XII
TWO BLACK RASCALS
Old Mr. Crow was in luck. He wanted to have a neighborly chat with Mistah Mule. Not daring to fly inside the barn, he was a bit puzzled as to how he could meet Mistah Mule. And then came the good luck. Farmer Green turned Mistah Mule into the pasture.
From the top of a tall elm not far from the cornfield Mr. Crow spied Mistah Mule cropping grass near the pasture bars. About half a minute later Mr. Crow flopped down upon the topmost bar and called, “Good morning, friend!”
Mistah Mule raised his head. He had never seen Mr. Crow before. But he addressed him in a most familiar fashion. “Howdy, Jim!” he answered.
Old Mr. Crow choked. He hated to be called “Jim,” because it really was his name, which he greatly disliked.
“Isn’t I met you before, down South?” Mistah Mule inquired.
“I hardly think so,” Mr. Crow replied. “I’ve been spending the winters in the North for a good many years. I haven’t been South since I don’t know when. And—er—when you speak to me, or of me, kindly omit the ‘Jim.’ Just say, ‘Mr. Crow.’”
Mistah Mule nodded. “I doesn’t blame you, not the leastest bit,” he remarked. “I knows just how you feels.”
“We won’t talk about that any more,” said Mr. Crow. “I came to talk about an entirely different matter.”
“What’s that?” Mistah Mule inquired.
“Your tail!” Mr. Crow explained. “You know, it’s rather an odd one.”
Mistah Mule was so surprised that he turned his head and looked back at his tail.
“I doesn’t see anything queer about it,” he murmured.
“Think hard!” Mr. Crow urged him. “Doesn’t it remind you of other tails on this farm?”
“No, sah!” Mistah Mule declared.
“Hasn’t it occurred to you that your tail is somewhat like a Cow’s?” Mr. Crow went on.
Mistah Mule was puzzled. He even seemed alarmed.
“This here is my own tail!” he cried. “Can’t nobody say I stole it.”
“Certainly not!” Mr. Crow agreed. “I’ll explain more carefully. There’s a Cow on this farm that everybody calls ‘the Muley Cow.’ Just to tease her, I want you to pretend you’re her cousin and that your two tails are a good deal alike.”
“But I isn’t got two tails!” bellowed Mistah Mule. And again he turned his head, as if to make sure that another tail hadn’t crept up behind him, when he wasn’t looking.
“My goodness!” Mr. Crow muttered. “It’s hard to talk with this person.”