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

dogs. Now the way I figure it, this pig, he gets attached to this balloon, and he can’t bring himself to give it up. ‘Golcher?’ he says. ‘Who’s Golcher? He can’t ever catch me. Here I am up in the air, and I can go sailin’ on the rest of my life.’ He don’t know the gas’ll give out after a while, and he’ll come down and won’t be able to go up again because he don’t know how to get more gas. Bein’ a pig, he don’t realize these things—”
    â€œHe ain’t dumb,” said Mr. Bean shortly.
    â€œI know he ain’t,” said Mr. Golcher. “Not for a pig. But after all, he is only a pig—”
    â€œI say, he ain’t dumb,” repeated Mr. Bean firmly.
    â€œWell, suppose he does realize all those things,” said Mr. Golcher. “I don’t want to say more’n I can prove. But he did steal the balloon.”
    â€œHe ain’t a thief,” said Mr. Bean.
    Mr. Golcher didn’t say anything for a minute. Mr. Bean puffed on his pipe and looked out placidly across the fields.
    â€œWell,” said Mr. Golcher finally, “so he ain’t dumb and he ain’t a thief. But where’s my balloon?”
    When Mr. Bean didn’t know the answer to a question he kept still. He kept still now. Some people would have said they thought maybe it was this, or maybe it was that, but not Mr. Bean. For he knew what lots of people never learn: that no answer is better than the wrong one, and sometimes than the right one, too.
    â€œWell,” said Mr. Golcher, “you ain’t much help, and that’s a fact.”
    â€œWaitin’ for your proposition,” said Mr. Bean.
    â€œMy proposition?”
    â€œYou come here to see me. Must have a proposition to make. Well, make it.”
    Mr. Golcher looked at him sharply. “Well, now, he’s your pig,” he said, “and if I was to sue you for loss of business and the value of the balloon, you’d have to pay. Because any damage he causes is your responsibility.”
    Mr. Bean nodded. “Never denied it,” he said.
    â€œOh, well, then,” said Mr. Golcher, “there’s no reason why we can’t agree. There’s the balloon gone, and there’s five hundred dollars I was to get for the ascension at the circus tomorrow—”
    â€œTwo hundred,” said Mr. Bean.
    â€œEh?” said Mr. Golcher. “Why two hundred wouldn’t hardly cover the cost of—”
    â€œSave your breath,” interrupted Mr. Bean. “Two hundred was what Boomschmidt agreed on. Phoned him this morning to find out.”
    â€œOh, well,” said Mr. Golcher. “Let it go. Golcher wants to be fair. Golcher ain’t one to quibble over a dollar or two. Say two hundred for loss of business, and for the balloon—well, that’s kind of hard to figure. That there balloon—well, sir, that balloon’s more than just a balloon to Golcher. That’s a balloon, you say—just a bag full of gas. But not to Golcher. That balloon and me, we been together now for fifteen years. We—”
    â€œPretty near wore out then,” said Mr. Bean calmly.
    â€œWore out?” said Mr. Golcher. “No it ain’t wore out; it’s as good as the day it was first blown up.”
    â€œWe ain’t getting anywhere,” said Mr. Bean. He dug down in his pocket. “Here’s your two hundred. You lost that on account of my pig, and I’ll pay it.”
    â€œBut the balloon!”
    â€œI don’t buy any balloon,” said Mr. Bean. “Suppose your balloon comes back tomorrow? Then I have a balloon on my hands, and what do I do with it?”
    â€œDo with it? I guess, Mr. Bean,” said Mr. Golcher solemnly, “if you’d had any experience with balloons, you wouldn’t ask that question.”
    â€œShouldn’t have asked it anyway,” said Mr. Bean, and he got