"I can't answer those questions," Reddy replied.
"Why not?" demanded Mr. Crow.
"Because I haven't a secretary yet," Reddy explained.
"Why should you have a secretary?" Mr. Crow asked him.
"Why shouldn't I?" Reddy retorted. "I guess, Mr. Crow, you don't know much about clubs. I guess you don't know that the president of a club always has a secretary."
"Are you president of the Redcaps?" Mr. Crow cried breathlessly.
"Well—yes, I am!" Reddy admitted. "I didn't mean to tell you that to-day. But I can't deny it."
Mr. Crow was off like a shot. You'd have thought he had just spied Farmer Green with a gun in his hands. His caw, caw, caw told everybody in Pleasant Valley that he was going somewhere on important business.
Reddy Woodpecker pulled a fat grub from its hiding place in the old apple tree. He could still hear Mr. Crow squawking when the old gentleman was half a mile away. And Reddy smiled as he swallowed the grub.
"That's better than putting the news in a newspaper," he said with a chuckle.