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Richard R. Grant
ePub
A4Chapter 16: Off To The Fair
T
he night before the County Fair,everybody went to bed early. Fern and
Avery were in bed by eight. Avery lay
dreaming that the Ferris wheel had
stopped and that he was in the top car.
Fern lay dreaming that she was
getting sick in the swings.
Lurvy was in bed by eight-thirty.
He lay dreaming that he was throwing
baseballs at a cloth cat and winning a
genuine Navajo blanket. Mr. and Mrs.
Zuckerman were in bed by nine. Mrs.
Zuckerman lay dreaming about a deep
freeze unit. Mr. Zuckerman lay dreaming
about Wilbur. He dreamt that Wilbur had
grown until he was one hundred and
sixteen feet long and ninety-two feet high
and that he had won all the prizes at the
Fair and was covered with blue ribbons
and even had a blue ribbon tied to the
end of his tail.
Down in the barn cellar, the
animals, too, went to sleep early, all
except Charlotte. Tomorrow would be
Fair Day. Every creature planned to get
up early to see Wilbur off on his great
adventure.
When morning came, everybody got
up at daylight. The day was hot. Up the
road at the Arables' house, Fern lugged a
pail of hot water to her room and took a
sponge bath. Then she put on her
prettiest dress because she knew she
would see boys at the Fair. Mrs. Arable
scrubbed the back of Avery's neck, and
wet his hair, and parted it, and brushed it
down hard till it stuck to the top of his
head - all but about six hairs that stood
straight up. Avery put on clean
underwear, clean blue jeans, and a clean
shirt. Mr. Arable dressed, ate breakfast,
and then went out and polished his truck.
He had offered to drive everybody to the
Fair, including Wilbur.
Bright and early, Lurvy put clean
straw in Wilbur's crate and lifted it into
the pigpen. The crate was green. In gold
letters it said:
ZUCKERMAN'S FAMOUS PIG
Charlotte had her web looking fine
for the occasion. Wilbur ate his
breakfast slowly. He tried to look
radiant without getting food in his ears.
In the kitchen, Mrs. Zuckerman
suddenly made an announcement.
"Homer," she said to her husband,
"I am going to give that pig a buttermilk
(liquid remaining after butter has been
separated from milk) bath."
"A what?" said Mr. Zuckerman.
"A buttermilk bath. My grandmother
used to bathe her pig with buttermilk
when it got dirty I just remembered."
"Wilbur's not dirty," said Mr.
Zuckerman proudly.
"He's filthy behind the ears," said
Mrs. Zuckerman. "Every time Lurvy
slops him, the food runs down around
the ears. Then it dries and forms a crust.
He also has a smudge on one side where
he lays in the manure."
"He lays in clean straw," corrected
Mr. Zuckerman.
"Well, he's dirty, and he's going to
have a bath."
Mr. Zuckerman sat down weakly
and ate a doughnut. His wife went to the
woodshed. When she returned, she wore
rubber boots and an old raincoat, and
she carried a bucket of buttermilk and a
small wooden paddle.
"Edith, you're crazy," mumbled
Zuckerman.
But she paid no attention to him.
Together they walked to the pigpen. Mrs.
Zuckerman wasted no time. She climbed
in with Wilbur and went to work.
Dipping her paddle in the buttermilk, she
rubbed him all over. The geese gathered
around to see the fun, and so did the
sheep and lambs. Even Templeton poked
his head out cautiously, to watch Wilbur
get a buttermilk bath. Charlotte got so
interested, she lowered herself on a
dragline so she could see better. Wilbur
stood still and closed his eyes. He could
feel the buttermilk trickling down his
sides. He opened his mouth and some
buttermilk ran in. It was delicious. He
felt radiant and happy. When Mrs.
Zuckerman got through and rubbed him
dry, he was the cleanest, prettiest pig
you ever saw. He was pure white, pink
around the ears and snout, and smooth as
silk.
The Zuckermans went up to change
into their best clothes. Lurvy went to
shave and put on his plaid shirt and his
purple necktie. The animals were left to
themselves in the barn.
The seven goslings paraded round
and round their mother.
"Please, please, please take us to
the Fair!" begged a gosling. Then all
seven began teasing to go.
