Doctor Dolittle's Return

1 Why John Dolittle Stayed So Long on the Moon

"Well," the Doctor began, "before you came in I was telling Stubbins here that I had quite a difficult time getting away from Otho Bludge, the Moon Man. But since you all want to listen to the story I had better begin at the beginning—that is, from where Stubbins was carried off by the moth and taken away. You know of course why that was. The Moon Man, who had bird spies in every corner of that world up there, heard that I was uneasy about Stubbins—or rather about his mother and father. The young rascal hadn't even told his parents he was going—just stowed away aboard the moth without even my knowing it. Of course I feared his parents would be terribly worried, when he no longer came to visit them.

"These bird spies overheard us talking about this one night in our camp and they told Otho Bludge. Now I had been treating him for rheumatism, and he didn't want to lose me, it seemed. He thought if he got Stubbins back to the earth I would no longer worry about him and would be willing to stay. So he kidnapped the boy and shipped him off before I had a chance to say a word about it one way or the other.

"At first it was a great load off my mind. I knew the trip could be made in safety—although, to be sure, it was a hard and trying one. When the moth got back and reported that he had landed Stubbins on the earth I was very happy. I admit I was terribly sorry to lose him. And, no doubt, I would have felt awfully lonely up there if I had not been so busy.

"I have never known any one single year in my whole life when so many interesting things for study were presented to me at once. The days never seemed long enough. There were great portions of the moon which Stubbins and I had not yet even explored. I found new lakes with all sorts of strange life in the waters. High in the mountains, among the old craters of dead volcanoes, I found fossil remains of different animals which had thrived on the moon long, long ago and since died out—become extinct, as we call it. Then there were the rocks at lower levels. Comparing these with what I knew of our own rocks down here, I was able to calculate the exact age of the moon—that is, I could tell within a few thousand years, just when it was that the great explosion occurred—the explosion which shot the moon off from the earth and made it into a separate little world, revolving around us in the heavens."

The Doctor paused a moment and turned to Chee–Chee.

"By the way, Chee–Chee," said he, "now that we're back, don't forget to remind me to alter that chapter in my book on Monkey History."

"You mean the part about the story my grandmother told when I was little?" asked the monkey.

"Oh, I remember that," cried the white mouse. "It was called The Days Before There Was a Moon."

"'Oh, I remember that,' cried the white mouse"

"That's right," said the Doctor. "The legend of how a man, a prehistoric artist, was shot away from the earth the day before the moon appeared in the sky for the first time. I put it into my book, even if it was only a story. But it now appears that it was all practically true—the Legend of Pippiteepa, the beautiful girl with whom poor Otho Bludge was in love. And by examining the rocks up there we now know that the monkey race is much older than most naturalists had thought."

"How sad," said the white mouse thoughtfully, "that they should have been separated, one left on the earth and one stuck up in the moon. A very sad romance."

"Yes, but just the same," said the Doctor, "don't forget that if Otho Bludge had not been shot away by the great explosion, life on the moon to–day could never have been what it is. It was he who saved the animal world up there from dying out. He told me it took him a long time to see what was going to happen. Some of the larger creatures—great prehistoric beasts that went off so suddenly with him—some in egg–form like dinosaurs and such—began eating up the plant life so fast that the entire vegetable kingdom could hardly keep up against the destruction. Of course all this, you understand, took thousands and thousands of years. But at last, when Otho had had enough time to get himself used to his new surroundings, he began to ponder over what should be done about it. He had then grown immensely big. And though he wasn't much good at arithmetic and astronomy he saw the planets, the sun and the earth revolving around him in the heavens and he finally realized that he had already lived a terribly long while."

"About how long?" asked Gub–Gub.

"It's hard to say exactly," said the Doctor. "But certainly dozens of times longer than he knew man usually lived on the earth. It must have been something in the vegetable diet, and of course the climate, lighter gravity and other things peculiar to that new world. It looked to him, he told me, as if life could go on up there pretty nearly for ever provided it was properly taken care of."

I whispered a word of explanation in Matthew's ear at this point. He nodded and winked back at me understandingly.

"And so," the Doctor went on, "Otho Bludge made up his mind that he would see to it that life was properly taken care of—life of both kinds, animal and plant. First he went round the whole of the moon, exploring it many times, so that there was hardly a square yard of it that he hadn't examined. In a crude rough way he made a list of all the different forms of animals, insects, trees, shrubs and plants that he found. Knowing how long he had lived and how long he was likely still to live, he felt there was no need for hurry and he made a very complete job of it."

"Humph! Must 'ave been quite a naturalist 'imself," Cheapside put in.

"Yes, he most certainly was," said the Doctor. "A very great naturalist, rather the way that Long Arrow was, the man that we found in Spidermonkey Island. He didn't use science such as we use. But he gathered a tremendous lot of information and showed a remarkable common sense in what he did with it. Well, having listed all his animals and plants—or, I should say, all that were still living at the time—he began upon the work. He next found out just what each of them lived on and about how much food each required."

"He told you all this himself, Doctor?" Too–Too asked.

"Yes," said the Doctor, "but you must remember that conversation between him and myself was not exactly the same thing as Matthew and I talking in English together. No, no. Not nearly so—er—exact. Whatever language Otho Bludge had used in talking with his fellow men on the earth of prehistoric days, he had, when I met him, almost entirely forgotten. After all, how could he have remembered it—not having another human to speak with for thousands of years?"

"Well, how did you manage to talk with him at all?" asked Jip.

"In animal languages, mostly," said the Doctor. "For, you see, in his years and years of observing, counting, watching and examining the other forms of life up there, the Moon Man saw that the animals could communicate with one another. And presently he began, little by little, to catch on to the different ways in which they spoke—signs, noises, movements, and so forth. How long this took him, I couldn't find out. That was one of the great difficulties I always had in questioning him—he was so vague, hazy, about lengths of time, quantities, numbers—in fact anything that had to do with figures. It was curious, because the cleverness of the man was in all other matters most astonishing."

"Well, but, Doctor," said Too–Too, "wouldn't that be because he had lived so long?"

"Exactly," said John Dolittle. "He had lived, many hundreds of our lifetimes. So, in some ways, his mind, his experience, was—well, he was like hundreds of men rolled into one, if you know what I mean. Then again, he had kept his attention on just a few subjects. Life in the moon is a very simple matter—as it would be anywhere else where there were no human beings to make it complicated—er—you know, fussy, hard and mixed up."

"Were the animals' languages on the moon anything like the animal languages down here?" asked Gub–Gub.

"They were and they weren't," said the Doctor. "Of course they had all sprung from the languages of the earth creatures. But after so long up there, the birds and the rest of them spoke quite differently. Of course my own knowledge of animal languages helped me greatly in talking with them. But I found it dreadfully difficult at first. The words and phrases had nearly all changed. Only the manner, the way, of speaking remained.

"But this will show you how hard Otho Bludge himself must have worked: he discovered, without any education in natural history at all, the great part which the insects, like bees, play in the life of the plants. He knew all about it. I found that his knowledge of insect languages, even down to the water–beetles, was tremendous—far and away better than my own. And from that he went on to learn the languages of the vegetable world."

"The language of vegetables!" cried Gub–Gub.

"Well," said the Doctor, "not exactly the languages of potatoes and carrots. We hadn't any up there. The expression 'vegetable world' takes in anything that grows in the ground—trees, flowers, vines. Otho Bludge was the first naturalist to make any discoveries in this field of study. I had often wondered, years ago, if our plants down here had any way of talking to one another. I am still wondering.

"But up there, with a very much smaller animal kingdom, and entirely different conditions, certain kinds of trees and plants had worked out and developed languages of their own. You see, in this world, we are always mixing up breeds—crossing different sorts of dahlias to make new kinds, grafting fruit–trees, and even sticking rosebuds on to raspberry canes to make roses grow on a raspberry root. That's called a hybrid. How could we expect such a mixture to know what language to talk. Poor thing doesn't even know whether he's a raspberry or a rose!"

"Yes, most confusin', I should say," Cheapside put in.

"But in the moon," said the Doctor, "left to themselves for thousands of years, with no human hands to get them mixed up, the plants were much freer to work out things for themselves. Well, Otho Bludge thought out his plan and started off to try it. He did not want to interfere in the freedom of anything, but only to stop them all from interfering with the freedom of one another—to keep them from fighting and getting killed off. And that, when I got there, he had very thoroughly succeeded in doing. It must have been a terrifically hard thing—but then we must remember that he was not interfered with by any of his own kind either. I doubt very much if it could ever have happened in our world. But, remember again, his was a far smaller world—easier to manage. At the beginning when he explained his plan to the animals, the insects and the plants, he found that not all of them were pleased with the idea."

"Why, did they go on fighting and eating one another up?" asked Gub–Gub.

"Yes," said the Doctor. "But all parts of a world, no matter what its size or kind, have to work together. And those that would not help the safety of others very soon found themselves in a bad way—crowded out or starved out. Later Bludge told them he wanted to form what he called the Council. It was like a parliament or congress. Members of both the animal and the vegetable kingdoms came to it. They arranged everything that affected life on the moon. Anybody could get up and say his say in this council or give his advice or make his complaint. Otho Bludge, the Moon Man, was president. And after a while they practically all saw that Bludge was right. It was clear to them that he had brains, and they accepted him as the leader, as the guide, in forming a new and properly balanced world where everything could live happily—more happily—without fighting."

2 The Naturalists' Paradise

"And so you see," the Doctor went on, "for quite a while after Stubbins left I was kept very busy learning more and more about this strange new state. It fascinated me. I had never seen anything like it before. I saw at once that while the Moon Man had done so much, there was a lot left for me to do too. I assure you I had no conceit about that. Beside this other human, as old and experienced as the moon herself, I felt like a very humble little creature. But I had something of science which he had not; my mind was trained to make deductions, to reason—from my own experiences and those of others—as well as from history, human history, geological history, natural history.

"And besides wishing to help Otho Bludge—which I think I did do with scientific and medical advice—I began to wonder more and more how much of this new way of living could be brought about in my own home world, the earth. I will speak of that again later. But the first thing I gave my attention to in this connection was the foods of the moon."

"Ah!" said Gub–Gub, sitting up.

"There were many members of the pumpkin family—melons, calabashes, squashes, luffas, marrows, cucumbers and what not. Most of them were good to eat. But any one who picked a ripe fruit had to keep one of its seeds after he had eaten it. That was a law made by the Council.

"Well, again by questioning Otho and, later, by talking with the moon creatures directly, I learned that certain members of the moon pumpkin family were terribly fattening. Not only just flesh–making, but they made your whole figure—bones and all—taller, wider and deeper. You became a giant if you didn't look out. It was quite clear that only a few living things on the moon had stayed the same size as they are on the earth. It was almost impossible to avoid growth to some extent up there. The poor Moon Man himself had become a giant, and he remained a giant. But he told me that at one time he was much bigger than he was when I met him. Some of the foods were much more fattening than others. Stubbins and I sprouted up like beanstalks the first few weeks we were there. Otho, however, was able to give me lists of certain foods which he had found the best for keeping your size down as much as possible.

"Next I turned my attention to the length of life on the moon. This was most interesting, but often I was very puzzled when it came to getting any definite information about ages. From weeks and weeks of study I came to the conclusion that nearly all kinds of life as I saw them up there had stayed the same for many thousands of years. Certain kinds, like the whispering vines and the singing trees, were much older than the rest.

"For quite a while after that I just had an awfully good time. I asked myself, 'Why bother about returning to the earth? This is a naturalists' paradise. Adding your scientific knowledge to what Otho Bludge has done here will keep you busy all your days. And what better work could you be employed in? Keep the Moon Man in good health; cure his rheumatism for him whenever he falls ill; and just go on this way. Why worry? Maybe you, John Dolittle, will yourself live for ever—or anyhow as long as the moon lives, which will probably be many thousands of years yet.' That's what I said to myself.

"But after a while I began to wonder—to wonder and wonder, about something. And about this something I started to take notes. By the way, Stubbins, on the note–taking I missed you badly. You had done it for me so long, you know. But Polynesia here was my salvation."

"But how? She can't keep notes," snorted Gub–Gub.

"No," laughed the Doctor, "but she has a memory that is often better than any note–book. It's almost like a letter–box you drop things into. You tell her to remember something when you're experimenting and she will always be able to fish it up out of her old head when you ask for it again later. I don't know what I would have done without her."

Polynesia cocked one eye at the ceiling, twisted her head a couple of times and tried hard not to look pleased by the Doctor's flattery. Then she said, sighing,

"Ah, well, that's the difference between people and parrots. Men when they get old say they can remember things in their childhood quite plainly—the things far off. But those that happened only yesterday, the things near to now, they can hardly remember at all. You talk about long life in the moon, Doctor: what about me? I'm a hundred and eighty years old—and how much more, I'm not telling. How much longer I'll live, I don't know. Maybe I'm only a child yet myself, and that's why I'm as good as a note–book for remembering. Anyway, when I met King Charles hiding in the oak–tree in England, he was trying to remember how many soldiers he had seen chasing him—awful scared he was, talking to himself, you know. And I—Oh, well, it doesn't matter. I mustn't interrupt you, Doctor. Go on with the story."

"The thing for which I now started to keep notes," said the Doctor, "was how much of this well–regulated, smoothly running world could be copied down here among us. The thought kept coming back to me, stronger and stronger each time. Always, even when I was an ordinary doctor and took care of people, natural history—animals, insects, plants, trees, fossils, rocks—had been my hobby. That hobby had become my life. And yet any one who studies natural history must come to fear sooner or later that all life faces a losing game down here with us."

"Excuse me, Doctor," said the white mouse, "but I don't quite understand what you mean."

"Life keeps on killing life," said the Doctor. "Don't you see? The fly is swallowed by the fish; the fish is eaten by the duck; the duck is devoured by the fox; the fox is slaughtered by the wolf; the wolf is shot by the man. And then men—the only ones on top in our world—turn round and kill one another in war."

There was a short silence. Dab–Dab had brought a pile of linen with her (the housekeeper always kept herself busy, even while listening to a story). She was turning over a stack of table napkins, looking for tears and holes.

"I told you that, Doctor," she said quietly–"long ago, when you wanted to start your Country House for House–Flies."

"Yes, yes," said the Doctor, frowning thoughtfully. "My idea with that was that if I gave the house–flies a house for themselves—full of sugar, you know, and all that—maybe they would leave people's houses alone. It didn't work. They ate up all the sugar and came back to my house. But there you are, Whitey: that's what I mean. It's a losing game. Any naturalist who tries to save one kind of creature in our world finds out sooner or later that he is taking away the food from some other blessed creature—or making life impossible for himself. I had never had anything against the house–flies, except that they would tickle the back of my neck when I was trying to write. And, as a medical man, I knew that they carry germs of disease. But they don't mean to. They're merely going about their own business like the rest of us."

"They're a pest," said Dab–Dab, laying aside a napkin that needed mending.

