"Now, don't spill it. Take care, it's very hot. That's right." Another pause. "Major Roper...."
"Yes, my dear. What?"
"Do tell me what he was like."
"Have you never seen his portrait?"
"Mother burnt it while I was small. She told me. Do tell me what you recollect him like."
"Fine handsome feller—well set up. Fine shot, too! Gad! that was a neat thing! A bullet through a tiger two hundred yards off just behind the ear."
"But I thought his name was Harrisson." The Major has got out of his depth entirely through his own rashness. Why couldn't he leave that tiger alone? Now he has to get into safe water again.
A good long choke is almost welcome at this moment. While it goes on he can herald, by a chronic movement of a raised finger, his readiness to explain all as soon as it stops. He catches at his first articulation, so that not a moment may be lost. There were two tigers—that's the explanation. Harrisson shot one, and Graythorpe the other. The cross-examiner is dissatisfied.
"Which was the one that shot the tiger two hundred yards off, just behind the ear?"