Gorged to the whiskers, almost for two whole days did the tiger sleep. And then rising and stretching itself—like a Mogul after a debauch—the tiger said, “Jacob!”
“What wills my lord?” answered Jacob’s ghost.
“Jacob, I must sup: something nice, now—something delicate. I don’t like to say it to your face, Jacob, but you haven’t quite agreed with me. I could fancy something mild and tender to-night.”
For a moment the ghost was thoughtful; then observed, “What says my lord to a nice sugar-cane salad?”
The tiger leered somewhat pityingly at the ghost; then saying “Look here!” opened its jaws. Even the ghost of Jacob shivered—like moonlight upon water—at the dreadful array of teeth. “Think you,” said the tiger, “such teeth were made for salads?”
“Tigers, I have heard, were not always flesh-eaters,” said the ghost, a little boldly.
“Almost for two whole days did the tiger sleep”
“Why, there is a story among tigers,” answered the ingenuous brute, “that at one time—but it’s a long time ago—we used to crop clover and trefoil and wild thyme, for all the world like foolish little lambs. And then suddenly—but how it came about I never heard—we took to eating the kids and lambkins that before we played with. How the change began, and who took to killing first, I know not: I have only heard it wasn’t tigers; and now, I only know that I must sup: that this very night I must have another Vandervermin. Have you any babies in the house?”
“None: I assure you, my lord, not one,” answered the ghost.