"Oh, quite, quite," said the Doctor. "But I'm sure they have some good in them somewhere—though I confess it's pretty hard to find. But you can all very well see, can't you? that when I found a world which was run along sensible lines, where no kind of life trod on the toes of any other kind of life, I began to wonder if something of those ideas could not be brought home and started here. That accounts for the note–taking, those bundles and bundles of palm–leaf paper which made up such a large part of my baggage, Stubbins. It is out of those notes that I will write my book."

"There's plenty of time for that, Doctor," sighed Dab–Dab. She spread out a wollen antimacassar eaten full of holes. "Moths!" she hissed in disgust, and threw it aside.

3 Otho Bludge's Prisoner

"Now, all this time," the Doctor continued, "the Moon Man was calling me in every so often to treat him for his rheumatism. I had fitted up a sort of makeshift laboratory for myself. Of course I had not many chemicals. All the medicines I had with me were what I had brought in the little black bag. But I had found a whole lot of useful drugs and things in the trees and rocks—such as quinine, zinc for making zinc ointment, and a whole lot more.

"Well, although my laboratory was a very rough and poor one, I was soon able to find out how to deal with his trouble. He was eating too much starch, for one thing. I changed his diet. I compounded some medicines for him. So long as he did what I told him, he got along very well. In fact, in the end I fancy I knew more about moon foods and what they did to the human body than he did.

"There was one special kind of melon he was very fond of. It was called goy–goy. This I had found was very bad for him. I had told him not to eat it. But, like a child—he was very childlike in many ways—he just wouldn't leave it alone. Finally I got quite severe with him. I ordered him not to touch it. He promised he wouldn't. But the next time he called me in about his rheumatism I saw, by the peelings that lay around him, that he had been eating goy–goy again.

"Well, this was when I was wondering if I could carry down to the earth some of those sensible ideas about diet, long life and peaceful living which had panned out so well in the moon. I saw no reason why they shouldn't work with us—partly, at all events. I was a little homesick too, I imagine. Anyway I was anxious to get down here and start experimenting with those ideas.

"So when, for the sixth or seventh time, Otho sent for me to attend to him—and again I found that he had been eating the forbidden goy–goy—I began to wonder if my staying on the moon any longer would be of much use. I especially felt this way now, because I had nearly completed my observations of the moon's seasons. The moon, you see, revolves in a small circle round the earth once a month; while the earth, carrying the moon with it, swings in a much bigger ring around the sun, once a year. The moon, hanging on to the earth, as it were, in this long journey would be bound to show effects and differences, not only with her own changing seasons, but with ours too. I particularly wanted to make some observations at the earth's equinoxes—that is, in our Spring and Autumn. This of course meant staying up there a whole year. That year was now nearly over.

"Very well, then: this time Otho Bludge was a pretty sick Moon Man. And I realized that no matter how much medicine I gave him, sooner or later it would have no effect on him whatever—as long as he would go on eating goy–goy.

"So I got still more severe with him. I gave him a terrific lecturing. 'I can do nothing with you,' I said, 'if you won't obey my orders. And anyway, very soon now I must go back to the earth. I have promised my people that I will set off a smoke signal—the same as you did when you sent the moth for me—to let them know that I am coming. I shall expect you, when the time comes for me to leave, to help me in every way you can. After all, it was you who wanted me to come up to the moon. And this, I feel, is the least you can do.'

"He said nothing in answer. But I could see that he was not pleased with the idea at all. I left a small bottle of medicine with him and went away to go on with my studies and note–taking. Polynesia told me that the bird–spies were watching me again—though I can't see why Otho Bludge bothered with that. There was no possible chance of my getting off the moon unless I had his permission and his help. However Polynesia—clever bird, I really don't know what I would have done without her—Polynesia started spying on the spies. And with her help I was kept just as well informed about Otho's doings as he was about what I was doing. However I was too busy with my observations on the moon seasons to bother about much else for the time being.

"At last the year was over and my notes were complete. I felt very glad. No one had ever seen the moon's seasons, from the moon, before. I had stacks and stacks of notes on temperatures, sunlight and earthlight with their effects on the animal and vegetable kingdoms, air pressures, rainfall and goodness knows how much more. I was packing up the last of these when word came to me that the Moon Man was not feeling so well and would I come to see him.

"This time I decided I would be more than severe. The moment had come for me to put my foot down. I gave him some medicine. And I stayed with him several nights until I had him in good health again. Then I said, 'Listen, Otho Bludge, I want to go back to the earth. I want to go now. I feel I have done all I can here. Will you please help me to set off the signal and return home?' Again he did not answer at once—he often thought a long while before he spoke. At last he said, 'No, John Dolittle, I will not let you go. I need you here!'

"I was dumbfounded. The thought had never occurred to me that he would refuse my request—yet I don't know why it shouldn't have done. First I tried to argue with him. I explained how unfair this was. I reminded him again that it was he who had brought me up there—for his own purposes. This made no effect on him. Then I got angry. But it was no use. He was determined to keep me. I left him and went away very puzzled.

"Then for some weeks I wandered and wandered around the moon, wondering what I should do. But the more I thought it over the more difficult the situation seemed. It looked now as though I was going to become a citizen of the moon for good, whether I liked it or not. But with all the plans I had in mind I must confess I was very much annoyed.

"Then Polynesia one day had an idea. She said it was quite possible of course for Otho Bludge to keep me—as well as herself and Chee–Chee—prisoners on the moon; but it was not possible for him to make me doctor him if I didn't want to. This sounded like good sense. And the next time the Moon Man sent word to me that he was suffering from rheumatism I refused to go to him.

"Again he sent me a message. He was very ill, he said. And again I sent back word that I would not come to help him until he was willing to help me. But it seemed he could be just as stubborn as I. No further message came to me.

"Then, I confess, I began to get worried. What if Otho Bludge should die? It was not that I was afraid that that would ruin my chances of getting away. I had done a lot for many of the birds and insects up there, curing them of different illnesses from which they suffered occasionally. And Polynesia said she was sure that they would do anything they could for me, even flying me back to the earth, once the Moon Man was out of the way and they need no longer be afraid of disobeying his orders. But—well, once a doctor, always a doctor, I suppose. No physician, if he feels that his services may save a man's life—and there is no one else there—can stand aside and refuse to help.

"Maybe if the Moon Man had sent more messages I should have acted differently. But he didn't. That was the worst of it. Not another word came from him. We—Polynesia, Chee–Chee and I—had moved our camp over to the far side of the moon, the side you never see from the earth; and I was trying to study the music of the singing trees. This had presented some problems in harmony which I was anxious to get to the bottom of.

"But suddenly the trees refused to sing any more. I could understand their language by then and I asked them why. They would tell me nothing. They remained silent. The same with the whispering vines. The birds, who did most of the spying for Otho, had disappeared. I tried talking with the insects—bees and the like; they wouldn't tell me anything either. I got more and more worried. It seemed as though the whole of the moon life was determined to be silent. It gave me a creepy sort of feeling. I began to wonder if they were all waiting for Otho Bludge to die—expecting it every minute.

"At last I couldn't bear it any more. I knew that if Otho—the man who had done something no human has ever done before—if Otho were to die I would never forgive myself. I was lying in bed, tossing and turning, trying to sleep. I jumped up. 'Polynesia,' I said, 'I am going to him. I've got to!' She just swore in Swedish but did not try to stop me. I packed the black bag and left camp alone.

"'Polynesia,' I said, 'I am going to him. I've got to!'"

"I had a long way to go. I started off in darkness. But I knew that soon I would see the earth rise and would have light from it to travel by. I never hurried so in all my life. How many hours the journey took me I don't know. My great fear was that I might be too late. When at last I began to get round on to the near side—the side of the moon you see from here—the going was easier and I broke into a run. Soon I saw Otho's hut in the distance. I call it a hut, but it was really a very big house made of leaves. Gathered about it there was a great crowd of birds, insects and some animals,—all waiting in silence in the grey of the earthlight. I pushed my way in. Otho Bludge was lying on a bed with his eyes closed."

4 The Gentleman in the Moon

I rushed to his bedside.

"'Otho, Otho!' I cried. He did not stir. He was unconscious. I felt his pulse. It was fast and jumpy. I got a thermometer out of the bag. His temperature was high—far too high. His rheumatism had run into complications—probably some form of rheumatic fever.

"I worked over him for hours. I knew if I did not bring the temperature down soon, this by itself could kill him. I got cold water and soaked big leaves in it. I plastered these all over his body and, by fanning him, I did manage to get the temperature lower by several degrees. I realized I had only got there just in time to save his life.

"It seems funny, when I look back on it now. There I was working like a slave to save the life of the man who meant to hold me a prisoner! Yet I did not think of it then. The only idea that filled my mind was that I, as a physician, must leave no stone unturned to keep him from dying.

"At last, after I had given him a heart stimulant with the hypodermic needle, he became conscious. Weakly he opened his eyes and looked at me. He said nothing. There came a curious, ashamed sort of expression into his face as he recognized who I was—that it was I who was working to save him. Presently he fell off into a peaceful sleep. I took his pulse again. While it was still fast, it was ever so much better and quite steady. I knew that the worst was over. I told one of the birds to call me as soon as he woke up. Then I curled up on the floor of his hut to get some sleep myself. As I dozed off I felt more at peace in my mind than I had done for many hours.

"I stayed with him I don't know how long—maybe four or five days. During all that time he never spoke. At the end, when I was about to leave him, he was quite well again, but still weak. I gave him the usual instructions as to what he should do. It was hardly necessary, for he had heard them many times before. I fastened up my medicine–bag and turned towards the open door of his hut.

"The sun was shining on the beautiful moonscape. You know how it looked, Stubbins—sort of dreamlike and mysterious—rows and rows of mountains, dead volcanoes with that strange greenish light on them. I paused a moment to gaze on it before I stepped out of the hut. 'So, John Dolittle,' I said to myself, 'I suppose you are a big fool. But you chose to be a doctor when you were a youngster and this is the price you pay. You are a prisoner on this world for life. This landscape is what you will see for the remainder of your days. Well, what else could you do? So be it.'

"I stepped over the door–sill into the open air. Then I heard a cry from within the hut. The Moon Man, for the first time for days, was speaking to me. I turned and went back to his bedside.

"He was trying to sit up. 'There, there,' I said, 'settle down and rest. I will come again to–morrow to see how you are.' He sank back looking awfully feeble and I wondered whether I really ought to leave him. I felt his pulse again. It was good. Then suddenly he broke forth, speaking in a mixture of all sorts of languages, so that I had hard work keeping up with what he was trying to say.

"'My mind is sort of fuzzy,' he whispered. 'But I wanted to tell you that I know you have saved my life—without gaining anything for yourself…. While I was sleeping just now I seemed to remember something of the days before there was a moon. I have not dealt with men for so long…. But I remember—yes, I remember those times when I was on the earth, ages and ages ago. I remember how men acted toward one another…. You are what was called—er—a very true friend. Isn't that it, John Dolittle? … So I just wanted to tell you that any time you wish to return to your world I will help you in any way I can…. You are free to go—whenever you wish.'"

The Doctor paused a moment.

"Well, you can imagine my astonishment. A moment before I had seen myself a prisoner on the moon for life—giving up all hope of ever seeing the earth, Puddleby, my friends, home, again. Now I was free. Suddenly all the unkind thoughts I had felt against this man fell away. I was bound to admit that he was greater, bigger, even than I had guessed. Something in his recollections of the earth had made up his mind to this determination. And my coming to his assistance, the very thing that should have ruined my chances of ever getting home, had acted for me just the other way. I was free!

"And then all at once I realized that, child as he was, the Moon Man had wanted my company as well as my help as a doctor. For some moments I did not answer him. I was thinking—thinking how much it meant to him to say those words, 'You are free to go.' He was giving up the only human friendship he had known in thousands of years. And that is why, for a little, I did not speak.

"At last I said, 'No man can know how long you will live—probably for many thousands of years yet, if you do as I tell you. When I return to the earth I mean to write a book, a book about the moon—and it's about you too, a great part of it. People on the earth, you know, have always spoken of the Man in the Moon, but I hope that when my book is written—and read—they will come to speak of the Gentleman in the Moon. Certainly I shall do my best to show them that what I found in you, Otho Bludge, was not only a great man but one of the truest gentlemen I have ever known.'

"Then I left him and went back to my camp.

"There is little more to tell. The next time I visited him he was able to get up and move about. He was as good as his word. He wasted no time in preparing the bonfire for my smoke signal. For this he got thousands and thousands of birds to help him. They all brought a stick or twig of that explosive wood which he had used for his own signal. It reminded me of the time when I got the birds in Africa to build the island in the lake out of stones. But, for these creatures in the moon to gather together a bonfire whose smoke would be large enough to be seen from the earth, was a tremendous undertaking.

"Just about the time it was finished I happened to discover—in some astronomical almanacs I had with me—that we were due to have an eclipse in about ten days from then. This interested me very much. For one thing I was most keen to see an eclipse from the moon and to find out what the other planets looked like when they came out in daylight hours. And, for another thing, I felt sure that my signals would show better when the moon was partly in shadow.

"So I asked Otho to put off firing the bonfire till the eclipse was under way. He became very interested in the matter himself. He wanted to know just how I had calculated that it would come at a certain hour on a certain date. He suggested that we should have two bonfires ready and set them off separately—to make surer that one at least of them would be seen. I found out, Stubbins, also that when he tried to get a signal down to us here, to tell us of the coming of the moth, he had set off several before we happened to be looking at the moon and saw one.

"Then came the question of what sort of creature I should have to fly me down. I had grown so big by then; and there was considerable weight too in the baggage which I wanted to bring with me. The Giant Moth when we tried out a practice flight could hardly rise from the ground under the load. So something else had to be found to make the trip.

"Birds were out of the question. Here we always think of birds as being larger than insects; but up there they were smaller—difference in diet again, I suppose. And then birds need more air—they have a different sort of breathing apparatus. The trip between the moon and the earth requires a tremendous amount of effort—very hard work. Getting through the dead belt, where there is practically no air at all, is easier for the insect fliers than any other. I doubt if a bird, no matter what his wing–spread, could manage it.

"Well, after a few experiments Otho and I decided to try the Mammoth Locust. You all saw what a tremendous creature he is. His way of flying is quite extraordinary—not at all the same as his cousins, the grasshopper, the cicada and the mantis. The locust flies both like a bird and an insect. The number of wing–beats per second is sort of betwixt and between. I have notes on that too.

"Anyway, we got the baggage and ourselves aboard this Mammoth Locust and made a trial flight. He could lift the load quite easily—that is, he could in that gravity. Whether he could have done the same with the earth's gravity, I cannot say. But that didn't matter so much. When he got near to this world he would be coming down; and going back he would have no load to carry, beyond the weight of his own body."

5 The Farewell

"When the time was at hand for the eclipse to begin there was quite a gathering to see the show. I had calculated the exact point on the moon—pretty exact, anyhow—from which it could best be seen. As I gazed over the great crowd it seemed as though every creature in the moon had collected there. Of course this was not true. But it looked like it. I have never seen such a tremendous herd—not even when we called the animals together on the Island of No Man's Land off the coast of Africa to set up the Post Office and the classes in animal writing.

