by Hugh Lofting
“But couldn’t some of the other animals tell you as well?”
“I don’t think so,” said the Doctor, prodding the sausages with a fork.“To be sure, the monkeys I knew in Africa some time ago were veryhelpful in telling me about bygone days; but they only went back athousand years or so. No, I am certain that the oldest history in theworld is to be had from the shellfish—and from them only. You see mostof the other animals that were alive in those very ancient times havenow become extinct.”
“Have you learned any shellfish language yet?” I asked.
“No. I’ve only just begun. I wanted this particular kind of a pipe-fishbecause he is half a shellfish and half an ordinary fish. I went allthe way to the Eastern Mediterranean after him. But I’m very muchafraid he isn’t going to be a great deal of help to me. To tell you thetruth, I’m rather disappointed in his appearance. He doesn’t _look_very intelligent, does he?”
“No, he doesn’t,” I agreed.
“Ah,” said the Doctor. “The sausages are done to a turn. Comealong—hold your plate near and let me give you some.”
Then we sat down at the kitchen-table and started a hearty meal.
It was a wonderful kitchen, that. I had many meals there afterwardsand I found it a better place to eat in than the grandest dining-roomin the world. It was so cozy and home-like and warm. It was so handyfor the food too. You took it right off the fire, hot, and put it onthe table and ate it. And you could watch your toast toasting at thefender and see it didn’t burn while you drank your soup. And if youhad forgotten to put the salt on the table, you didn’t have to get upand go into another room to fetch it; you just reached round and tookthe big wooden box off the dresser behind you. Then the fireplace—thebiggest fireplace you ever saw—was like a room in itself. You could getright inside it even when the logs were burning and sit on the wideseats either side and roast chestnuts after the meal was over—or listento the kettle singing, or tell stories, or look at picture-books by thelight of the fire. It was a marvelous kitchen. It was like the Doctor,comfortable, sensible, friendly and solid.
While we were gobbling away, the door suddenly opened and in marchedthe duck, Dab-Dab, and the dog, Jip, dragging sheets and pillow-casesbehind them over the clean tiled floor. The Doctor, seeing howsurprised I was, explained:
“They’re just going to air the bedding for me in front of the fire.Dab-Dab is a perfect treasure of a housekeeper; she never forgetsanything. I had a sister once who used to keep house for me (poor, dearSarah! I wonder how she’s getting on—I haven’t seen her in many years).But she wasn’t nearly as good as Dab-Dab. Have another sausage?”
The Doctor turned and said a few words to the dog and duck in somestrange talk and signs. They seemed to understand him perfectly.
“Can you talk in squirrel language?” I asked.
“Oh yes. That’s quite an easy language,” said the Doctor. “You couldlearn that yourself without a great deal of trouble. But why do youask?”
“Because I have a sick squirrel at home,” I said. “I took it away froma hawk. But two of its legs are badly hurt and I wanted very much tohave you see it, if you would. Shall I bring it to-morrow?”
“Well, if its leg is badly broken I think I had better see it to-night.It may be too late to do much; but I’ll come home with you and take alook at it.”
So presently we felt the clothes by the fire and mine were found to bequite dry. I took them upstairs to the bedroom and changed, and when Icame down the Doctor was all ready waiting for me with his little blackbag full of medicines and bandages.
“Come along,” he said. “The rain has stopped now.”
Outside it had grown bright again and the evening sky was all red withthe setting sun; and thrushes were singing in the garden as we openedthe gate to go down on to the road.
_THE FIFTH CHAPTER_
POLYNESIA
“I THINK your house is the most interesting house I was ever in,” Isaid as we set off in the direction of the town. “May I come and seeyou again to-morrow?”
“Certainly,” said the Doctor. “Come any day you like. To-morrow I’llshow you the garden and my private zoo.”
“Oh, have you a zoo?” I asked.
“Yes,” said he. “The larger animals are too big for the house, so Ikeep them in a zoo in the garden. It is not a very big collection butit is interesting in its way.”
