Yes, that’s what he does with his nights!”
“I don’t either,” growled Wongo, pretending to be angry at his old friend, “and my cave isn’t a pen either. But what could a squawking old crow know about caves?”
“I believe I smell a wolf,” said Kaw, changing the subject, and he stuck his beak in the air in imitation of animals who sniff for a scent.
“Yes,” said Wongo, as he too sniffed the air, “I hadn’t noticed it before, but I too smell a wolf. Sandy the fox just stopped at my cave a few minutes ago to ask me to take him to the cave of Cho-gay, but that old one-eyed partner of his was not with him.”
“No?” queried Kaw, with a chuckle. Then he cocked his head on one side and continued:
“Well, it’s just as I thought,
There’s a gay little plot;
It’ll be about something to eat,
And there’s some axe to grind,
As we’re sure to find;