XVIII
POP! GOES THE WEASEL
There were many things that did not please Grumpy
Weasel
---things that almost any one else would have liked.
For instance, there was music.
The Pleasant Valley Singing
Society,
to which most of the bird people belonged,
did not
number Grumpy Weasel among its admirers.
He never cared to
hear a bird sing---not even Jolly Robin's cousin the Hermit,
who was one of the most beautiful singers in the woods. And
as for Buddy Brown Thrasher,
whom most people thought a
brilliant performer, Grumpy Weasel always groaned whenever he
heard him singing in the topmost branches of a tree.
A bird-song---according to Grumpy Weasel---
was of use
in only one way: it told you where the bird was.
And that was
a help, of course, if you were trying to catch him.
Nor did the musical Frog family's nightly concerts
have much charm for Grumpy, though he did admit that some of
their songs were not so bad as others.
"I can stand it now and then," he said, "to hear a
good, glum croaking, provided there are plenty of discords."
Naturally, knowing how he felt, Grumpy Weasel's
neighbors never invited him to listen to their concerts.
On
the contrary they usually asked him please to go away, if he
happened to come along.
Certainly nobody could sing his best,
with such a listener.
As a rule Grumpy Weasel was glad to go on about his
business,
though to be sure he hated to oblige anybody.
But
one day he stopped and scolded at the top of his voice when
he came upon the Woodchuck brothers whistling in the pasture.
Their whistles quavered a bit when they noticed who
was present.
And they moved a little nearer their front door,
in order to dodge out of sight if need be.
Although Grumpy
Weasel might follow them, there was a back door they could
rush out of.
And since they knew their way about their
underground halls better than he did they did not worry
greatly.
"We're sorry---"
said the biggest brother, who was
called Billy Woodchuck---"we're sorry you don't like our
music.
And we'd like to know what's the matter with it; for
we always strive to please."
"It's not so much the way you whistle," Grumpy
snarled, "though your whistling is bad enough, it's so
cheerful.
What I find fault with especially is the tune. It's
insulting to me. And you can't deny it."
Well, the Woodchuck brothers looked at one another in
a puzzled fashion.
"Never again let me hear you whistling, 'Pop! Goes
the Weasel,'" Grumpy warned them.
That was the name of the
Woodchuck brothers' favorite air,
and the one they could
whistle best. And any one could see that they were quite
upset.
"Why don't you like that tune?" Billy Woodchuck asked
Grumpy Weasel politely.
"It's that word 'pop,'" Grumpy said.
"It reminds me
of a pop-gun. And a pop-gun reminds me of a real gun. And
that's something I don't want to think about."
Well, the Woodchuck brothers looked at one another
again. But this time they smiled.
"You've misunderstood," Billy Woodchuck told Grumpy
Weasel. "This is a different kind of pop.
It means that when
you enter a hole you pop into it in a jiffy, without taking
all day to do it."
For a wonder Grumpy Weasel was almost pleased.
"That's true!" he cried. "I couldn't be slow if I
wanted to be!"
And he actually asked the Woodchuck brothers
to whistle "Pop! Goes the Weasel" once more.
But Grumpy Weasel never thought of thanking them.
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