Hugh Lofting - Doctor Dolittle's Return

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."

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?"