“It must be splendid,” I said, “to be able to talk all the languages ofthe different animals. Do you think I could ever learn to do it?”
“Oh surely,” said the Doctor—“with practise. You have to be verypatient, you know. You really ought to have Polynesia to start you. Itwas she who gave me my first lessons.”
“Who is Polynesia?” I asked.
“Polynesia was a West African parrot I had. She isn’t with me any morenow,” said the Doctor sadly.
“Why—is she dead?”
“Oh no,” said the Doctor. “She is still living, I hope. But when wereached Africa she seemed so glad to get back to her own country. Shewept for joy. And when the time came for me to come back here I had notthe heart to take her away from that sunny land—although, it is true,she did offer to come. I left her in Africa—Ah well! I have missed herterribly. She wept again when we left. But I think I did the rightthing. She was one of the best friends I ever had. It was she whofirst gave me the idea of learning the animal languages and becomingan animal doctor. I often wonder if she remained happy in Africa, andwhether I shall ever see her funny, old, solemn face again—Good oldPolynesia!—A most extraordinary bird—Well, well!”
Just at that moment we heard the noise of some one running behind us;and turning round we saw Jip the dog rushing down the road after us,as fast as his legs could bring him. He seemed very excited aboutsomething, and as soon as he came up to us, he started barking andwhining to the Doctor in a peculiar way. Then the Doctor too seemed toget all worked up and began talking and making queer signs to the dog.At length he turned to me, his face shining with happiness.
“Polynesia has come back!” he cried. “Imagine it. Jip says she has justarrived at the house. My! And it’s five years since I saw her—Excuseme a minute.”
He turned as if to go back home. But the parrot, Polynesia, was alreadyflying towards us. The Doctor clapped his hands like a child gettinga new toy; while the swarm of sparrows in the roadway fluttered,gossiping, up on to the fences, highly scandalized to see a gray andscarlet parrot skimming down an English lane.
On she came, straight on to the Doctor’s shoulder, where sheimmediately began talking a steady stream in a language I could notunderstand. She seemed to have a terrible lot to say. And very soonthe Doctor had forgotten all about me and my squirrel and Jip andeverything else; till at length the bird clearly asked him somethingabout me.
“Oh excuse me, Stubbins!” said the Doctor. “I was so interestedlistening to my old friend here. We must get on and see this squirrelof yours—Polynesia, this is Thomas Stubbins.”
The parrot, on the Doctor’s shoulder, nodded gravely towards me andthen, to my great surprise, said quite plainly in English,
“How do you do? I remember the night you were born. It was a terriblycold winter. You were a very ugly baby.”
“Stubbins is anxious to learn animal language,” said the Doctor. “I wasjust telling him about you and the lessons you gave me when Jip ran upand told us you had arrived.”
“Well,” said the parrot, turning to me, “I may have started the Doctorlearning but I never could have done even that, if he hadn’t firsttaught me to understand what _I_ was saying when I spoke English.You see, many parrots can talk like a person, but very few of themunderstand what they are saying. They just say it because—well, becausethey fancy it is smart or, because they know they will get crackersgiven them.”
By this time we had turned and were going towards my home with Jiprunning in front and Polynesia still perched on the Doctor’s shoulder.The bird chattered incessantly, mostly about Africa; but n
ow she spokein English, out of politeness to me.
“How is Prince Bumpo getting on?” asked the Doctor.
“Oh, I’m glad you asked me,” said Polynesia. “I almost forgot to tellyou. What do you think?—_Bumpo is in England!_”
“In England!—You don’t say!” cried the Doctor. “What on earth is hedoing here?”
“His father, the king, sent him here to a place called—er—Bullford, Ithink it was—to study lessons.”
“Bullford!—Bullford!” muttered the Doctor. “I never heard of theplace—Oh, you mean Oxford.”
“Yes, that’s the place—Oxford,” said Polynesia “I knew it had cattle init somewhere. Oxford—that’s the place he’s gone to.”
“Well, well,” murmured the Doctor. “Fancy Bumpo studying atOxford—Well, well!”
“There were great doings in Jolliginki when he left. He was scared todeath to come. He was the first man from that country to go abroad. Hethought he was going to be eaten by white cannibals or something. Youknow what those niggers are—that ignorant! Well!—But his father madehim come. He said that all the black kings were sending their sons toOxford now. It was the fashion, and he would have to go. Bumpo wantedto bring his six wives with him. But the king wouldn’t let him do thateither. Poor Bumpo went off in tears—and everybody in the palace wascrying too. You never heard such a hullabaloo.”
“Do you know if he ever went back in search of The Sleeping Beauty?”asked the Doctor.
“Oh yes,” said Polynesia—“the day after you left. And a good thing forhim he did: the king got to know about his helping you to escape; andhe was dreadfully wild about it.”
“And The Sleeping Beauty?—did he ever find her?”
“Well, he brought back something which he _said_ was The SleepingBeauty. Myself, I think it was an albino niggeress. She had red hairand the biggest feet you ever saw. But Bumpo was no end pleased withher and finally married her amid great rejoicings. The feastings lastedseven days. She became his chief wife and is now known out there as theCrown-Princess Bum_pah_—you accent the last syllable.”
“And tell me, did he remain white?”
“Only for about three months,” said the parrot. “After that his faceslowly returned to its natural color. It was just as well. He was soconspicuous in his bathing-suit the way he was, with his face white andthe rest of him black.”
“And how is Chee-Chee getting on?—Chee-Chee,” added the Doctor inexplanation to me, “was a pet monkey I had years ago. I left him too inAfrica when I came away.”
“Well,” said Polynesia frowning,—“Chee-Chee is not entirely happy. Isaw a good deal of him the last few years. He got dreadfully homesickfor you and the house and the garden. It’s funny, but I was just thesame way myself. You remember how crazy I was to get back to the dearold land? And Africa _is_ a wonderful country—I don’t care what anybodysays. Well, I thought I was going to have a perfectly grand time. Butsomehow—I don’t know—after a few weeks it seemed to get tiresome. Ijust couldn’t seem to settle down. Well, to make a long story short,one night I made up my mind that I’d come back here and find you. SoI hunted up old Chee-Chee and told him about it. He said he didn’tblame me a bit—felt exactly the same way himself. Africa was so deadlyquiet after the life we had led with you. He missed the stories youused to tell us out of your animal books—and the chats we used to havesitting round the kitchen-fire on winter nights. The animals out therewere very nice to us and all that. But somehow the dear kind creaturesseemed a bit stupid. Chee-Chee said he had noticed it too. But Isuppose it wasn’t they who had changed; it was we who were different.When I left, poor old Chee-Chee broke down and cried. He said he feltas though his only friend were leaving him—though, as you know, he hassimply millions of relatives there. He said it didn’t seem fair that Ishould have wings to fly over here any time I liked, and him with noway to follow me. But mark my words, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised ifhe found a way to come—some day. He’s a smart lad, is Chee-Chee.”
At this point we arrived at my home. My father’s shop was closed andthe shutters were up; but my mother was standing at the door lookingdown the street.
“Good evening, Mrs. Stubbins,” said the Doctor. “It is my fault yourson is so late. I made him stay to supper while his clothes weredrying. He was soaked to the skin; and so was I. We ran into oneanother in the storm and I insisted on his coming into my house forshelter.”
“I was beginning to get worried about him,” said my mother. “I amthankful to you, Sir, for looking after him so well and bringing himhome.”
“Don’t mention it—don’t mention it,” said the Doctor. “We have had avery interesting chat.”
“Who might it be that I have the honor of addressing?” asked my motherstaring at the gray parrot perched on the Doctor’s shoulder.
“Oh, I’m John Dolittle. I dare say your husband will remember me. Hemade me some very excellent boots about four years ago. They reallyare splendid,” added the Doctor, gazing down at his feet with greatsatisfaction.
“The Doctor has come to cure my squirrel, Mother,” said I. “He knowsall about animals.”
