All the time his eyes were searching around for some evidence of Mr. Beaver’s house, Spotted Tail was watching him with an exultant grin on his face.
“Ah! I thought so,” he said finally, with a triumphant grin on his face. “You don’t know what kind of a house Mr. Beaver builds. You don’t even know where he builds it. You’ve been looking for it up among the trees, and back in the woods. Ho! Ho! And you call yourself a leader—the king of the rabbits! Why, you don’t know anything about the woods.”
Bumper felt he was cornered, and he was mighty glad the others were not present to witness his discomfit.
“Now, if you’re king, show me where Mr. Beaver’s house is, and where he builds it!” continued Spotted Tail. “If you can’t I’ll go back and tell all the others you’re an ignorant impostor. You’re no king! You don’t know anything about the woods or its people. A king indeed!”
There was such scorn and contempt in the voice that Bumper winced. He realized for the first time that he had an enemy in Spotted Tail. There was no other excuse for his words and actions.
“Spotted Tail,” Bumper began in an injured voice, “why do you dislike me, and try to offend me?”
“Don’t give me any such talk,” rudely interrupted the other. “I see through it all. You’re trying to avoid the question. Answer me! Where’s Mr. Beaver’s house? If you don’t know, confess your ignorance.”
Bumper’s wits failed him for the first time. He saw no way out of the corner. Spotted Tail had him, and the disgrace of confession was horribly mortifying.
A sudden splash in the water attracted his attention. A big rat-like animal was swimming toward the shore, with only his head and muzzle above the surface. Bumper watched him in fascination. When he reached the shore, he crawled upon it, and said quite angrily:
“I wish, Mr. Spotted Tail, your people would stop crawling across the roof of my house. It annoys me very much. I was fast asleep when they thumped over it.”