Hugh Lofting: Doctor Dolittle's Circus

When they entered the snake charmer's tent there were no other visitors there for the moment but themselves. On the small stage they beheld the Princess Fatima, powdering her large nose and swearing to herself in cockney. Beside her chair was a big shallow box full of snakes. Matthew Mugg peeped into it, gasped with horror, and then started to run from the tent.

"It's all right, Matthew," the Doctor called out. "Don't be alarmed, they're quite harmless."

"What d'yer mean, harmless?" snorted the Princess Fatima, glaring at the Doctor. "They're king cobras, from India—the deadliest snakes livin'."

"They're nothing of the sort," said the Doctor.

"They're American blacksnakes—non–poisonous." And he tickled one under the chin.

"Leave them snakes alone!" yelled the Fatima, rising from her chair —"or I'll knock yer bloomin' 'ead orf."

"'You leave them snakes alone!'"

At this moment Blossom interfered and introduced the ruffled Princess to Mr. Smith.

The conversation which followed (Fatima was still too angry to take much part in it) was interrupted by the arrival of some people who had come to see the snake charmer perform. Blossom led the Doctor's party off into a corner, whispering:

"She's marvelous, Smith. One of the best turns I've got. Just you watch her."

Behind the curtains at the back somebody started beating a drum and playing a pipe. Then Fatima arose, lifted two snakes out of the box and wound them around her neck and arms.

"Will ze ladies and ze gentlemen step a little closair," she cooed softly to her audience. "Zen zay can see bettair—zo!"

"What's she talking like that for?" Gub–Gub whispered to the Doctor.

"Sh! I suppose she thinks she's speaking with an Oriental accent," said John Dolittle.

"Sounds to me like a hot–potato accent," muttered Gub–Gub. "Isn't she fat and wobbly!"

Noticing that the Doctor did not seem favorably impressed, the circus master led them out to see the other sideshows.

Crossing over to the strong man's booth, Gub–Gub caught sight of the Punch and Judy show which is going on at that moment. The play had just reached that point where Toby the dog bites Mr. Punch on the nose. Gub–Gub was fascinated. They could hardly drag him away from it. Indeed, throughout the whole time they spent with the circus this was his chief delight. He never missed a single performance—and, although the play was always the same and he got to know it every word by heart, he never grew tired of it.

At the next booth a large audience was gathered and yokels were gasping in wonder as the strong man lifted enormous weights in the air. There was no fake about this show. And John Dolittle, deeply interested, joined in the clapping and the gasping.

The strong man was an honest–looking fellow, with tremendous muscles. The Doctor took a liking to him right away. One of his tricks was to lie on the stage on his back and lift an enormous dumb–bell with his feet till his legs were sticking right up in the air. It needed balance as well as strength, because if the dumb–bell should fall the wrong way the man would certainly be injured. To–day when he had finally brought his legs into an upright position and the crowd was whispering in admiration, suddenly there was a loud crack. One of the boards of the stage had given way. Instantly down came the big dumb–bell right across the man's chest.

The crowd screamed and Blossom jumped up on the platform. It took two men's strength to lift the dumb–bell off the strong mans' body. But even then he did not arise. He lay motionless, his eyes closed, his face a deathly white.

"Get a doctor," Blossom shouted to the Cat's–Meat–Man. "Hurry! He's hurt hisself—unconscious. A doctor, quick!"

But John Dolittle was already on the stage, standing over the ringmaster, who knelt beside the injured man.

"Get out of the way and let me examine him," he said quietly.

"What can you do? He's hurt bad. Look, his breathing's queer. We got to get a doctor."

"I am a doctor," said John Dolittle. "Matthew, run to the van and get my black bag."

"You a doctor!" said Blossom, getting up off his knees. "Thought you called yourself Mr. Smith."

"Of course, he's a doctor," came a voice out of the crowd. "There wur a time when he wur the best known doctor in the West Country. I know un. Dolittle's his name—John Dolittle, of Puddleby–on–the–Marsh."

The Doctor found that two of the strong man's ribs had been broken by the dumb–bell. However, he prophesied that with so powerful a constitution the patient should recover quickly. The injured man was put to bed in his own caravan and until he was well again the Doctor visited him four times a day and Matthew slept in his wagon to nurse him.

The strong man (his show name was Hercules) was very thankful to John Dolittle and became greatly attached to him—and very useful sometimes, as you will see later on.

So the Doctor felt, when he went to bed that first night of his circus career, that if he had made an enemy in Fatima, the snake charmer, he had gained a friend in Hercules, the strong man.

Of course, now that he had been recognized as the odd physician of Puddleby–on–the–Marsh, there was no longer any sense in his trying to conceal who he was. And very soon he became known among the circus folk as just "the Doctor"—or "the Doc." On the very high recommendation of Hercules, he was constantly called upon for the cure of small ailments by everyone, from the bearded lady to the clown.

The next day, the pushmi–pullyu was put on show for the first time. He was very popular. A two–headed animal had never before been seen in a circus and the people thronged up to pay their money and have a look at him. At first he nearly died of embarrassment and shyness, and he was forever hiding one of his heads under the straw so as not to have to meet the gaze of all those staring eyes. Then the people wouldn't believe he had more than one head. So the Doctor asked him if he would be so good as to keep both of them in view.

"You need not look at the people," he said. "But just let them see that you really have two heads. You can turn your back on the audience—both ends."

But some of the silly people, even when they could see the two heads plainly, kept saying that one must be faked. And they would prod the poor, timid animal with sticks to see if part of him was stuffed. While two country bumpkins were doing this one day the pushmi–pullyu got annoyed, and bringing both his heads up sharply at the same time, he jabbed the two inquirers in the legs. Then they knew for sure that he was real and alive all over.

But as soon as the Cat's–Meat–Man could be spared from nursing Hercules (he turned the job over to his wife) the Doctor put him on guard inside the stall to see that the animal was not molested by stupid visitors. The poor creature had a terrible time those first days. But when Jip told him how much money was being taken in, he determined to stick it out for John Dolittle's sake. And after a little while, although his opinion of the human race sank very low, he got sort of used to the silly, gaping faces of his audiences and gazed back at them—from both his heads—with fearless superiority and the scorn that they deserved.

During show hours the Doctor used to sit in a chair on the front platform, taking the sixpences and smiling on the people as they went in—for all the world as though every one of them were old friends visiting his home. And, in fact, he did in this way re–meet many folks who had known him in years gone by, including the old lady with rheumatism, Squire Jenkyns and neighbors from Puddleby.

Poor Dab–Dab was busier than ever now. For in addition to the housekeeping duties she always had to keep one eye on the Doctor; and many were the scoldings she gave him because he would let the children in for nothing when she wasn't looking.