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TIMOTHY TURTLE'S remark was
most surprising. It almost took Fatty Coon's breath away. And
for a moment or
two he even forgot the pain in his paw.
"Do you mean to
say," he asked, "that you like turtles' eggs?"
"Do I?" said
Timothy. "There's no better treat, in my opinion, than a tender young
egg,
especially if it's well mixed with sand. And, of course, twenty-seven
of them
are twenty-seven times as good."
"I'm sorry " Fatty
told him –
"I'm sorry that I ever
touched the old – I mean the young
– lady's
eggs. And now that you've almost bitten my paw in two, please
– good Mr. Turtle
– let me go!" But good Mr. Turtle had no notion of freeing
his prisoner.
"Not
yet!" he snapped. "I'm going to
bite you twenty-seven times as long, and twenty-seven times as hard
– if I
can."
"But
it was only a mistake!" Fatty Coon
moaned. "I never knew you wanted those eggs yourself."
"Take care – "
said Timothy Turtle sternly – "take care that you never make
such a
mistake again."
"Don't do that!"
Fatty Coon suddenly cried.
"Don't do what?"
was Mr. Turtle's testy reply.
"Don't pull on my
leg!" Fatty Coon pleaded. "You'll have me in the water in another
moment, and I'll get wet, and my mother won't like it a bit."
But Timothy Turtle paid no
heed to Fatty Coon's objections.
"Certainly I'll pull
you into the creek," he declared. "I'm going to take you out where
the water's deep, and drag you down, down, down to the very bottom.
We'll have
lots of fun burying ourselves in the mud. And I venture to say that
you'll like
it so well down there that you'll never want to come up again."
If Fatty Coon was frightened
before, now he was terrified almost out of his wits. And he began to
claw
frantically at Timothy Turtle's head.
Luckily he had three free
paws. And of these he made good use. In the shallows near the bank he
struggled
with all his might and main. And soon the water was churned into a
muddy pool.
Fatty never knew exactly how
he succeeded in breaking loose from Mr. Turtle.
Anyhow, he found himself
free at last; and he lost
no time in scrambling up the bank to safety.
Afterward Timothy Turtle
always complained that Fatty Coon didn't "fight fair."
"He gouges,"
Timothy would explain. "He'd just as soon stick one of his claws into
your
eye as not. And I claim that's something no real gentleman will do."
Now, Fatty did not leave
Black Creek at once, after his adventure with Timothy Turtle. He paused
for a
time, to squat on the bank and nurse his injured paw.
While he lingered there he
happened to glance up. And whom should he see, sitting
motionless in a tree
near-by, but that old rascal, Mr. Crow!
"Oh! Naughty,
naughty!" Mr. Crow cawed in a mocking voice. "You've been fighting."
"It's all your
fault," Fatty growled. "If you'd minded your own affairs
Timothy
Turtle would never have known anything about those eggs."
"Bless your
heart!" old Mr. Crow cried. "Timothy Turtle would have seized you
just the same, if you'd never touched his wife's eggs. You don't know
him as
well as I do."
"Perhaps
not!" Fatty Coon replied.
"And what's more, I don't want to. I never want to see Timothy Turtle
again."
Old Mr. Crow laughed merrily
at that speech. But Fatty Coon only turned his back on him.
He was in no mood for laughter.