The Voyages of Doctor Dolittle (4 page)

"Oh excuse me, Stubbins!" said the Doctor. "I was so interested
listening to my old friend here. We must get on and see this squirrel of
yours—Polynesia, this is Thomas Stubbins."

The parrot, on the Doctor's shoulder, nodded gravely towards me and
then, to my great surprise, said quite plainly in English,

"How do you do? I remember the night you were born. It was a terribly
cold winter. You were a very ugly baby."

"Stubbins is anxious to learn animal language," said the Doctor. "I was
just telling him about you and the lessons you gave me when Jip ran up
and told us you had arrived."

"Well," said the parrot, turning to me, "I may have started the Doctor
learning but I never could have done even that, if he hadn't first
taught me to understand what I was saying when I spoke English. You see,
many parrots can talk like a person, but very few of them understand
what they are saying. They just say it because—well, because they fancy
it is smart or, because they know they will get crackers given them."

By this time we had turned and were going towards my home with Jip
running in front and Polynesia still perched on the Doctor's shoulder.
The bird chattered incessantly, mostly about Africa; but now she spoke
in English, out of politeness to me.

"How is Prince Bumpo getting on?" asked the Doctor.

"Oh, I'm glad you asked me," said Polynesia. "I almost forgot to tell
you. What do you think?—BUMPO IS IN ENGLAND!"

"In England!—You don't say!" cried the Doctor. "What on earth is he
doing here?"

"His father, the king, sent him here to a place called—er—Bullford, I
think it was—to study lessons."

"Bullford!—Bullford!" muttered the Doctor. "I never heard of the
place—Oh, you mean Oxford."

"Yes, that's the place—Oxford," said Polynesia "I knew it had cattle in
it somewhere. Oxford—that's the place he's gone to."

"Well, well," murmured the Doctor. "Fancy Bumpo studying at
Oxford—Well, well!"

"There were great doings in Jolliginki when he left. He was scared to
death to come. He was the first man from that country to go abroad. He
thought he was going to be eaten by white cannibals or something. You
know what those niggers are—that ignorant! Well!—But his father made
him come. He said that all the black kings were sending their sons to
Oxford now. It was the fashion, and he would have to go. Bumpo wanted
to bring his six wives with him. But the king wouldn't let him do that
either. Poor Bumpo went off in tears—and everybody in the palace was
crying too. You never heard such a hullabaloo."

"Do you know if he ever went back in search of The Sleeping Beauty?"
asked the Doctor.

"Oh yes," said Polynesia—"the day after you left. And a good thing for
him he did: the king got to know about his helping you to escape; and he
was dreadfully wild about it."

"And The Sleeping Beauty?—did he ever find her?"

"Well, he brought back something which he SAID was The Sleeping Beauty.
Myself, I think it was an albino niggeress. She had red hair and the
biggest feet you ever saw. But Bumpo was no end pleased with her and
finally married her amid great rejoicings. The feastings lasted seven
days. She became his chief wife and is now known out there as the
Crown-Princess BumPAH—you accent the last syllable."

"And tell me, did he remain white?"

"Only for about three months," said the parrot. "After that his face
slowly returned to its natural color. It was just as well. He was so
conspicuous in his bathing-suit the way he was, with his face white and
the rest of him black."

"And how is Chee-Chee getting on?—Chee-Chee," added the Doctor in
explanation to me, "was a pet monkey I had years ago. I left him too in
Africa when I came away."

