"Unless you'd rather throw the bone," hesitated Bessy, her heart giving way.
"There's not the least danger for you, Bessy. And I'm a better judge of tigers. I'm more familiar with their habits than you."
Off went Bessy, and finding a half-eaten roast of beef in the pantry, she opened the kitchen window, her heart choking her as she did it, and flung it out with all her strength. There was a rush from the shed, but Bessy had closed the shutters and was flying up the stairs. Halfway up stood Jack, pale and breathless.
"Was it the tiger?"
"Yes."
"Oh, Jack!" Bessy clasped her hands. "Is he--is he big?"
"Oh, he's a monster. His eyes are like coals of fire." Jack jerked out the words as he dashed down the stairs and out of the front door, shouting, "Police! police!"
One can easily guess what followed then. When Mrs. Leigh came home from market, a dense crowd packed the street for half a square from her house, on the outskirts of which skirmished women, with babies in their arms, boys open-mouthed, and cart-men cracking their whips, whose horses stood waiting in a crowd at the corner. In front of the door stood one of the vans of the menagerie. Wild cries of "The tiger!" "The lion!" resounded from side to side, and every time the door opened the crowd fell back, expecting him to charge on them. Way was made for Mrs. Leigh. Everybody looked at her with respect.
"He's in your house, ma'am."
"It was your son that discovered him."