"What! my dear fellow? Big game? I’ve killed pretty nearly everything a hunter _can_ kill, from the elephant and rhinoceros to the lion and tiger. I’ve never told you the story of my first lion?" "Never, padre," said the doctor, "but you are going to now." "Padre," said the colonel, "I should like to hear your stories, but I make one condition: some one must start the gramophone for me. I want my dear ’Mrs. Finzi-Magrini’ to-night." "Oh no, sir, for pity’s sake! I’ll let you have a rag-time if you absolutely must grind that damned machine." "Not at all, doctor, you aren’t going to get off so easily. I insist on ’Finzi-Magrini.’ Come, Aurelle, like a good chap, and remember, speed 65, and don’t scratch my record. Padre, you may now begin the story of your first lion." "I was at Johannesburg and very much wanted to join a sporting club, as a number of the members were friends of mine. But the rules did not admit any candidate who had not at least killed a lion. So I set out with a nigger loaded with several rifles, and that evening lay in wait with him near a water-hole where a lion was accustomed to come and drink. "Half an hour before midnight I heard the crashing of branches and over the top of a bush appeared the head of a lion. He had winded us and looked our way. I aimed and fired. The head disappeared behind the bush, but appeared again after a minute. A second shot, the same result. The brute got frightened, hid his head and then put it up again. I remained quite cool, I had sixteen shots to fire in my various rifles. Third shot, same old game; fourth shot, ditto. "I got unnerved and shot badly, so that after the fifteenth shot the beast put up his head again. ’Miss that one, him eat us,’ said the nigger. I took a long breath, aimed carefully and fired. The animal fell. One second—two—ten—he did not reappear. I waited a little longer, then I rushed out followed by my nigger, and guess, messiou, what I found behind." "The lion, padre." "_Sixteen_ lions, my boy, and every one had a bullet in its eye! That’s how I made my debut." "By Jove, padre! Who says the Scotch have no imagination?" "Now listen to a true story. It was in India that I first killed a woman. Yes, yes, a woman! I had set out tiger-shooting when in passing through a village, buried in the jungle, an old native stopped me. ’Sahib, sahib, a bear!’ And he pointed out a moving black shape up a tree. I took aim quickly and fired. The mass fell heavily with a crashing of branches, and I discovered an old woman, whom I had demolished while she was picking fruit. Another old nigger, the husband, overwhelmed me with abuse. They went and fetched the native policeman. I had to buy off the family; it cost a terrible lot, at least two pounds.