Freddy the Pied Piper (6 page)

At that moment there came a tap on the door. Jinx, who knew that any cat, at any time, found in the middle of a bed was due for a licking, darted out of sight. Freddy pulled the shawl up higher over his ears and called: “Come in!” and the door opened and the clerk and the manager stood bowing and rubbing their hands on the threshold.

“Everything quite satisfactory, I hope ma'am?” said the manager.

“Thank you, my man,” said Freddy haughtily. “It will do well enough, I fancy.”

The manager bowed more humbly than ever. “I only wanted to suggest,” he said, “that it might be wise if you kept your beautiful and no doubt very valuable cat in your room during your stay. You see, ma'am, there have been a lot of complaints in town lately about cats yowling and carrying on at night. There seem to be dozens of ownerless cats in town—I'm sure I don't know where they all come from, though when the mill closed a good many people left town, and I suppose they didn't take their cats along. Wicked, I call it, to abandon their pets that way. But that's how it is, and the town has had to appoint a cat-catcher to round up these animals and take them down to the pound. Of course I can see that your cat is a very highbred specimen, and not to be compared with these noisy alley cats—”

“I should think so indeed!” Freddy interrupted. “And I can assure you I have no intention of allowing my cat to associate with such riffraff. And now will you kindly leave us?”

When the door had closed again, Jinx said: “You'd better not be so uppity. That guy will throw us out on our ears if you talk to him that way.”

“Don't you believe it,” said Freddy. “He thinks we're important people.”

“In that get up?” Jinx said. “Don't make me laugh. Take a look at yourself in the glass.”

“Look,” said Freddy. “We came in a big automobile with a chauffeur, and Mrs. Church came in with us all covered with jewelry. That's one reason why he thinks we're important. And another and better reason is because I'm wearing this torn dress and a threadbare old shawl. He thinks I must be even richer than Mrs. Church, because any friend of hers would have to be terrible rich to care so little what she looked like.” Then he laughed. “Why he even thought you were a highbred cat!”

“That isn't very funny,” said Jinx. “I'm just as well bred as you are, I guess. Huh! I guess—”

“Oh, shut up,” said Freddy good-naturedly. “We were both brought up by the Beans, and I guess nobody ever had any better bringing up than that. Look, Jinx, this business of all these stray cats gave me an idea. It's dark now, but it's only five o'clock. It's an hour or more before they'll bring our supper up to the room, the way Mrs. Church told them to. Do you suppose if you went out now you could get in touch with some of those cats? There's a porch under this window, and you could get out this way without going through the lobby.”

Jinx said he could all right but he wasn't going to, and closed his eyes. Freddy knew there was no use trying to persuade a cat to do anything. He said: “All right, you stay here and I'll go. It'll be more fun than sitting around.” And he put up the window.

“Oh, all right, all right; I'll go,” said Jinx, jumping off the bed. “What do you want me to tell 'em?”

“Round up as many as you can,” said Freddy, “and bring 'em back here. Don't tell them who I am—just say I'm an old lady who's fond of cats, and I want to invite them to supper. Don't let the clerk see you, and hurry up; you've only got an hour.”

“You mean you're going to feed them our good supper?” Jinx demanded. “Freddy, are you crazy?”

“Oh, don't argue!” said Freddy. “We've got to hurry. Get going, will you?” And he pushed the cat towards the window.

When Jinx had gone Freddy left the window up, although it made it pretty cold in the room, and then he arranged his shawl and went out. Mrs. Guffin's pet shop was on a side street, but he found it all right. Beside the front door was a big show window in which were five fox terrier puppies, and a lot of cages containing canaries. A sign said: Canaries. Your choice, 50¢. “That's pretty cheap for a canary,” Freddy thought. He went up the steps and into the shop. A little bell on the door tinkled and after a moment a large unpleasant looking woman with a lot of bright yellow hair came out of a back room and said: “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon,” said Freddy. “What have you got new in animals?”

“New?” said the woman. “We haven't a very large stock at present. Are you looking for something for yourself? Something nice in fox terriers, now? I have a few left that I'm closing out at twenty dollars. Or if they are a little too expensive—”

“Expense is no object,” said Freddy grandly. “I'm looking for a gift; something a little unusual.”

“A canary makes a nice gift,” said Mrs. Guffin. “Brightens up the home, I always think. I've priced these canaries at fifty cents for a quick turnover. Of course, at that price we don't guarantee them to be singers.”

“That wasn't just what I had in mind,” said Freddy. “This is a gift for a friend who runs a circus, and it ought to be something a little out of the ordinary. Say an anaconda. Or a leopard. You haven't a leopard, have you?”

Mrs. Guffin shook her head. “I haven't had a leopard in stock in I don't know when. And I never did handle snakes; there's not much call for them in Tallmanville.” She hesitated, looking at Freddy sharply. “I might,” she said slowly, “be able to get you something—something a little out of the ordinary run. It would be expensive—” Freddy waved aside the question of expense with one black-gloved trotter. “But if you are staying in town—”

“I shall be at the hotel for three days,” he said. “Mrs. Vandertwiggen.” That was the way Mrs. Church had signed for him in the hotel register—Mrs. J. Perkins Vandertwiggen and Cat.

“If you'll drop in tomorrow,” said Mrs. Guffin, “I think I'll have something to show you. I'd rather not say anything more about it now—until I'm sure—”

“That's all right,” said Freddy. He had been looking around, and his trained detective's eye had noticed several things that might have escaped an ordinary pig. He saw one thing in particular that told him just what he wanted to know. Mrs. Guffin wasn't a very good housekeeper and she hadn't swept the floor carefully. There were little heaps of fluff and dust in the corners of the room, and among them Freddy saw a number of long tawny hairs. They were too coarse to be human hair, and too curly to be horsehair. The only place Freddy had ever seen such hair was in Leo's mane, which was curlier than most lions' because Leo, every time the circus came to Centerboro, went into the beauty shop and got a permanent wave.