"Please, please, please, please,
please, please..." They made quite a
racket.
"Children!" snapped the goose.
"We're staying quietly-ietly-ietly at
home. Only Wilbur-ilbur-ilbur is going
to the Fair."
Just then Charlotte interrupted.
"I shall go, too," she said, softly. "I
have decided to go with Wilbur.
He may need me. We can't tell what
may happen at the Fair Grounds.
Somebody's got to go along who knows
how to write. And I think Templeton
better come, too - I might need
somebody to run errands and do general
work."
"I'm staying right here," grumbled
the rat. "I haven't the slightest interest in
fairs."
"That's because you've never been
to one," remarked the old sheep. "A fair
is a rat's paradise. Everybody spills
food at a fair. A rat can creep out late at
night and have a feast. In the horse barn
you will find oats that the trotters and
pacers have spilled. In the trampled
grass of the infield you will find old
discarded lunch boxes containing the
foul remains of peanut butter
sandwiches, hard-boiled eggs, cracker
crumbs, bits of doughnuts, and particles
of cheese. In the hard-packed dirt of the
midway, after the glaring lights are out
and the people have gone home to bed,
you will find a veritable treasure of
popcorn fragments, frozen custard
dribblings, candied apples abandoned
by tired children, sugar fluff crystals,
salted almonds, popsicles, partially
gnawed ice cream cones, and the
wooden sticks of lollypops. Everywhere
is loot for a rat - in tents, in booths, in
hay lofts - why, a fair has enough
disgusting leftover food to satisfy a
whole army of rats."
Templeton's eyes were blazing. "Is
this true?" he asked. "Is this appetizing
yarn of yours true? I like high living, and
what you say tempts me."
"It is true," said the old sheep. "Go
to the Fair, Templeton. You will find that
the conditions at a fair will surpass your
wildest dreams.
Buckets with sour mash sticking to
them, tin cans containing particles of
tuna fish, greasy paper bags stuffed with
rotten..."
"That's enough!" cried Templeton.
"Don't tell me any more. I'm going."
"Good," said Charlotte, winking at
the old sheep. "Now then - there is no
time to be lost. Wilbur will soon be put
into the crate. Templeton and I must get
in the crate right now and hide
ourselves."
The rat didn't waste a minute. He
scampered over to the crate, crawled
between the slats, and pulled straw up
over him so he was hidden from sight.
"All right," said Charlotte, "I'm
next." She sailed into the air, let out a
dragline, and dropped gently to the
ground. Then she climbed the side of the
crate and hid herself inside a knothole
(hole in a piece of lumber where a knot
once was) in the top board.
The old sheep nodded. "What a
cargo!" she said. "That sign ought to say
'Zuckerman's Famous Pig and Two
Stowaways'."
"Look out, the people are comingoming-
oming!" shouted the gander.
"Cheese stop (Slang) it, cheese it,
cheese it!"
The big truck with Mr. Arable at
the wheel backed slowly down toward
the barnyard. Lurvy and Mr. Zuckerman
walked alongside. Fern and Avery were
standing in the body of the truck hanging
on to the sideboards.
"Listen to me," whispered the old
sheep to Wilbur. "When they open the
crate and try to put you in, struggle!
Don't go without a tussle. Pigs always
resist when they are being loaded."
"If I struggle I'll get dirty," said
Wilbur.
"Never mind that - do as I say!
Struggle! If you were to walk into the
crate without resisting, Zuckerman might
think you were bewitched. He'd be
scared to go to the Fair."
Templeton poked his head up
through the straw. "Struggle if you must,"
said he, "but kindly remember that I'm
hiding down here in this crate and I don't
want to be stepped on, or kicked in the
face, or pummeled, or crushed in any
way, or squashed, or buffeted about, or
bruised, or lacerated, or scarred, or
biffed (hit, strike). Just watch what
you're doing, Mr. Radiant, when they get
shoving you in!"
"Be quiet, Templeton!" said the
sheep. "Pull in your head they're coming.
Look radiant, Wilbur! Lay low,
Charlotte! Talk it up, geese!"