"But the crowd had not only come to see the eclipse; they had come to see me off. Many—some of them grateful patients whom I had cured of sicknesses—brought presents. Foodstuffs and the like. They wanted to show their gratitude. It was very touching. I thanked them as best I could, bade them good–bye and wished them luck. The Moon Man himself had said he would set off the bonfire signals. It was a ticklish business, this lighting of so much explosive stuff; and he was the only one—with his big strides and speed of running—who could do it without getting hurt.

"Grateful patients brought presents—foodstuffs and the like"

"Exactly at the time I had foretold, the big shadow began to creep across the earth and the light on the moon grew dim. The crowd watching was greatly impressed. I believe many of them thought I had had a hand in it myself and was deliberately darkening the earth to suit my own purposes.

"The bonfires were set off, a few minutes apart, and great enormous columns of smoke shot up into the air. The fumes of that explosive wood rolled all about us making every one splutter and cough. Finally it cleared away. I hoped that one at least of the signals had been sighted on the earth.

"It was a very impressive scene. We were standing in a wide plain between two ranges of mountains. The watching crowd of moon creatures had drawn away a little, leaving plenty of space for the Mammoth Locust to take off on his long journey. The baggage was on board, strapped down securely by ropes of vine–bark. Chee–Chee, Polynesia and I stood at the locust's side ready to go.

"Suddenly one solitary figure separated itself from that ring of watchers and stalked out into the open towards me. It was a cat."

Polynesia jumped as usual, and Jip snorted something between a growl and a grunt.

"I think Stubbins has told you," the Doctor went on, "that I had already met with a colony of cats in my wanderings over the moon. I had great difficulty in learning their language. They were so reticent—didn't seem inclined to talk, I mean—even when it looked as if they had something on their minds to say. Well, you know, without being told, that all animals of the same kind are not the same. Each one is different. And certainly this cat was different. Usually cats are fond of places rather than people. Well, this goes to show that this particular cat did not think more of places than she did of people. As it happened, I had cured her of a bad attack of bronchitis. She did not like the moon, but, apparently, she liked me.

"She came stalking across the wide open space all alone. When she got to me she said, 'Doctor Dolittle, I want to go with you.' That was all. I had never been fond of cats. And yet I know of no exact reason why I should feel less friendly towards her kind than I did towards any other sort of animal. On the other hand, I knew of course that if I took her into my household down here many of you would object.

"I argued with her. I told her cats had many enemies in the world where I was going. She said, 'Don't bother about my enemies, Doctor. I'll take care of them.' Then—still hoping to discourage her, I said, 'But you understand that if I take you, there is to be no killing—birds, mice and so forth. We can't have any of that, you know.' All she answered was, 'John Dolittle, I'm a moon cat. For thousands of years we have not killed birds—or any living creature. We have learned here to live on other things. We hunt no more. I want to see the earth, where my people came from. Take me with you.'

"Well—there you are—there was no answering her argument. She was running a big risk. And she knew it.

"'Very well,' I said at last. 'Get aboard the locust.' And without another word she climbed up on to the insect's back. There Chee–Chee stowed her in a crate and made her fast for the big journey.

"But the worst part of the whole business for me was saying good–bye to Otho Bludge. It was not easy. As I told you, I had realized of a sudden how terribly lonely the poor fellow was going to be. Perhaps he would never have felt so if I had not come to the moon. It is true this was his own doing—yet, so far as his losing my company was concerned, it made no matter. He had said very little to me after he had told me I could go. But now when he came striding over towards us, as we stood by the locust's side, I wondered what was going on inside his mind. He was about to say good–bye to the first human being he had talked with in thousands of years.

"He held out his hand. I remember asking myself how it was he had not forgptten that this was the fashion in which the people of the earth bade one another farewell. I did not know what to say. At last it was he who spoke.

"'Good–bye,' he said, in an awkward kind of way. 'Do you think that—some day—you may come back?'"

"Oh," quacked Dab–Dab, "I do hope you didn't promise him you would, Doctor!"

"No," said John Dolittle, "I didn't promise anything. Although I must admit the moon was a most interesting place to visit. No—I just said, 'Well, Otho, keep off the goy–goy and you'll still live longer than any of us. I have left a dozen bottles of the medicine in your hut. But you won't need them if you will only follow the diet I have told you to.'

"It was a terrible moment. I was anxious to get it over with. He turned and moved away. Evidently at the very last he would sooner not see our going. I climbed aboard the locust. My size, you must remember, was terrific. But even when I lay down flat on the creature's back—over his thorax, his shoulders—there still seemed to be lots of room to spare. We had on board many of those oxygen lilies, Stubbins, which we used on the other trip. I pulled one up, handy to dip my nose in. The locust scrabbled his feet into the sand of the valley so he could make a good take–off. 'Good–bye!' yelled the crowd. 'Good–bye!' we called back. With a terrific kick of his hind legs the insect shot up into the air and spread his wings.

"The trip was terrible. I suppose having stayed on the moon so long my lungs had got sort of accustomed to the air up there and unaccustomed to the air of the earth—to say nothing of the dreadful dead belt. Anyway, when we did reach that terrible part of the journey I honestly thought it was all over with me. The locust had got instructions about the navigation from Jamara Bumblelily, the Giant Moth, before he set off. But it was terrible anyhow. I grabbed one of the oxygen flowers and stuck my face in it. Nevertheless I became unconscious—and stayed so till after we landed. When I came to at last I heard you, Stubbins, talking with Polynesia. Everything was still. I looked up at the moon, steady in the sky. Last time I had seen it, it was swinging around the heavens like a crazy thing.

"Well, that's all. Here I am, none the worse for the trip—the most interesting journey I have ever made in my life."

Quite clearly the Doctor felt that his tale had rather saddened us towards the end. As a matter of fact all the animals were certainly very serious when he finished.

"Tell me, Doctor," said Jip at last, "do you think the Moon Man will be able to manage by himself—now?"

"Of course he will," Dab–Dab broke in. "How did he manage before the Doctor went there?"

"I wasn't asking you, Dab–Dab," said Jip quietly. "I was asking the Doctor."

"Oh, I think he'll be all right," said John Dolittle after a pause.

"He'll miss you, won't he?" said Jip. "Mighty sporting of him to let you go, wasn't it?—Humph! The 'Gentleman in the Moon.' Good luck to him!"

"Poor man!" said Whitey—always sentimental and romantic.—"Left all alone!"

"Hum! Hum!" said Gub–Gub. "It must be kind of hard to be the only one of your kind in a world."

"But you won't go back, Doctor, will you?" said Dab–Dab anxiously. "After all, you've seen the moon now—Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter. There's no sense in your fooling with it any more, is there? You know what I mean?"

"Yes, I understand, Dab–Dab," said the Doctor. "But"—his voice trailed off in a sleepy tone tone—"it was—er—well, it was a very interesting place."

I saw that he was getting tired. I made a signal to the animals and Matthew. They understood.

"All right, Doctor," I said. "Thank you. We will now leave you in peace to sleep. Good night!"

I folded up my notebooks. John Dolittle's head was nodding on his chest. We all crept out on tiptoe and closed the door behind us.

6 Setting the Zoo to Rights

It was not until almost the end of the Summer that the Doctor got back to his ordinary size. He was now no longer afraid of being seen; and he moved about the house without upsetting things or smashing furniture; and he was very happy about it.

First of all he went over the whole garden from end to end. Though I had done the best I could to keep it up in good condition for him, there was much of course that his eye fell on which mine had overlooked. John Dolittle was a very good gardener himself and very particular. (Dab–Dab always used to say he never seemed to mind how untidy his house was, as long as the garden was spick and span—"Just like a man!" she would add.) Gub–Gub and I—and sometimes Matthew when he was about—helped him with the work; dividing up the iris roots; pegging down the raspberry canes; digging up and re–sowing some of the turf patches that had grown bare and brown.

"The coming of Autumn, Stubbins," said he, "is always the most important season for a sensible gardener. That's the time when we put the earth to bed, as it were. If you get the ground and your plants and trees in good condition for their long winter sleep, you will have something to show in the Spring."

When we came to look over the big enclosure which we had called the Zoo the emptiness of it seemed to sadden him. He gazed over the long walled–in lawn some moments without speaking; but I knew what was in his mind. So did Jip.

"Humph!" muttered the Doctor after a while, "those dog–houses down at the bottom look pretty sad, don't they? The roofs all full of holes and rotten. We must do something to clean up this mess, Stubbins. A year seems such a short time, and yet what a lot can happen in it!"

"Look here, Doctor," said Jip, "why can't we repair them and start the Home for Cross–bred Dogs over again? There's a half–breed setter down in the town. His name is Flip. He has no home at all. He gets his meals from any old place—off rubbish heaps mostly. And there are a lot of other dogs too. Couldn't we take them in, the same as we used to when you kept open house for stray dogs?"

"Well, Jip, I'd love to," said the Doctor. "They surely were jolly times when we had the dogs' home running full blast. You remember that little rascal, Quetch, the Scotty who used to run the dogs' gymnasium for us—and bossed you all over the place when we had the jumping contests? And wasn't that a wonderful yarn—when he told us the story of his life? My, what a character he was! But you see, Jip, I don't know about the money side of it. A lot of dogs need a lot of food. It seems to me I've got to live on Stubbins' salary here—of three shillings and sixpence a week—till I begin to make something from my new book."

"Well, but, Doctor," said Jip. "Why can't we take in just Flip for the present—till you're feeling richer? I'm afraid he'll get shot one of these days for stealing people's chickens or something. No one takes care of him. He's just a tramp. He comes round to the front gate twice a week to see if I have any old bones to give him. Most of the time he's practically starving."

"Humph!—Starving, eh?" said the Doctor seriously. He looked at me. "Can we manage it, do you think, Stubbins?"

"Oh, surely, Doctor," said I. "We'll manage somehow. We always seem to have milk and vegetables, any way."

"Good!" said the Doctor. "Milk and vegetables are much better for a dog than a lot of meat. All right, Jip, bring your friend in next time he calls and we'll fix up one of the dog–houses for him here."

The white mouse, always inquisitive, had been following us around on the inspection of the garden. He now piped up in his funny squeaky little voice.

"Oh, and Doctor, wouldn't it be a good idea if we set up the Rat and Mouse Club again too? There's a new family of mice up in the attic. And you know Dab–Dab would much sooner have them out of the house, down here instead. It won't be any trouble. I can fix up our old Rat Town just as it was. I know how they like it, you see. And they'll be no expense. A few crusts of bread and rinds of cheese. It would be lots of fun to have them here once more, don't you think? Then we could have them telling us stories over the kitchen fire after supper–just like old times. Do let's start the Rat and Mouse Club again!"

"Humph!" said the Doctor thoughtfully. "I don't see why not. It would make the place more home–like. I certainly hate to see the Zoo enclosure all empty and deserted like this. Yes, let's set up the Rat and Mouse Club. I'll leave the matter in your hands, Whitey. At least we can afford that."

And then the old lame horse who had been helping us weed the garden with a cultivator put in his say.

"Doctor," he said, "how about the Retired Cab and Wagon Horses' Association—you know, the farm you bought for them about two miles away?"

"Ah, yes," said the Doctor, "to be sure, to be sure. I'd forgotten all about them. Tell me, how are they getting on?"

"Well," said the old fellow, swishing the flies off with his tail, "I hear there have not been any new members joined of late. But the fences need repairing. Dogs getting in and yapping and snapping about the place—in spite of all the signs we put up, 'Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted—Dogs Will Be Kicked,' you remember?"

"Yes, yes, of course," said the Doctor.

"And the scratching–post you set for them—it got pushed down. And they would like another."

"Dear me, dear me," said John Dolittle. "Yes, I remember how they used to like to scratch their necks—on the top of the hill there, where they could see the view as the sun went down. Well, I'll certainly have to attend to that. I'll go over with you in the morning and see about it."

And so it was that before very long most of the old institutions which the Doctor had set up for the comfort and happiness of animals got put back into running order after his long stay on the moon. All of his own animal household were very happy about this—and, I was surprised to find, Dab–Dab in particular.

"Tommy," she said to me one evening, "this is a good thing. It will keep John Dolittle out of mischief—I mean keep him away from his book for a while more anyhow. Why shouldn't he have a good time giving the animals a good time?—so long as he doesn't start any of those crazy charitable ideas for pests, like the Country House for Houseflies. Poof!" (She shrugged up her wings in disgust.) "Don't let him start that again. He'll have a Wardrobe for Clothes Moths or a Bedroom for Bed–bugs before you know where you are."

7 Squib the Cocker Spaniel

But these departments of his big establishment were not the only things that began leading John Dolittle back into his old ways of living. In former days the most important concern in "the little house with the big garden" had been the dispensary, where animals and creatures of all sorts came to him for the treatment of their sickness and injuries. Of course anyone can understand that as soon as he began to move about and let himself be seen word would get abroad to the animals outside that the famous man was back in Puddleby once more.

And, sure enough, it was only a few weeks later that our patients began to call—first a pair of rabbits, very scared and timid. I found them on the doorstep at the crack of dawn one morning. Could they see the Doctor, please? I asked them what was the matter. They said they had a sick baby—didn't know what was the trouble with it. I told them the Doctor was still in bed and I didn't like to wake him because he was very tired. Where was the baby?

"Oh," said the mother rabbit, almost bursting into tears, "it's not far away. If you'll come with us we'll show you and maybe if you bring it back here the Doctor will be awake by then. But we must make haste. It's very sick."

"All right," I said, "I'll come with you. Lead the way."

Well, the mother rabbit was in a hurry. She and her mate shot out the garden gate and went bolting down the road like a streak of lightning. Time and again I had to call to them to wait and let me catch up. After they had gone about a mile toward Oxenthorpe they left the highway and started off across country. Over ditches, ploughed fields and swamps they led me—under hedges, through copses, over hill and dale. At last they came to a stop before a hole in a bank beside a wood.

"The baby's down there," said the mother. "Please hurry up and get it out. It's terribly ill."

"'The baby's down there,' said the mother. 'Please hurry!'"

Of course there was no earthly chance of my getting down a hole that size. But there was a farm nearby. I ran over to it. It was still very early in the morning and no one was about. I found a garden spade in a turnip field. I borrowed it and ran back to the rabbits. Then I got the father to show me about how far his hole ran into the bank. I dug down in that spot and got the young one out. He certainly looked pretty ill—breathing very hard. Some sort of asthma I suspected. I picked him up, left the spade where the farmer would find it, and started off, on the run, back to the Doctor's house with both the parents at my heels.

John Dolittle was up and shaving by the time we got there. He gave one look at the baby rabbit, dropped his razor, took the patient out of my hands and ran down the stairs with it to the dispensary. There he swabbed its throat out with some kind of disinfectant and laid it in a shoe–box on a bed of hay.

"You only just caught it in time, Stubbins," he said. "I think it will get all right. But we'll have to keep an eye on it for a few days. Put it up in my bedroom—under the bed. Tell the parents they can live there too for a few days. Give them some apples. Hah, it's a fine youngster! We'll fix it up all right."

At breakfast I told Dab–Dab about it. She rolled her eyes towards the ceiling with a sigh.

