"In nine cases out of ten," said the Major, "a tiger is almost as
dangerous as a porcupine. But the tenth time you come home feet
first."
That set all talking, and long before midnight Chinn's brain was
in a whirl with stories of tigers - man-eaters and cattle-killers
each pursuing his own business as methodically as clerks in an
office; new tigers that had lately come into such-and-such a
district; and old, friendly beasts of great cunning, known by
nicknames in the mess-such as "Puggy," who was lazy, with huge
paws, and "Mrs. Malaprop," who turned up when you never expected
her, and made female noises. Then they spoke of Bhil superstitions,
a wide and picturesque field, till young Chinn hinted that they
must be pulling his leg.
"'Deed, we aren't," said a man on his left. "We know all about
you. You're a Chinn and all that, and you've a sort of vested
right here; but if you don't believe what we're telling you, what
will you do when old Bukta begins his stories? He knows about
ghost-tigers, and tigers that go to a hell of their own; and
tigers that walk on their hind feet; and your grandpapa's
riding-tiger, as well. 'Odd he hasn't spoken of that yet.
Pages:
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152