousand four hundred and twenty dollars and seventy-eight cents.”

The Head Man looked staggered by these figures.

“It’s still a lot of money for a bird,” he said. “What’s he going to do with it all?”

“He will give it to his father, the old cob.”

“And what’s he going to do with it?”

“He will fly back to the music store in Billings and give it to the owner, to pay for the stolen trumpet.”

“Give all of it?”

“Yes.”

“But a trumpet isn’t worth four thousand four hundred and twenty dollars and seventy-eight cents.”

“I know,” said Sam. “But there was some damage to the store itself. The old cob was going like the dickens when he crashed through the plate-glass window. He shook things up pretty badly.”

“Yes,” said the Head Man. “But it still wouldn’t take all that money to make things right.”

“I guess not,” said Sam. “But Louis has no use for money anymore, so he’s going to turn it all over to the owner of the music store.”

The subject of money seemed to interest the Head Man greatly. He thought how pleasant it would be not to have any more use for money. He leaned back in his chair. He found it hard to believe that one of his swans had been able to save more than four thousand dollars and that the money was right out there, hanging around his neck in a moneybag.

“When it comes to money,” he said, “birds have it easier than men do. When a bird earns some money, it’s almost all clear profit. A bird doesn’t have to go to a supermarket and buy a dozen eggs and a pound of butter and two rolls of paper towels and a TV dinner and a can of Ajax and a can of tomato juice and a pound and a half of ground round steak and a can of sliced peaches and two quarts of fat-free milk and a bottle of stuffed olives. A bird doesn’t have to pay rent on a house, or interest on a mortgage. A bird doesn’t insure its life with an insurance company and then have to pay premiums on the policy. A bird doesn’t own a car and buy gas and oil and pay for repairs on the car and take the car to a car wash and pay to get it washed. Animals and birds are lucky. They don’t keep acquiring things, the way men do. You can teach a monkey to drive a motorcycle, but I have never known a monkey to go out and buy a motorcycle.”

“That’s right,” replied Sam. “But some animals do like to acquire things, even though they don’t pay anything for them.”

“Such as?” asked the Head Man.

“A rat,” said Sam. “A rat will fix up a home for himself, but then he’ll bring home all sorts of little objects—trinkets and stuff. Anything he can find that catches his eye.”

“You’re right,” said the Head Man. “You’re absolutely right, Sam. You seem to know quite a lot about animals.”

“I like animals,” said Sam. “I love to watch them.”

“Then come with me and we’ll explore the Zoo,” said the Head Man, getting up from his chair. “I don’t feel like working anymore today. I’ll show you the Zoo.” And away they went, the two of them.

That night Sam slept in the Head Man’s office, by special permission. He unrolled his sleeping bag on the floor and crawled in. The plane taking him back home would leave in the morning. Sam’s head was full of everything he had seen in the Zoo. And before he turned out the light he took his notebook out of his rucksack and wrote a poem. This is what he wrote:

SAM BEAVER’S POEM

       Of all the places on land and sea,

       Philadelphia’s zoo is the place for me.

       There’s plenty to eat and a lot to do,

       There’s a Frigate Bird and a tiny Shrew;

       There’s a Vesper Rat and a Two-toed Sloth,

       And it’s fair to say that I like them both.

       There’s a Canada Goose and a Polar Bear

       And things that come from Everywhere.

       There are lots of things that you’ve never seen

       Like the Kinkajou and the Wolverine.

       You really have to go to the zoo

       To see a newborn Wallaroo

       Or a Fallow Deer or a White-tailed Gnu.

       There are wondrous birds on a beautiful lake,

       There’s a Timber Wolf and a Hognose Snake.

       There are animals with great appeal,

       Like the Hummingbird and the Harbor Seal.

       There are pony rides, there are birds of prey,

       And something happening every day.

       There are Wolves and Foxes, Hawks and Owls,

       And a great big pit where the Lion prowls.

       There are quiet pools and pleasant cages,

       Where Reptiles lie and the Tiger rages.

       The houses are clean, the keepers are kind,

       And one Baboon has a pink behind.

       The entire aim of a well-kept zoo

       Is to bring the animal world to You.

(signed) Sam Beaver

Sam left the poem on the Head Man’s desk.

Early the next morning, long before the Zoo people came to work, Sam left Philadelphia by plane. Louis and Serena went along with him to the airport. They wanted to wave good-bye. They also planned to leave Philadelphia, right then and there, and fly back to Montana. When the airport officials saw two big white birds out on the airstrip, they raised a terrible fuss. The men in the control tower sent warning messages to the pilots of incoming planes. Members of the ground crew came piling out of buildings and rushed toward Louis and Serena to chase them away. Sam was sitting by a window inside his plane, ready for takeoff, and he saw the whole thing.

Louis grabbed his trumpet.

“Off we go,” he played, “into the wild blue yonder!” The notes carried across the airport and startled everyone. “Ko-hoh! Ko-hoh!” called Louis. He put his trumpet away and started racing down the airstrip, with Serena racing after him. Just then, Sam’s plane started into the wind for the takeoff. The two swans flew alongside. They were in the air before the plane was, and flying fast. Sam waved from the window. Louis’s lifesaving medal gleamed in the morning sun. The plane rose and started to climb. Louis and Serena climbed fast, too.

“Good-bye, Philadelphia!” thought Louis. “Good-bye, Bird Lake! Good-bye, night-club!”

The plane, with its greater speed, gained on the swans. They began to drop behind. For a little while they headed west, following the plane. Then Louis motioned to Serena that he was going to change course. He banked to the left and swung toward the south.

“We’ll go home by the southern route and take our time about it,” he said to himself.

And that’s what they did. They flew south across Maryland and Virginia. They flew south across the Carolinas. They spent a night in Yemassee and saw huge oak trees with moss hanging from their branches. They visited the great swamps of Georgia and saw the alligator and listened to the mockingbird. They flew across Florida and spent a few days in a bayou where doves moaned in the cedars and little lizards crawled in the sun. They turned west into Louisiana. Then they turned north toward their home in Upper Red Rock Lake.

What a triumphant return it would be! When he left Montana, Louis had been penniless. Now he was rich. When he left, he had been unknown. Now he was famous. When he left, he had been alone in the world. Now he had his bride by his side—the swan that he loved. His medal was around his neck, his precious trumpet dangled in the breeze, his hard-earned money was in the bag. He had accomplished what he had set out to do. All in a few short months!

Freedom felt so wonderful! Love felt so good!