Chapter 12 Doctor Dolittle's Zoo by Hugh Lofting
THE MOONIVERSARY DINNER
The Mooniversary Dinner was a very great success. Of course neither the Doctor nor I could say afterwards that we had dined heartily. There were a vast number of dishes, it was true; but the plates were only walnut-shells, and clearly it would need a tremendous number of helpings of that size to make a square meal for a man. The drinks were served in acorn-cups.
However, the banquet was so interesting and unusual in other respects, neither of us noticed very much whether we were hungry or not. To begin with, it was quite a novel sensation to be dining, shut up in a room into which we only just fitted, with five thousand rats and mice. Once we got seated and the scramble for places near the great man was over, the members were very well-behaved. There were two sets of waiters, one on the table and the other off the table. Those on the table carried the dishes from the center to the diners, who had seated themselves in a ring about twenty deep around the edge. The other lot were kept busy swarming up and down the legs of the table, running between the kitchen and the Assembly Room to replenish the supply of such dishes as ran out.
“More apple seeds up!” the head waiter on the table would yell. And a couple of mice down below would hustle off to the kitchen where the cooks would give them an egg-shell full of apple seeds to bring to the table. It was all excellently managed. The kitchen staff was kept very busy; for although a mouse or rat may not eat a great deal at one meal, when you have five thousand diners to feed it means considerable work.
At one of the upper doorways a small mouse orchestra played tunes throughout the dinner. Their instruments were invented by themselves and consisted of drums of different kinds and shapes and harps made by stretching threads across nutshells. One mouse had a straw which he played in the manner of a flute. Their idea of music was rather peculiar and very faint—indeed with the enormous chatter of squeaky conversation going on all around they could hardly be heard at all.
When the last course had been finished the white mouse knocked on the table for silence. Immediately the chorus of conversation died down and several members shooed the waiters who were making a noise clearing away the walnut-shells and acorn-cups. Finally, after the door into the pantry had been stopped up with a banana skin to keep out the clatter of the washing-up, His Honor the Mayor, First President of the Rat and Mouse Club, cleared his throat with a dignified cough and began a very fine after-dinner speech.
I was sorry afterwards that I had never learned shorthand so that I might take down the white mouse's address word for word; for it was in its way the most remarkable I have ever listened to.
He began by telling the Doctor on behalf of the whole club how glad they were to see him seated at their board. Then he turned back to the vast throng of members and sketched out briefly what John Dolittle had done for mouse civilization and what it was to be hoped his efforts would lead to in the future.
“The majority of men,” said he, “would never believe it if they were told of the general advance, organization and culture which this club, through Doctor John Dolittle, has brought into rat and mouse society.” (Cries of “Hear, hear!”) “This is the first time in history that our great race has been given a chance to show what it could do.” (The white mouse pounded the table with his tiny fist and grew quite earnest and eloquent.) “What has our life always been heretofore?” he asked. “Why, getting chased, being hunted—flight, concealment, that was our daily lot. Through the Doctor's farsightedness the rat and mouse peoples have here, in Animal Town, been able to think of other things besides keeping out of the jaws of a dog or a cat or a trap. And, I ask you, what has been the result?”
The president paused and for a silent second twirled his white whiskers, while his spellbound audience sat breathless, waiting for him to go on.
“Why, this,” he continued, waving his hand round the lofty walls of the Assembly Room: “this great institution called the Rat and Mouse Club; your education; the education of your children; all the things which our new civilization has given us, these are the results which John Dolittle has brought into rat and mouse society by removing the constant anxiety of our lives and giving us comfortable peace and honest freedom in its place. I, myself, look forward—as, I am sure, you all do,—to the time when rat and mouse civilization shall be at least on a level with that of Man; to the time when there shall be rat and mouse cities all over the world, rat and mouse railway trains, steamship lines, universities and grand opera. I propose that we give the Doctor, who has honored us with his presence here to-night, a rising vote of thanks to express our appreciation of all he has done for the welfare of rats and mice.”
At the conclusion of the president's speech a great tumult broke loose. Every single one of the five thousand members sprang to his feet, cheering and waving, to show that he agreed with the sentiments of the speaker. And I could see that the Doctor was quite affected by the extraordinary demonstration in his honor.
There was a slight pause during which it became quite evident that the guest of honor was expected to make some kind of an address in reply. So rising with great care lest he wreck his hosts' clubhouse, John Dolittle made a short speech which was also received with great applause.
Then followed a considerable number of personal introductions. Of course the Doctor knew many members of the club personally. But hundreds of rats and mice who had never met him were now clamoring to be presented to the great man.
Among those who came forward there were some very interesting characters. First there were those whom the white mouse had already spoken of to the Doctor: the Prison Rat, the Church Mouse, the Railway Rat and the Hansom Cab Mouse. But besides these there were many more. They did not all live permanently at the club. Several used to drop in there two or three times a week, usually in the evening, and then go back again to their regular homes around midnight. And there were some who came from quite a long way off attracted by the reputation of this extraordinary establishment which was now getting to be known all over the country.
For instance, there was the Museum Mouse who had made his home in a natural history museum up in London and who had traveled all the way down from the city (the Railway Rat had put him on a freight train which he knew was coming to a town near Puddleby) just to be present at this important banquet. He was a funny little fellow who knew a whole lot about natural history and what new animals were being stuffed by the museum professors. John Dolittle was very interested in the news he brought with him from the scientific world of London.
Then there was the Zoo Rat who had also come from London especially for the occasion. He lived in the Zoological Gardens in Regent's Park and boasted that he had often been into the lion's den—when the lion was asleep—to steal suet. There was the Tea-house Mouse, the Volcano Rat and the Ice-box Mouse (who had very long fur which he had specially grown from living constantly in cold temperatures). Then there was the Ship's Rat, the same old fellow who had warned the Doctor at the Canary Islands about the rottenness of the ship he was traveling in. He had now retired permanently from the sea and come to settle down in Puddleby to club life and a peaceful old age. There was the Hospital Mouse and the Theater Mouse and several more.
Of course, with so many, it was only possible for the Doctor to talk a few moments to each. But109 as the president brought them up and briefly told us who they were, I realized that an assembly of rats and mice could be just as interesting, if you knew about their lives and characters, as any gathering of distinguished people.