Hugh Lofting

Doctor Dolittle’s Return

Warsaw 2018

Contents

PART I

1. WAITING!

2. THE CATS'-MEAT-MAN'S ADVICE

3. CHEAPSIDE CALLS ON US

4. THE ECLIPSE OF THE MOON

5. I SEND FOR HELP

6. THE SOUND IN THE SKY

7. THE GREAT LOCUST

8. THE DOCTOR'S VOICE

9. THE MOON CAT

10. THE DOLITTLE HOUSEHOLD REVOLUTION

11. THE DOCTOR'S ACCIDENT

12. THE MOON MUSEUM

PART II

1. WHY JOHN DOLITTLE STAYED SO LONG ON THE MOON

2. THE NATURALISTS' PARADISE

3. OTHO BLUDGE'S PRISONER

4. THE GENTLEMAN IN THE MOON

5. THE FAREWELL

6. SETTING THE ZOO TO RIGHTS

7. SQUIB THE COCKER SPANIEL

8. HOW TO GET INTO JAIL?

9. GILESBOROUGH

10. LADY MATILDA BEAMISH

11. IN JAIL AT LAST

12. ITTY

13. IN THE DOCTOR'S CELL

14. THE LITTLE VILLAIN

15. A GRAND PARTY

PART I

1. WAITING!

Doctor Dolittle had now been in the moon for a little over a year. During that time I, as his secretary, had been in charge of his household at Puddleby-on-the-Marsh. Of course a boy of my age could not take the great man’s place–nobody could, for that matter. But I did my best.

At the beginning for a few weeks it was not easy. We were all so anxious and worried about John Dolittle. We did not seem to be able to keep our minds on anything but that he was still in the moon and what might be happening to him. So it was in our talking too: no matter what we started to discuss or chat about, our conversation always ended on the same question.

Yet I do not know what I would have done if it had not been for the animals. Ah, those animals of John Dolittle’s! Dab-Dab the duck, the careful housekeeper who spent her life looking after others–even if she did it scolding them most of the time; Jip the dog, brave, generous, happy-go-lucky sportsman, always ready for a good scrap, a good story, a good country walk or a good sleep; Too-Too the owl, silent and mysterious, with ears that could hear a pin drop in the snow, a lightning calculator–you never knew what he was thinking about–but he seemed to guess things, to feel them, witch-like, before they happened; dear, old, clumsy Gub-Gub the pig, always in hot water, taking himself very seriously, for ever treading on somebody’s toes but providing the world with lots of fun; Whitey the white mouse, a gossip, very well-behaved, very clean and neat, inquisitive, taking in life every moment and finding it full of interest. What a family! No one, unable to talk the language of birds and beasts, will ever understand how thoughtful and helpful they could be.

Of course, it must not be forgotten that they were very experienced. Never before, I suppose, has a group of animals been gathered under one roof that had seen so much, gone to so many places and done so many things with human beings. This made it possible for them to understand the feelings of people, just as knowing their language made it possible for John Dolittle and myself to understand them and their troubles.

Although I tried hard not to show it, they all knew how miserable I felt about having left the Doctor in the moon, and they did their best to cheer me up. Dab-Dab formed a regular school programme for me for what she called an “advanced course in animal languages.” Each night, when there was no moon to be watched–or when it was cloudy–she told off one of the household to play the part of teacher for me. And in this way I was not only able to keep up my Piggish, Owlish, Duckish, Mouser languages and the rest, but I improved a great deal upon what I already knew. I came to understand and use a great many tricky little niceties of meaning which I had never known before.

Of this Gub-Gub the pig, Too-Too the owl, the white mouse and the others of the Doctor’s household were very proud. They said that if I kept on at that rate it would not be long before I could talk their different tongues as well as John Dolittle, the greatest naturalist of all time. Of course I could never quite believe that; but it encouraged me a lot just the same.

One who did a great deal to cheer us up in those long days and nights was Cheapside, the London sparrow. Born and brought up in the struggle and strife of a big city, he would not, could not, be beaten by any misfortune. It was not that he did not know and feel the danger the Doctor was in, as much as any of us. But it was part of his character always to look on the bright side of things. He was not with us all the time. He had to pop over (as he called it) to London every once in a while, to see his wife, Becky, and his hundreds of children, cousins and aunts who picked up a living around the cab-ranks near St. Paul’s Cathedral and the Royal Exchange.