"Well," said Polynesia frowning,—"Chee-Chee is not entirely happy. I
saw a good deal of him the last few years. He got dreadfully homesick
for you and the house and the garden. It's funny, but I was just the
same way myself. You remember how crazy I was to get back to the dear
old land? And Africa IS a wonderful country—I don't care what anybody
says. Well, I thought I was going to have a perfectly grand time. But
somehow—I don't know—after a few weeks it seemed to get tiresome. I
just couldn't seem to settle down. Well, to make a long story short,
one night I made up my mind that I'd come back here and find you. So I
hunted up old Chee-Chee and told him about it. He said he didn't blame
me a bit—felt exactly the same way himself. Africa was so deadly quiet
after the life we had led with you. He missed the stories you used to
tell us out of your animal books—and the chats we used to have sitting
round the kitchen-fire on winter nights. The animals out there were very
nice to us and all that. But somehow the dear kind creatures seemed
a bit stupid. Chee-Chee said he had noticed it too. But I suppose it
wasn't they who had changed; it was we who were different. When I left,
poor old Chee-Chee broke down and cried. He said he felt as though
his only friend were leaving him—though, as you know, he has simply
millions of relatives there. He said it didn't seem fair that I should
have wings to fly over here any time I liked, and him with no way to
follow me. But mark my words, I wouldn't be a bit surprised if he found
a way to come—some day. He's a smart lad, is Chee-Chee."

At this point we arrived at my home. My father's shop was closed and the
shutters were up; but my mother was standing at the door looking down
the street.

"Good evening, Mrs. Stubbins," said the Doctor. "It is my fault your son
is so late. I made him stay to supper while his clothes were drying.
He was soaked to the skin; and so was I. We ran into one another in the
storm and I insisted on his coming into my house for shelter."

"I was beginning to get worried about him," said my mother. "I am
thankful to you, Sir, for looking after him so well and bringing him
home."

"Don't mention it—don't mention it," said the Doctor. "We have had a
very interesting chat."

"Who might it be that I have the honor of addressing?" asked my mother
staring at the gray parrot perched on the Doctor's shoulder.

"Oh, I'm John Dolittle. I dare say your husband will remember me. He
made me some very excellent boots about four years ago. They really
are splendid," added the Doctor, gazing down at his feet with great
satisfaction.

"The Doctor has come to cure my squirrel, Mother," said I. "He knows all
about animals."

"Oh, no," said the Doctor, "not all, Stubbins, not all about them by any
means."

"It is very kind of you to come so far to look after his pet," said my
mother. "Tom is always bringing home strange creatures from the woods
and the fields."

"Is he?" said the Doctor. "Perhaps he will grow up to be a naturalist
some day. Who knows?"

"Won't you come in?" asked my mother. "The place is a little untidy
because I haven't finished the spring cleaning yet. But there's a nice
fire burning in the parlor."

"Thank you!" said the Doctor. "What a charming home you have!"

And after wiping his enormous boots very, very carefully on the mat, the
great man passed into the house.

INSIDE we found my father busy practising on the flute beside the fire.
This he always did, every evening, after his work was over.

The Doctor immediately began talking to him about flutes and piccolos
and bassoons; and presently my father said,

"Perhaps you perform upon the flute yourself, Sir. Won't you play us a
tune?"

"Well," said the Doctor, "it is a long time since I touched the
instrument. But I would like to try. May I?"

Then the Doctor took the flute from my father and played and played and
played. It was wonderful. My mother and father sat as still as statues,
staring up at the ceiling as though they were in church; and even I, who
didn't bother much about music except on the mouth-organ—even I felt
all sad and cold and creepy and wished I had been a better boy.

"Oh I think that was just beautiful!" sighed my mother when at length
the Doctor stopped.

"You are a great musician, Sir," said my father, "a very great musician.
Won't you please play us something else?"

"Why certainly," said the Doctor—"Oh, but look here, I've forgotten all
about the squirrel."

"I'll show him to you," I said. "He is upstairs in my room."

So I led the Doctor to my bedroom at the top of the house and showed him
the squirrel in the packing-case filled with straw.

The animal, who had always seemed very much afraid of me—though I had
tried hard to make him feel at home, sat up at once when the Doctor came
into the room and started to chatter. The Doctor chattered back in
the same way and the squirrel when he was lifted up to have his leg
examined, appeared to be rather pleased than frightened.

I held a candle while the Doctor tied the leg up in what he called
"splints," which he made out of match-sticks with his pen-knife.

