74 
ALMOST HUMAN 
and without so much as a “by your leave” he went exploring about the 
back of the stage — none interfering with the perfect freedom of his 
movements — until he came to the door marked “Exit.” So he made 
his exit, and he went down and out by the back lane until he found 
himself looking down Little Collins Street. As he surveyed the un- 
familiar landscape a motorist bore down towards him. 
“At first,” said the motorist, “I thought it was a great dog, and I 
took a good look at him. But all at once I recognised him for a lion. 
Didn’t it give me a start? What could I do? I could only toot, and 
so I tooted like the mischief! To my relief he showed no signs of 
wishing to attack me in my car, and turned his back on me. I was 
quite willing to fade out of his memory !” 
But in turning his back on the man in the car, he came face to 
face with two gentlemen who had had a night out, and who had not quite 
recovered from the effects of their celebrations. One caught the other 
by the arm. “What’s that?” he cried, in horror. “Look!” “Look 
where?” asked his friend, casually. He was not as near to convalescence 
as the other. “Why, there! Look! It’s a LION!” In infinite pity, 
the second man stroked the arm of his comrade who was “seeing things,” 
and urged him to brace himself up. He pointed out the utter impossi- 
bility of a lion walking down the streets of central Melbourne in the 
middle of the afternoon, and as his remarks became impressive by reason 
of their sense, the cause of the discussion quietly entered the first door 
that stood invitingly open — the offices of the Society for the Protection 
of Animals! But he only got into the passage. Even the founders of 
this excellent society had never intended that strolling lions should take 
their work in so literal a sense as to call in person to prefer their 
complaints. So they inhospitably barred their doors against the 
unwelcome visitor, and at the same moment a quick-witted onlooker 
shut the street doors, for fear the lion might fancy he heard an invita- 
tion, in the words of the song, to 
“Come with me down Swanston Street!” 
Outside the Society’s rooms he stood, looking at the surging crowds 
of excited pedestrians, with an expression on his face that seemed to 
say: “It was not an enemy that did this, else could I have borne it!” 
Inside the office, the telephone was requisitioned in a second. An 
urgent message went to the Zoo: 
“A lion is loose here. Send somebody down to catch it!” 
This peremptory order needed a little bit of carrying out. A pinch 
of salt was scarcely sufficient equipment for the catchers. They hastily 
