Freddy and the Flying Saucer Plans Read Online Free Page B

the neat little beard who had been down by the bank. He turned as Freddy appeared.
    â€œWell, boy, what are you doing here?” he asked.
    He still thinks I’m a kid playing cowboy, Freddy thought. Well, maybe that’s a good disguise. And he said: “Oh, they let me play up here. But what are you doing here, mister?” He pulled out the water pistol. “Mr. Bean says for you to come down.”
    The man smiled a tight little smile. “Dear me,” he said, “I suppose I should have explained to the estimable Bean, but there was such a crowd down there … You see, I’m a friend of Benjamin’s—Mr. Benjamin Bean, that is. He asked me when I was coming by to stop and pick up some papers from his workshop. I think these are the ones, so I’ll just take them along.”
    â€œNo, you’ll put them down or I’ll shoot you,” said Freddy.
    â€œMy dear little boy,” said the man, rolling up the papers to stuff them in his pocket, “you must mind your manners. My friend Benjamin will be very cross with me if I stop here and let a little boy with a water pistol keep me from doing his errand. And he will be even crosser with you. Now just let me by.”
    Freddy didn’t know what the papers were. They couldn’t be important or Uncle Ben wouldn’t have left them on the bench. But this man was no friend. Probably nobody had called Uncle Ben Benjamin since the day he was baptized; the Beans and the animals called him Uncle Ben, and his friends called him Ben. So Freddy said: “Put the papers down,” and pointed the gun and just touched the trigger so that a few drops of perfume sprinkled the man’s necktie.
    He started back and wrinkled up his nose. “Phew! What have you got in that thing? Don’t do that again, boy.”
    Freddy kept the pistol pointed: “There’s half a cup full in here. Put ’em down.”
    Slowly the man put the papers on the bench, but as his fingers released them he whirled and made a grab for the pig. But Freddy side-stepped and squeezed the trigger hard. A stream of perfume shot straight into the spy’s face.
    A stream of perfume shot straight into the spy’s face.
    He gave a yell and fell back against the bench, fumbling for a handkerchief to dab at his eyes, which were badly stung by the perfume. “You wretched child,” he moaned, “you’ve blinded me.”
    â€œOh, no,” Freddy said. “It’ll wear off. But you’ll smell nice for a while.”
    The man stumbled off down the stairs; after a minute Freddy heard a car start up and drive away.
    Downstairs in his stall Hank, the old white horse, was munching thoughtfully on a mouthful of hay. He looked over his shoulder at the pig. “What’s all the rumpus?” he said. “And who was that man that came down from the loft just ahead of you? My, he smelled nice!”
    â€œYou mean, you like that perfume?” Freddy asked incredulously. “Good gracious, I think it’s awful. I keep it in my water pistol for protection. I just sprayed that man with it to get rid of him. I wonder where he lives; I bet his wife won’t let him in the house.”
    â€œWell, I dunno,” said Hank. “Of course I never use perfumery myself. But if I went out in society more, I should think just a drop or two on my handkerchief … Only of course I don’t carry a handkerchief. Is there any left in that water pistol? Could you put just a smidgin on the corner of the manger here?”
    So Freddy did. But he shook his head doubtfully. “I don’t know what Mr. Bean is going to say,” he said. “Won’t surprise me if he throws you out and has the barn fumigated.”
    â€œHe fumigates it every day with that pipe of his,” said Hank. “And I don’t think he’ll notice the perfumery. I don’t believe he’s got any sense of smell left after smoking