Another thing that Freddy had noticed was that one of the canaries in the big cage in the window kept winking at him. Every time he looked at the birds this one would squint up his left eye in an evident effort to attract his attention. He went over to the cage and said: “I think I'll take one of these canaries along.”

“Pick out the one you want,” said Mrs. Guffin. “Of course, you understand that at fifty cents I can't guarantee that he'll sing.”

“That doesn't matter,” said Freddy. With the black gloves which he wore to conceal the fact that Mrs. Vandertwiggen had trotters instead of hands, it was difficult to fish out a fifty cent piece from the pocket of his skirt, but he managed it finally and laid the coin down on the table. Mrs. Guffin was catching the bird he had pointed out and didn't notice.

She said: “You'll want a cage for him. We have a nice one at three dollars.”

“I have a cage at home,” Freddy said. “Just slip him into my pocket.”

Freddy didn't have a chance to talk to the canary for some time. He couldn't talk to him on the street, when the bird was in his skirt pocket, and when he got back to his hotel there wasn't much chance either, for his room was full of cats. There were cats all over the bed, and on the dresser, and in the chairs. There were fourteen of them—big ones and little ones, black, grey, tabby and tortoiseshell; and the only thing they all had in common was thinness. They all looked half starved.

“My goodness!” said Freddy.

“Yeah,” said Jinx disgustedly. “Well, here they are, and a pretty moth-eaten crew, if you ask me.”

Several of the cats snarled angrily, and a big grey cat said: “Oh, is that so?” and crouched with his ears back as if about to spring at Jinx. But Jinx darted forward and gave him three swift cuffs—left, right, left—on the nose, and the grey cat backed off. Then Jinx walked around and distributed a few cuffs among the snarlers, who, as he knew perfectly well, were too weak to put up a fight. “You cats,” he said, “will kindly remember that you are guests of Mrs. Vandertwiggen (smack) and we expect that you will behave (smack) like gentlemen. If you do (smack) we are delighted to have you with us, but if you don't (smack, smack) I personally will bat your ears down and heave you out the window.”

“
We expect that you will behave (smack) like gentlemen.
”

The guests quieted down after this, and then Freddy addressed them. “My friends,” he said, “I have asked you to dinner, and if you will be patient for a little longer the meal will be served. In the meantime I would like to say that I am in a position to provide those of you who are hungry and homeless with good places to live.” And he explained about the mouse problem and the shortage of cats in Centerboro. “And now,” he said, “will those of you who would like to go to Centerboro and be placed in good homes kindly raise the right paw?”

All the cats wanted to go, and Freddy was about to give them further instructions when there was a tap on the door. “Quick—under the bed, all of you!” he said. And when the door opened and a waiter appeared with a big tray of dishes, not a cat was in sight.

The tray had on it a large chicken dinner for Freddy and a big pitcher of milk and a bowl for Jinx. As soon as the waiter had set it on the table and gone, Freddy divided up the chicken and gave each cat a piece, and then Jinx let them take turns drinking out of the milk pitcher. While this was going on Freddy reached into his pocket and brought out the canary. The bird perched on the edge of the table and shook himself.

“About time you let me out of that place,” he said crossly. Then he caught sight of all the cats. “Oh—oh!” he said. “This is no place for me.” And he dove back into the pocket.

But Freddy pulled him out again. “You'll be all right,” he said. “Fly up there on the curtain rod over the window.”

Twenty-eight cats' eyes followed the bird as he flew up and perched on the curtain rod. Thirty, if you count Jinx's. The grey cat said: “Aha! Dessert, hey? He'll top off the meal nicely.” And he and two other cats started climbing right up the curtains.

But Jinx pulled them down. “I'm warning you guys,” he said. “Any more rough stuff and you'll go out of here on your backs with your four feet in the air. You let that canary alone.”

The bird leaned down and looked at Jinx out of his left eye. “Who's a canary?” he demanded. “I'm a chickadee; any fool can see that.”

“Well, I guess I'm not a fool then,” said Jinx with a grin, “because you look like a canary to me.”

The bird fluffed up his feathers and hopped up and down angrily on the rod. “I'm
not
a canary!” he shouted—at least it would have been a shout if he had had a bigger voice; as it was, it was more a sort of buzz. He flew down to the top of the dresser. “I'm a chickadee,” he repeated. “I'm dyed.”

“You're what?”

“Say, are you dumb!” said the bird. “Mrs. Guffin has been dyeing us.”

Jinx still didn't get it. He gave a loud laugh. “Dyeing you, hey? Well, you're killing
me
, so that's—” He stopped suddenly. “Dyeing you,” he said thoughtfully. “Say, Freddy, do you hear that?”

“Yes. I thought it might be something like that,” Freddy said. “That's why I bought him. You mean,” he said to the bird, “that she's dipped you in dye?”

“Sure. She catches chickadees and tintexes 'em yellow and sells 'em as canaries at fifty cents apiece. That's why she won't guarantee that her canaries sing. We can't sing.”

“How does she catch you?” Freddy asked.

“At her kitchen window. She keeps a chunk of suet on the sill, and when a few birds gather to eat it, she scoops 'em into the house.”

The grey cat said: “She isn't the one that scoops 'em in. There's some kind of a big animal in there—”

“You're telling me!” the chickadee interrupted. “She's got a lion in there, chained up. He watches for the birds and grabs 'em. Fine business for a lion to be in, I must say! Picking on a lot of chickadees! Why don't he go out after ostriches? Why don't he tackle tigers and elephants? King of the beasts, he calls himself. Pretty cheap, if you ask me.”