“Well, please don’t bother me now,” said Nero, as he curled his paws under his chin, just as your cat sometimes does when she goes to sleep. “I am going to have a nap after all my adventures and travels.”
“All right, go to sleep,” said Tum Tum. “We won’t bother you, Nero. Only, some day, I hope you’ll tell us more of your adventures.”
“I will,” promised Nero.
Tamba, the tame tiger, paced up and down in his cage after Nero had gone to sleep.
“I wish I had had his chances!” thought Tamba, as he looked over toward the sleeping Nero. “I wouldn’t have let them catch me! I’d have run on and on until I found my jungle, no matter how far away it was.”
And then Tamba began to think of the life in India and of the days when he, a little tiger cub, was hiding in the deep, dark, green jungle. He thought of how he had tumbled about in the leaves, playing with his brother and sister, and of his mother sitting in the mouth, or front door, of the cave and watching her striped babies.
They had learned how to walk, and how to jump and stick out their claws whenever they wanted to catch anything. Their father and mother had taught the little tiger cubs how to hunt in the jungle for the meat they had to eat. They could not go to the store and buy something when they were hungry. Tigers, and other wild animals, must hunt for what they eat.
Of course, after he had been caught and sent to the circus, Tamba no longer had to hunt for his food. It was brought to him by the circus men, and thrust into his cage. Nor did he have to hunt for water, the way the jungle animals have to go sniffing and snuffing about in the forest to find a pool or a spring. Tamba’s water was brought to his cage in a tin pail, and very glad he was to get it.
“But, for all that,” thought the tame tiger, as he paced up and down, “for all that I’d rather be loose and on my way back to the jungle instead of being cooped up here. Much as I like the things they give me to eat, I want to go home. And I’m going to get loose, too, and run away as Nero did. Only I won’t come back!”
The more Tamba thought of the green jungle, so far away in India, the more sad, unhappy and discontented the tame tiger became. He did not do his tricks as well as he used to do, and he was often cross in speaking to the other circus animals. Sometimes he wouldn’t speak at all, but only growl, or maybe grumble deep down in his throat, and that isn’t talking at all.