"We'll have to take the carpet up," she said. "There will be apple–cores all over the room. Ah, well! We might have expected it. That's the way it always begins—after he's been away. Now we'll have every kind of animal in the countryside calling on him with their toothaches and bruises and blisters!"

And, sure enough, she was right. From that time on the animal patients began to arrive thick and fast, at all hours of the day and night. Foxes, badgers, otters, squirrels, weasels, hedgehogs, moles, rats, mice and every kind of bird, formed a line outside the dispensary door—a line which seemed to grow for ever longer and longer. The wild animals' world had learned that the great doctor was back.

And so the little house suddenly became a very busy place. The Doctor was here, there and everywhere. Jip's friend Flip came and was given a comfortable home in one of the dog–houses in the Zoo enclosure. In fact he found it so comfortable, and enjoyed being a guest of the Doctor's so much, that next time he visited the town he told all his friends about it. And as soon as it got abroad in dog society that the famous Home for Cross–bred Dogs was open once more, we had all descriptions of waifs and strays and mongrels for miles around wagging their tails at the gates and asking to be taken in as members. The Doctor never could resist a hard–luck story from animals. And we soon had a wonderful collection down there in the Zoo enclosure. Never had I seen such mixtures—crosses between greyhounds and dachshunds, between Airedales and mastiffs, Irish terriers and foxhounds. But the more mixed they were the better the Doctor seemed to like them.

"They're always more intelligent and interesting, these cross–breds, Stubbins," he said, "than the pedigree dogs. This is splendid. I always like to have lots of dogs around."

He did have them; there was no question about that. The real trouble came when not only the stray dogs of the neighbourhood—those who had no owners or places to go at night—but the regular dogs, many of them thoroughbreds, heard of the "Home" in the Doctor's garden and just ran away and came to us.

This, as can be easily understood, caused a lot of trouble for John Dolittle. (It had done the same before, as a matter of fact.) Angry owners of pet poodles, dogs who had won prizes and blue ribbons in shows, came round to see the Doctor. Furiously they accused him of luring away their precious darlings from their proper homes. And the Doctor had hard work pacifying them. One case I remember that amused me very much. It was a Cocker spaniel. When she arrived at the house she told the Doctor she was annoyed with her owner because she would treat her as a lap–dog.

"And you know, Doctor," she said very haughtily, "we Cockers are not lap–dogs, like the King Charles or Pekinese spaniels—those piffling flea–bags who do nothing but sit on cushions. We are not that kind. We are sporting dogs. I can't stand my owner. I wish to live my own life. We're descended from the water spaniels—a very old and respected breed."

"Of course, of course," said the Doctor. "I quite understand."

"I don't want to sit on sofas," the dog went on. "I want to run in the woods—to smell the deer. I love going after deer. I've never caught one and I don't suppose I'd know what to do with it if I did. But it's the fun of the thing, don't you see? My mistress says I mustn't get myself wet, running through the long grass and all that. But I just hate the life of drawing–rooms and afternoon teas! I want to come and live with you and all those jolly mongrels down in your Zoo."

"I see, I see," said the Doctor. "And I understand your point of view. Quite, quite. But what am I to say to your owner when she traces you back here and comes to tell me I've stolen her dog?"

"Oh, let her go and buy herself a toy one," said the spaniel—"one of those made out of rags. It would do just as well for her. She doesn't know anything about real dogs."

Well, that was the kind of thing the Doctor found himself faced with all the time. And it certainly kept him busy. This particular spaniel did actually stay with us. We called her Squib; but, as the Doctor had prophesied, her owner, a very elegant lady of one of the county's best families, called and started a rumpus. However, Squib was so rude and unfriendly to her former mistress and made such a fuss about being taken away, that the lady, after the Doctor had explained things to her, finally went off and left her with us. And the spaniel to her great delight was allowed to join the Home for Crossbred Dogs.

Although she was frightfully well–bred, a champion in her class and all that, she never boasted about her pedigree to the other dogs. Squib's one great ambition was to trail a deer and run him down in the woods. She never succeeded—with the short legs she had. But it didn't matter anyway. In fact it was just as well she never did. Always she had still something to look forward to. As she had explained to the Doctor, the fun of the game was the thing that counted. She was a true sportswoman; and all the other dogs were mad about her.

8 How to Get Into Jail?

Of course as time went on the Doctor became more and more anxious to get at his notes and the writing of his book about the moon. One evening, after all our work for the day had been attended to, we were sitting in the kitchen. Matthew Mugg, the Cats'–meat–Man, was with us. It was nearly midnight and I had packed all the animals off to bed because both John Dolittle and myself were pretty tired.

The Doctor was filling his pipe from the big tobacco–jar; and when he got it lighted and going well he said to me,

"You know, Stubbins, I can't see how I'll ever get that book started, as things are going at present."

"Yes, Doctor," I said, "I know what you mean."

"It isn't that I begrudge the time I give to the animals here, you understand," he went on. "It's just that there are only twenty–four hours to the day. And no matter how I try to arrange it, I don't—I simply don't—seem to find any time for writing. You see, I always feel that these animals that call upon me with their troubles, well, that is a living, an immediate, thing. The book should be able to wait. Maybe nobody will take any notice of it, anyway, when it comes out. But I do want to get it written. I hope it's going to be a very important work."

"You ought to go away somewhere, Doctor," said the Cats'–meat–Man—"so you could 'ave peace and quiet. From what Tommy tells me, you ain't likely to get none 'ere."

"That's an idea," cried John Dolittle. "To go away–But where?"

"Take a seaside 'oliday, Doctor," said Matthew. "Go down to Margate.—Lovely place! I got a cousin down there in the lobster–fishin' business. Nobody would bother you in Margate. It's far enough off from Puddleby so not even the animals 'ereabouts would know where you'd gone."

The Doctor frowned slightly as he looked into the bowl of his pipe.

"Yes," he said, "but you see, Matthew, there's always that wretched question of money. Where can a man go without money?"

Matthew drummed a moment on the table with his fingers.

"Now, Doctor," he said presently, "the main thing you're lookin' for is peace and quiet, ain't it?"

"That's it," said John Dolittle. "A place where I can write my book undisturbed."

"Well," said Matthew. "There's only one place I know where a man can get all the peace and quiet 'e wants and it don't cost 'im nothin'."

"Where's that?" asked the Doctor.

"In jail," said Matthew.

"Oh," said the Doctor, a little surprised. "Ah, yes, I see. I hadn't thought of that. Yet—er—after all, it is an idea. Quite an idea. But tell me—er—how does one go about getting into jail?"

"That's a fine thing for you to be askin' me, John Dolittle! My trouble wasn't never 'ow to get into jail; it was always 'ow to stay out of it."

Both the Doctor and I knew Matthew's occasional troubles with the police. His great weakness was poaching, that is, snaring rabbits and pheasants on other people's property. Nothing on earth could ever persuade him this was wrong. And whenever he was missing and suddenly turned up again after several weeks' absence the Doctor never asked him where he had been. For he guessed he most likely had had one of his "little run–ins with the police" as he called them. But to–night neither of us could keep from laughing outright.

"Now listen," said Matthew, leaning forward, "let's go into committee on this. First thing we got to decide is which jail we got to get you into, see? There's lots o' difference in 'em. I wouldn't recommend you Puddleby jail. No—too draughty. I got an awful nooralgy in me face last time I was there. Well, then, there's Oxenthorpe jail. No—come to think of it—I wouldn't pick that one neither. It's a nice jail, you understand. But the old Justice of the Peace what sits on the bench up there is a snooty old bloke and 'e's liable to give you 'ard."

"Hard?" said the Doctor. "I don't quite understand."

"'Ard labour," said Matthew. "You know, work. You 'ave to work all the time you're in there—makin' ropes and that kind o' thing. You wouldn't want that. You want peace and quiet so you can write a book. No, Oxenthorpe is out. But then there's Gilesborough. Ah, now that's the place you—"

"But excuse me," the Doctor put in. "One has to do something to get into jail, doesn't one? I mean, you must commit some sort of an offence, break the law. What?"

"Oh, that's easy, Doctor," said the Cats'–meat–Man. "Listen, all you got to do is go up to a policeman and push 'im in the face. You'll get into jail all right."

"But, my dear Matthew," cried the Doctor, "how can I possibly go up to a policeman, a perfect stranger, a man who never did me any harm, and—er—push him in the face?"

"Doctor," said Matthew, "don't let your conscience worry you none. It's a worthy deed—a werry worthy deed—that's what it is. All policemen had oughter be pushed in the face. Look, if you don't think you can do it, I'll come and 'elp yer!"

"Er—er—well, now wait a minute," said the Doctor. "I'm not what's called conventional, as you know, Matthew. In fact, I too have been in prison. I was thrown into a dungeon in Africa by Prince Bumpo's father, the King of the Jolliginki. But I didn't have to do anything for that. The King just didn't like white men. And I can't say that I blame him—seeing what his experience with them had been. But, to come back: I think that your idea sounds good in many ways. A prison, with high stone walls, should be a splendid place to write."

"The grub's rotten—that's the only thing," said Matthew, reaching for the tobacco–jar.

"Well, that won't bother me," said John Dolittle. "I'm eating as little as possible now, you know, on account of my weight. But the way to get into jail is the thing that may prove difficult. Listen, Matthew: don't you think I could do something less violent? I mean, instead of pushing a policeman's face, couldn't I just—er—break a window or something?"

"Oh, positively," said Matthew. "There's lots of ways of getting into jail. But, you see, just for bustin' a window you'd only get a sentence of a few days. 'Ow long was you thinkin' you'd want to stay?"

"Er—I don't just know, Matthew," said the Doctor. "But certainly until I get most of my book finished."

"Well," said the Cats'–meat–Man, "there's no need to worry about that yet a while. If the judge only gives you fourteen days and you want to stay longer, all you got to do is tear up your bed or something like that. Or, if they puts you out, you can just break another window and come right back in again, see? That part's easy. Now I got to be goin'. Theodosia always gets kind of fussy if I'm out late at night. But you think it over, Doctor. If you wants peace and quiet there's no place like a prison cell. But when you starts your window–breakin' you better let me come and 'elp you—No, don't thank me, Doctor, it'll be a pleasure, I assure you! 'Twould never do to 'ave no bunglin'. The job's got to be done right. Yer might get into trouble! And choose Gilesborough. Trust me. It's a nice jail. Good night!"

9 Gilesborough

After Matthew had left, the Doctor and I sat on chatting for a while longer. It was quite plain, as John Dolittle talked, that he was becoming more and more taken up with the idea of jail as his one best place to go for finishing his book. The work at his house interested him no end; but there was clearly no possible chance of his getting at his writing while he stayed at home. He felt that this book was a greater thing than he had done, or ever would do. At the same time he hated to leave his patients. He put these matters before me now for consideration; and I was very flattered that he wanted my opinion.

"Well, Doctor," I said, "it seems to me that it is a question of which is the most important, the book or the patients."

"Quite so, Stubbins," said he. "That's just it. And it's hard for me to make up my mind. You see, as I told you, so many of these sick animals have come to rely on me—and me alone—to help them in their troubles."

"Yes, but just the same," I said, "how did they get along while you were away before? I can't see why you feel you must take care of everybody and everything in the world, Doctor. That's more than any one could do. It won't take you for ever to write your book. Why can't the patients manage without your help for that length of time, the same as they did while you were away in the moon?"

He shrugged his shoulders but did not answer.

The next day I talked the matter over with Dab–Dab.

"Tommy," said she, "that man Matthew Mugg is a scallywag, but he's got brains. Jail may not be the pleasantest place in the world. But don't you see what's going to happen if John Dolittle doesn't go away somewhere?"

"What?" I asked.

"He'll try and do both things," said Dab–Dab. "He'll try to look after all these blessed animals—many of them aren't really sick, you know, they just want to get a look at the great man and then go back and brag about it to their friends—and he'll try to write the book. Both at the same time. He'll get ill from overwork. No, the more I think of it, the surer I feel. Matthew's right. The place for John Dolittle is jail. He'll be safe there."

Well, it was towards the end of that week that the Doctor came to a decision. We had a very long line of patients calling on him—worse than usual. The cases were not serious ones, but they kept him on the go from the time he got out of bed till the time he went back to it—long after midnight. To make matters worse still, four new dogs arrived who wished to become members of the "Home." And the same afternoon Whitey discovered two new families of wild mice who said they'd like to join the Rat and Mouse Club. When I went with the Doctor up to his bedroom that night he was all worn out.

"Stubbins," he said, as he sank into a chair, "it's no use my staying here any longer. I've just got to go away."

"Yes, Doctor," I said, "I think you're right."

"To–morrow, Stubbins," said he, "we'll go over to Gilesborough. You get hold of Matthew for me. I am a little bit afraid of what he may do. But, on the other hand, I am not—er—as experienced as he is in these matters. So I think it would be a good idea if we had him with us, don't you?"

"Yes," I said, "I do."

"Anyway," he went on, "call me early, won't you? We must get those notes arranged. I fancy one is not allowed to take much baggage when one goes to jail. We'll have to copy the notes out on to ordinary paper, you know—much less bulky than those palm–leaf sheets I brought down from the moon."

"Very good," said I. "We can manage that all right. Now get some sleep, Doctor. It's a quarter to one."

I was down very early the next morning; and, thinking I'was up ahead of everybody, I was tiptoeing through the house on my way out to visit Matthew when I found the whole family sitting at breakfast round the kitchen–table.

"Well, Dab–Dab," I said, "he's going!"

"Who's going?" asked Gub–Gub.

"The Doctor," I said.

"Where is he going?" asked the white mouse.

"To jail," I answered.

"Why is he going?" asked Jip.

"Because he has to," said I, as patiently as I could.

"When is he going?" asked Too–Too.

"As soon as he can," I said.

It was the usual bombardment of questions that I got regularly whenever I broke any news of the Doctor.

"Now look here," said Dab–Dab, addressing the rest of them. "Stop bothering Tommy with your chatter. The Doctor has decided to go to jail so he can be free."

"Free—in jail!" cried the white mouse.

"Just that," said Dab–Dab. "He needs quiet. And you must all understand that where he is going is to be kept a secret."

"Dear me!" sighed the white mouse. "We always seem to be having to keep secrets round here."

"Well, there's to be no seeming about this," snorted Dab–Dab. "No one is to know where John Dolittle is going. Is that clear to all of you? For a while the Doctor has just got to disappear from the world—the world of animals as well as of people. All of us must see to it that no one, absolutely no one, gets to hear of where he has gone."

After a glass of milk I hurried away to see Matthew. The Cats'–meat–Man agreed to meet us, the Doctor and myself, in Gilesborough that afternoon.

On my return I got the notes arranged as the Doctor wanted. We did not plan to take them all with us at once. We felt sure I could bring him more later, as he needed them. And so it was only with a satchel for baggage that we set out together to walk to Gilesborough—a distance of some seven miles from Puddleby.

I must confess that I had to smile to myself as we set off. John Dolittle, the great traveller who had undertaken such adventurous voyages, was starting off on the strangest journey of all: to go to jail! And for the first time in his life he was worried that he might not get there.