From these relations he would bring us back all the gossip of the big city, such as that the Queen had a cold in her head (one of Cheapside’s nieces had a nest behind a shutter in Buckingham Palace); there was a dog show on at the Agricultural Hall; the Prime Minister had tripped over his own gown, going up the steps at the opening of Parliament, and fallen on his nose; a ship had arrived at the East India Docks with three real live pirates on board, captured in the China Sea, etc. etc.

I could always tell when he had arrived at the Doctor’s house by the great commotion raised. Gub-Gub or Jip the dog could be heard yelling in the garden that the little Londoner had come. And no matter how low our spirits were, Cheapside would not be in the house two minutes, chattering and twittering and giggling over his own silly little Cockney jokes, before everybody would be roaring with laughter or listening with great attention to the news he had to tell. He always brought us also the latest comic songs from the city. Some of these that staid old housekeeper, Dab-Dab, said were very vulgar; but I noticed she often had much difficulty to keep from laughing with the rest of us, nevertheless.

And then that very extraordinary character, Matthew Mugg, the Cats’-meat-Man, was a comfort to me too. I did not go off the Doctor’s place much and there were days when I was lonely for human company. At such times, now and then, Matthew would drop in for a cup of tea, and I was always glad to see him. We would sit and chat over old times, about the Doctor and our adventures, and make guesses as to what he might be doing there, now, up in the moon.

It was a good thing for me that I had plenty to keep me busy, I suppose. Looking after ordinary needs of the house, the garden and the animals was not all I had to attend to. There were the Doctor’s instruments–microscopes and all sorts of delicate scientific apparatus which he used in his experiments; these I kept dusted and oiled and in apple-pie order.

Then there were his notes–shelves and shelves full of them. They were very valuable. John Dolittle himself had never been very orderly or careful about his notes, although he would not have had a single page of them lost for anything in the world. He had always said to me, “Stubbins, if ever the house catches fire, remember, save the animals and the notes first and take care of the house afterward.”

I therefore felt a great responsibility about those notes. Their safe-keeping was my first duty. And thinking about the possibility of fire I decided to move them away from the house altogether.

So I built a sort of underground library outside. With the help of Jip and Gub-Gub I dug out a place at the end of the garden, tunnelling into the side of a small hill near the old Zoo.

It was a lovely spot. The wide lawn sloped gently up to a rise of about twenty feet, on the top of which a beautiful grove of weeping willows swept the grass with their graceful trailing branches. It was a part of the Doctor’s big garden of which I was particularly fond. After we had brrowed out a big hole, the size of a large room, we took stones and timbers and built them into the sides to keep the earth from falling in. We floored it with some more stones; and after we had roofed it over, we covered the roof with earth two feet deep. A door was set on hinges in the front. Then we sowed grass all over the top and the sides, so it looked like the rest of the lawn. Nothing could be seen but the entrance. It was entirely fireproof.

Into this chamber we carried down all the notes which I, as the Doctor’s secretary, had made of our travels and doings. From those notes I had written many books about John Dolittle; but there was much more, of course, that I had not put into books–purely scientific stuff which the ordinary readers would not be interested in.

Gub-Gub called it the Underground Dolittle Library, and he was very proud of having helped in the building of it. Not only that, but he was still more proud that his name was so often mentioned in those stacks and stacks of writing which we piled against the walls inside. On winter nights the animals often asked me to read aloud to them by the big kitchen fire, the same as the Doctor had done. And Gub-Gub always wanted me to read those parts from the books which spoke about him. He liked particularly to hear about himself and his great performances in the days of the Puddleby Pantomime. The other animals were not always pleased at this.

“Oh, gosh, Gub-Gub!” said Jip. “I should think you’d get tired of hearing about yourself all the time.”

“But why?” said Gub-Gub. “Am I not the most important pig in history?”

“Poof!” growled Jip in disgust–“Most important pig on the garbage heap, you mean!”

But the day came when, as general manager of the Doctor’s home, I found myself in difficulties. You cannot keep a family of animals and yourself on nothing at all. What money I had made shortly after my own return from the moon was all used up. True, a good deal of food could be raised on the place. Wild ducks (friends of Dab-Dab’s) brought us eggs. With the animals’ help I kept the garden in very good condition. I pruned the apple-trees as the Doctor had told me; and the kitchen garden was always well planted with vegetables.

Gub-Gub the pig was the one most interested in this. Although his habit of digging with his nose instead of a spade was somewhat untidy, he was a great help in keeping watch over everything as it grew. A pig was much better for this–in many ways-than a gardener. “Tommy,” he would say, “the cut-worms are getting at the celery roots.” Or, “Tommy, the caterpillars are spoiling the cabbages–and the new spinach needs watering.”

