Freddy and the Perilous Adventure by Walter R. Brooks Page A

because he likes to play checkers. He’s good at it, too. Well, he just got back in time for his act, and he told me before he went on that the police got a complaint from a farmer that his scarecrow’s clothes had been stolen.”
    â€œOh,” said Freddy. “So they’ll be looking for somebody in those clothes?”
    â€œWorse than that. Wes and Bill remembered that they’d seen clothes like that twice, and they put two and two together and decided that the scarecrow and the mouse trainer were the same person, and that they were probably a pig named Freddy who stole a balloon. Because, they said, why look for two thieves when one will do?”
    â€œOh, golly,” said Freddy wearily. “I ought to beat it right now, but I can’t go with a disguise and I certainly can’t go without one. If I could get to that balloon, I guess I’d just like to sail off into the sky and never be heard of again.”
    â€œWell, dye my hair!” exclaimed Leo perplexedly. “I never thought to hear you give up as easy as that. Just because the cops are beginning to close in on you. A pig that’s done what you’ve done and seen what you’ve seen. Why, you haven’t even begun to fight, Freddy.”
    â€œEh?” said Freddy. “Maybe you’re right.” He frowned. At first his frown was thoughtful, but gradually it grew fierce. “You are right!” he said, and began stripping off the scarecrow’s clothes. “I’m not licked yet—not by a long shot. I’m going out there, just like this, a pig and proud of it, and let ’em come take me if they can! Just let ’em try it! Just—”
    â€œHey, hold on,” said the lion; “you can’t fight the whole police force. You certainly do change quick.”
    â€œI expect it’s my poetic temperament,” said Freddy, “always flying from one extreme to the other. But I suppose you’re right. Fighting’s no good; we’ve got to use guile.”
    â€œIs that some kind of disguise?” inquired the lion.
    Freddy was about to explain, when there was a tap at the door. Leo motioned him to stay out of sight, and opened the door a crack. “Oh, it’s only you, Abdullah,” and he opened the door wider. “Come in.”
    The man who came in was very dark, and he had a big turban on his head and wore a white robe. He was one of the elephant drivers, and his name was really Ed Peabody, but he was called Abdullah and dressed like an East Indian because he had to ride on the head of Hannibal, the biggest elephant, in the parade.
    â€œWhy aren’t you with Hannibal?” asked Leo. “The elephant act will go on in a few minutes.”
    â€œI came over to tell the boss,” said Abdullah. “I can’t go on with ’em tonight. I feel all sort of sick and dizzy.”
    â€œYou’ve been eating Hannibal’s peanuts again,” said Leo.
    â€œWell, I can’t help it,” said Abdullah. “The kids give ’em to him, and you know Mr. Boomschmidt says they aren’t good for him and I mustn’t let him eat them. And my old mother always said: Never throw away good food. So—”
    â€œAll right, all right,” said Leo. “Tell that to the chief, not to me. But somebody’s got to ride Hannibal … Hey, wait a minute!” he exclaimed. “This will fix the whole thing. Give your turban and robe to Freddy, Abdullah. He’ll take your place. Look, Freddy: if there’s once place the cops won’t expect to find you, it’s on top of an elephant. Then when the show’s over, and it’s dark, you can go with Hannibal and Louise for the balloon.” He looked sharply at the pig. “Only we’ll have to put something on your face to darken it. Gracious, I never realized how blonde pigs were. I’ll touch you up with some of Bill Wonks’ hair dye, that he