“Helloa, Mrs. Henny Penny,” he said. “I like your song. If I see any poor little girl I’ll tell her!” and then the little rabbit hopped away, for he just couldn’t stay a moment in one place, let me tell you. He wanted to be on the hop, skip and jump all the time, just like lots of little boys and girls I know.
Well, by and by, after a while, he saw Old Professor Jim Crow scratching his head with his claw.
“What’s the matter?” asked the little rabbit.
“I can’t make out something I’ve written in my little Black Book,” answered the old black bird, and he scratched his head again and looked dreadfully perplexed, which means worse than worried, you know.
“Let me look,” said Little Jack Rabbit. And when the old blackbird had flown down from his pine tree, the little bunny leaned over his shoulder, and read: “Oh, oh, oh, Squirreltown!”
“Why, that’s the Squirrel Brothers telephone number,” he laughed. “So it is,” said Professor Jim Crow. “I’m so glad you told me! Let’s call them up!”
“‘One, three, five, Chestnut Hill!’
Keep on ringing, Central, till
Some one answers, ‘Hello! who
Is calling up my Bungaloo!’
“But if no one says a word;
Not a twitter from a bird,
Nor a chatter comes your way,
Call again another day.”