Mr.Currie Ghyrkins vainly attempted to stem the torrent of his eloquence, but at last pinned him on some erratic statement about tigers moulting later in the year and their skins not being worth taking.
Kildare would have asserted with equal equanimity that all tigers shed their teeth and their tails in December; he was evidently trying to rouse Mr.Ghyrkins into a discussion on the subject of tiger shooting in general, a purpose very easily accomplished.

The old gentleman was soon goaded to madness by Kildare's wonderful opinions, and before long he vowed that the youngster had never seen a tiger,--not one in his whole life, sir,--and that it was high time he did, high time indeed, and he swore he should see one before he was a week older.

Yes, sir, before he was a week older, "if I have to carry you among 'em like a baby in arms, sir, by gad, sir--I should think so!" This was all we wanted, and in another ten minutes we were drinking a bumper to the health of the whole tiger-hunt and of Miss Westonhaugh in particular.

Isaacs joined with the rest, and though he only drank some sherbet, as I watched his bright eyes and pale cheek, I thought that never knight drank truer toast to his lady.

Miss Westonhaugh rose and went out, leaving us to smoke for a while.