To tell the truth, no one at the hospital wanted to know how cross that lion did feel--they thought it was a case in which it would be folly to be wise. The first thing to be done was to drop nooses of rope on the floor of his cage, and then draw them up when he put his foot in one--he knew he had "put his foot in it" when he found himself snared--and so, step by step, get him bound and helpless. If you will think how particularly hard it is to tie up a cat, you may guess that it is no joke to make a lion fast; he is just like a stupendous cat in his agility and slipperiness. The only way to render him helpless is to get his hind quarters tied up outside his cage, and his head bound fast within it; the next thing, for dental work, is to put a gag in his mouth; that is the easier because there is no trouble at all about getting him to open his mouth--he does it every time any one goes near him. When they have these beasts of the jungle at the hospital their keepers have to stay with them; but even then they can't always prevent mischief. A baby elephant from a big circus was about the most disorderly patient they ever had there, though, in spite of her naughtiness, she became quite a pet with everybody about. She had a cold and the sniffles when she first came, and was subdued and patient, just like some stirring children when they are sick; but as she got better she almost pulled the whole place down in her efforts to get something to play with. She reached out of her stall and took a large office clock off the wall. No one had supposed she could reach it, and she had broken it to what her keeper called smithereens before he could stop her. If she could find a crack anywhere, destruction began; if it was in the plaster, the plaster was ripped off; if between boards, up came a board. But the baby was not so likely as some of her grown-up relatives to just knock down the side of the house and walk out, which is an occurrence always possible when you have an elephant come to see you. Elephants are poor sailors; they get dreadfully seasick, and often when they are just landed they are brought to the hospital to recuperate. Gin is the great remedy in that case; they particularly love gin, and all their medicine is usually given to them in gin. When medicine cannot be given disguised in drink or food, it is usually squeezed down the patient's throat with a syringe. The horses are very good about that operation, but the dogs are often troublesome at first; but both dogs and horses soon learn that they are with friends, and then they are wonderfully good and grateful even when the doctors have to hurt them.