Chapter 17

Now Freddy had exposed only two tricks so far, and had got back only twenty of his hundred and thirty dollars. But he was having an awfully good time. And yet as he stood and watched Zingo’s performance go to pieces, he couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for the magician. Zingo was a crook; he had stolen from Freddy and cheated and abused him; and yet Freddy had begun to feel that he wanted to help him.

Some people would think this was pretty weak of Freddy, and others would say that it was simply good sportsmanship not to jump on an enemy when he was down. You’ll have to decide that for yourself. Anyway, Freddy didn’t feel like that very long. When Zingo started for him with the sword Freddy ducked around behind the table, and pulled out the magician’s pistol. “Stop!” he shouted, “or I’ll shoot!”

Of course the pistol was empty, but Zingo didn’t know that. “Go ahead and shoot!” he said, but he stopped.

About the only way anybody could ever tell if Freddy was scared was when his tail came uncurled. When he was gay and on top of the world it was curled up as tight as a watch spring, but when he was depressed or frightened all the curl came right out of it. It was uncurled now. But nobody in the audience knew it because it was hidden by his coat. He said: “Stand right where you are, Signor Zingo. I’m going to hypnotize you.”

Zingo sneered. “Don’t make me laugh!” he said. “Pointing a loaded gun at anybody isn’t hypnotizing them!” He half turned towards the audience. “Hypnotism, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “is like mind-reading and escaping from locked trunks. It is only done by the most experienced and accomplished magicians. I may say that I am a skilled performer in all those branches of the black art. It is simply laughable to think that this stupid pig could know anything of such things.” He paused a moment, then he said: “I know that he is a neighbor of many of you; you feel a pardonable pride in the cleverness which, I am told, he has shown as a detective. I have no quarrel with that. But he should stick to his detective work, and not venture into a field of which he knows nothing. As a magician, ladies and gentlemen, I assure you that he is clumsy and stupid, and I propose to show him up once for all.” He turned to Freddy, and laying the sword on the table and folding his arms, said: “All right; go on and hypnotize me.”

Freddy hesitated. “I suppose you think I can’t!” he said.

Zingo grinned. “I know you can’t, my silly friend.”

But there was still something Freddy wanted to get from Zingo before he put the matter to a trial, so he pretended to be rather uncertain. “Well now,” he said hesitantly, “if you … that is, if I can make you feel pain in any part of your body I point at, will that convince you?”

“Sure, sure,” said the magician, becoming more and more confident. “That will certainly convince me. If you can do that, I’ll …”

“Will you hand me that fifty dollars you promised to give me for your hat?” Freddy said quickly.

Zingo hesitated, and his eyes narrowed. Then he grinned again, for he was certain that Freddy was bluffing. “Sure,” he said again. “Go ahead. You give me a pain in the neck anyway—let’s see if you can improve on it.”

“OK.,” said Freddy. “I’ll give you a real pain in the neck.” He made a few passes with his arms, and under his breath he whispered: “All right, Jacob. When I point, do your stuff.” Then he threw one arm out straight and pointed at Zingo. “You have a terrible pain in the back of your neck!” he shouted.

“You have a terrible pain in the back of your neck!” he shouted.

And immediately Zingo gave a loud yell, crouched down, and seized the back of his neck with both hands.

Only a few of Freddy’s friends in the audience had any idea what he was up to. The rest merely saw that they were witnessing a contest between two magicians, which was of course a great deal more exciting to watch than a regular magic performance, and they had sat spellbound. But when it was evident that Freddy really had given Zingo a pain just by pointing at him, they stood up and shouted and cheered. They hadn’t even seen Jacob.

Now Jacob was a friend of Freddy’s, a slim and elegant black and yellow wasp, who lived with his large family in a sort of apartment house made out of grey paper under the eaves of the cow barn. He and his two younger brothers, Eph and Fritz, had been hidden in the feathers of the war bonnet. They had sat around during the first part of the performance, polishing their stings, and giggling over what they would do to Zingo when Freddy said “Go!” When Freddy whispered, Jacob took off and circled up to gain height; and then when Freddy pointed, he dove. With all four wings humming he shot straight down so fast that none of the audience could have seen him even if they had been looking for him, and he drove his sting into Zingo’s neck just above the collar.

“That’s for the time you slapped me,” said Freddy.

