But it wasn’t. No, it was somebody else, only worse. I guess sometimes we ought to be thankful it’s only the gas man!
“Who is it?” asked the old gentleman bunny, as Mrs. Daisy Duck returned with a worried expression on her face and a piece of paper in her bill.
“Oh, dear, oh, dear! It seems to me
That Mr. Trouble Man
Is always knocking on the door
As loudly as he can,”
answered Mrs. Daisy Duck.
“Who is it and what does he want and what’s his name?” asked the old gentleman hare, pulling the napkin from under his chin to wipe his gold-rimmed spectacles instead of his whiskers. Wasn’t that careless of him? Well I should say so, especially as there wasn’t a drop of syrup on them,—I mean his spectacles of course, not his whiskers.
“Read this note,” whispered Mrs. Daisy Duck, looking anxiously over her shoulder as if fearing somebody or something might suddenly come in through the half open door.
Uncle John Hare quickly opened the envelope and read: