round it. The foolish Wandering Sahib should see the Virtuous Tiger and have a run for his money, or rather the shikari's money, but shoot it, he should not. In fact, a miracle should be worked, for the foolish Sahib should depart from Soni bearing a tiger's skin, the Virtuous Tiger should remain in Soni wearing a tiger's skin, the good shikari would have rupees and honour, and the villagers of Soni much baksheesh and their Loving Lucy. Excellent—but what a lot of trouble caused by a little virtue! A hard case. Here was a Sahib desperately anxious to slay a tiger. Here was an admirable shikari to whom he had made known his desire—and his preparedness to pay handsomely in the event of success. Here was a tiger to be shot, at any time, by anybody who chose to sit upon a rock overlooking the well-worn tiger-path from the cave, and await him at early morn or dewy eve. What a conjunction!—and to be ruined by Virtue.
"‘Something must be done,' he remarked to the headman. 'You would not have him and his rupees depart forthwith.'
"‘Anything you please, brother,' was the reply,