Gilesborough was quite a place—in many ways more important than Puddleby. It was a Saxon town, the centre of a "hundred," as it was called in the old days. Its square–towered little church sat up among its surrounding oak–trees and could be seen from a long way off. What is more, it was a market–town. Every Friday fine cattle were driven in—Jersey cows, sheep, and Berkshire pigs—by the farmers of the neighbourhood. And then once a year, just before Michaelmas, there was the Goose Fair. This was attended by visitors for many miles around and was a county–wide affair of great importance.

I had visited the town before; and I had enjoyed seeing those jolly farmers with their apple–cheeked wives gathering in the White Hart Inn or the Fitz–Hugh Arms Hotel to talk over the fine points of the sheep shown in the market pens, or neighbours' calves sold at new high prices. They always had splendid horses for their gigs, these men, in which they drove to town—even if the gigs were in sad need of repairs, painting and washing. Taken all in all, Gilesborough was one of the spots of Old England anyone would love to visit.

The Doctor and I arrived there on a late Friday afternoon. The market was over and the farmers had retired to take their last mug of cider at the taverns before going home. We found the Cats'meat–Man at our meeting–place, waiting for us.

"Now look here, Matthew," said the Doctor, "about this window–breaking business: you understand I wouldn't want to break the windows of any poor people—those who couldn't afford it, you know."

"A worthy thought," said Matthew, "a werry worthy thought. I take it you'd like better to break the windows of the wealthy. So would I. Well, 'ow about the bank—the Gilesborough Investment Corporation? They've got lots of money and they'd be sure to prosecute, too, mind yer. That's important. They just loves to prosecute people. Yes, Doctor, that's the idea. Let's bust the bank's winders. They're made of plate glass—lovely! They'll be closed to customers now, but the clerks and cashiers will still be there. We'll go and take a whack at the bank—helegant! Now, let me see—where are some good stones? Yes—'ere we are! You take a couple in your pockets and I'll take a few too. Wouldn't never do to 'ave no bunglin'!"

Matthew picked up a handful of large pebbles from the roadway. He handed some to the Doctor and put some more in his own pockets.

"Now," said he, "we just go and stroll down the street—saunterin' like. Then when we gets in front of the bank we—"

"Just a minute," said the Doctor. "Are you going to throw the stone to break the window, or am I?"

"It just depends, Doctor," said Matthew, "on how much of a crowd we finds in front of the bank and the distribution of the population, as you might say, see?"

"No, I can't say that I see—quite," said the Doctor.

"Well," said the Cats'–meat–Man, "you got to use judgment in these things—tactics, yer know. You might find a whole lot of people in between you and the bank front, and you wouldn't be able to let fly proper, while me—I might see a chance when you wouldn't, see? It won't do to 'ave no bunglin'! You take your cue from me, Doctor. I'll get you into jail all right!"

Matthew went ahead of us a little. The Doctor, with me following behind, was clearly worried.

"I don't quite like this, Stubbins," he whispered. "But I suppose Matthew knows what he's doing."

"I hope so, Doctor," I said.

We arrived in front of the bank. It was in a wide square known as the Bargate. Many people were on the pavements. The Doctor was craning his neck here and there, dodging about, trying to see over their heads. Suddenly there was a crash, followed by the noise of falling glass.

"It sounds to me," said the Doctor, "as though Matthew has been helping us."

Before I had time to answer him I heard cries from the people around us: "Stop him! Stop thief!—He tried to break into the bank—Stop him! Catch him!"

"Dear me!" said the Doctor. "Is it Matthew they're after?"

We saw a scuffle going on ahead of us.

"Yes—yes!" cried the Doctor. "That's he. Matthew's broken the bank window. Follow me, Stubbins."

We shouldered our way into the crowd that was now gathering thick and fast. In the centre of it, sure enough, we found Matthew struggling in the grasp of a policeman.

"Matthew struggling in the grasp of a policeman"

"Pardon me," said the Doctor politely, touching the policeman on the shoulder, "but it was I who threw the stone—er—thereby breaking the window."

"I might believe you, sir," said the policeman—"being as how you looks an honest gent. But I seen him with my own eyes. Took a stone out of his pocket—with me right behind him, and threw it through the bank's front window. Besides, I know this cove. He's a poacher over from Puddleby way. A bad lot, he is. Come along o' me, young feller. And it's my duty to warn you that anything you say may be held agin you in court!"

And poor Matthew was marched away towards the jail.

"But, Constable," said the Doctor to the policeman, "you must listen to me. I—"

"Never mind," whispered Matthew. "Don't you come to the court, Doctor. You don't want to be known there—not yet. No cause to worry about me. I'll be out of that jail almost afore they puts me in there. I know all the locks, see…. Yes, I'm a–comin', old funny–face. Stop pullin'—Gimme a chance to talk to me friend before I goes to the scaffold, can't yer? I'm surprised at you!" (Matthew dropped his voice to a whisper again.) "I'll be seem' yer, Doctor. Just a little mistake, see? If at first yer don't succeed, try, try—yer know the old sayin'. Better wait till I can 'elp yer. Wouldn't do to 'ave no bunglin', you know. I'll get yer into jail all right, never fear!"

10 Lady Matilda Beamish

John Dolittle was all for following our unlucky friend, but I persuaded him not to. "I think he'll be all right, Doctor," I said. "And certainly, as he told you, you don't want to get known at the Court House yet—for fear they think there is something funny about us."

"They'll think that in any case if we go on this way," said the Doctor gloomily. "But, Stubbins, I can't bear to feel I have got Matthew into jail. For years I've been trying to persuade him to keep out of it. I almost wish I hadn't started out on this crazy idea."

"Oh, Doctor," said I. "As far as Matthew is concerned, I'm sure you have nothing to worry about. He's so—well—he's so experienced in these matters."

"Yes," said the Doctor thoughtfully, "that is true. But still if I'm to get into Gilesborough jail I don't think I should wait for his assistance any further. I'd better leave the bank alone, don't you think?"

"Yes, Doctor," said I. "I think I would."

We went on strolling down the main street till presently we came to the outskirts of the town, where there were no shops any more, just private houses.

"This looks like a prosperous place," said the Doctor, stopping before a large house with a very elegant front. "I should think the folks here could easily afford a broken window, what? Well, here goes! Now listen, Stubbins, you better keep out of the way. We don't want the wrong man arrested a second time."

The Doctor drew a stone from his pocket and let fly at a big window on the ground floor. Another crash, and more sounds of falling glass. We waited, watching the front door for some one to come out. No one came. Presently an urchin stepped up behind us.

"Mister," said he, "there ain't no use in breaking the windows in that house."

"Why?" asked the Doctor.

"The people's gone away," said the boy. "Yes, gone abroad for the winter. I broke all the windows in the back yesterday and no one even chased me off the place!"

"Good gracious!" murmured the Doctor. "Have I got to spoil every house in this town before I get stopped? Come, Stubbins, let us go on."

Once more we sauntered, looking for points of attack.

"I don't seem to be doing very well," said the Doctor dismally. "I had no idea how difficult it was to get into jail."

"Well, Doctor," I said, "I suppose there's a good deal in looking the part, as they say. Matthew didn't seem to find it difficult to get into jail."

"Look," said the Doctor, pointing down the street. "There's another big house—with lots of carriages driving up to the door. I wonder what's going on there."

"Most likely they're giving a tea–party, or something of the kind," I said. "See, there's a policeman there regulating the traffic."

"A policeman!" cried the Doctor. "Why, so there is! This is splendid, Stubbins. I can't go wrong this time. Important people with plenty of money; a party going on; crowds of witnesses, and a policeman. He'll just be bound to arrest me.—I'll report him for neglect of duty if he doesn't!"

When we came up to the house we saw there was quite a gathering of townspeople watching the guests driving up in their carriages. It certainly seemed to be quite a large and elegant affair which was going on. The Doctor told me to hang back; and he elbowed his way into the crowd till he was near enough to make sure of his aim. By standing on tiptoe, from where I was I could see him and his tall hat plainly. Again he took a stone from his pocket and scored a bull's–eye on the largest of the ground–floor windows.

Another crash—and once more the clatter of falling glass. This noise was instantly followed by indignant cries from the crowd. Everybody drew away from the Doctor as though they feared he was dangerous. Suddenly, as it were, he was left all by himself in the centre of a small ring, blushing ridiculously but looking quite happy and triumphant. The policeman came through the crowd and looked at him. He was clearly very puzzled by the respectable appearance of the stone–thrower. His eye roamed over the Doctor's satchel, his top hat, and his kind, genial face.

"Pardon me, sir," said he, "but was it you who threw that stone?"

"Yes," said the Doctor, "I threw the stone. My pockets are full of them, look!"

He pulled a handful out of his pocket and showed them.

"'E's an anarchist," I heard some one in the crowd whisper. "I'll bet yer 'e makes bombs in 'is bathroom!"

"Maybe 'e's crazy," said a woman near me. "'E's got an awful queer look in his eye—Come back there, Willie! You keep away from 'im! 'E might bite' yer, or something!"

But the constable seemed more puzzled than ever.

"Did you throw it—er—on purpose, sir?" he asked in a disbelieving voice.

"Oh, yes, indeed!" said the Doctor brightly. "Let me show you."

He took another stone from his pocket and drew back his arm.

"No, no," said the policeman, hurriedly stopping him. "You needn't break any more. You can explain to the magistrate. You must come with me. And it's my duty to warn you that anything you say now may be used in evidence against you."

"Well, just tell me what to say and I'll say it," said the Doctor eagerly as he moved away at the policeman's side.

"Yes, 'e's crazy all right," murmured the woman near me. "Come along, Willie. Time to go home."

"Maybe he was annoyed because he didn't get asked to the party, Ma," said Willie.

The commotion inside the house was now greater than that outside. Maids and footmen were flying around, pulling down blinds. The front door was shut and bolted. It looked as though they feared a bombardment of stones from the crowd.

As soon as the Doctor and the policeman had got to the outskirts of the mob I began following them, keeping a hundred yards or so behind. This was not difficult because the helmet of the tall constable could be easily seen at quite a distance. It was clearly the policeman's intention to avoid people following; because he took back streets instead of main ones.

After a little I decided it was no longer necessary for me to keep back out of the way. The deed was done now and the Doctor need no longer fear that I would be accused of having a hand in it. So presently, when the pair were going through a quiet little alley, I overtook them.

The constable asked me who I was and what I wanted. I explained that I was a friend of the man he had arrested and I wished to go with them to the police–station. To this he made no objection and the three of us marched on together.

"Stubbins," said the Doctor, "can't you think of something I could say which will be used in evidence against me?"

"I don't imagine there will be any need for that," I said.

The constable just raised his eyebrows, looking more mystified than ever. He probably thought he ought to be taking us before a doctor instead of a magistrate.

Presently we arrived at the Court House and were taken inside. At a tall desk, like a pulpit, an elderly man was writing in a book. He looked very dignified and severe.

"What's the charge?" he said without looking up.

"Breaking windows, Your Honour," said the constable.

The magistrate put down his pen and gazed at the three of us through shaggy grey eyebrows.

"Who, the boy?" he asked, jerking his head towards me.

"No, Your Honour," said the constable. "The old gentleman here."

The magistrate put on his glasses and peered, scowling, at John Dolittle.

"Do you plead guilty or not guilty?" he asked.

"Guilty, Your Honour," said the Doctor firmly.

"I don't understand," murmured the magistrate. "You—at your time of life!—Breaking windows!—What did you do it for?"

The Doctor was suddenly overcome with embarrassment. He blushed again; shuffled his feet; coughed.

"Come, come!" said the magistrate. "You must have had some reason. Do you hold any grudge against the owner of the house?"

"Oh, no," said the Doctor. "None whatever. I didn't even know whose place it was."

"Are you a glazier? Do you repair windows?—I mean, were you looking for a job?"

"Oh, no," said the Doctor, more uncomfortable than ever.

"Then why did you do it?"

"I—er—did it—er—just for a lark, Your Honour!" said the Doctor, smiling blandly.

His Honour sat up as though some one had stuck a pin in him.

"For a lark!" he thundered. "And do you think the people of this town consider it a lark to have their houses damaged in this ruffianly manner? A lark! Well, if you are trying to be funny at the expense of the Law we will have to teach you a lesson. What is your calling—I mean what do you do—when you're not breaking windows?"

At this question poor John Dolittle looked as though he was about to sink into the floor.

"I am a doctor," he said in a very low voice.

"A doctor!—Ah!" cried the magistrate. "Perhaps you hoped to get some patients—bombarding a house with stones! You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Well, you have admitted the charge. So far as I know it's a first offence. But I shall inflict the severest penalty that the law allows me. You are fined five pounds and costs!"

"But I haven't any money," said the Doctor, brightening up.

"Humph!" snorted His Honour. "Can't you borrow funds? Have you no friends?"

"No friends with money," said the Doctor, glancing at me with a hopeful smile.

"I see," said the magistrate, taking up his pen. "In that case the law gives me no choice. The court regrets the necessity of imposing this sentence on a man of your years and profession. But you have brought it on yourself and you certainly deserve a lesson. In default of the fine you must go to jail for thirty days."

The Doctor gave a big sigh of relief. He shook me warmly by the hand. "Splendid! We've done it, Stubbins!" he whispered as he picked up his satchel.

There was a knocking on the door. Another policeman entered. Behind him was a large flouncy sort of woman wearing many pearls. With her was a coachman, also a footman. The magistrate got up at once and came down out of his pulpit to greet her.

"Ah, Lady Matilda Beamish!" he cried. "Come in. What can we do for you?"

"Oh, good heavens!" I heard the Doctor groan behind me.

"I do hope, Your Honour," said the lady, "that I'm not too late. I came as fast as I could. It was in my house that the window was broken. Is the trial over? I thought you would need me as a witness."

"The case has been already dealt with," said the magistrate. "The accused pleaded guilty—so there was no need of witnesses beyond the constable who made the arrest."

"Oh, I was so upset!" said the woman, fluttering a lace handkerchief before her face. "We were holding the monthly meeting of the County Chapter of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. Refreshments had been served and we were just about to call the meeting to business when a large stone came flying through the drawing–room window and dropped right into the punch bowl. Oh, it was terrible! Sir Willoughby Wiffle was splashed all over! As for myself, I positively swooned away."

She sank down into a seat and the coachman and footman stood about her, fanning her. The magistrate sent one of the policemen to get a glass of water.

"Dear Lady Matilda," he said, "I cannot tell you how sorry I am this outrage should have occurred at your home. However, the prisoner has defaulted on his fine and he is being sent to jail. It will teach him a lesson. I just have to book some particulars. I will be with you in a moment."

Up to this the woman had been so busy, gasping and fluttering and talking, she had not even looked at the Doctor or myself. Now, when the magistrate left her to go back to his pulpit, she saw us for the first time. The Doctor turned quickly away from her gaze. But she sprang up and cried out,

"Your Honour, is that the man who broke my window?"

"Yes," said the magistrate, "that is he. Why? Do you know him?"

"Know him!" cried Lady Matilda Beamish, bursting into smiles and gurgles of joy. "Why, I dote on him! My dear Doctor Dolittle, I am delighted to see you again! But tell me, why didn't you come into the meeting, instead of throwing a stone in instead?"

