So off waddled that smarty coon. He sneaked round behind the woodpile and scuttled down into the cellar when nobody was looking. There was his cage, just the way he’d left it that morning. He climbed in and lay down.
It grew darker and darker. Pitter, pitter, sounded the feet of the scuttling mice. Then came the sound he was listening for--the scritchy-scratch of that rat’s claws on the cellar door. “Hey, you coon!” called the rat. He wanted to be sure Tad wasn’t out of that cage, hiding in some corner, ready to pounce on him. Tad didn’t answer. So the rat ran up a pipe and crept along until he could peek through the darkness. Tad could hear him sniffing. “Are you ready for the rubbish-pile already?” he asked. Still Tad didn’t say anything. Thump! He landed on the top of the cage. He felt the door was open. He crept in!
Bounce! Bite! Scree-ee-eech! That was the end of Mr. Rat! But--Bang! went the door! Tad was locked in again. Poor Tad Coon!
That’s what always happened to Tad. Every time he played a smarty trick on somebody it was sure to come back on him.
Tad Coon made some noise, I can tell you, when he caught that rat down in his jangly old cage. And the cage door made some more when it fell down and locked Tad in. And Tad made more yet, shaking the bars, trying to get out again.
Louie Thomson’s family was getting ready to go to bed. His father growled: “If that beast in the cellar makes any more noise I’ll go down there and kill him.”
Louie didn’t answer. He didn’t dare to argue. Besides, he didn’t believe it was really Tad. He’d let him go just that morning!
Louie’s mother asked: “Louie, did you remember to feed that coon?”
“No’m,” said Louie.
“Well, then, you can pick some scraps out of the pig’s pail to give him,” said she. She didn’t dare offer him anything else because his father was listening.