REMINISCENCES FROM THE MELBOURNE ZOO. 
75 
placed a “catching box” on a lorry, got some ropes and other things 
together, and then Mr. Wilkie and four keepers drove off to the scene 
of action. Thousands of people surged to and fro in the near-by 
streets; a fully-equipped fire brigade was there in readiness, no one 
knew what for; quite a hundred policemen tried to keep order with the 
mob; several mounted riflemen patrolled as well as they could — but 
nobody understood very readily that the lorry with its box and its five 
men were the solution of the difficulty, therefore every possible hindrance 
was, as usual, placed in the way of the real helpers. 
At last the catching box was placed close against the door, where 
the keepers could see a dangerously savage animal banging desperately 
at the plate glass in his frantic endeavours to get out — to get anywhere 
away from that howling, jostling crowd which was so cruelly near to 
him. His eyes were so bright that they seemed to be emitting sparks 
of fire at each spring, and had the rescue party delayed much longer 
it is quite possible that the comedy would have been changed to tragedy, 
for one spring of the creature in such a mood must have meant damage 
if not death to the ones he reached. Seeing all this the men worked 
hard to save every precious minute, but even as they toiled a high- 
pitched voice reached them from above to distract their attention. An 
old lady, leaning out from a top storey window, screeched her orders 
to the keepers below. 
“You men! Get that lion caught! Get that lion out of here at 
once! Do you hear me?” 
Doing their best to obey her, the men drew up the trap door of the 
box, and dangled a tempting shin of meat before the terrified beast. 
Mr. Wilkie then carefully opened the street door of the building and 
spoke kindly, in reassuring tones. At once the poor thing was satisfied. 
He recognised Mr. Wilkie and sniffed the familiar box — the first known 
thing he had encountered during his crowded hour of city life. Quickly 
deciding that there was no place like home, he walked into the box, and 
as soon as his fangs met over the succulent bone, the subsequent pro- 
ceedings interested him no more — not even the shrieks of the multitude 
that offered him his choice of deaths — chloroforming or shooting. 
Consciousness of innocence saved him from any fear of either 
reward as a result of his star performance; but the illusionist thought 
he was very badly treated when the management of the theatre uncere- 
moniously cut out the turn that required the assistance of the king of 
beasts. 