“Oh, no,” said the Doctor, “not all, Stubbins, not all about them byany means.”
“It is very kind of you to come so far to look after his pet,” said mymother. “Tom is always bringing home strange creatures from the woodsand the fields.”
“Is he?” said the Doctor. “Perhaps he will grow up to be a naturalistsome day. Who knows?”
“Won’t you come in?” asked my mother. “The place is a little untidybecause I haven’t finished the spring cleaning yet. But there’s a nicefire burning in the parlor.”
“Thank you!” said the Doctor. “What a charming home you have!”
And after wiping his enormous boots very, very carefully on the mat,the great man passed into the house.
_THE SIXTH CHAPTER_
THE WOUNDED SQUIRREL
INSIDE we found my father busy practising on the flute beside the fire.This he always did, every evening, after his work was over.
The Doctor immediately began talking to him about flutes and piccolosand bassoons; and presently my father said,
“Perhaps you perform upon the flute yourself, Sir. Won’t you play us atune?”
“Well,” said the Doctor, “it is a long time since I touched theinstrument. But I would like to try. May I?”
Then the Doctor took the flute from my father and played and played andplayed. It was wonderful. My mother and father sat as still as statues,staring up at the ceiling as though they were in church; and even I,who didn’t bother much about music except on the mouth-organ—even Ifelt all sad and cold and creepy and wished I had been a better boy.
“Oh I think that was just beautiful!” sighed my mother when at lengththe Doctor stopped.
“You are a great musician, Sir,” said my father, “a very greatmusician. Won’t you please play us something else?”
“Why certainly,” said the Doctor—“Oh, but look here, I’ve forgotten allabout the squirrel.”
“I’ll show him to you,” I said. “He is upstairs in my room.”
So I led the Doctor to my bedroom at the top of the house and showedhim the squirrel in the packing-case filled with straw.
The animal, who had always seemed very much afraid of me—though I hadtried hard to make him feel at home, sat up at once when the Doctorcame into the room and started to chatter. The Doctor chattered backin the same way and the squirrel when he was lifted up to have his legexamined, appeared to be rather pleased than frightened.
I held a candle while the Doctor tied the leg up in what he called“splints,” which he made out of match-sticks with his pen-knife.
“I think you will find that his leg will get better now in a very shorttime,” said the Doctor closing up his bag. “Don’t let him run about forat least two weeks yet, but keep him in the open air and cover him upwith dry leaves if the nights get cool. He tells me he is rather lonelyhere, all by himse
lf, and is wondering how his wife and children aregetting on. I have assured him you are a man to be trusted; and I willsend a squirrel who lives in my garden to find out how his family areand to bring him news of them. He must be kept cheerful at all costs.Squirrels are naturally a very cheerful, active race. It is very hardfor them to lie still doing nothing. But you needn’t worry about him.He will be all right.”
Then we went back again to the parlor and my mother and father kept himplaying the flute till after ten o’clock.
Although my parents both liked the Doctor tremendously from the firstmoment that they saw him, and were very proud to have him come and playto us (for we were really terribly poor) they did not realize thenwhat a truly great man he was one day to become. Of course now, whenalmost everybody in the whole world has heard about Doctor Dolittle andhis books, if you were to go to that little house in Puddleby wheremy father had his cobbler’s shop you would see, set in the wall overthe old-fashioned door, a stone with writing on it which says: “JOHNDOLITTLE, THE FAMOUS NATURALIST, PLAYED THE FLUTE IN THIS HOUSE IN THEYEAR 1839.”
I often look back upon that night long, long ago. And if I close myeyes and think hard I can see that parlor just as it was then: a funnylittle man in coat-tails, with a round kind face, playing away on theflute in front of the fire; my mother on one side of him and my fatheron the other, holding their breath and listening with their eyes shut;myself, with Jip, squatting on the carpet at his feet, staring into thecoals; and Polynesia perched on the mantlepiece beside his shabby highhat, gravely swinging her head from side to side in time to the music.I see it all, just as though it were before me now.
