Fourth,' and a very good likeness, too."

The painter laughed and took another look at the old sign; then, with the
nervousness of the true artist, he took a look at his own. One or two
shadows--

He flung his legs over the bench and took up his brushes. In ten minutes
the most fervent loyalist would have looked in vain for any resemblance,
and with a sigh at the pitfalls which beset the artist he returned to his
interrupted meal and hailed the house for more beer.

"There's nobody could mistake your sign for anything but a cauliflower,"
said the old man; "it looks good enough to eat."

The painter smiled and pushed his mug across the table. He was a tender-
hearted man, and once--when painting the sign of the "Sir Wilfrid
Lawson"--knew himself what it was to lack beer. He began to discourse on
art, and spoke somewhat disparagingly of the cauliflower as a subject.
With a shake of his head he spoke of the possibilities of a spotted cow
or a blue lion.

"Talking of lions," said the ancient, musingly, "I s'pose as you never
'eard tell of the Claybury tiger? It was afore your time in these parts,
I expect."

The painter admitted his ignorance, and, finding that the allusion had no
reference to an inn, pulled out his pipe and prepared to listen.

"It's a while ago now," said the old man, slowly, "and the circus the
tiger belonged to was going through Claybury to get to Wickham, when,