Hugh Lofting: Doctor Dolittle's Return

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."