“‘Brother Rabbit,’ he says, says he, ‘how in the world do you manage to keep your hair so slick and smooth all the time? My old woman sees you passing by every day, and she’s been worrying the life out of me because I don’t keep my hair combed that way. So I said to myself I’d ask you the very next time I met you.’
“Brother Bear was looking pretty rough and tough, and so I says, says I, ‘You look as if she had been tousling you about it.’
“He hung his head at this, and shuffled around and changed his seat. Says he: ‘No, it’s not so bad as all that, but I want to ask you plump and plain, if it’s a fair question, how you comb your hair so it will stay nice?’
“I looked at him and shook my head. Says I, ‘Brother Bear, I don’t comb my hair.’
“He was so much surprised that he opened his mouth, and his tongue hung out on one side—a big, red tongue that had known the taste of innocent blood.”
“That’s the truth!” exclaimed Mrs. Meadows.
Sweetest Susan shuddered.
“Says he, ‘Brother Rabbit, if you don’t comb your hair, how in the wide world do you keep it so smooth?’”
“Says I, ‘Easy enough. Every morning my old woman takes the axe and chops my head off—’”
“Oh!” cried Sweetest Susan.