Not only that but hundreds of other tomatoes, not quite so large as the first one it is true, but large enough to frighten Billy, were shaking their heads at him threateningly.
But Billy plucked up his courage and said in a voice that was a wee bit shaky, "Come, now, don't give me any of your tomato sauce; if you're not careful I'll squash you."
"Even then I'd be some pumpkins," shouted the Tomato, nearly bursting with rage, "and as everybody knows a well red tomato is not a greeny, I certainly should be able to catsup with a small boy."
"You ought to go on the stage," said Billy, trying to smile; "you really are very funny."
This seemed to mollify the Tomato. "Some of my family have gone on as soupers. What would you suggest for me, comedy or tragedy?"
"Comedy, by all means," answered Billy, settling himself more comfortably on a large leaf, because, of course, having stopped moving, he would have fallen had he had nothing to support him.
"I can recite," said the Tomato. "Don't you want to hear me?"
"I'd be delighted, only, you know, I'm late, and—"
"You will be the late lamented if you don't sit tight, my boy," said the Tomato, sourly. "Listen."
TOMATO'S RECITATION.