Hugh Lofting - Doctor Dolittle's Zoo (Hugh Lofting) - with the original illustrations - (Literary Thoughts Edition)

Transscribed and Published by Jacson Keating (editor)

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“POLYNESIA,” I said, leaning back in my chair and chewing the end of a quill pen, “what should you say would be the best way to begin another book of Doctor Dolittle's memoirs?”

The old parrot, who was using the glass inkpot on my desk as a mirror, stopped admiring her reflection and glanced at me sharply.

“Another!” she exclaimed. “Is there going to be another Dolittle book?”

“Why—er—yes,” I said. “After all, we are writing the Doctor's life and we haven't nearly finished yet.”

“Oh, yes, I quite see that,” said Polynesia. “I was only wondering who decides how many books there shall be.”

“Well, I suppose—in the end—the public does,” said I. “But tell me now: how would you begin?”

“Thomas Stubbins Esquire,” said she, screwing up her eyes, “that's a very difficult question to answer. There is so much of interest in the life of John Dolittle that the problem is what to leave out, rather than what to put in. Already I see gray hairs showing at your temples, Tommy. If you try to write down everything the Doctor did, you'll be nearly my age before you've finished. Of course, you're not writing this book for the scientists exactly, though I confess I often think since you are the only person so far—besides the Doctor—to talk animal languages at all well, that you ought to write something sort of—er—highbrow in natural history. Usefully highbrow, I mean, of course. But that can be done later perhaps. As you said, we are still engaged on the story of the great man's life.... How to begin?—Humph! Well, why not go on from where we all got back to Puddleby River inside the Giant Sea Snail, you remember?—after our journey under the ocean?”

“Yes,” I said, “I thought of beginning there. But it was more how than where—I mean, the things to leave out and the things to put in; what parts to choose as the most interesting.”

“Ah!” said she. “Yes, that's the problem. How often have I heard the Doctor himself say those very words as he was packing his little black bag to go on a voyage: 'What to leave out and what to put in? That's the problem.' I've seen him spend half an hour wondering over his razor—whether he should pack it or not. He said a broken bottle did just as well, once you had learned how to use it. You remember how he hated a lot of baggage. He usually decided to go without the razor. But Dab-Dab and I were so scared he'd cut himself with the broken glass we always secretly opened the bag later and slipped the razor in before starting. And as he never could remember which way he had decided the problem, it was all right.”

“Indeed,” said I. “But you haven't answered my question yet.”

Polynesia pondered a moment.

“What are you calling the book?” she asked presently.

“'Doctor Dolittle's Zoo,'” I said.

“Humph!” she murmured. “Then I suppose you ought to get on to the zoo part as soon as possible. But first I think you had better put in a little about your own homecoming and your parents and all that. You had been away nearly three years, you know. Of course it's sort of sentimental. But some people like a little sentiment in their books. In fact, I knew an old lady once who simply loved books that made her weep. She used to——”

“Yes, yes,” I said hurriedly, seeing that the old parrot was drifting into another story, “but let us keep to the point.”

“Well,” said she, “I think this would be the best way: you read it all out aloud to me as you put it down; and if it starts to get tiresome you'll know, because you'll see me dropping off to sleep. You will have to keep it bright and lively though, for as I grow older I find it harder and harder to stay awake after lunch—and I've just had a big one. Have you got enough paper? Yes. And the inkpot is full? Yes. All right. Get along with it.”

So taking a new quill pen and sharpening the point very carefully, I began:

It suddenly occurred to John Dolittle that in the excitement of getting back he had not said good-by to the snail who had brought us through this long and perilous voyage and landed us safely on our home shores. He called to us to wait and ran down the beach again.

The farewell did not take long; and presently he left the great creature's side and rejoined us. Then for a few moments the whole party stood there watching, with our bundles in our hands, while the giant snail, half-hidden in the mists that writhed about his towering shell, got under way. Truly, he seemed to belong to this landscape—or seascape—for his long, gray body looked like a part of the long, gray sandbar on which he rested. With easy muscular motion, so fluid and smooth that you could not tell how he moved at all, his great hulk slid out into deeper water. And as he went forward he went down, and down, and down, till only the top of his shell's dome, a dim gray pink in the colorless sea, could be seen. Then, without sound or splash, he was gone.

We turned our faces toward the land, Puddleby and home.

“I wonder what supplies Dab-Dab has in the house,” said the Doctor, as we formed into single file and, following Jip, began to pick our way across the boggy marshland. “I hope she has plenty to eat. I am thoroughly hungry.”

“So am I,” said Bumpo.

At that moment, out of the wet, misty air above our heads two handsome wild ducks curved fluttering down and came to a standstill at John Dolittle's feet.

“Dab-Dab asked us to tell you,” said they, “that you're to hurry up and get home out of this rain. She's waiting for you.”

“Good gracious!” cried the Doctor. “How did she know that we were coming?”

“We told her,” said the ducks. “We were flying inland—there's a pretty bad storm over the Irish Sea, and it's headed this way—and we saw you landing out of the snail's shell. We dropped down at the house to let her know the news. We were awfully glad to see you back. And she asked would we return and bring you a message—she herself was busy airing the bed linen, it seems. She says you're to stop in at the butcher's on the way home and bring along a pound of sausages. Also she's short of sugar, she says, and needs a few more candles, too.”

“Thank you,” said the Doctor. “You are very kind. I will attend to these things. You didn't take long over getting there and back; it doesn't seem to me as though more than a minute had passed since we landed.”

“No, we're pretty good flyers,” said the ducks; “nothing fancy, but steady.”

“Didn't you find the rain a great handicap?” asked the Doctor.