Free Freddy and the Flying Saucer Plans by Walter R. Brooks Page A

Mike, your old pal. Lemme in, will you?”
    Mike wouldn’t lynch him, he thought. They had been comrades in some pretty dangerous adventures. So he unlocked the door.
    The burglar came in and sat down. “Well,” he said, “what’s all this about you selling Ben Bean’s saucer plans to some foreign spies?”
    â€œThe boys kind of mad about it?” Freddy asked.
    â€œI’ll say. They’re talking pretty tough. I agreed with ’em—didn’t want to get in wrong with the gang. But you know me, Freddy—I wouldn’t do nothing against you no matter what you done. I thought I ought to come up and tell you to keep your door locked tonight.”
    â€œI was going to do that anyway,” Freddy said.
    â€œYeah, well you got to watch out. Us criminals are a pretty patriotic lot of men. I expect because we’re kind of easygoing in some respects, we’re pretty severe in others. We have to draw the line somewhere. We’ll rob and steal, but we won’t have any truck with the enemies of our country. But you ain’t really doing that, are you, Freddy?”
    â€œNo, I’m not,” said the pig. “But I can’t tell you what I really am trying to do. All I can say is, if I pull it off, Uncle Ben will be pleased. But don’t tell the others.”
    â€œThat’s enough for me,” Mike said. “And I won’t tell anyone. Anyway they wouldn’t believe me. But I’ll try to calm ’em down.”
    â€œWhat were—what were they going to do?” Freddy asked.
    â€œWell, there was some talk of tar and feathers and riding you out of town on a rail. But of course they couldn’t ride you out of town, because you’re in jail. And it wouldn’t be very pleasant to have you around the jail all covered with tar and feathers. I don’t know what they may have decided on in its place. Maybe I’d better go down and try to calm ’em down a little. Keep your chin up, Freddy. I’ll stand by you.”
    After Mike had left, Freddy was pretty worried. Feeling among the prisoners was evidently running high against him. He had relocked the door and pushed a heavy dresser against it, and was sitting by the iron-barred window, looking out disconsolately into the night, when again there came a tap at the door.
    â€œFreddy—are you there?”
    Again he listened, and hearing no rustles or suppressed whispers, opened the door. Louie the Lug darted in.
    â€œHey, Freddy,” he said, “you gotta watch the old step. Dese guys is out to gnaw your bones if dey can get at you. Lookit, Freddy, if youse want to get ert o’ here, just gimme de woid, see? I’ll stand by ya.”
    â€œYou mean you don’t want to tar and feather me for selling secrets to foreign agents?”
    â€œYou hoid about dat, huh? Nah, we been pals, Freddy. I know you; you ain’t no traitor. I figure you got a good reason for what you done; you wouldn’t do nothin’ to hoit your country.”
    â€œGee, I’m glad you feel that way, Louie,” said Freddy. “I wish the others did. Maybe some of ’em do. How about Bloody Mike?”
    â€œMike? Nah, he’s one o’ de woist ones. Said if he had his way, he’d berl ya in erl. He’s de one wanted to tar and feather ya. Well, I better beat it. Remember, Freddy, I’m next door to ya on dis floor. If you want me, bang t’ree times on de wall.” And he slid out.
    â€œWell, I’ve got two friends here, anyway,” Freddy said to himself. “I guess I have. Gee whiz, I wish Mike hadn’t been the one to think up tar and feathers. And boiling in oil!” He shuddered.
    And again somebody tapped on the door.
    This time it was Dirty Joe, the cook. He wasn’t really dirty at all; the sheriff wouldn’t have let him cook if he had been. The other prisoners called him that as a joke. When a new prisoner joined