“What are you doing here?” Solomon Owl asked in a low voice, which was not any too pleasant.
“I’m out for an airing,” Fatty answered. “Beautiful night—isn’t it?”
But Solomon Owl was not interested in the weather. “I don’t suppose you’ve come down here to get a chicken, have you?” he inquired.
Fatty Coon seemed greatly surprised at the question.
“Why—no!” he exclaimed. “But now that you speak of it, it reminds me that Farmer Green’s saving a pullet for me. He was heard to say not long ago that he would like to catch me taking one of his hens. So he must have one for me. And I don’t want to disappoint him.”
At first Solomon Owl didn’t know what answer to make. But at last he turned his head toward Fatty.
“Why don’t you go and get your pullet now?” he asked.
“There’s that man down below, with the glaring eyes—” said Fatty Coon. “I’ve been waiting around here for quite a long time and he hasn’t looked away from the chicken house even once.... Do you know him?”
“No! And I don’t want to!” said Solomon Owl.
“S-sh!” Fatty Coon held up a warning hand. “Who’s that?” he asked, peering down at a dark object at the foot of their tree.