Some of the vegetables I exchanged with neighbours, who had farms, for milk; and after I had learned how to make cheese from milk I could supply the white mouse with his favourite food.

But money in cash I needed for a lot of other household things like candles, matches and soap. And some of the animals, although they were not meat-eaters, could not be fed from the garden. For instance, there was the old lame horse in the stable whom the Doctor had told me especially to look after. The hay and the oats in his stable were all gone. What grass he could eat from the lawns was already cropped down to the roots. He must have oats to keep his strength up. No, there was nothing for it; I must make some money, earn some money. But how?

2. THE CATS’-MEAT-MAN’S ADVICE

I went into the garden to think. I always seemed to be able to think better in that great garden of the Doctor’s than anywhere else. I wandered down towards the new library and from there into the Zoo. This quiet spot, enclosed by high walls on which the peach-trees grew, had once been a very busy place. Here we had kept the Rat and Mouse Club, the Home for Cross-bred Dogs, and all the other institutions for animals’ comfort and happiness. They were all deserted now, with nothing but a few early swallows skimming over the grass which the old lame horse had nibbled short and neat and trim.

I felt very sad. Nothing seemed the same without the Doctor. I began pacing to and fro, thinking about my problem. I heard the latch in the garden door click. I turned. There stood Matthew Mugg, the Cats’-meat-Man.

“Oh, hulloa, Matthew!” I cried. “I’m glad to see you.”

“My, Tommy!” said he. “You do look serious. Anything the matter?”

“Yes, Matthew,” I said. “I’ve got to get a job-must make some money. Need it for housekeeping.”

“Well, what kind of a job do you want?” he asked.

“Any kind, Matthew,” said I–“any kind that I can get.”

“‘Ave you been to your father about it? Why can’t you ‘elp ‘im in ‘is business and earn money that way?”

He started walking back and forth at my side.

“Yes, I’ve been to see my parents. But it wasn’t much use. Father’s business is too small for him to need an assistant–even if I were any good at shoemaking, which I’m not.”

“Humph!” said the Cats’-meat-Man. “Let me think.”

“You see,” I said, “it can’t be a job which will take me away from here. There is too much that I must attend to–the garden and the rest. And besides, there’s the Doctor’s return. I wouldn’t be away from here at the moment he gets home for anything in the world. You haven’t told any one about our trip to the moon, have you, Matthew?” He tapped his pipe out against the heel of his boot.

“Not a word, Tommy, not a word.” “That’s right, Matthew. It must be kept an absolute secret. We have no idea what he will be like to look at when he arrives. We don’t want newspapermen coming around and writing up reports.”

“No,” said Matthew. “That would bring the whole world clattering at the gates. Everybody would want to ‘ave a look at the man from the moon.”

“Quite so, Matthew; that’s another reason why I have to have a job. I don’t know what the Doctor may need when he gets here. He may be sick; he may need special kinds of food. And I haven’t a penny in the house.”

“I know, I know,” said Matthew, shaking his head. “Money, money, money, what a curse it is!–as the good man said himself. Can’t seem to do nothing without it though. But look ‘ere, Tommy, you shouldn’t ‘ave no trouble findin’ a job. ‘Cause you got eddication, see?”

“Well, I’ve some education, Matthew. But what good does it do me here in Puddleby? If I was able to get away and go to London, now, that would be different.”

“Oh, listen,” said the Cats’-meat-Man. “You boys all think you ‘ave to go to London to make yer fortunes–same as Dick Whittington. But young men what ‘as eddication can make a good livin’ ‘ere in Puddleby. You can read and write and do ‘rithmetic. Why can’t you be a clerk in the Puddleby Bank, or a secketary, or somethin’ like that?’;

“But, Matthew,” I cried, “don’t you see? I’d have to stay at work in the town after it was dark–in the winter months anyhow. And as you know the Doctor told me to watch the moon for signals of his coming down. Of course it is true the animals take their turns too, watching for the smoke signals. But I would have to be there even if I’m sleeping, so that I could be called at once if–er–if–”

I don’t exactly know why I broke off without finishing what I had to say. But I suppose my voice must have sounded uncertain, puzzled and upset; because Matthew suddenly looked up from refilling his pipe and said:

“But, Tommy, you ain’t worried, are yer?–I mean, about the Doctor’s returnin’. You feel sure ‘e is comin’ back from the moon?”

“Oh, yes,” I said. “I suppose so.”

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