Hugh Lofting: Doctor Dolittle's Return

The Cats'–meat–Man ran round by the kitchen stairs and soon we heard him sawing away at the floor above. Bits of plaster began falling on the Doctor; but Chee–Chee and the white mouse cleared them off him as fast as they fell.

Before long a hole appeared in the hall ceiling big enough even for the Doctor's head to go through.

"Thank you, Matthew," said John Dolittle. "What would I do without you?"

He hoisted himself into a sitting position, and his head disappeared from my sight into the opening.

"Ah!" I heard him say with a sigh. "Here I am, home at last! Upstairs and downstairs at the same time. Splendid!"

After he had taken a rest he managed to turn himself right around inside the hall. Then, facing the door once more, he tried to get out into the garden. It was a hard job. He got stuck again half–way.

"Listen, Doctor," said the white mouse, "and I'll tell you what we mice do when we want to get through a specially small hole."

"I wish you would!" said the Doctor, puffing.

"First you breathe in, deep," said Whitey. "Then you breathe out, long. Then you hold your breath. Then you shut your eyes and think that the hole is only half as big as it is. Of course if you're a mouse you think that a cat is coming after you as well. But you needn't bother about that. Try it. You'll see. You'll slide through like silk. Now, a deep breath—in, out—and don't forget to shut your eyes. Do it by feeling. Just imagine you're a mouse."

"All right," said the Doctor. "I'll try. It's hard on the imagination, but it should be awfully good for my figure."

Whether there was anything in Whitey's advice or not, I don't know. But, anyway, at the second attempt the Doctor got through all right and scrambled out on the lawn laughing like a schoolboy.

We were all very happy now that he could get both in and out of the house. Right away we brought in the mattresses from the tent under the trees and turned the big hall into a bedroom for him. He said he found it very comfortable, even if he did have to pull his knees up a bit when he wanted to sleep.

Before long, finding himself so much better, John Dolittle gave all his attention to bringing his size down to a natural one. First he tried exercise. We rigged up a heavy sweater for him made out of a couple of eiderdown quilts. And in this he ran up and down the Long Lawn before breakfast. His thundering tread shook the whole garden till the dishes rattled on the pantry shelves and the pictures began falling from the walls in the parlour.

"He ran up and down the Long Lawn before breakfast"

But this did not thin him down fast enough to satisfy him. Some one suggested massage. So we laid him out on the lawn and Matthew, Chee–Chee and I pommelled and pounded him for hours. He said it reminded him of the time when the elephant fell sick in the circus and he and all the crew had climbed aboard the animal with ladders to rub the pains out of it, till everybody had to stop with stiff muscles.

Gub–Gub asked why we didn't use the lawn–roller on him. But we decided this would be a little too drastic.

"Why don't you try it on yourself, Gubby?" Jip said. "Your figure could do with a little taking down, too."

"What's the matter with my figure?" said Gub–Gub, gazing down at his ample curves. "Why, I wouldn't change it for anything!"

It proved to be a slow business for the poor Doctor, this getting back to ordinary size. But he certainly kept at it with a will. And soon with the diet, the exercise and the massage (besides, of course, the change of climate and gravity) he began to look more like himself.

But all of us, including John Dolittle, saw that it was still probably a matter of some weeks before he would be able to carry on a usual life the same as other people. He could not yet pass through an ordinary door without going down on all fours; he could not sit in the biggest armchair without the arms breaking off; he could not grasp a common pencil or pen in his huge fingers and make it write properly.

This annoyed him greatly. He was so eager to get at his notes. He planned to write a new book, a book about the moon.

"It will be the greatest thing I have ever done, Stubbins," he said—"that is, of course, if I make a good job of it. And even if I don't, it will at least contain information of great value for future writers on natural history. The general public will probably begin by thinking I'm a great humbug or a splendid liar. But the day will come when they'll believe me."

I, too, of course was very keen for him to get at those notes. Being his secretary I should have to help him and so would get a glimpse of what studies and experiments he had made. But Dab–Dab was of quite another mind about it.

"Tommy," she said, "there's no hurry about that book he wants to write. I don't mean to say it isn't important—though, for my part, I can't see much sense in mixing up the moon and the earth, as though life weren't mixed up enough as it is for simple country folk. But the main thing is this: you know how he is—once he gets started on a new line of work he goes at it like a crazy man, night and day; doesn't stop for meals; doesn't stop for sleep; nothing but work. He isn't strong enough yet for that sort of thing. For pity's sake keep him away from those notes—at least till he is perfectly well."

As a matter of fact, there was no urgent need at present for the housekeeper's fears. The Doctor himself saw that there was not much sense in his attempting to write a long book until he could move round his study without upsetting things, or smashing delicate laboratory apparatus with clumsy experiments.

By daytime he contented himself with exercising and with some gardening. He had brought many different sorts of seeds with him from the moon, also roots of plants. He wanted to see if these could be grown in our world, and what differences they would show in new climate and conditions. Some were vegetables and fruits, good to eat. In these, of course, Gub–Gub was especially interested; and he immediately started to keep notes on his own account, planning to make a new volume for his famous Encyclopedia of Food. This volume was to be called Moon Meals .

With the pig's assistance the Doctor and I planted rows and rows of new and strange–shaped seeds. All the rows were carefully marked with wooden labels giving the date of planting and the kind of soil. The temperature, the air–pressure, the amount of rainfall, etc., were noted down from day to day in a book we called the Garden Diary. With one kind of these seeds the Doctor told me to be particularly careful.

"This plant," said he—"if it comes up, Stubbins—may prove exceedingly useful. From it I got the leaves I made my clothes out of—you know, the coat I was wearing when I arrived. Extraordinarily tough and pliable. I found a way of tanning them like leather. Every bit as good as real cloth."

In that great bulk of baggage which he had brought down with him were also the eggs and grubs of insects: ants, bees, water–flies, moths and what–not. These had to have special hatching–boxes made for them, so they could be kept warm during cool nights; while others had to be planted in proper places in the garden, among grasses or trees, where they would be likely to find food and conditions to their liking.

Then again, he had brought sacks full of geological specimens; that is, rocks, pieces of marble, something that looked like coal and all manner of samples out of the hand–made mines he had dug in the mountains of the moon. Among them were pieces that had precious stones in them—or what looked like precious stones—pebbles and crystals that could have been opals, sapphires, amethysts and rubies. And fossils he had too—shells of curious snails, fishes, lizards and strange frogs that no longer lived either on earth or moon—all turned now to stone as hard as flint.