“A witch tiger?”
“That’s so: he’s given a lodging to some ole Kaffir. Abe Pike ain’t going arter any black tigers, not he.”
“What are you driving at now, you old buffer?”
“Buffer, is it; well—well—buffer—oh, yes, of course; an’ me that has passed through sich a three weeks as ud have scared many another into his grave.”
I felt remorse at the thought that for three weeks I had not called on the lonely old man, and concluded that he was paying me out for this neglect.
“I am very sorry,” I said eagerly, “I have not been over; but the truth is the work has been very heavy. It must have been very lonely.”
“I’ve had kempany.”
“Oh, I see; and perhaps they’ve engaged your services?”
“That’s it. On ’count o’ ’em that’s been callin’ here I can’t go catching any black tigers.”
“I should like to know who it is has set you against doing a service for a neighbour?”