"I didn't know it was your house," said the Doctor sheepishly.

The woman turned gushingly to the magistrate.

"Oh, Your Honour," she cried, "this is the most wonderful man in the world. A doctor—that is, he was a doctor, but he turned to animals instead. Well, five years ago Topsy, my prize French poodle, had puppies. And she was dreadfully ill—so were the puppies, all of them. The sweetest little things you ever saw—but, oh, so ill! I sent for all the vets in the county. It was no use. Topsy and her children got worse and worse. I wept over them for nights on end. Then I heard about Doctor Dolittle and sent for him. He cured them completely, the whole family. All the puppies won prizes in the show. Oh, I'm so happy to see you again, Doctor! Tell me, where are you living now?"

"In jail," said John Dolittle—"or, that is, I expect to be, for a while."

"In jail!" cried the lady. "Oh, the window—of course. I had forgotten about that. But let me see"—she turned to the magistrate again—"wasn't there something said about a fine?"

"Yes," said His Honour. "Five pounds. The prisoner was unable to pay it. He was sentenced to thirty days in jail instead."

"Oh, good gracious!" cried the lady. "We can't have that. I'll pay the fine for him. Atkins, go and bring me my purse. I left it in the carriage."

The footman bowed and went out.

The Doctor came forward quickly.

"It's awfully good of you, Lady Matilda," he began, "but I—"

"Now, Doctor, Doctor," said she, shaking a fat finger at him, "don't thank me. We can't possibly let you go to jail. It will be a pleasure for me to pay it. In fact, I'm not sure I wouldn't have considered it a privilege to have my window broken, if I had only known it was you who had done it. A very great man," she whispered aside to the magistrate, "a little odd and—er—eccentric, but a very great man. I'm so glad I got here in time."

The purse was brought by the footman and the money was counted out. The Doctor made several more attempts to interfere but he stood no chance of getting himself heard against the voice of the grateful, talkative lady who was determined to rescue him from jail.

"Very well," said the magistrate finally, "the fine is paid and the prisoner is released from custody—with a caution. This was a particularly flagrant breach of the law and it is to be hoped that the prisoner will take the lesson to heart. The Court wishes to express the opinion that the lady against whose premises and property the offence was committed has acted in more than a generous manner in paying the fine imposed."

The policeman beckoned to the Doctor and me. He led us down a passage, opened a door, and showed us out—into the street.

11 In Jail at Last

It was almost twilight now and both the Doctor and I were hungry. Feeling that nothing more could be done that day we set off to tramp the seven miles back to Puddleby and supper. For quite a while neither of us spoke. At last, when we were nearly home, the Doctor said,

"You know, Stubbins, I almost wish I had followed Matthew's advice and—er—pushed a policeman in the face. It would have been so much—er—so much safer. Did you hear what that woman said—almost a privilege to have her window broken by me? Good heavens!—And you know, it was the simplest case, her Topsy and the pups. All I did was give them some digestive pills—an invention of my own—and get their precious mistress to stop fussing over them and leave them in peace. Topsy told me that Lady Matilda was just driving them all crazy, buzzing round them like a bee and giving them the stupidest things to eat. I forbade her to go near the dogs for a week and they got all right—on milk. Ah, well!"

There was great excitement when we reached the house and stepped in at the kitchen door.

"Why, Doctor!" squeaked the white mouse, "didn't you go to jail, then?"

"No," said the Doctor, sinking miserably into a chair, "but Matthew did. I feel perfectly terrible about it. I must go over and see his wife Theodosia in the morning. I don't suppose she'll ever be able to forgive me."

"Matthew! In jail!" said Too–Too. "Why, I saw him out in the scullery just now, washing his hands."

"You must be mistaken," said the Doctor. "The last we saw of him was in Gilesborough. He was being marched off to prison. He threw a stone into the window of the bank, hoping that the people would think it was me. But they didn't. He was arrested."

At that moment the door into the pantry opened and Matthew entered smiling.

"'Ulloa, Doctor," said he cheerily. "So they wouldn't take you in up at Gilesborough jail, eh? Too bad! Most in'ospitable of 'em, I calls it—most in'ospitable!"

"But, look here, Matthew," said the Doctor, "what about yourself? Do you mean to say they turned you away too?"

"Hoh, no!" grinned the Cats'–meat–Man. "They never turns me away—not from jails. But you see, on the way to the police–station I 'appened to remember that I 'adn't got me skeleton key with me. And though I could, most likely, 'ave got myself out of that jail without hartificial means, I thought maybe it would be best to be on the safe side and escape before I got to jail. So I sizes up the copper what was takin' me along, see? And I notices 'e was a kind of 'eavy–built bloke, no good for runnin' at all. So with great foresight and hindsight—still goin' along peaceful with 'im like—I picks out a spot to shake 'im. You know that fountain on the green with the big marble pool around it?"

"Yes," said the Doctor, "I remember it."

"Well, just as we comes alongside o' that pool I says to 'im, I says, 'Why, sergeant!'—I knew 'e was only a constable, but they all likes to be called sergeant—'Why, sergeant,' I says, 'look, yer bootlace is untied.' 'E bends down to look—and, bein' very fat, 'e 'ad to bend away down to see 'is feet. Then I gives 'im a gentle shove from the rear and in 'e goes, 'ead–first, into the marble pool. Ha! Just as neat as a divin' walrus. Then I dashes off across the green and down an alley. I took to the open country as soon as I got a chance. And, well—'ere I am!"

"Humph!" said the Doctor. "Good gracious me! Anyway, I'm glad you're safe and sound, Matthew. I was very worried about you. What have we got for supper, Dab–Dab?"

"Fried eggs, cheese, tomatoes and cocoa," said the housekeeper.

"A–a–a–h!" said Gub–Gub, coming up to the table. "Tomatoes!"

"Um–m–m–m, cocoa!" said Chee–Chee. "Good idea!"

"And cheese, hooray!" squeaked the white mouse, scrambling down from the mantelpiece.

"You know, Matthew," said the Doctor when we were seated at the meal, "I think we had better leave Gilesborough alone. What with you giving a policeman in uniform a bath, and my fine being paid by the most prominent lady in the town, I feel we better stay away from there. In fact, I'm very discouraged about the whole business. As I told Stubbins, I had no idea it was so hard to get into jail."

"Well, yer see, Doctor," said Matthew, buttering large slabs of bread, "that's the way it is: when yer wants to get into jail they won't 'ave yer, and when you don't want to get into jail, they takes yer and puts yer there. The whole law, I might say, is a very himperfect hinstrument. But don't you be down–'earted, Doctor. Keep up the good work! After all, yer did get arrested this last shot, and yer didn't even get that far the first time. You see, you got the beginnings of a reputation now. It's easy to get into jail when you got the right reputation."

"'The whole law, I might say, is a very himperfect hinstrument'"

Polynesia, sitting on the window–sill, let out a short "Huh!"

"Yes, but just the same," said the Doctor, "I don't think we should use Gilesborough any more for our—er—experiments."

"That's all right, Doctor," said Matthew, reaching for the cheese. "There's lots of other places. Your reputation will spread. Wonderful 'ow a good jail reputation gets around. Now listen: there's Goresby–St. Clements, pretty little town—and a good jail, too! And I was thinkin'—should 'ave thought of it before—the best thing for you to do is not to bother with banks and charity meetin's this time. Just go and bust the window of the police–station itself—or the Court 'Ouse, whichever yer fancy. They'll be bound to lock you up then!"

"Humph!" said the Doctor. "Er—yes, that sounds a good idea."

"I'll come along with yer, Doctor," said Matthew. "You might not be able to—"

"No, Matthew," said the Doctor firmly. "I am afraid you may get arrested again by mistake. In fact, I don't believe I'll even take Stubbins with me this time. I'll go alone. It will be safer."

"All right, Doctor," said Matthew, "anyway, what makes you most comfortable. But you will see there ain't no bunglin', won't yer? And don't forget, choose the police–station, or the Court 'Ouse, when the judge is there. Use a good big stone, too. My, but I'd love to see it! When will we be hearin' from yer?"

"You won't be hearing from me—if I get into jail," said the Doctor. "But you will if I don't."

The next morning John Dolittle set out for Goresby–St. Clements. This was another long walk from Puddleby and for that reason he made an early start. Dab–Dab had provided him with a large packet of sandwiches and a bottle of milk. He also took with him a good supply of writing–paper and lots of pencils—and of course his notes.

I went down the road a little way with him to see him off. He seemed very happy and hopeful as he bade me good–bye. The last thing he said was,

"Stubbins, if I'm not back here by midnight you'll know I've succeeded. Don't bother about visiting me for a good while. And on no account let Matthew come at all. I'll be all right. Look after the old lame horse. And keep an eye on those moon plants for me. So long!"

Well, that time he did succeed—as we heard later. All the animals insisted on sitting up with me that night to see if John Dolittle would return. When the old clock in the hall struck midnight we knew that he was in jail at last. Then I sent them off to bed.

12 Itty

For the next few days I was kept very busy. Without the Doctor in the house I felt entirely responsible that everything should go well. And there was much more to attend to now than when I had been in charge before.

For one thing, there were the animal patients. Although the number of these calling at the house daily fell off, as soon as it was known that the Doctor was away from home, the sick animals did not by any means stop coming. They all wanted to know where the Doctor had gone. I refused to tell them. Then some of them asked me to give them more of this medicine, or that ointment, which they had been getting before from the Doctor. Next thing, a few who had cuts or bruises asked if I would treat their troubles, since the Doctor was no longer there. Of course in my years of helping John Dolittle in this sort of work I had learned a lot. I bandaged them up and even set a broken bone or two.

I got very interested in the work. I felt proud that I could handle sick cases all by myself. Then I began to notice that the line waiting outside the dispensary door wasn't getting any less each morning, as it had at the start. Once in a while a more difficult case would come in, needing pretty ticklish surgery. I wished the Doctor was there to help me. But he wasn't. Some of these were urgent cases that needed attention at once. There was no one else to handle the work, so I did it.

I began to study John Dolittle's books, volumes he had written on animal medicine and animal surgery. I took on more and more difficult tricks of doctoring—sometimes with my heart in my mouth, scared to death the poor creatures might die under my hands. But none of them did—thank goodness!

Without doubt I was very lucky in this. But also it must not be forgotten that I was greatly helped by knowing animal languages—I was the only one (at that time) besides the great man himself who did. I noticed that more and more the animal patients seemed to have confidence in me. Even when I had to put a stitch in a bad cut they lay wonderfully still, apparently knowing that I would save them all the pain I possibly could.

I began to ask myself where all this might lead me to. My reputation among the animals was growing—the same as the Doctor's had done when he first left the profession of human medicine and took to the care of the animal world. I don't mean to say that I dreamed for one moment that I could take the great man's place. No one living could ever have done that. But as I got busier and busier with the work of the dispensary I did begin to wonder—if the Doctor should stay long enough in prison—whether I too might some day have to run away and hide to get peace and quiet. Anyhow it can be easily understood how a young boy would be tremendously thrilled to find he was doing even as much as I was to carry on the work of so important a person.

But besides my duties as assistant doctor there were plenty of other things to keep me on the go. There were the animal clubs down in the Zoo. I had to keep an eye on Jip and Flip so that they didn't bring in too many new members for the "Home." Feeding them properly these days was the big problem. It required money to do that. (My job as bookkeeper for the butcher had to be kept going too, or there wouldn't have been any money at all.)

And then that blessed little Whitey! In spite of his small size he was all over the place at the same time, poking his cheeky pink nose into everything. He seemed to discover a new family of wild mice or rats every day. He would come to me with a long sad story of their troubles and ask if they could join the Rat and Mouse Club—which I usually found they had done already, before I had given permission.

And I had to take care of the moon plants. This was a big job—keeping notes on weather conditions, rate of growth and goodness knows what more. But this was one of the departments of our establishment which could not be neglected on any account. Not only had the Doctor on leaving instructed me to give it special attention, but I knew that the raising of these food–stuffs from the moon would be necessary for his experiments later on and for the writing of his book. He felt that the very secret of everlasting life itself might be contained in these seeds of vegetables and fruits which he had brought down from that other world. If I let the plants die while he was away, he would never be able to try them out on the creatures of the earth.

And then there was Itty, the moon cat—strangest and most puzzling of animals. True, she did not demand any of my time; but I became very interested in her. She had not yet taken her place as part of the household (for which the rest of the animals were not sorry). But she was now at least willing to leave her cage. And she used to wander round the garden on silent feet, examining everything with great care and curiosity. She seemed particularly interested in the birds and watched them by the hour. This frightened the birds a good deal, especially those who were late nesters and still had young ones to raise. But Itty seemed to remember her promise to the Doctor; for I never saw her kill, or even try to catch, one.

Occasionally at night I would see her looking up at the moon, wistfully—as though she was wondering what was going on there, in that home world of hers from which she had cut herself off with so much courage. The other animals, when she first came out and began to move about, left her severely alone. They sneaked into corners when they saw her coming, and kept out of her way. Her answer to this was to keep out of their way—but in a superior, far grander manner. It seemed almost as though, having lived so many thousands of years longer than these upstart earth animals, she felt she should meet their rude unfriendliness with dignity instead of anger—rather the way one might leave impertinent, naughty children to grow older and learn better manners.

Just the same, whenever I saw her gazing at the moon in that strange dreaming way, she seemed to me like a very sad and forlorn soul, one who perhaps carried the secrets and mysteries of all the ages in her heart and had not so far found any one worthy to share them. And I wondered if the Doctor, in bringing her down, had not had at the back of his mind some wish to keep with him this one last animal link between the world of the moon and the world of the earth. Had he not perhaps felt after twelve months on the moon that a year is but a little time in the life of the universe, and that the moon cat—if and when she would—could still tell him much he did not know?

Certainly I have never known an animal who had such complete confidence in herself. She always seemed to be mistress of the situation, whatever happened. Her eyes! This world of ours has never seen anything like them. In the dark they didn't just glow, they burned and smouldered with a light of their own—sometimes with the sudden white flash of diamonds; sometimes like the green glimmer of emeralds, a sleeping southern sea at twilight, a cool forest at daybreak; sometimes like rubies, flaming, dangerous, red; sometimes like the opal—all colours, mingling, changing, fading and gleaming again…. What eyes! When they looked into your own, steadily, for minutes on end, they seemed to be reading your thoughts, searching you and your whole life—all the lives that lay behind you, your father's, your grandfather's, back to the beginning of time. Itty, often uncomfortable company perhaps, was for me always fascinating.

Quite a while before this I had learned something of her language. She talked very little—gave no opinions. She appeared to be feeling her way about this new world, so to speak, before she would say what she thought of it. When I told her that the Doctor had gone away she seemed quite upset. But I assured her at once that he would be back before very long.

From then on she tried in her funny stiff way to show me that she liked me. This I am sure was not just because I fed her, but because I always treated her in the way she liked to be treated. Of her own accord she would often follow me round the place and watch with great interest whatever I was doing. But she had never as yet gone into the house.

