Artists -- Fiction; Short stories, American; Storytelling -- Fiction
"Ponsonby bowed; settled himself slightly in his chair so that the curve
in his waistcoat could have full play, toyed with his knife a moment,
looked up at the ceiling as if to remember some of the most important
details, cleared his throat, and shot a glance down the table to command
attention. Everybody felt that the slightest sound from any lips but his
own would be punished with instant death.
"'Well, I don't care if I do. About four years ago His Royal Highness,
as you know, came out to India, and it became part of me duty to attend
upon his purson. He was good enough to remember that service in a way
with which, of course, you are all familiar. One morning at daylight his
equerry came to me quarters, routed me out of bed, and informed me that
His Royal Highness desired me to join him in a tiger hunt, which had
been arranged for the night before, and which, owing to me purfect
knowledge of the country--I knowing every inch of the ground--His Royal
Highness desired to have conducted under me supervision.'
"The two dudes were now listening so intently that one of them came near
sliding off the chair. The Curate sat with eyes and mouth open, his hand
cupping his ear, drinking in each word with the same attention that he
would have shown the Bishop of his diocese. The two country gentlemen
leaned forward to hear the better. MacDuff kept perfectly still, his
eyes on his plate, his finger around his glass of Scotch and soda.
"'When we reached the jungle--I was mounted on an elephant with two of
me retainers; His Royal Highness ahead on another elephant, an
_enor_-mous beast accustomed to hunts of this ke-ind--I heard a plunge
in the thicket to me left, the spring of a man-eater! There is no sound
like it, gentlemen. The next instant he came head on, bounding like a
great cat. When he reached the elephant of His Royal Highness he
gathered his forepaws under him, hunched his hind legs, and made ready
for the fatal spring. I knew what would happen. I realized in an instant
the danger. There was one chawnce in a thousand, but that chawnce I must
take. I caught up me forty-four! The beast was now in the air. The next
instant his claws would be in the flank of the elephant, and the next
His Royal Highness would be chewed to mince-meat. At that instant I
fired; there came a yell; the brute fell back lifeless, and the Prince
was saved! The ball had taken him over the left eye! I dismounted and
hurried to his side. He was the largest beast of his ke-ind I had ever
seen in all me expa'rience of twenty years. When we got him out upon the
sward he measured twenty-nine feet from the end of his nose to the tip
of his tail. If His Royal Highness, gentlemen, is with us to-day, it is
due to that shot.'
"A dead silence followed. Saving a future king's life was too grave a
matter for applause. The silence was broken by one of the dudes cackling
in a low whisper to his mate:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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