The truck backed slowly to the
pigpen and stopped. Mr. Arable cut the
motor, got out, walked around to the
rear, and lowered the tailgate. The geese
cheered. Mrs. Arable got out of the
truck. Fern and Avery jumped to the
ground. Mrs. Zuckerman came walking
down from the house. Everybody lined
up at the fence and stood for a moment
admiring Wilbur and the beautiful green
crate. Nobody realized that the crate
already contained a rat and a spider.
"That's some pig!" said Mrs.
Arable.
"He's terrific," said Lurvy.
"He's very radiant," said Fern,
remembering the day he was born.
"Well," said Mrs. Zuckerman, "he's
clean, anyway. The buttermilk certainly
helped."
Mr. Arable studied Wilbur
carefully. "Yes, he's a wonderful pig," he
said. "It's hard to believe that he was the
runt of the litter. You'll get some extra
good ham and bacon, Homer, when it
comes time to kill that pig."
Wilbur heard these words and his
heart almost stopped. "I think I'm going
to faint," he whispered to the old sheep,
who was watching.
"Kneel down!" whispered the old
sheep. "Let the blood rush to your head!"
Wilbur sank to his knees, all
radiance gone. His eyes closed.
"Look!" screamed Fern. "He's
fading away!"
"Hey, watch me!" yelled Avery,
crawling on all fours into the crate.
"I'm a pig! I'm a pig!"
Avery's foot touched Templeton
under the straw. "What a mess!" thought
the rat. "What fantastic creatures boys
are! Why did I let myself in for this?"
The geese saw Avery in the crate
and cheered.
"Avery, you get out of that crate this
instant!" commanded his mother. "What
do you think you are?"
"I'm a pig!" cried Avery, tossing
handfuls of straw into the air. "Oink,
oink, oink!"
"The truck is rolling away, Papa,"
said Fern.
The truck, with no one at the wheel,
had started to roll downhill. Mr. Arable
dashed to the driver's seat and pulled on
the emergency brake. The truck stopped.
The geese cheered. Charlotte crouched
and made herself as small as possible in
the knothole, so Avery wouldn't see her.
"Come out at once!" cried Mrs.
Arable. Avery crawled out of the crate
on hands and knees, making faces at
Wilbur. Wilbur fainted away.
"The pig has passed out," said Mrs.
Zuckerman. "Throw water on him!"
"Throw buttermilk!" suggested
Avery.
The geese cheered.
Lurvy ran for a pail of water. Fern
climbed into the pen and knelt by
Wilbur's side.
"It's sunstroke," said Zuckerman.
"The heat is too much for him."
"Maybe he's dead," said Avery.
"Come out of that pigpen
immediately!" cried Mrs. Arable. Avery
obeyed his mother and climbed into the
back of the truck so he could see better.
Lurvy returned with cold water and
dashed it on Wilbur.
"Throw some on me!" cried Avery.
"I'm hot, too."
"Oh, keep quiet!" hollered Fern.
"Keep qui-et!" Her eyes were brimming
with tears.
Wilbur, feeling the cold water,
came to. He rose slowly to his feet,
while the geese cheered.
"He's up!" said Mr. Arable. "I
guess there's nothing wrong with him."
"I'm hungry," said Avery. "I want a
candied apple."
"Wilbur's all right now," said Fern.
"We can start. I want to take a ride in the
Ferris wheel."
Mr. Zuckerman and Mr. Arable and
Lurvy grabbed the pig and pushed him
headfirst toward the crate. Wilbur began
to struggle.
The harder the men pushed, the
harder he held back. Avery jumped
down and joined the men. Wilbur kicked
and thrashed and grunted.
"Nothing wrong with this pig," said
Mr. Zuckerman cheerfully, pressing his
knee against Wilbur's behind. "All
together, now, boys! Shove!"
With a final heave they jammed him
into the crate. The geese cheered. Lurvy
nailed some boards across the end, so
Wilbur couldn't back out. Then, using all
their strength, the men picked up the
crate and heaved it aboard the truck.
They did not know that under the straw
was a rat, and inside a knothole was a
big grey spider. They saw only a pig.
"Everybody in!" called Mr. Arable.
He started the motor. The ladies climbed
in beside him. Mr. Zuckerman and Lurvy
and Fern and Avery rode in back,
hanging onto the sideboards. The truck
began to move ahead. The geese
cheered. The children answered their
cheer, and away went everybody to the
Fair.