One evening when I was returning from some of my gardening work I found her sitting on the Long Lawn gazing at the moon. I asked her if she would not like to come inside and join the animals round the kitchen fire. Rather to my surprise, she came in with me right away without saying a word.

In the kitchen they were all there: Gub–Gub, Chee–Chee, Dab–Dab, Polynesia, Jip, Too–Too and Whitey. They greeted me with friendly shouts; but when poor Itty stalked in behind me they all bristled like a lot of porcupines and a dead silence fell over the room.

The cat went over everything in the kitchen with her usual careful inspection. On the bottom shelf of the dresser there was a sort of rack for pots and pans. She peered into all the pots and smelt each of the pans. She moved silently over to the fireplace and examined the poker and tongs as though wondering what they were for. The fire itself she stared at for a long while and I wondered if it was the first time she had seen one burning inside a house.

During all this the rest of the animals never uttered a sound or a word, but followed her round the room with seven pairs of suspicious eyes as though she were a bomb that might blow up, or a creeping, deadly snake. I felt so angry I could have slapped them.

I nudged Jip with my knee and whispered,

"Can't you say something, you duffer? Start a little conversation. I never saw such hospitality. Make her feel at home!"

Jip coughed and spluttered and grunted like some one coming out of a trance.

"Oh, ah, yes," he said. "Er—ahem—er—splendid weather we're having, eh?"

I made signs to the rest of them to wake up and show some life. Gub–Gub came to the conversational rescue.

"Yes, indeed," said he, "though I did think it might rain in the early part of the morning. But who cares? There will be lots more weather tomorrow."

I glanced for help towards Polynesia on the win–dow–sill. She looked as sour as a pickle, but she understood I wanted entertainment. She broke into a dismal Russian sea–song about a shipwreck.

Then Whitey started to tell jokes, particularly dull ones which no one apparently heard—and even he himself forgot to laugh at them. Everybody's eyes and attention were still on the cat, who continued to stalk round the room. She looked as though she were taking no notice whatever of anything but her tour of inspection. Yet I felt certain she was listening to every word that was being said, and, quite possibly, understanding a good deal of it. Finally she disappeared under the table. Then all the company became more uncomfortable and awkward than ever. When they couldn't see her they seemed to feel their very lives were in danger from a hidden enemy. They reminded me of a lot of old maids at a tea–party, scared that a mouse was going to run up their skirts. I truly believe that if I had not been there they would have broken and run off in a panic. I was furious with them, knowing how much John Dolittle wanted the moon cat to feel at home in his house. Things were going from bad to worse. I did some chattering myself, talking about anything that came into my head. It was hard, uphill work. But I did manage to bully them at least into making a noise. It was the most ridiculous kind of conversation, but it was better than nothing.

After several minutes of it Dab–Dab said,

"Sh! What's that noise?"

We all listened. It was a strange sound.

"It's almost like a strong wind in the trees," whispered Gub–Gub.

"More like the sea breaking on a beach," said Jip.

"No—an engine, I'd say," murmured Dab–Dab—"Or a band playing in the distance—Extraordinary!"

"I wonder where it's coming from," squeaked the white mouse, who had, as usual, retired to the mantelpiece.

I looked under the table.

It was Itty. Although her eyes were half closed, I thought I saw the shadow of a smile on her face.

She was purring!

13 In the Doctor's Cell

But in spite of all there was to do, the old place was not the same without John Dolittle. I missed him terribly—so did the animals. The chats around the kitchen fire after supper were not the same. Somebody would start a story and we would all begin by listening attentively. Yet sooner or later the interest would wear off, the thoughts of the listeners would stray away and we would end by talking about the Doctor and wondering how he was getting on.

Dab–Dab, Too–Too, Jip and Chee–Chee—although they missed him as keenly as any—did not seem to worry about him so much. They were old and experienced friends of John Dolittle. They felt that he could take care of himself and would send us news of how he was getting on as soon as it was convenient for him to do so. But Gub–Gub and the white mouse began to get very upset as day after day went by and no news came from Goresby–St. Clements. They took me aside one morning when I was attending to the moon plants. (Polynesia was with me at the time.) They both looked very serious.

"They took me aside one morning"

"Tell me, Tommy," said Gub–Gub, "when are you planning to visit the Doctor?"

"Oh," said I, "I hadn't set any exact date. But he especially asked me to leave him alone for a good while. He's afraid that the police may find out that he got in jail on purpose. He wants to get sort of settled down before he has any visitors."

"Settled down!" cried the white mouse. "That sounds as though he might be there a terribly long time."

"We don't even know," said Gub–Gub with a very worried look, "how long they sent him to prison for. Maybe they sent him to jail for life!"

"Oh, no, Gub–Gub," I said, laughing. "They don't send people to prison for life—except for terribly serious crimes."

"But we haven't heard" squeaked the white mouse. "Maybe he did do something serious. He wasn't very successful with the window–breaking business. Perhaps he got desperate and killed a policeman—or a judge—just by accident I mean. Who knows?"

"No, no," I said, "that's not at all likely. If he got a sentence of a month in jail, that would be the most. And he would consider himself lucky to get that."

"But we don't know, Tommy, do we?" said the white mouse. "This—er—uncertainty is very wearing. We've heard nothing since he left. I can hardly sleep worrying about it, and ordinarily I'm a very good sleeper—at least I was until you brought that terrible cat into the house. But I do wish we had some word of how he is."

"What is he getting to eat?" asked Gub–Gub.

"I've no idea," I said, "but enough, anyhow, I'm sure."

"When we were thrown into jail by the King of the Jolliginki in Africa," said Gub–Gub, "we weren't given anything to eat at all!"

"Fiddlesticks!" snorted Polynesia, who was sitting on a tree near by. "We got put in prison after lunch and we escaped again before supper–time. What do you expect in jail—four meals a day?"

"Well, we didn't get anything to eat while we were in prison," said Whitey. "Gub–Gub's right. I was there too and I know. Something should be done about the Doctor. I'm worried."

"Oh, mind your own business!" said Polynesia.

"The Doctor will take care of himself. You're a fuss–budget."

"A which budget?" asked the white mouse.

"A fuss–budget," squawked the parrot. "Mind your own business."

As a matter of fact I was beginning to be a little bit disturbed about the Doctor myself. Although he had told me he would "be all right" I was anxious to hear how he was getting on. But that same afternoon Cheapside, the London sparrow, came to pay a visit. He was of course very interested to hear what had happened to his friend. When I told him that the Doctor had gone to jail to write a book he chuckled with delight.

"Well, if that ain't like 'im!" said he—"Jail!"

"Listen, Cheapside," said I, "if you're not busy perhaps you'd fly over to Goresby and see what you can find out."

"You bet," said Cheapside. "I'll go over right away."

The sparrow disappeared without another word.

He was back again about tea–time—as was usual with him. And I was mighty glad to see him. I took him into the study where we could talk privately. He had seen the Doctor, he told me—got through the bars of his prison window and had a long chat with him.

"How did he look, Cheapside?" I asked eagerly.

"Oh, pretty good," said the sparrow. "You know John Dolittle—'e always keeps up. But 'e said 'e'd like ter see yer, Tommy. 'E wants some more of his notes. And 'e's used up all the pencils 'e took with 'im. 'Tell Stubbins,' 'e said, 'there ain't no special 'urry but I would like to see 'im. Ask 'im to come over about the end of the week—say Sunday.'"

"How is he otherwise?" I asked. "Is he getting enough to eat and all that?"

"Well," said Cheapside, "I can't say as 'ow 'is board and lodgin' is any too elegant. 'E 'ad a kind of thing to sleep on—sort of a cot, you'd call it, I suppose. But it looked to me more like an ironin' board. Grub? Well, there again, o' course 'e didn't complain. 'E wouldn't. You know John Dolittle—the really important things o' life never did seem to hinterest 'im. I 'ad a peek in the bowl what was left from 'is supper. And it looked to me like it was 'ash."

"Hash?" I asked.

"Yus, 'ash," said Cheapside—"or maybe oatmeal gruel, I wouldn't be sure which. But it wouldn't make no difference to the Doctor. 'E'd eat what was given 'im and ask no questions. You know 'ow 'e is!"

At this moment I heard a scuttling among the book–shelves.

"What was that noise, Cheapside?" I asked.

"Sounded to me like a mouse," said he.

It was hard for me to wait until the end of the week. But I did not want to visit the Doctor earlier than he had asked me to; so in spite of the animals clamouring at me to go right away, I had to contain my soul in patience.

Starting out early on Sunday morning I reached Goresby jail about eleven o'clock. I noticed as I entered the building that many labourers were digging at the side of one wall, as if they were at work on the foundations.

Inside, a policeman booked my name at the desk and made out a pass for me as a visitor. As he gave it to me he said,

"Young man, I think you're maybe just in time."

"Pardon me," I said—"just in time? I don't quite understand."

"The superintendent," he said. "He's awful mad. He wants to have the prisoner Dolittle removed."

I was about to ask him why the superintendent wished to get rid of the Doctor. But at that moment another policeman led me away to my friend's cell.

It was a strange room. The high walls were made of stone. There was a window near the ceiling. Seated on the bed which was littered with papers John Dolittle was writing fast and furiously. He was so taken up with his work that he did not seem even to notice our coming in. The policeman went out again right away and, locking the door behind him, left us together.

Still the Doctor did not look up. It was only when I started to make my way across to where he sat that I noticed the condition of the floor. It was paved with cobblestones—or rather, I should say, it had been. Now it looked like a street which had been taken up by workmen. The whole floor was broken into big holes and all the cobblestones lay around higgledy–piggledy. Littered among these were scraps of food, pieces of cheese, hunks of bread, radishes—even chop–bones, looking the worse for wear.

"Why, Doctor," I asked, touching him gently on the shoulder, "what's happened here?"

"Oh, hulloa, Stubbins," said he. "Well, I hardly know—er—that is, not exactly. You see I've been so busy. But it seems that I'm going to have to leave very soon."

"Why, Doctor?" I asked—"Why? What has happened?"

"Well," said he, "everything went fine until three days ago. I had done my best. I broke all the windows in the front of the police–station. I was arrested at once. They gave me a sentence of thirty days in jail, and I thought everything was all right. I set to work on the book and I got a good deal done. Everything was going splendidly. And then, Wednesday—I believe it was Wednesday—a mouse came in and visited me. Yes, I know you'd think it was impossible, with all these stone walls. But he got in somehow. Then more came, rats too. They seemed to burrow under the corners, everywhere. They brought me food. They said they had come to set me free."

"But how did they know you were here?" I cried. "It has been kept a dead secret."

"I've no idea," he said. "I asked them, but they wouldn't tell me. Then after the mice had fetched up a lot of rats, the rats went off and fetched a whole lot of badgers. They brought me food, too—all sorts of stuff. Apparently they did not think I was getting enough to eat. The badgers began digging a tunnel under the prison wall to let me out by. I begged them to leave the place alone, but they wouldn't listen. Their minds were made up that it wasn't good for me to stay in jail. And there you are…. Sit down, Stubbins, sit down!"

I moved some of the papers aside on the bed and made room for myself.

"When the police discovered what a mess had been made," he went on, "they moved me into another cell, this one here. But the same thing happened again. The rats and badgers came tunnelling in at night under the walls."

"But, Doctor," said I, "outside, as I came in, they told me something about the superintendent. What does it mean?"

"It means, I fear," he said, "that I'm going to get put out of the prison altogether. After all my work in getting in here! And my book isn't one–quarter done yet!"

As the Doctor finished speaking we heard the rattling of a key in the lock. Two policemen entered. One I could see from his uniform was a superior officer of some kind. He held a paper in his hand.

"John Dolittle," he said, "I have here an order for your release."

"But, Superintendent," said the Doctor, "I was sentenced to thirty days. I've hardly been here half that time."

"I can't help it," said the superintendent. "The whole building is falling down. A new crack has just shown up in the guardroom wall—all the way from floor to ceiling. We've called the architect in and he says the whole jail is going to be wrecked if something isn't done. So we've got a special order from the court withdrawing the charge against you."

"But look here," said the Doctor, "you must admit I was a very well–behaved prisoner. All this disturbance was not my fault."

"I don't know anything about that," said the superintendent. "Whether these were your own trained circus animals that did the mischief is not the point. I've been in charge here for seven years now and nothing like this ever happened before. We've got to save the jail. The charge is withdrawn and out you've got to go."

"Dear, dear!" sighed the Doctor, "and just when I was getting so comfortably settled and everything. I don't know what I'll do now, really I don't."

He looked again at the superintendent as if he hoped he might relent and change his mind. But all that gentleman said was,

"Get your things packed up now. We've got to let the workmen in here to relay this floor."

Miserably the Doctor put his papers together and I helped him pack them into the satchel. When we were ready the police once again showed us, very politely, to the door and freedom.

14 The Little Villain

We got back home about three in the afternoon.

Once again the whole household wanted to know what had happened—all of them, that is, except Whitey. I noticed that he was not among the welcoming committee who met us in the garden.

When the Doctor was inside the house he explained why he had come back so soon.

"Did you say your first visitor was a mouse, Doctor?" asked Dab–Dab suspiciously.

"Yes," said the Doctor. "First one and then hundreds—then rats and then badgers. They turned the whole jail upside down. It will cost the police hundreds of pounds to put the building right again. I really can't blame them for wanting to get rid of me. But just the same it was very provoking, most annoying—just when I was getting into a nice swing with my book and everything was going splendidly. You see, I had planned, after they would turn me loose at the end of my thirty days, to break another window and come in again for a new sentence. But there wouldn't have been much use in trying to do any more harm to that police–station. The mice and rats and badgers had positively wrecked the place already."

"Humph!—Mice, eh?" said Polynesia. "I smell a mouse myself now—a white mouse. Where's Whitey?"

I suddenly remembered the noise I had heard behind the books when I had been talking to Cheapside.

"Yes," I said, "where is Whitey?"

A general search for that inquisitive little animal was made at once. Too–Too discovered him hiding behind an egg–cup in the china cupboard. He was brought out looking very ashamed of himself and quite scared. Dab–Dab seemed to be the one he was most afraid of. He immediately scrambled up on to the mantelpiece to get out of her reach. Dab–Dab positively bristled with anger as she came forward to talk to him.

"Now," she said, "tell us: did you have anything to do with this?"

"With what?" asked the white mouse, trying very hard to look innocent but making a poor job of it.

"With all these mice and rats and badgers going to the prison to set the Doctor free?" snapped the duck. "Come on now—out with it. What do you know?"

The housekeeper stretched up her neck towards the small culprit with such blazing anger in her eyes that for a moment it looked as though she was going to gobble him up. Poor Whitey was absolutely terrified.

"Well," he gasped, "you see, Gub–Gub and I—"

"Oh, so Gub–Gub was in it too, was he?" said Dab–Dab. "Where's that pig?"

But Gub–Gub had apparently thought it wiser to go off gardening. At any rate he could not be found in the house.

"Go on then, go on," said Dab–Dab. "What did you and that precious Gub–Gub do?"

