He was a shrewd little mortal, and he had been so often told at school that he should like this and that for which in reality he did not care a button that he was on his guard. I made a casual remark about something entirely unrelated to the subject. It was well that the lad should not feel that he was being instructed. Then in a manner as natural and easy as I could make it I asked:
"Did you ever see a tiger?"
"Oh, yes; I've seen lots of them at the circus. Tom Bently never went to but one circus, but I've been to four."
"What does a tiger look like?" I went on, ignoring the irrelevant.
"He's a fierce-looking thing! Didn't you ever see one?"
"Yes, I've seen them, but I wondered if they looked the same to you as they do to me."
"Why, how do they look to you?"
"I asked you first. It's only fair for you to say first."
"Well," the small boy said, with a fine show of being determined to play fair, "I think they look like great big, big, big cats. Did you think that?"
"That's exactly what I should have said. They really are a sort of cat, you know. Did you ever see a keeper stir them up?"