The tiger curled its whiskers with a look of disgust, and growling “dropsical,” turned supperless away. And all the next night did the tiger fast. But sweet is the sauce of hunger; for on the third evening the tiger rose and stretched itself, and its eyes glared with brightening flame as it said—“Come along, Jacob: I don’t know that the old woman will eat badly after all.”
Jacob again conducted the destroyer to the house. Again showed Drusilla, unconscious of her fate, knitting, knitting. There was a slight growl—a spring—an old woman’s scream—a yap, yap from the pug—and then the wall was leapt—and Peter Vandervermin was a widower.
I will not follow the tiger to its banquet. Suffice it to say, the tiger ate and slept. However, very ill and feverish did the tiger awake in the morning. “Jacob,” cried the tiger, “what’s the matter with me? Phew! I can hardly move.”
“Perhaps,” said Jacob, “my lord has just a stitch in his side.”
“No, no,” said the tiger, “I feel ’em now; it’s that abominable old woman’s knitting needles.”
“Every rose has its thorn, my lord,” said the ghost, joking as a ghost may be supposed to joke. “You never find a woman without pins and needles.”
“Jacob,” cried the tiger, “either you come of a very bad family, or, after all, man-eating is by no means so wholesome—however pleasant it may be—as a hearty, simple meal off a buffalo, a deer, or anything of that sort.”
“Then why, my lord,” urged the ghost, “why not return to the humbler diet?”
“That’s all very well, Jacob. Why don’t men—with red noses and no insides—turn from arrack and new rum, and drink only at the diamond spring? I begin to feel myself no better than a drunkard: yes, I fear I’m a lost tiger. It’s very nice—very delicious to eat a man at night—but it’s like what I’ve heard of drink—what a headache it leaves in the morning! Ha!” cried the beast, “I’m afraid I’m making quite a man of myself. Look at my tongue, Jacob; it’s as hard and as dry, you might grind an axe upon it. Oh, that dreadful old woman!”—and the tiger closed its heavy, bloodshot eyes, and tried to sleep.
Only three days past, and then the tiger leapt up, and licking itself all over—as though it was going out to an evening party, and wished to put the very best gloss upon its coat—the creature cried—“Come away, Jacob; I must have another Vandervermin.”