"But I assure you I am."
"Then you're not a rabbit. You're something else."
Bumper smiled and tried to look pleased. "Would you be something else if you were white?" he asked.
Now this reference to an old fable of the crows touched a sensitive spot. There were white crows, or at least there were rumors of them, and every crow liked to believe the story was true. If one white crow, then why not more? Why shouldn't all crows be white?
"Did you ever see a white crow?" the bird asked.
"Crow! Crow!" stammered Bumper. "Is that your name? I'm sorry, Mr. Crow, I made a mistake. You see, I'm from the city, and crows don't live there."
"No, I should say not—unless the white ones do." He came nearer and showed excitement. "Answer me. Did you ever see a white crow? If all rabbits from the city are white, then maybe that's where the white crows come from."
Now Bumper was learning shrewdness, and he saw right away through the vanity of the bird that had him at his mercy. So, instead of answering directly, he pretended that he knew a great deal more than he did.
"I'm surprised, Mr. Crow," he said, "that you've never been in the city to see for yourself. You really mean to tell me you've never been in the city?"
"Why, no, it's not a place for crows."