The Story of Freginald by Walter R. Brooks Page B

all,” said Freginald. “Look.” And he pointed to where, across the street, a sign on a lunchroom window said: “The Biggest Hamburger Sandwich in Town.” “I think he made it up.”
    â€œHe’s a perfect stranger to me,” said the young lady indifferently. “Don’t many men come into a beauty shop, anyway. Now, what color would you like your nails?”
    Freginald said he guessed he wouldn’t have them tinted, and as the young lady had now finished with him, he walked in to take a look at Leo. The lion was lying back in the chair with his eyes closed. The hair of his mane was separated into little strands which were tied into a big metal contraption that hung over his head. Freginald told him about the man, but Leo hadn’t seen him.
    â€œI heard some man in the next booth,” he said. “He was having his hair waved and his mustache curled. Then he came back and whispered to the young lady not to tell you that was what he had come in here for. It did seem to me as if that voice was familiar, but I don’t know anybody by the name of Hamburger.”

    Freginald decided that he wouldn’t wait any longer for Leo, so he left the shop. Louise had gone when he got outside, and he started back for the circus. He was a little ashamed of his shiny nails, and as he walked along he tried to hide them, but a bear can’t draw his claws in, the way a cat can, and a good many people stopped to look at them and say: “My, my! You’re all shined up for the show tonight, Freginald.”
    But as he got out toward the edge of town, he met fewer people and he had more time to wonder about the man in the beauty shop. Why had he pretended to be a farmer and given a false name? And why hadn’t he wanted anyone to know that he was having his mustache curled? And then suddenly Freginald stopped short and forgot all about his nails. For all at once it came to him that this man must be the one that Madame Delphine had warned him against when she told his fortune. “Beware of a tall, dark man. With a long mustache. He brings trouble.” That was what she had said.
    Now Freginald was a pretty sensible bear, and he knew the best way to beware of anything was not to turn your back and run away from it. It was to find out all you could about it, and then you were prepared for the trouble when it came. So he turned around and went back to Main Street and then up Main Street to the schoolhouse, where he turned left into a little narrow lane.

    He didn’t really expect that he would find a man named Ezra Hamburger living up that lane, but he thought that there must be some reason why the man had given him such careful directions. So he walked along very slowly and very cautiously, keeping in the shelter of the trees and stone walls so that he could see without being seen. Once he met a squirrel and asked him if he knew anybody in the neighborhood named Hamburger. The squirrel said: “Naw, this road just goes to the deserted mill,” and then threw a last year’s hickory nut at him and yelled: “Shiny-toes! Sissy-toes!” after him until he was out of sight.
    The road got more and more overgrown and gloomy, and Freginald went more and more warily, stopping every few yards to listen. And pretty soon through the trees he saw a pond, and beside it a gray, tumbledown building that must be the mill. But he also saw something else. For at the edge of the pond was a circus wagon, which looked just like Mr. Boomschmidt’s wagons except that it had no name on it and was painted blue and gold instead of red and gold. A horse was tied to one wheel, and on a camp stool beside the door sat the man who had said his name was Hamburger. He was looking at himself in a hand mirror.
    Freginald crept as close as he dared, then lay down and watched. The man tried looking proud, then he tried looking fierce, and then he tried looking sarcastic. “Splendid,