Doctor Dolittle’s Return E-Book

Hugh Lofting

• Herausgeber: Classica Libris
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

The Dolittle household have been anxiously hoping for a year for the Doctor to return from the Moon, and it seems he will never come. What excitement when he does finally arrive, and what dramatic tales he has to tell! But now he is eager to write a book about the moon and his experiences, and in a quest for peace and quiet, attempts to have himself put in jail…

Leseprobe

Hugh Lofting

DOCTOR DOLITTLE’S RETURN

Copyright

First published in 1933

Copyright © 2019 Classica Libris

PART ONE

Chapter 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, forever 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 cat’s-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 burrowed 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?

Chapter 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 cat’s-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 cat’s-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 anyone 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 cat’s-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.”

“Suppose so!” cried Matthew. “Why, of course ’e will, Tommy! John Dolittle’s one of them men what never comes to ’arm. ’E’ll get back all right. Don’t you worry.”

“But supposing the Moon Man won’t let him come?” I said.

“It’ll take a good deal more than a bloomin’ Moon Man to stop John Dolittle from gettin’ away if ’e wants to.”

“Well, but – er – Matthew,” I said, “I sometimes wonder if he does want to come back.”

Matthew’s eyebrows went up higher than ever.

“Want to come back!” he gasped. “What d’yer mean?”

“Matthew Mugg,” I said, “you know the Doctor cannot be judged the same as other folk. I mean, you never can tell what he’ll do next. We found a very curious state of affairs in the moon. It is a year now since he has been gone. I haven’t said anything about it to the animals in the house here, but the last few weeks I’ve begun to wonder if John Dolittle has not perhaps decided to stay on the moon – for good.”

“Oh, what an idea, Tommy!” said he. “Why would ’e want to do that? From what you told me about the moon, it didn’t sound like a pleasant place at all.”

“It was not an unpleasant place, Matthew. It was very strange and creepy at first. But when you got used to it – no, you could not call it unpleasant. Dreadfully lonely, but the most peaceful place either the Doctor or I had ever seen.”

“Well, but, Tommy, you don’t mean to tell me that a busy man like John Dolittle would throw up all the things ’e’s interested in ’ere on the earth and settle down on the moon, just for the sake of peace and quiet?”

“He might, Matthew,” I answered sadly. “I’ve often remembered, since I left him, something he said when we first learned about the Moon Council, from the whispering vines up there. ‘Our world,’ he said, ‘down on the earth is dog eat dog. Fighting, fighting all the time. Here in the moon they manage things better. Life is arranged and balanced. Even the plants and trees are not allowed to crowd one another out. The birds, instead of eating up the bees and insects, eat up the extra seed of the plants and flowers so they will not spread too fast.’ You see, Matthew, the Great Council of Moon Life planned and watched over everything so that peace reigned – in an almost perfect world. You can understand how such a state of things would appeal to a man like John Dolittle. Don’t you see what I mean?”

“Er – yes, partly,” muttered Matthew. “Go on.”

“What I’m afraid of is this,” I said. “We had the same difficulty with him on Spidermonkey Island. When he found that he was doing a fine work there, getting the Indians to give up war and become civilized – in a very special way, without money and all that – he wanted to stay there. Said the island and the people couldn’t get on without him – that no work he had ever done in Puddleby or anywhere else could compare with what he was doing in Spidermonkey. All of us, Prince Bumpo, Long Arrow the Indian naturalist and myself, begged him to leave. And I’m sure he never would have left if it hadn’t been for me. He felt it was his duty to get me back to my parents. If I could have stayed on the moon with him he would have come back here for the same reason. But after I got kidnapped by the Moon Man and shipped out on the giant moth he won’t have to worry about me. And there is nothing to stop him from staying as long as he likes – if he thinks he’s doing more good up there than he can down here. Now do you see?”

“Yes, but what I don’t see is, ’ow ’e can be doing any good up there.”

