"Suit yourself," grumbled Irashi. But secretly he was disappointed. To watch the Hungry Tiger devour the prisoner would have been a real treat for the wicked little Pasha. Covering both ears to drown the poor fellow's doleful yells, he scrambled down the steps on the other side of the wall. "We'll return later to see if he is eaten," puffed the little Pasha, turning back toward the castle, and the guardsmen, exchanging uneasy glances, clanked after him. As soon as they were alone, the Hungry Tiger approached the prisoner. "Would you mind stopping that noise?" he begged earnestly. "You're really spoiling my supper." "Your supper?" gulped the Rasher, trembling violently, "Do you expect me to submit to eating without a sound?" "Well, I wish that you would," sighed the tiger hopefully. "I never cared for music with my meals. Now don't be frightened, I won't hurt you--much. If you were not so tall, I'd swallow you whole." "Oh!" groaned the prisoner falling upon his knees, "Have you no heart? No conscience? Are you really cruel enough to devour a poor fellow like me?" At each word, the Hungry Tiger recoiled a bit further. "But what can I do? I've nothing else to eat and it is the Rash law that you should perish. By the way, what was your crime?" he asked sadly. Now that the time for eating a live man was at hand, he found himself curiously disturbed. "I'm a singer," began the prisoner, in a choked and frightened voice. "This afternoon, hoping to earn a few Rash pence, I stopped beneath the palace balcony and--" Straightening up and throwing out his chest, the singer burst into tears and song, mingling them so thoroughly the Hungry Tiger was soon crying like a baby himself. Without the tears, the song went something like this: "Oh why must lovely roses die? Oh why, snif! snif! Oh why, say why? Oh why must hay be cut and mown In its first hey-day? Groan, snif, groan! And why must grass be trodden down And trees cut up to build a town? Should little lambs grow into chops And hang around in butcher shops? No! No! I weep, it is too sad. Snif, snuffle, snif, I feel so sad!" "So do I!" roared the Hungry Tiger. "Stop! Stop! I am positively ill. What's that?" That was a large bunch of bananas. It came whistling over the wall, followed by three onions, a sausage, a squash pie and a head of cabbage. "They always throw things when I sing," sobbed the singer, drying his eyes on his pink sleeve. "Pass me that sausage," gulped the Hungry Tiger in a faint voice. "Are--are'nt you going to eat me?" stuttered the sad singer, offering the sausage fearfully and jumping back as if he expected the tiger to snap off his arm. Between bites, and the sausage took only two, the Hungry Tiger shook his head. "Not now," he answered wearily. "I might have swallowed _you_, but that song! Never! A man full of music like that would ruin my digestion. How's the pie?"