The Tiger Who Wore White Gloves

There once was a tiger, terrible and tough, who said “I don’t think tigers are stylish enough. They put on only orange and stripes of fierce black. Fine and fancy fashion is what they mostly lack. Even though they proudly speak most loudly, so that the jungle shakes and every eye awakes— Even though they slither hither and thither in such a wild way that few may care to stay— to be tough just isn’t enough.” These things the tiger said, And growled and tossed his head, and rushed to the jungle fair for something fine to wear. Then!—what a hoot and yell upon the jungle fell The rhinoceros rasped! The elephant gasped! “By all that’s sainted!” said wolf—and fainted. The crocodile cried. The lion sighed. The leopard sneered. The jaguar jeered. The antelope shouted. The panther pouted. Everyone screamed “We never dreamed that ever could be in history a tiger who loves to wear white gloves. White gloves are for girls with manners and curls and dresses and hats and bow-ribbons. That’s the way it always was and rightly so, because it’s nature’s nice decree that tiger folk should be not dainty, but daring, and wisely wearing what’s fierce as the face, not whiteness and lace!” They shamed him and shamed him— till none could have blamed him, when at last, with a sigh and a saddened eye, and in spite of his love, he took off each glove, and agreed this was meant all to prevail: each tiger content with his lashing tail and satisfied with his strong striped hide.