The circus was preparing to move into its winter quarters, and it was the confusion of packing that caused Buster to get mixed up with Spot and Ocelot in their cages. His injuries were very slight, and within a few days after Chiquita had bound them up his legs were as good as new.

He felt a little angry at the Leopard and Jungle Cat for attacking him when fast asleep, but Buster wasn’t the kind to nurse a grudge. When his wrath cooled a little he actually laughed at the occurrence. Strolling outside to where the cages were standing, he grinned at the Leopard.

“You got a good dig at me, Spot,” he said, “but with that last cuff I gave you I guess we can call it even. Head ache yet?”

Spot didn’t reply, but paced his narrow cage in restless dissatisfaction. Buster turned to the Jungle Cat.

“How about you, Ocelot! Got over your scare yet? I didn’t touch you, but you looked[88] as scared as a rat in a trap when I shook your cage.”

Ocelot showed the same silent contempt and refused to reply other than with a low snarl. Buster turned to Old Lion.

“The only cheerful one I find in this group is you, Old Lion,” he added. “Spot and Ocelot don’t look happy, and Timber the Wolf acts as if he had an ingrowing pain in his stomach. How about you?”

“I’m always cheerful,” replied Old Lion. “That’s why I’ve grown bald and toothless, and lived to a good old age. Spot and Ocelot will die young if they don’t change their manners. So will you, Buster.”

“Why,” stammered Buster, “I do try to be cheerful. I didn’t know I was anything else.”

“That may be,” replied Old Lion, “but you’re too ready for a fight. Every battle you get in shortens your life by so many days.”

“I don’t fight unless I’m attacked,” was the quick reply.

“I didn’t know the animals attacked you the other night in the circus. You started the fight.”

“Yes, but not until after they had attacked Chiquita,” Buster said indignantly. “I had to protect her, for she was a friend of mine.”

[89]“Are you going to fight to protect all your friends in this world?” asked Old Lion sleepily. “If you do, I predict you will die young. Now I must go to sleep, for we begin our long journey soon, and I do hate riding on a train. It rasps my nerves.”

Buster never knew how seriously to take the Old Lion’s words, but he was a companionable and harmless old fellow, and sometimes rambled on just to hear himself talk. He was getting so old that talking was the easiest thing to do, and between eating and sleeping that was about all he did. Sometimes he appeared in the circus as a fierce old lion, who had killed any number of keepers, but it was growing harder and harder for him to assume the pose. He wasn’t fierce looking at all, except when he roared, and that was such an exertion he seldom did it unless prodded by the attendants.

“How does it feel to ride on a train?” Buster asked when he saw that the Old Lion was going to drop off asleep right before him.

“How does it feel?” he drawled. “Why, it feels as if all the bones in your body were rattling, and when the train stops—and it’s stopping all the time when it isn’t going—you stand on your head and then on your tail, and if you’re lucky you don’t die of fright.”

[90]“It must be a wonderful experience,” remarked Buster.

“It is, and you won’t enjoy it. I don’t know what trains were invented for unless it was to torture those who ride in them. But when we get there we’ll have a long rest.”

“Where?” asked Buster.

“Where we’re going, and when you get there you wonder why you came, and where you are. Now do you understand?”

Buster laughed good-natur............