"For goodness' sake, say something original," said the bear crossly. "What an idiot you are, to be sure!"
Billy ignored this remark. He had had some experience with cross people in his messenger service—people who were cross for no earthly reason but that he was a little boy—and he had always found it better to say as little as possible when they bullied him. Nevertheless it made him very, very uncomfortable, and of course the more uncomfortable he got the more blunders he made.
"Can't you stand up—you're all feet, I declare," said Big Bug Bear, when Billy stumbled over a stone in the path. With that he gave him a push that nearly sent him on his face. "Stand up, I tell you," said the bear, catching him by the arm and jerking him back so that he nearly fell on his back this time.
"Excuse me, sir—I didn't mean to," said Billy, almost ready to cry.
"Didn't mean to, didn't mean to—don't tell me that; you did it on purpose, anyone can see that with half an eye."
And with that all the Bug Bears took turns in pulling and jerking him about.
Billy was afraid to resent it, for their teeth looked very white and very sharp, and their claws looked very long, but he kept his eyes open for some means of escape. After a while, though, this exercise seemed to put them in a little better temper—just as it does lots of human bears—and they allowed Billy to walk along with only an occasional cuff or jerk.
"What are those?" Billy finally ventured to ask, pointing to a row of tree-like things along the sidewalk.
"Hat trees, silly," said one of the bears. "Can't you see the hat on the top?"