"We didn't really do anything," said Whitey. "But—er—well, you see—er—we couldn't find out how the Doctor was getting on over there at Goresby–St. Clements. No one could tell us even whether he was getting enough to eat or not. We knew that the food in prisons isn't usually very good. So we—er—well, I—"

"Yes, go on!" Dab–Dab hissed.

"I thought it would be a good idea to talk it over with the members of the Rat and Mouse Club," said Whitey.

Dab–Dab looked as though she was going to have a fit.

"So!" she snorted. "You knew perfectly well it was to be kept a secret—where the Doctor had gone and everything—and yet you went down and gabbled your silly little head off at the Rat and Mouse Club!"

"'Duffer! Didn't we tell you it was to be kept a secret?'"

"But don't you see," wailed Whitey, real tears coming into his pink eyes, "don't you see we didn't know what had happened to him? For all we knew he might have been put in jail for life. When we had talked it over at the club the old Prison Rat—you remember, the one who told us that story years ago—he said, 'John Dolittle should be set free right away.' He didn't tell us then how he was going to do it. But he is a very old and cunning rat—frightfully experienced where prisons are concerned. And we trusted him."

"Oh," said Dab–Dab. "Well, will you be good enough to tell us what happened next?"

Then Whitey explained how the old Prison Rat (who in his day had set free an innocent man from jail by carrying a file in to him, so that he could cut his window–bars) had taken charge of the situation and acted as commander–in–chief in this plot to set the Doctor free.

Rats and mice are curious folk. They live in the houses and homes of people although they are not wanted there—and they know it. But they listen behind the panelling or under the floors, and they hear everything and know what is going on. They know what time a man goes to bed; what time the cook closes the pantry; at what time the lady of the house wakes up; whether she takes tea or coffee for breakfast, and whether she takes it in bed or at the dining–room table. They know when the cat comes home at night and when the dog goes to sleep in front of the fire; they know all the plans of the whole family. They know everything, because they are always listening.

And so the Prison Rat, that old grey–haired veteran of many adventures, had engineered the whole thing. Directly Whitey had spoken at the club about his fears, this general had laid his plans without asking further questions. All the underground machinery of the world of rats and mice was set in motion. Word was sent out that the beloved John Dolittle, the man who had cured the sicknesses of all the animal world, was locked up in a town called Goresby–St. Clements.

The troops were mustered immediately—at first only mice and rats. The message was sent from house to house. Then the field mice were called on and the news flew across country from town to town. John Dolittle was in danger! The message reached Goresby. Larger burrowing animals, like badgers, were needed to pry up the stones of the prison floor. Food was needed! All right. Every larder for miles around was robbed of slices of cheese, pieces of bread, apples, bananas—anything. The great man must have food. At night, when only a few policemen were on guard, the army set to work and drilled tunnels under the prison walls. And that was how Goresby jail had been wrecked.

When Whitey finished his story there was a short silence. Suddenly I heard something outside. I could see from the Doctor's face that he heard it too. It came from the bottom of the garden. It was a most peculiar noise. To any ordinary ears it was just a lot of squeaks—loud squeaks. But to us who knew animal languages it meant something more. It was coming from the Rat and Mouse Club down in the Zoo. A party—a very noisy party—was going on, to celebrate the Doctor's home–coming. We listened. Speeches were being made. There was a lot of applause as one speaker ended and another began. Cheers—and more cheers. Now we could even make out the words in the distance: "Hooray! Hooray! The Doctor's back home again! Hear, hear! Hooray! … Who brought him back? Who set him free? The Prison Rat! … Three cheers for the Doctor! Three cheers for the Prison Rat! … Hooray, hooray, hooray!"

The voices trailed off and faded away. Dab–Dab turned again to scold Whitey.

"You little villain!" she began, "I could—"

"Oh, never mind, never mind," said the Doctor. "Leave him alone, Dab–Dab. The harm is done now. And anyway it was the Prison Rat who was probably responsible for most of it. Whitey thought he was acting for the best, no doubt. Let bygones be bygones."

15 A Grand Party

At this moment the Doctor was called away to see a patient in the dispensary. I went with him. It was a weasel with a sprained back—not an easy matter to put right at all. I helped the Doctor with the case.

After hours of working on it we got the small creature into a sort of jacket made of twigs, like a tube, so that he couldn't bend his spine in any direction. It looked as though it was very uncomfortable for the weasel. They are naturally squirmy, wriggly things. But this one soon found, when the Doctor had laid him down in one of his little box beds which he kept for cases of this kind, that the pain of his back was greatly eased as long as he did what the Doctor told him to—which was to keep perfectly still. We moved him into the small–animal hospital in the attic.

As we started to go downstairs Chee–Chee met us with the news that a heron was waiting to see him with severe gout trouble in the leg joints.

"There you are, Stubbins," said John Dolittle, "you see? What chance is there for me to get this book finished—with all the experiments that have to be made–while I have to look after these patients? I can't neglect them, can I? What am I to do?"

"Look here, Doctor," said I. "I have an idea. While you were away many cases came to the house. I told them that you were not here—wouldn't be back for some time. Well, some of them needed attention right away. They asked me to see to them. I was awfully scared at first, afraid I wouldn't do the right thing. But you see, being your assistant so long, I had learned a good deal."

At this point I noticed Polynesia hopping up the stairs to meet us.

"Some of the cases, Doctor," I said, "were quite tricky. But you were not here and I had to take them on. I actually set a wren's broken wing. What do you think of that?"

"Why, Stubbins!" he cried, "that's splendid! Setting a wing on a bird as small as that is about as delicate a job as I know of. Splendid, splendid! And it came out all right?"

"It certainly did, Doctor," said Polynesia. "I was there and I know. Remember, I gave Tommy his first lessons in bird languages, the same as I did to you. I always knew he'd turn out a good naturalist."

"Now you see, Doctor," I said, "there's no reason why you should not turn over the dispensary to me. If any particularly difficult job should come along I can always call you in. But you need not bother with the ordinary work of the patients. Go ahead and write your book in peace here, in your own home. Why not?"

"Er—yes, Stubbins," he said slowly. "After all, why not? An excellent idea!—Anyhow, we can see how it works."

And so the plan was actually tried out. Dab–Dab and Polynesia gave orders to everybody in the household that as soon as a patient appeared at the gate I should be sent for and not the Doctor. I was a little bit scared at first, fearing still that I might make some serious mistakes with the more ticklish cases; and while I was better off than when the Doctor had been away, I did not want to call upon him for help too often.

But on the whole things went very well. I made Chee–Chee and Polynesia my assistants. The monkey was a wonderful help with his small hands. For all such work as rolling narrow bandages (some of them no wider than a shoe–lace) his slender fingers were just the thing. He was, too, a naturally kindly soul and the animal patients liked him. I taught him how to count a pulse with the watch and take temperatures with the thermometer.

Polynesia I used mostly as a special interpreter when difficulties in animal languages cropped up. We often had new and rare animals coming to the dispensary, like bats and voles and bitterns and choughs. And without the old parrot's help it would have been very hard for me to talk with them.

As soon as I had the whole thing running smoothly I must admit I felt very proud—especially when the Doctor came and visited us and said he thought we were doing exceedingly well.

And of course all the members of the household were more than delighted. They saw now a chance of keeping the beloved Doctor under his own roof for a long time, since he was busy on a book and his experiments in moon vegetables.

One evening just as I was closing up the dispensary they all came to me in a body and asked me to do them a special favour. Naturally I asked them what it was before I made any promises.

"Well, Tommy, it's like this," said Gub–Gub. "While we are no end pleased that the Doctor is staying with us for a time, we don't see as much of him as we used to. He sticks at that book all the time. We think he ought to give himself a holiday once in a while. And then again, we miss him awful much at our evening chats over the kitchen fire. You know what splendid stories and disgustings—" ("Discussions, you booby, discussions!" snapped Jip in his ear.) "Yes—er—discussions is what I mean," Gub–Gub went on. "And it isn't the same any more now."

"Yes, I understand that," I said.

"So we all thought," said Gub–Gub, "that it would be a good way to celebrate the Doctor's returning home to ask him to come to one of our after–supper parties in the kitchen—as he used to."

"And you see, Tommy," said the white mouse, "it will be specially nice now because we're well into Autumn and we can have a roaring fire."

"Exactly," said Gub–Gub. "Only yesterday I was thinking of covering my spinach" (Gub–Gub always spoke of everything in the garden as "my"—"my rhubarb," "my parsley," "my tomatoes," etc.). "We may have frost any day now," he went on. "And after all a fire is a real fire only when there's frost in the air. What do you say, Tommy?"

"Well, Gub–Gub," said I, "I think it would do the Doctor good to get away from his work for one evening. I'll go and talk with him and see what he says."

As a matter of fact, it was not easy for me to persuade the Doctor. I found him in his study, writing busily as usual. Sheets of papers with notes on them lay all over the floor; more pieces of paper were pinned on the walls around his desk; plates full of sandwiches (which the devoted Dab–Dab brought him three times a day) were scattered round the room, many of them untouched. I explained to him what the animals had asked of me.

"Well, Stubbins," he said. "I would most willingly come down to the kitchen after supper—I used to regularly at one time, you know. But—er—well—just now it's different. I'm behindhand with the book. Thought I would have been much further along with it by this time. And then there are the experiments with the plants waiting for me. You see, I'm dividing the book into two parts. The first part is concerned with my discoveries on the moon; animal, vegetable and mineral, you know. I haven't got half–way through that yet. The second part is about my trying to grow certain moon things down here on the earth—mostly vegetable, but some insect forms. And it is in that, Stubbins, that I hope to discover some of the really big secrets—such as the great length of life up there, almost everlasting life. Yes, perhaps even that itself—with scientific guidance—everlasting life!"

"But listen, Doctor," I said. "It will do you good to leave your desk for one evening. The animals have set their hearts on it. They want to celebrate your coming back to your own home—to them. You know, whether you like it or not, they do feel you belong to them."

He smiled. Then he laughed. Then he threw his pencil down on the desk.

"All right, Stubbins," he said. "It probably will do me no harm to get away for a while."

He rose from his chair and we left the study.

It was indeed a very successful evening. Everybody was there: Jip, Too–Too, Polynesia, Chee–Chee, Gub–Gub, Whitey, Dab–Dab and Cheapside. Matthew Mugg had dropped in again, so we had him too. And the old lame horse, when he heard that the Doctor was going to be present, said he would like to be there. We got him into the house through the big double doors we had used for the Doctor when he was still a giant. And though Dab–Dab was terribly scared that he would knock the dresser over, we finally managed to bed him down under the windows where he could see and hear everything that went on.

And then there was Itty. The moon cat now came and went about the house without any one's being afraid of her. I had been amused to notice that the two who had raised the biggest rumpus about her at first, Whitey and Jip, had become the best friends she had in the whole family circle.

Piles and piles of wood had been gathered in the kitchen and stacked near the hearth. The air was cold and brisk, and a splendid fire was roaring up the chimney. Dab–Dab had prepared plates of sandwiches, hard–boiled eggs, toasted cheese on biscuits, radishes and glasses of milk. Gub–Gub had brought for himself a large heap of rosy Autumn apples. (He said he always listened best on apples.) The big kitchen table looked like a grand picnic.

When the Doctor came in he was greeted by a noisy chorus of cheers.

"Ah!" the white mouse whispered to me as he climbed to his place on the mantelpiece. "This, Tommy, is really like old times. Hand me up one of those cheese–biscuits, will you?"

Well, stories were told by everybody, new stories, old stories, true stories and stories that might have been true. Jip told one; Too–Too told one; Chee–Chee told one; the Doctor told four, and I told two. The white mouse told the latest jokes from the Rat and Mouse Club. Cheapside gave us all the up–to–date news from London. Gub–Gub recited one of his salad poems and another romantic piece of his own (which we had heard before) called, "Meet Me on the Garbage Heap When the Moon Is Hanging Low." And old Polynesia sang us sea–songs in five different languages. I have never heard so much laughing, gaiety and chattering in all my life. The kitchen floor was simply covered with the shells of hard–boiled eggs, radish–tops and sandwich crumbs. It was a grand party.

I was beginning to think it never would break up, when at last, somewhere about two o'clock in the morning, Matthew said he ought to be getting back home. This gave Dab–Dab, who wanted to get the kitchen cleaned up before breakfast–time, a chance to shoo the family off to bed. The Doctor, Matthew and I went into the study.

"'Ow are you gettin' on with the book, Doctor?" asked the Cats'–meat–Man.

"Well, Matthew," said John Dolittle, "not as fast as I would like. But I'll be all right now that Stubbins is taking over the patients for me. You heard about that? Isn't it splendid? What would I have done without him?"

"But listen, Doctor," I said. "You won't sit up too late, will you? You'll have plenty of time to work in the morning now, you know."

"Time, Stubbins?" said he, a strange dreamy look coming into his eyes—"Time! If I'm successful with my book and my experiments I'm going to make time for everybody—for all the world!"

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand, Doctor," I said.

"Why—er—life," said he—"long life; perhaps everlasting life. Think of it, Stubbins, to live as long as your own world lives! That's what they're doing up there in the moon, or they will do it–some of them—I'm sure. If I can only find the secret!"

He sat down at his big desk and turned up the wick of the whale–oil reading–lamp. There was a slight frown on his face.

"That's it—" he muttered, "if I can only find it. All my life I've never had time enough. It's getting to be the same with most people now. Life seems to grow busier every day. We are always rushing, afraid we won't have time enough—to do all the things we want to—before we die. But the older we grow the more worried we get. Worried! Worried that we won't get what we want done."

He suddenly turned around in his chair and faced us both.

"But if we never grow old?" he asked. "What then? Always young. All the time we want—for everything. Never to have to worry again about time. History tells us that philosophers, scientists before me, have always been seeking this thing. They called it 'The Fountain of Youth,' or some such name. Whenever an explorer found a new world he always heard some legend among the natives, some story of a wonderful spring or something whose waters would keep men for ever young. But they were all just—just stories and nothing more. But there in the moon I have seen it. Creatures living on and on—in good health. That's the thing I'm working for—to bring everlasting life down to the earth. To bring back peace to Mankind, so we shall never have to worry again—about Time."

He turned back to his desk as though he had a new thought he wanted to make a note of.

"I'm just going to see Matthew down to the gate, Doctor," I said. "Now please don't work too late."

The Cats'–meat–Man and I stepped out into the garden. On our way round the house to the front, we had to pass the study window. We both stopped and gazed in a moment. John Dolittle was already writing away furiously. The little reading–lamp with its green glass shade threw a soft light on his serious, kindly face.

"There 'e is," whispered Matthew, "workin' away. Ain't it like 'im?—Tryin' to set the world to rights? Well, it takes all kinds…. You know, Tommy, me, I never seemed to 'ave time to bother about settin' the world to rights. The world was always tryin' to set me to rights—if yer know what I mean…. Everlastin' life! Ain't it like 'im? D'yer think 'e'll ever find it, Tommy?"

"Yes, Matthew," I whispered back, "I believe he will. He has always succeeded in anything he's set his heart on, you know."

"Humph!" muttered the Cats'–meat–Man. "Yus, I wouldn't wonder but what you're right, Tommy."

And silently we walked away through the darkness towards the garden gate.

THE END