Chapter 9 Doctor Dolittle's Zoo by Hugh Lofting
THE MOUSE CODE
There had been a good deal of anxiety for some time past in the various departments of the zoo over Dab-Dab's constant demand that the Doctor close the whole place up. Seeing how expensive it was to run, her argument sounded reasonable enough, and the members had all felt a bit selfish over continuing their clubs and other institutions when the cost was such a burden to the Doctor.
So with the news that half of the treasure found on the Common had been awarded to John Dolittle by the courts, the greatest rejoicing broke out in Animal Town—all the way from the Home for Cross-Bred Dogs at one end to the Rat and Mouse Club at the other. Even the timid pushmi-pullyu, who had now made his home within the peaceful, pleasant retirement of the zoo-enclosure, joined in the jubilation, as did what few foreigners we still had, like the Russian minks and the Canadian woodchucks. I never heard such a pandemonium in my life. The information was brought to the zoo about supper time by Toby and Swizzle. Immediately a demonstration began in every quarter. All the citizens spilled out of the clubs onto the main street cheering, or making noises which to them were the same as cheering.
“The Doctor's rich again!” passed from mouth to mouth, from door to door. The mixture of barks, squeals, grunts and squawks was so extraordinary that a policeman, passing on the Oxenthorpe Road outside, knocked at the Doctor's door and asked if everything was all right.
A little later the animals began organizing parades and went traipsing up and down the main street of Animal Town singing what they called songs. The white mouse, as Mayor of the town, was in charge—frightfully important—and he suggested, as it was now quite dark, that Mousetown have a torchlight procession. He asked me to get a box of those very small candles which they put on birthday cakes and Christmas trees. Then he insisted that I fix up a banner with “Hooray! The Doctor's Rich Again!” on it in large letters. And fifty-four mice and fifty-four rats formed themselves up, two by two, each pair carrying a candle, and they marched round Mousetown from 8 o'clock till midnight, singing the most extraordinary songs you ever heard. Every once in a while they would come to a halt and yell in chorus: “Hooray! The Doctor's rich again!—Hooray! Hooray!”
A little extra excitement was added when one pair of torchbearers had an accident with their candle and set light to the Squirrels' Hotel. And as that building was largely made of dry leaves it not only burned to the ground in no time at all, but very nearly set the whole zoo in flames as well.
However, no one was injured (the squirrels were all out celebrating) and after the entire town had formed itself into a fire brigade the blaze was quickly put out. Then every one set to on the work of reconstruction and the Squirrels' Hotel was rebuilt in a night.
“It was a grand occasion,” declared the white mouse when it was all over. “And the bonfire was almost the best part of it.”
Indeed, the white mouse was naturally of a cheerful, pleasure-loving disposition. And after the success of this first celebration he was continually wanting to organize club parties, city fêtes, processions and shindigs of one kind or another. This, while the Doctor was always glad to see the animals enjoying themselves, could not be encouraged too far, because a lot of noise was usually a most important part of Animal Town festivities. And although the zoo stood well within the Doctor's own land, the racket which the Home for Cross-Bred Dogs made on these occasions could be heard miles away.
Many new and interesting features developed quite naturally in the zoo, for example, the Animals' Free Library. Shortly after I had visited my parents on our return from abroad, the Doctor had asked me to try to organize and arrange the tremendous quantity of material which he had collected and written on animal language. He had one whole bedroom above his study simply packed with books, manuscripts, notes and papers on this subject. It was all in great disorder, and the task of getting it straightened out was a heavy one.
But Polynesia and the white mouse helped me. We got Matthew Mugg to make us a lot of book-cases. And after a week of sorting and cataloguing and listing we had arranged the extraordinary collection in something like order. I think it was a surprise even to the Doctor himself, when we finally invited him into the little room above the study and showed him the bookshelves running all round the walls, to realize what a tremendous amount of work he had done on the science of animal languages.
“Why, Doctor,” squeaked the white mouse, gazing round the shelves, “this is a regular animal library you have here! It ought to be down in the zoo, where the animals could make use of it, instead of here.”
“Yes, there's something in that,” said the Doctor. “But most of these writings of mine are only about animal languages—dictionaries and so forth—very few are actually story books written in animal language. And then besides, so few of you can read, anyway.”
“Oh, but we could soon learn,” said the white mouse. “If you got one or two of us taught we could quickly teach the rest. Oh, I do think an important institution like the Rat and Mouse Club ought to have a library of its own. Yes, indeed!”
Well, in spite of the objection which the Doctor had advanced, the white mouse stuck to his idea of an Animal Public Library for the Dolittle Zoo. He pointed out that so far as the rats and mice were concerned (and the dogs, badgers and squirrels, too, for that matter) there was nothing they enjoyed so much as stories.
“I would be delighted to do it for you,” said the Doctor, “but in rat and mouse talk, for instance, there are no characters—there is no written language.”
“But we can soon invent one, can't we?” asked the white mouse. “Why, there must have been a time when there wasn't any human written language. Listen, Doctor, you invent a sign alphabet for mice—simple, you know—we don't want any physics or skizzics to begin with—and teach it to me. I'll promise to teach the whole of the Rat and Mouse Club in a week. They're awfully keen about learning new things. What do you say?”
Of course such a suggestion, one might be sure, would always interest John Dolittle, who had given so many years of his life to animal education. He at once set to work and with the white mouse's coöperation devised a simple alphabet in rat and mouse language. There were only ten signs, or letters, in all. The Doctor called it the Mouse Code, but Polynesia and I called it the Squeaker-B-C, because it was all in squeaks of different kinds, and each letter had two different meanings, according as you let your squeak fall or rise at the end.
Then came the business of printing and binding the books. This the Doctor turned over to me as soon as he had established the alphabet or code. Of course, the volumes had to be terribly, terribly tiny in order that even the young mice could read and handle them with ease. The white mouse was most anxious that the young folk should be able to take advantage of the new education. What we called our “Mouse Octavo” size of book was just slightly smaller than a penny postage stamp. The binding had to be all hand-sewn and only the finest thread could be used. The pages were so small I had to have a watchmakers' magnifying eyeglass to do my printing with, which was, of course, also all hand work. But no matter how tiny the letters were made, they were none too small for mouse eyes, which can pick out single grains of dust with the greatest ease.
We were very proud of our first book printed in mouse language. Although it was mostly the work of the Doctor, I, as printer and publisher, felt just as important as Caxton or Gutenberg as I put the name of my firm into the title page: “Stubbins & Stubbins. Puddleby-on-the-Marsh” (I didn't know who the second “Stubbins” was, but I thought it looked better and more businesslike that way).
“This is a great occasion, Tommy,” said the white mouse as we officially declared the edition (one copy) off the press. “The first volume printed in the mouse code! We are making history as well as books.”