Her
uncompromising nature was too well known for that. Nevertheless,
unasked, she offered her criticism too: "Awful," she said, her podgy
face unmoved, her blue eyes fixed upon the ceiling. And the whole room
seemed to give a long, deep sigh.
Now, for the hero, this was decidedly an awkward moment; he had done
his best and miserably failed. He was no story-teller, and they had
found him out. None the less, however, he was a real hero. He faced
the situation as a brave man should:
For his tale was mediocre,
And his face of yellow ochre
Took a tinge of saffron sorrow in his fright;
Yet he rose to the occasion,
Without anger or evasion,
And did his best to put the matter right.
"Tell me how you knew," he asked at length, facing the situation.
"What made you guess?"
"Because, in the first place, you're not an atom _like_ a tiger,
anyhow," explained Judy.
"And you made the jungle so very dark," said Tim, "that you simply
couldn't have seen the bananas falling."
"And we _know_ you haven't got a tail at all," Maria added,
clinchingly.
"Of course," he agreed; "your discernment does you credit, very great
credit indeed.
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