Part 9 (1/2)
”Ah!” Peter Mink replied with a shake of his small head. ”I'm not going to tell you, Mr. Turtle. I don't want to hurt your feelings. And if I were to explain that your back says you're a disagreeable, mean old scamp, you know you'd be very angry.”
Peter Mink jumped out of the way just in time. For Timothy Turtle wheeled with amazing swiftness and snapped at his tormentor.
”Don't do that!” Peter cried. ”_I_ didn't say anything about you, Mr.
Turtle.”
”You'd better not,” Timothy warned him. ”And if Johnnie Green carved any such words as those on my sh.e.l.l I don't know what to do. I certainly don't want to carry them about with me for the rest of my life.” He looked unhappy, to say the least. He knew that probably he would live a great many years longer. And he was puzzled.
”Why don't you get a new sh.e.l.l?” Peter Mink inquired.
”I'd hate to do that,” Timothy Turtle told him. ”I've had this one a long time; and it fits me perfectly.”
”Then why don't you get the well-known tailor, Mr. Ferdinand Frog, to make you a coat that will cover your back? If you did that, n.o.body could see what's on your sh.e.l.l.”
”A good idea!” Timothy Turtle exclaimed. ”I'll see Mr. Frog at once. And some day I'll do something handsome for you, because you've been a great help to me.”
”Why wait?” Peter Mink demanded. ”Why don't you do it now?” Knowing that Timothy was stingy, Peter thought that the old gentleman would soon change his mind about ”doing something handsome” for him.
”No!” Timothy Turtle declared. ”I want to wait a while and think it over.”
”Well, then,” Peter Mink urged him, ”why don't you crawl under that shelving rock and think it over right now?”
”You ask too many questions,” Mr. Turtle told him. ”And besides, I must hurry away and find Ferdinand Frog. I want my new coat as soon as I can get it. And the longer I stay here, the more time I shall lose.” So in spite of all Peter Mink could say, Timothy slipped into Black Creek and swam away.
XIX
CAREFUL MR. FROG
Somebody had knocked. And with a wide smile upon his face Mr. Ferdinand Frog, the tailor, went to his door and peeped out.
One look was enough. He shut the door again with great haste and barred it. And he held one hand over his heart, as if he had just received a terrible fright.
”Let me in!” somebody called. The tailor knew that it was Timothy Turtle's voice, for he had seen that crusty old person standing upon his doorstep.
”Go away!” Mr. Frog replied. ”I'm not here.”
He was an odd chap--this Ferdinand Frog. One never could tell what he was going to do--or say.
”Yes, you are!” Timothy Turtle insisted. ”I saw you only a moment ago.”
The tailor then peered out of the window at his caller.
”There you are now!” Timothy shouted, as he caught sight of Mr. Frog. ”I say, let me in!”
”I can't,” Mr. Frog answered. ”I'm sick a-bed.”
”Nonsense!” Timothy cried.