“You’ll have to excuse me,” Chirpy told Mr. Nighthawk. “I’d rather not do any jumping for you. That wasn’t why I wanted to meet you.”
“Ha!” said Mr. Nighthawk. “Then why—pray—did you wish to see me?”
“I thought”—Chirpy Cricket replied—“I thought that perhaps you’d like me to help you with your music. I’ve often heard your booming at a distance. And it has seemed to me that you have the making of a good musician, if you have a good teacher.”
Mr. Nighthawk sniffed. It must be remembered that he was not very gentlemanly.
“I’ve had plenty of training,” he said. “I didn’t come all the way from the woods to be told that I don’t know my own business. I practice every night. And I flatter myself that I’m a perfect performer.”
“Then,” said Chirpy Cricket, “perhaps you need a new fiddle. For there’s no doubt that your booming would sound much better if it were shriller.”
Mr. Nighthawk gave a rude laugh.
“I don’t make that sound with a fiddle,” he sneered. “Don’t you know a wind instrument when you hear it?”