Green Meadow Stories, Thornton W. Burgess [read people like a book .txt] 📗

I must admit I have a fine coat. Perhaps I do look very fine, but if you could see under this red coat of mine, you would find mighty little meat on my ribs. To be quite honest, I am not feeling half as fine as I look. You lucky fellows who can fly and don’t have to think about distances may be able to live well these days, but as for me, I’ve forgotten when last I had a good meal.” XXVI Red Wits and Black Wits

This fact you’ll find is always so:
He’s quick of wit who fools a Crow.

Bowser the Hound

There is no greater flatterer in the Green Forest or on the Green Meadows than Blacky the Crow when he hopes to gain something thereby. His tongue is so smooth that it is a wonder it does not drip oil. He is crafty, is Blacky. But these same things are true of Reddy Fox. No one ever yet had a chance to accuse Reddy Fox of lacking in sharp wits. Mistakes he makes, as everybody does, but Reddy’s wits are always keen and active.

Now Reddy knew perfectly well that Blacky wanted something of him, and this was why he was saying such pleasant things. Blacky the Crow knew that Reddy knew this thing, and that if he would make use of Reddy as he hoped to, he must contrive to keep Reddy wholly in the dark as to what he wanted done.

So as they sat there, Reddy Fox on the snow with his tail curled around his feet to keep them warm, and Blacky the Crow in the top of a little tree above Reddy’s head, they were playing a sort of game. It was red wits against black wits. Reddy was trying to outguess Blacky, and Blacky was trying to outguess Reddy, and both were enjoying it. People with sharp wits always enjoy matching their wits against other sharp wits.

When Reddy Fox said that in spite of his fine appearance he had forgotten when last he had had a good meal, Blacky pretended to think he was joking. “You surprise me,” said he. “Whatever is the matter with my good friend Reddy, that he goes hungry when he no longer has anything to fear from Bowser the Hound. By the way, I saw Bowser the other day.”

At this, just for an instant, Reddy’s eyes flew wide open. Then they half closed again until they were just two yellow slits. But quickly as he closed them, Blacky had seen that startled surprise. “Yes,” said Blacky, “I saw Bowser the other day, or at least someone who looked just like him. Wouldn’t you like to have him back here, Reddy?”

“Most decidedly no,” replied Reddy with great promptness. “A dog is a nuisance. He isn’t of any use in the wide, wide world.”

“Not even to drive off Old Man Coyote?” asked Blacky slyly, for he knew that more than once Bowser the Hound had helped Reddy out of trouble with Old Man Coyote.

Reddy pretended not to hear this. “I don’t believe you saw Bowser,” said he. “I don’t believe anybody will ever see Bowser again. I hope not, anyway.” And Blacky knew by the way Reddy said this that it would be quite useless to ask Reddy to help get Bowser home.

XXVII The Artfulness of Blacky

Who runs in circles never gets far.

Bowser the Hound

To be artful is to be very clever. It is to do things in a way so clever that people will not see what you are really doing. No one can be more artful than Blacky the Crow when he sets out to be.

Blacky was smart enough not to let Reddy know that he was seeking Reddy’s help for Bowser. He soon found out that Reddy would not knowingly help the least little bit, so he decided at once that the only thing for him to do was to get Reddy to help unsuspectingly. He changed the subject very abruptly.

“How are the chickens at Farmer Brown’s?” inquired he.

Reddy looked up and grinned. “They seem to be in just as good health as ever,” said he, “so far as I can judge. Farmer Brown’s boy seems to be terribly suspicious. He locks them up at night so tight that not even Shadow the Weasel could get his nose inside that henhouse.”

Blacky’s eyes twinkled, but he took care that Reddy should not see them. “Farmer Brown’s boy is different from some folks I know,” said he.

“How’s that?” demanded Reddy Fox.

“Why,” replied Blacky, “there is a certain farmyard I know of where the hens are not kept shut up at all in the daytime, but run around where they please. I see them every day when I am flying over. They certainly are fine-looking hens. I don’t think I’ve ever seen fatter ones. Some of them are so fat they can hardly run.”

As Reddy Fox listened, a look of eagerness crept into his eyes, and his mouth began to water. He just couldn’t help it. “Where did you say those hens are?” he asked, trying to speak carelessly.

“I didn’t say,” replied Blacky, turning his head aside to hide a grin. “It is a long way from here, Reddy, so I don’t believe you would really be interested.”

“That all depends,” replied Reddy. “I would go a long way if it were worth while. I don’t suppose you noticed if there were any dogs about where those hens are?”

Blacky pretended not to hear this. “I’ve often thought,” said he, “of you and Mrs. Reddy as I have looked down at those fat hens. It is too bad that they are so far away.”

XXVIII Reddy Fox Dreams of Chickens

It’s a poor watchdog who sleeps with both eyes closed.

Bowser the Hound

Reddy Fox watched Blacky the Crow grow smaller and smaller until he was just a black speck in the distance. Finally he disappeared. Reddy looked very thoughtful. He looked that