But there were still two pinches to be avenged. He whispered: “Now, Eph!” made a few magic passes, and flung his arm out straight, pointing at the magician’s knee. Eph circled up, dove, and Zingo gave a second yell, louder than the first, and his hands, which had been clawing at the back of his neck, flew to his knee. He danced around the stage, now bending forward as he rubbed his knee, now backward as he grabbed at his neck. And Freddy pointed again and Fritz whirred down and stung him on the nose.

The third sting completed Zingo’s defeat. Yelling like a banshee he ran twice around the stage, flapping his arms and dodging further imaginary attack, his coat and vest, whose seams had now given out entirely under the strain, fluttering about him. Then he dashed behind the scenes. And Freddy came forward and said: “Ladies and gentlemen, do you agree with me that I won the fifty dollars fairly?”

A shout of “Yes! You won!” went up from the audience.

But Presto, who had followed his master back stage, came out and held up one paw for silence. Signor Zingo, he announced, had something to say; he would return in a moment.

It was more than a moment before Zingo reappeared, and the audience began to get restless. They whistled and imitated cats and dogs and then they began all stamping in unison and chanting: “Give—Freddy—his money! Give—Freddy—his money!” I think it was Judge Willey who started it.

But at last Zingo came out. He had covered the wreck of his coat with his long red-lined cape, and he had on his silk hat, and he looked very dignified and impressive except for his nose, which was now a good two sizes too large for his face. He said: “Ladies and gentlemen, I have been the victim of a cruel and malicious trick. I do not admit that I was hypnotized. I was stung by hornets. And to prove this, I will ask a committee of any three gentlemen to come up on the stage and examine my nose and the back of my neck. Now if you will come up, sir—” he pointed to Mr. Metacarpus—“and you—”

“Just a minute,” said Freddy. “This is all unnecessary. You all heard Signor Zingo say that he would be convinced that he had been hypnotized if I made him feel pain in the part of his body I pointed at. I submit, my friends, that I did just that. Therefore—”

“It was a trick!” said Zingo angrily.

“Everything you do on this stage is a trick.” Freddy retorted. “When you pick a bouquet of flowers out of the air it is a trick—you don’t really pick it out of the air. And so if I did not really hypnotize you—”

The stamping and the chant of “Pay—Freddy—his money!” began again and drowned out his words.

Freddy motioned for silence. “Thank you, my friends,” he said. “It is evident to you by this time, if you did not already know it, that there is a feud between Signor Zingo and me. Up to this evening Signor Zingo has had all the best of it. Those of you who were here a week ago tonight will remember that Signor Zingo won a hundred and thirty dollars from me by exposing and duplicating my tricks. Now I am not a professional magician, and I had no intention of making that offer of five dollars for each trick exposed. This rabbit, Presto, made the offer in my name, and though I had not authorized it, I felt I should stand by it.

“That was a trick which Signor Zingo played on me. By another trick he attempted to have me put in jail. Therefore, if I am playing malicious tricks on Signor Zingo tonight, I don’t believe there is anybody here who will blame me.

“This whole affair, ladies and gentlemen, is a contest in trickery. However I wish to be fair. I will make Signor Zingo a sporting proposition. You heard him say that he was a skilled mind reader. Therefore, instead of insisting on his paying me the fifty dollars which you, by your applause, have awarded to me, I will challenge him to a contest in mind reading. I will challenge him to put up, instead of fifty, a hundred dollars, and I will put up a like amount. And the one who in your estimation gives the best mind reading performance will take the money.”

Zingo had become wary, and would perhaps have refused, but he realized that in the present mood of the audience a refusal would mean the end of his career as a magician. If he backed down before an amateur magician, and a pig at that, nobody would ever hire him again. He laughed shortly. “I accept,” he said; “and if that pig can put on a mind-reading performance, I’ll eat my hat.” And he sent Presto out to the box office for the money.

Freddy, although he was really wealthy for a pig, had no such sum in his pockets. He went down the runway into the aisle and said: “Will anyone here lend me a hundred dollars for half an hour?” Zingo sniggered, but then he gasped, for almost at once handfuls of bills were reached towards Freddy from all directions.

Freddy was pretty pleased at such a response, but as he hesitated which handful to take, Mr. Bean got up from his seat in the front row and came out into the aisle. “You’re my pig,” he said gruffly. “You take my money, and nobody else’s.” And after digging down in a pocket which from the trouble he had must have been about two feet deep, he pulled out a huge roll of bills, peeled off five twenties, and stuffed them into Freddy’s pocket.

Then Mr. Weezer held the stakes and the mind-reading contest began.