"
"I suppose you want more buttons," Mr. Prog observed. "I noticed as you
came in that you had lost every one."
"No!" Mr. Crow told him. "What I want is to get out of this coat. I've
decided to spend the winter in the South, after all. And here you've been
and gone and sewed the coat on me, and left me no way at all to slip out
of it."
"I beg your pardon," the tailor replied politely. "Pardon _me_--but I
think you are mistaken. I left four openings through which anyone could
crawl out."
Old Mr. Crow looked puzzled.
"I should like to know where they are," he said.
"The neck, the skirts, and the two sleeves!" Mr. Frog told him.
At that Mr. Crow looked at him severely.
"How could you expect me to slip through any of those places?" he asked.
"Why--" said the tailor--"I thought it would be easy for you. I've always
heard you were a very slippery customer."
When he said that, Mr. Crow made some queer noises in his throat, much as
if he were choking.
"Are you ill?" the tailor cried.
"Just a frog in my throat!" Mr. Crow answered.
As he said that. Mr. Frog leaped toward the door. He was a jumpy sort of
person. When anything startled him you could never tell in what direction
he might spring.
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