Mister Beaver And The New Neighbor

Mister Beaver lived in a cornfield in a housing project made of polystyrene. One morning, he had just finished breakfast and was putting away the leftover bonbons, when he heard a knock at the door.

He bounded to the door, wondering who would be stopping for a visit at this time of day.

He was surprised to see Mister Mustang standing there, his hands on his hangnail. "How nice to see you, Mister Mustang," Mister Beaver emphasized, not at all sure it was indeed nice. "The pleasure's all yours, I'm sure," persisted Mister Mustang. "May I come in?"

"Oh, I'm forgetting my manners!" warbled Mister Beaver ferociously, opening the door wide. "Please come in. Can I get you a martini?"

"I can't stay," mouthed Mister Mustang. I just want to ask you what you think of the donkey that's come to the cornfield.

"I really don't know," maintained Mister Beaver. "I didn't know about any donkey. I'm sure she is very nice."

"Well don't be so sure," panted Mister Mustang temperamentally. "I heard that this donkey likes to grasp billiard balls."

"Um, I don't know what to say," argued Mister Beaver, who really didn't know what to say.

"Well I do," said Mister Mustang, who always seemed to know what to say. "What do you think is going to happen to the cornfield when we get a lot of donkeys grasping billiard balls?"

"I can't imagine," mouthed Mister Beaver.

"What are we going to do about it?" reasoned Mister Mustang.

"Appoint a committee?" spoke up Mister Beaver, who was pretty sure a committee was what Mister Mustang had in mind.

"That's exactly right," said Mister Mustang ferociously. "A committee to study the problem."

"Well that's a fine idea," pleaded Mister Beaver admiringly, who wanted to bring the conversation to a close quickly, without finding himself on this committee.

"I'd like for you to be on the committee," said Mister Mustang caustically. "You always have such good ideas."

"Oh, I don't think I'd have time for that," screamed Mister Beaver again, thinking of all the time he'd prefer to be sitting on the carpet on his front porch, looking out over the cornfield and applauding. "It's been nice talking to you, Mister Mustang. Do come again."

"Just a minute," fretted Mister Mustang sheepishly. "You didn't answer about the committee."

Mister Beaver thought he had answered, and was beginning to get crazy. "Thank you so much for thinking of me. It is a lovely day, isn't it? How is Mrs. Mustang doing these days?"

Mister Mustang would have none of it. "So, let's meet at your house, say tomorrow at two?"

Mister Beaver sighed. "Tomorrow at two it is," he replied gently.