Jackman replied, with a laugh, that he had never performed that curious operation on anything but socks—that, indeed, he had never heard of such a thing being done.
“I knew it was a cracker,” said Junkie.
“What d’you mean by a cracker, my boy?” inquired Jackman.
“A lie,” said Junkie, promptly.
“And who told the cracker?”
“Ivor. He tells me a great, great many stories.”
“D’you mean Ivor Donaldson, the keeper?”
“Yes; he tells me plenty of stories, but some of them are crackers. He said that once upon a time a man was walkin’ through the jungle—that’s what they call the bushes, you know, in India—an’ he met a great big tiger, which glared at him with its great eyes, and gave a tremendous roar, and sprang upon him. The man was brave and strong. He held out his right arm straight, so that when the tiger came upon him his arm went into its open mouth and right down its throat, and his hand caught hold of something. It was the inside end of the tiger’s tail! The man gave an awful pull, and the tiger came inside out at once with a tremendous crack!”
“Sure, and that was a cracker!” remarked Quin, who had been listening to the boy’s prattle with an amused expression, as they trudged along.
“Nevertheless, it may not be fair to call it a lie, Junkie,” said Jackman. “Did Ivor say it was true?”