The Tale of Old Mr. Crow Part 7

"That's a good idea, too," said old Mr. Crow. "You may make my coat of this!" He pointed to a piece of blue cloth with yellow spots about the size of a dollar and a quarter.

"Good!" said Mr. Frog. Then he measured Mr. Crow. And then he measured the cloth. And then he scratched some figures on a flat stone. "There'll be thirteen spots on your coat and that'll make just thirteen that you'll owe me."

"Thirteen what?" asked Mr. Crow.

"Ah! That's the question!" said Mr. Frog, mysteriously. "I'll tell you when your coat's finished. And you can pay me then. It's what is known as 'spot cash,'" he added.

"Very well!" Mr. Crow answered. "And I'll come back--"

"To-morrow!" said the tailor.

When to-morrow came, Mr. Crow flew over to the pond where Mr. Frog had his tailor's shop. And that spry gentleman slipped Mr. Crow's new coat upon him. While Mr. Crow stood stiffly in the middle of the floor Mr.

Frog pulled the coat here and patted it there. He backed away and looked at it, with his head on one side; and then he stood on his head and looked at it, with his legs dangling in the air.

"It's a perfect fit," he a.s.sured Mr. Crow, finally. And then he caught up a needle and thread and busied himself behind Mr. Crow's back for a long time.

"What are you doing?" Mr. Crow inquired at last. "I'm getting tired of standing still."

"Just fixing it!" answered Mr. Frog. "It'll be finished in a minute."

And it was. He stuck his needle into Mr. Crow, to let him know it was done.

Mr. Crow jumped half way across the room. "Why did you do that?" he asked hotly.

"I wanted to break my thread," Mr. Frog explained pleasantly. "It's the quickest way of breaking a thread that I know of."

"You look out, or I'll break something else for you," Mr. Crow squawked, for he was thoroughly enraged. "And now," he added, "I'll pay you what I owe before leaving. I owe thirteen of something."

Then Mr. Frog surprised him.

"I've decided not to take any pay," he announced. "I hear that thirteen is an unlucky number."

"Is that so?" Mr. Frog exclaimed. "Perhaps it is. If you had stuck your needle into me thirteen times it certainly would have been unlucky for you."

On the whole Mr. Crow was well pleased with his bargain. He was glad that he had asked Mr. Frog to make a coat for him. Indeed, if only the tailor had not stabbed him with his needle, he would have returned to the shop at once and ordered Mr. Frog to make him a pair of trousers--with thirteen spots on them.

XVI

A TIGHT FIT

Now, a certain thing happened that made Mr. Crow change his mind about staying North for the winter. It had something to do with nuts, and Frisky Squirrel, and Sandy Chipmunk. But that is another story; and you may already have heard it.

Anyhow, Mr. Crow suddenly decided that he would have to fly southward, after all. He was disappointed, because he didn't like the thought of having to make so long a journey. Moreover, he had his new blue coat with the yellow spots, which Mr. Frog had made for him. It was a handsome coat. And everybody said it was very becoming to Mr. Crow. But he knew it was altogether too warm to wear to his home in the South where the weather was sure to be mild.

"I'll have to leave my new coat behind," he said to himself in a sad voice. "It's almost too heavy to wear even here, though it is fall. I hate to do it; but I'd better take it off and hide it somewhere. There might be some cold days next spring when I'd be glad of a thick, warm coat."

So the old gentleman started to unb.u.t.ton his new coat, which he had worn all day, ever since Mr. Frog had slipped it on him early in the morning.

Anyone might think that it would have been an easy matter to unb.u.t.ton the coat, for Mr. Frog had sewed a double row of big brown b.u.t.tons down the front of it. But for some time Mr. Crow fumbled with one of them in vain.

"Ha!" he exclaimed at last. "This is stupid of me! I'm trying to unb.u.t.ton the wrong row of b.u.t.tons." Then he fumbled with one of the b.u.t.tons of the other row. But strange to say, he was no more successful than before. He struggled with all the b.u.t.tons in that row (there were five of them). And then he tried the other five, one after another.

Mr. Crow couldn't understand it. He wanted more than ever to take the coat off, because his efforts to unb.u.t.ton it had made him quite warm.

"I shall have get somebody to help me," he said at last. "It may be that my eyesight is failing--though I haven't noticed before that there was anything the matter with it.... There's my cousin, Jasper Jay! I'll ask him to unb.u.t.ton my coat." And he called to Jasper, who had just alighted on a stump not far away.

To Mr. Crow's dismay, his cousin refused to a.s.sist him.

"I know you too well," said Jasper Jay. "You want to play some trick on me. If the b.u.t.tons were on the back of your coat I might help you. But they're right in front of you; and they're so big that a blind person couldn't help finding them, even on the darkest night.... No! You can't fool me this time!"

"Very well!" Mr. Crow croaked. "If you won't help me, there are plenty of other people who'll be glad to." And he flew away in something very like a temper.

To Mr. Crow's surprise he couldn't find anyone that would unb.u.t.ton his new coat for him; like Jasper Jay, everybody was afraid that Mr. Crow meant to play a trick on him.

Mr. Crow was beginning to be frightened. He had called on all his friends in Pleasant Valley except one. And if that one should refuse, Mr. Crow didn't know what he could do. He had liked his spotted coat. But now he began to hate it. And he wanted to slip out of it and never see it again.

So Mr. Crow hurried over to the swamp where Fatty c.o.o.n lived.

XVII

THE STRANGE b.u.t.tONS

To Mr. Crow's delight, it did not occur to Fatty c.o.o.n that Mr. Crow might be playing a trick on him. You see, as was usually the case, Fatty was hungry. And he had no thought for anything except food. When Mr. Crow explained what a fix he was in, and asked Fatty to unb.u.t.ton his coat for him, Fatty stepped up to him at once.

But he didn't try to unb.u.t.ton the coat. He sniffed at the b.u.t.tons, while his face wore a puzzled look. And then he began to smile.

"I'll tell you what I'll do!" Fatty said. "If you'll give me these b.u.t.tons, I'll take them off for you. And then, of course, you'll have no more trouble with your coat. You can throw it off any time you please."

"Good!" Mr. Crow exclaimed. "The b.u.t.tons shall be yours. I don't want them, for I shall never wear this coat again."

So Fatty c.o.o.n set to work to take off the b.u.t.tons. He removed them in a very odd way, too. Instead of tearing them off he began eating them!

"Goodness!" Mr. Crow cried. "Aren't you afraid you'll be ill?"

But Fatty c.o.o.n never answered. He kept on nibbling the b.u.t.tons and crunching them in his mouth. And he never stopped until he had swallowed the very last one.

Then he smacked his lips (for he knew no better).

"Those were the finest gingersnaps I ever tasted," he remarked. "It's a pity there weren't a baker's dozen of them, instead of only ten."

Old Mr. Crow nearly fell over, he was so surprised. He had never dreamed that those big brown b.u.t.tons, which Mr. Frog had sewed upon his coat, were nothing but gingersnaps.