Freddy Goes Camping by Walter R. Brooks

Author:Walter R. Brooks
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Overlook Press

Chapter 12

Mr. Anderson’s office was in his house, on Clinton Street. Georgie hid behind a bush with yellow flowers on it in the yard, and Freddy went up and rang the bell. When no one answered, he pushed the door open and walked in. The office was on the left. A sign on its door said: “Back at 3 P.M.” Freddy said: “Well, well,” thoughtfully, and a woman came out of a door at the end of the hall and said: “You want to see Mr. Anderson? He’s taking his nap now and can’t be disturbed. Come back at three.”

“Nonsense!” said Freddy sharply. “I’m Dr. Hopper. Where’s the patient?”

The woman said: “There’s nobody sick here.”

“If he isn’t sick, why did he send for me? And why isn’t he in his office?” said Freddy.

“He takes a nap every afternoon after dinner, that’s why. You ought to know that.”

“I’m a doctor, not a mind reader,” said Freddy. And he thought: “Takes a nap every day, eh? Sounds like Mr. Eha. If he’s up all night haunting a hotel, he has to get his rest some time.” He said to the woman: “Upstairs, is he? I’ll go right up.”

“Well,” she said doubtfully, “if he sent for you …,” and turned away.

One door in the upper hall was closed; Freddy rapped lightly and then walked in. The window shades were down. Mr. Anderson was lying on the bed, fully dressed, but he wasn’t asleep, and he turned a scowling red face towards the intruder, and then sat up.

“Hey, who are you? How’d you get in here?”

“I’m Dr. Hopper,” said Freddy. “Now, take it easy; I came as soon as I could get here. Ha, you do look bad! But don’t worry; we’ll have you on your feet in a week or two, or my name’s not Henry Hopper.” He put his bag down on the table.

Mr. Anderson swung his feet off the bed. “Are you crazy?” he shouted. “I’m not sick, I didn’t send for you. Get out! Get out!”

“Stick the tongue out a little farther, please,” said Freddy, peering into the man’s mouth as he roared at him. “Ha, thought so! Acute frustration of the gulper, with flushed face, bloodshot eyes …”

“My eyes are not bloodshot!” roared Mr. Anderson. “Stop talking nonsense and get out of my room. I didn’t send for a doctor. There’s nothing the matter with me.”

Freddy stood back. “Ha! Certainly I’ll go,” he said in an offended tone. “Never treat a patient against his will. But let me tell you, sir, you’re a very sick man. Whether you think so or not, whether you sent for me or not, you’re a ve-ry sick man! See here, sir; can you honestly tell me that you haven’t any pain in the legs, any backache, any soreness in the joints?”

Freddy knew that if this was Mr. Eha, he would certainly be pretty lame from the wrestling match he had had with Mr. Camphor and Bannister. And he saw that his words had hit the mark.

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