Miss Grimes is our teacher. I suppose she’s all right. But I don’t like her. She’s too cranky.
We went to the cellar and dug up the talking frog. But before we put it in the lunch box that Tom had provided we wound it up and turned the small knobs the way we had seen Mr. Ricks do.
“Hello!” said Scoop, grinning into the tin face.
Nothing happened. He tried it again; then gave the frog a shake.
“R-r-r-r!” rumbled the frog, waking up, sort of.
“Let me do it,” I cried, pushing the others aside. Getting my mouth down close, I yelled:
“Rats!”
“R-r-r-a-s!” said the frog.
“Why,” said Tom, excited-like, “that’s the best it ever did.”
“Maybe,” I said, with a snicker, “if we jiggle it some more it will talk perfect.”