“I won’t, it’s got the headache and feels tired.”
“Got the headache!” exclaimed he with great contempt. “Who ever heard of a cat with the headache?”
“It has got the headache,” she persisted. “Darling kicked it—and it’s had the headache ever since.”
“Well, it’s only a tame old thing, so it wouldn’t do. But listen to me and I’ll tell you about shooting big game. I shall go on an elephant right into the thickest part of the forest.”
“How will you get up?”
“Climb, of course, up a ladder. Then in the thickest part of the forest I shall suddenly see two eyes like fire shining down at me. Then I shall take my gun—one—two—three. At the third shot it will fall mortally wounded. And then, so that everybody may really know I’ve really shot the tiger, I shall have it skinned, and bring the fur home.”
“But suppose instead it killed you,” observed Deborah, who by this time was fully roused to the possibilities of such an event.
“Well, you see, I shall have to be a pretty good shot before I could think of going out. And after that—well, a man with a gun, who knows how to use it, is a match for a tiger any day.”
They became very great friends indeed, and took the short walks together every day most religiously, till at last the time came for his going away.
They met each other in the kitchen lobby when there was no one there, and kissed several times very sadly. Deb wiped her eyes with the corner of her small pinafore, but he kept up manfully.