"That awful smell of Zoo."
Of course that was it. I had been wondering what was the curious smell. My first thought—an awful one—was that the tiger had actually broken loose, tracked us home, and was now under the bed waiting to devour us. There was nothing to hinder it but a mosquito-curtain! How I accomplished it, paralysed as I was with terror, I know not, but I took a flying leap and landed on G., hitting her nose with my head and clutching wildly at her brawny arms, much developed with tennis, as my only refuge.
She was too terrified to resent my intrusion.
"What do you think it is?" she whispered.
"Hu-s-h, speak low. Perhaps it doesn't know there's anyone in the room."
"It's the tiger from the Zoo," I hissed with conviction.
G. started visibly. "Rubbish," she said. "A tiger wouldn't get into a house. Ah—oh, listen!"
Distinctly we heard the fud of four feet going round the bed.
"Cry for help," said G.
"Sister!" we yelled together.
"Sister Anna!"
"Sister Anna Margaret!"
