Fatty Coon did not wait for anything more. He made for the woods at top speed, grinning as he went.
The next day he pretended to be surprised to meet Grumpy.
"You must have forgotten my advice," he said. "I promised you that there would be a capture if you ran slowly. But it's plain that you ran too fast, or you wouldn't be here."
"Nonsense!" Grumpy Weasel shouted, flying into a passion at once. And he often wondered, afterward, what Fatty Coon found to laugh at.
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 sing