I thought the manner more convenient than that in use on some of our western rivers.
While smoking a cigar on the bridge I was roused by the cry of "_tigre! tigre_!" from Borasdine.

I looked to where he pointed on the Chinese shore and could see an animal moving slowly through the grass.
It may have been a tiger, and so it was pronounced by the Russians who saw it; I have never looked upon a real tiger outside of a menagerie, and am not qualified to give an opinion.

I brought my opera glass and Borasdine Iris rifle, but the beast did not again show himself.
Provoked by this glimpse my companions retired to the cabin and made a theoretical combat with the animal until dinner time.
The day was made memorable by a decent dinner; the special reason for it was the fact that Borasdine had presented our caterer with an old coat.

I regretted I could not afford to reduce my wardrobe, else we would have secured another comfortable repast.

Both steward and cook were somewhat negligently clad, and possibly a spare garment or two might have opened their hearts and larders.
Of course the sight of the tiger led to stories about his kindred, and we whiled away a portion of the evening in narrating incidents of a more or less personal character.