“Wait a minute,” Bushy-Tail called back, “I’ll be down in a jiffy.”
And he was in such a hurry that he tied his tie on sideways and brushed his furry tail the wrong way, which made him look very funny. He even forgot to take a bite of the nice breakfast his mother had left on the table for him. Right through the window he bounded, instead of walking through the door as he had been taught to do, and landed close beside Hazel, far out on the leafy bough.
“Oh, Hazel,” he cried, “I’ve had the loveliest dream!”
“You old sleepy-head,” she answered, “you lay abed dreaming when you might be out playing in the fresh air.”
“I’LL BE DOWN IN A JIFFY”
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“Hazel,” Bushy-Tail began, teetering up and down on the branch in his excitement, “I’m sick of peanuts, aren’t you?”
“No,” she answered, “I love them. Mother says they make my coat thick and sleek.”
They were city squirrels, you know, who lived in a park and had their daily supply of peanuts left at their door by the park-keeper.