Chapter VIII
Captain Swinton and Lord Victor remained with Finnerty for dinner, and after that meal, sitting on the verandah, the latter asked: "What sort of bally charm did that shikari repeat when he made that ripping address to the tiger, major?"
Finnerty looked at Swinton and the latter nodded violently; but the major answered curtly: "I forget."
"Oh, I say! I want to know, old top—it'll go well when I tell the story in London." He turned to Swinton. "Captain, perhaps your memory is better."
"If you must know," Swinton answered, in mock resignation—for he was most anxious to interpret the native's words—"Mahadua told the tiger to play the game, for Finnerty had purposely put down his rifle, taken up the shotgun, and fired over his head to spare his life."
"That's when you made the fumble in the howdah, eh, major? It would have been quite on the cards for him to have mauled you to-day. You should have potted him when you had a chance on the elephant."
Tried beyond patience by Gilfain's obtuse egotism, Swinton blurted: "Mahadua lied to the tiger; he was concealing the fact that Major Finnerty spared his life that you might have the glory of the kill later on."
"But, I say, this is no end of a draw; the major told us he got rattled and pumped bird shot into Stripes."
With a sigh, Swinton gave up the hopeless task; and Finnerty, to change the venue, said:
"I don't think we were in any danger, really. A tiger is considerable of a gentleman; all he asks is to be left alone to kill his legitimate prey. And if it weren't for him the wild pig and deer would eat up the crops of the poor."