"I think you will find that his leg will get better now in a very short
time," said the Doctor closing up his bag. "Don't let him run about for
at least two weeks yet, but keep him in the open air and cover him up
with dry leaves if the nights get cool. He tells me he is rather lonely
here, all by himself, and is wondering how his wife and children are
getting on. I have assured him you are a man to be trusted; and I will
send a squirrel who lives in my garden to find out how his family are
and to bring him news of them. He must be kept cheerful at all costs.
Squirrels are naturally a very cheerful, active race. It is very hard
for them to lie still doing nothing. But you needn't worry about him. He
will be all right."

Then we went back again to the parlor and my mother and father kept him
playing the flute till after ten o'clock.

Although my parents both liked the Doctor tremendously from the first
moment that they saw him, and were very proud to have him come and play
to us (for we were really terribly poor) they did not realize then what
a truly great man he was one day to become. Of course now, when almost
everybody in the whole world has heard about Doctor Dolittle and his
books, if you were to go to that little house in Puddleby where my
father had his cobbler's shop you would see, set in the wall over
the old-fashioned door, a stone with writing on it which says: "JOHN
DOLITTLE, THE FAMOUS NATURALIST, PLAYED THE FLUTE IN THIS HOUSE IN THE
YEAR 1839."

I often look back upon that night long, long ago. And if I close my eyes
and think hard I can see that parlor just as it was then: a funny little
man in coat-tails, with a round kind face, playing away on the flute
in front of the fire; my mother on one side of him and my father on the
other, holding their breath and listening with their eyes shut; myself,
with Jip, squatting on the carpet at his feet, staring into the coals;
and Polynesia perched on the mantlepiece beside his shabby high hat,
gravely swinging her head from side to side in time to the music. I see
it all, just as though it were before me now.

And then I remember how, after we had seen the Doctor out at the front
door, we all came back into the parlor and talked about him till it was
still later; and even after I did go to bed (I had never stayed up so
late in my life before) I dreamed about him and a band of strange
clever animals that played flutes and fiddles and drums the whole night
through.

THE next morning, although I had gone to bed so late the night before,
I was up frightfully early. The first sparrows were just beginning to
chirp sleepily on the slates outside my attic window when I jumped out
of bed and scrambled into my clothes.

I could hardly wait to get back to the little house with the big
garden—to see the Doctor and his private zoo. For the first time in
my life I forgot all about breakfast; and creeping down the stairs on
tip-toe, so as not to wake my mother and father, I opened the front door
and popped out into the empty, silent street.

When I got to the Doctor's gate I suddenly thought that perhaps it was
too early to call on any one: and I began to wonder if the Doctor would
be up yet. I looked into the garden. No one seemed to be about. So I
opened the gate quietly and went inside.

As I turned to the left to go down a path between some hedges, I heard a
voice quite close to me say,

"Good morning. How early you are!"

I turned around, and there, sitting on the top of a privet hedge, was
the gray parrot, Polynesia.

"Good morning," I said. "I suppose I am rather early. Is the Doctor
still in bed?"

"Oh no," said Polynesia. "He has been up an hour and a half. You'll find
him in the house somewhere. The front door is open. Just push it and go
in, He is sure to be in the kitchen cooking breakfast—or working in his
study. Walk right in. I am waiting to see the sun rise. But upon my word
I believe it's forgotten to rise. It is an awful climate, this. Now if
we were in Africa the world would be blazing with sunlight at this hour
of the morning. Just see that mist rolling over those cabbages. It is
enough to give you rheumatism to look at it. Beastly climate—Beastly!
Really I don't know why anything but frogs ever stay in England—Well,
don't let me keep you. Run along and see the Doctor."

"Thank you," I said. "I'll go and look for him."

When I opened the front door I could smell bacon frying, so I made my
way to the kitchen. There I discovered a large kettle boiling away over
the fire and some bacon and eggs in a dish upon the hearth. It seemed
to me that the bacon was getting all dried up with the heat. So I pulled
the dish a little further away from the fire and went on through the
house looking for the Doctor.

I found him at last in the Study. I did not know then that it was called
the Study. It was certainly a very interesting room, with telescopes
and microscopes and all sorts of other strange things which I did not
understand about but wished I did. Hanging on the walls were pictures of
animals and fishes and strange plants and collections of birds' eggs and
sea-shells in glass cases.