One evening, just as it was getting dark, Tamba sniffed the air and smelled a smell which told him he was near another stable and barn. It was not the one where Tinkle lived, though.
“I wonder if I can get anything to eat here,” thought Tamba.
Carefully and softly the tame tiger crept around the corner of the carriage house. Near by he saw what seemed to be a low building without any roof a little way ahead of him, and from this place came gruntings and squealings.
“Get over on your own side of the trough! You’re eating all my sour milk!” said one squealy voice.
“I am not, either, Squinty!” came the answer. “I want something to eat just as much as you do!”
“Ha! Something to eat!” thought Tamba who heard and understood this animal talk. “I wonder who those chaps are, and who Squinty is. And I wonder if they have enough for me to eat. I’m going to see!”
Up to the pen, which had no roof, went Tamba, and, rising on his two hind legs, he looked over the side and down in. There he saw a number of pigs who were drinking sour milk and bran from a trough.
One of the pigs, with a queer droop to one eye, looked up and saw Tamba peering in.
“Hello!” grunted this pig. “Who are you, and what’s the matter?”