“Why, by looking after the Moon Man, Matthew. The Doctor had often told me that Otho Bludge, the only man in the moon and the President of the Life Council, was the greatest human being that ever lived. He might be ignorant according to the ideas of a country bumpkin or a nine-year-old schoolboy down here – he could hardly be otherwise, born in the Stone Age as he was; but his was the brain that worked out the Moon Council and all that it did. And his was the hand that held it together and kept it working. His great trouble, as I’ve told you, was rheumatism. ‘Stubbins,’ the Doctor said to me, ‘if anything ever happens to Otho Bludge I fear it will be the end of the Council. And the end of the Council must mean that all this great work they have built up for happy peaceful living will fall apart and crumble away.’”

Matthew frowned.

“Well, but still I can’t imagine, Tommy,” said he, “that the Doctor would chuck up all ’is connections down ’ere just for the sake of plants and insects and birds on the moon. After all, this is the world what ’e was born in.”

“Oh, I don’t mean that he would forget us all down here, thoughtlessly, or anything like that. You know how utterly unselfish he is. That’s just the point. Any other man would think of himself and his home and his own comforts first; and would hurry down to the earth as quick as he could and spend the rest of his life boasting about his great adventures. But not so John Dolittle. If he thinks it is necessary to act as doctor for the Moon Man, he might stay on and on and on. He has for many years now been dreadfully disappointed in human beings and their stupid, unfair treatment of animals. And another thing: we discovered that life seemed to go on to tremendous lengths up there. Some of the talking plants told us that they were thousands of years old – the bees and birds too. And the age of the Moon Man himself is so great that not even the Doctor could calculate it.”

“Humph!” said Matthew thoughtfully. “Strange place, the moon.”

“I’ve sometimes wondered,” I added, “if the Doctor had some ideas about everlasting life.”

“What do you mean, Tommy? Living forever?”

“Yes, for the Moon Man – and perhaps for himself, for John Dolittle, as well. That vegetable diet, you know. A world where nobody, nothing dies! Maybe that’s what he sees. If the Moon Man is wearing out a little now – but only after thousands of years – and the Doctor thinks it just requires the help of our science and medicine to keep him living indefinitely, I’m afraid, Matthew, terribly afraid, that he would be greatly tempted to stay.”

“Oh, come, come, Tommy,” said the cats’-meat-man. “Meself, I think it’s much more likely, if ’e ’as discovered the secret of everlastin’ life, that ’e’ll be wantin’ to bring it down to old Mother Earth to try it on the folks ’ere. You mark my words, one of these fine nights ’e’ll come tumblin’ in on top of you, all full of moony ideas what ’e wants to try out on the poor British public. You mark my words.”

“I hope you’re right, Matthew,” I said.

“O’ course I’m right, Tommy,” said he. “We ain’t seen the last of our old friend yet – not by a long chalk. And even if ’e ’asn’t got no other ’umans to persuade ’im to come back, don’t forget ’e ’as Polynesia, ’is parrot, and Chee-Chee the monkey with ’im. They’re somethin’ to be reckoned with. Why, that parrot, by ’erself, would talk down the whole House o’ Lords in any argument! ’E’ll come.”

“But it is a whole year, Matthew, that he’s been gone.”

“Well, maybe ’e wanted to see what the Spring and Summer was like up there.”

“Yes, he did say something once about wishing to see the difference in the seasons on the moon.”

“There you are!” Matthew spread out his hands in triumph. “’E’s been gone a twelve-month-seen the Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter on the moon. You can expect ’im back any day now, you mark my words. Cheer up, young man. Don’t be down-’earted. Now let’s get back to this job you was a’ thinkin’ of.”

“Yes, Matthew. We have strayed away from what we started to talk of, haven’t we? You must forgive me if I sounded sort of blue and dumpy. But I have been dreadfully worried.”

“O’ course you ’ave, Tommy – with everything to look after and all. Very nacheral, very nacheral! Now you said you wanted some sort of a job what you could do at ’ome, didn’t yer – so as you could keep one eye on the moon like?”

“That’s it, Matthew.”

“Humph!” grunted the cat’s-meat-man. “Now let me see… Yes, I ’ave it! You remember that butcher what I buys my meat from to feed the cats and dogs with?”

“Oh, that round fat man with the little button of a nose?”