Chapter 18 Doctor Dolittle's Zoo by Hugh Lofting
THE MUSEUM MOUSE
As the Volcano Rat ended his story there followed a queer little silence. That final picture of the great leader leaving the wonderful civilization he had built up and journeying forth alone rather saddened the audience. John Dolittle was the first to speak.
“But what became of the rest of your people?” he asked.
“I did not hear until much later,” the Volcano Rat replied. “I took to the sea. I boarded a ship in the first harbor I came to and sailed away for foreign shores. A year or more afterwards I learned from some rats I met—when I was changing ships to come here—that several of the young wild volunteers had succeeded in getting the people to go to war. The results had been just about what I had prophesied. In the first battle between Men and Rats the rats had easily won and driven the enemy from the mountain-side. But a week later the Men came back armed with shot-guns, smoke-pots and other engines of war; and in their train came cats and dogs and ferrets. The slaughter of rats was apparently just horrible. Millions were wiped out. Panic seized the rest and a general mad flight followed. The slopes were simply gray with rats as the whole population left the underground city and ran for the valley. There were entirely too many for the dogs and cats to kill and so quite a few reached safety; but they were widely scattered. And no attempt was made to reorganize the remnant of a great race under another government. The United Rat States Republic was no more.”
The white mouse now arose from the presidential chair and after thanking the Volcano Rat for his story reminded the members that to-morrow night, Tuesday the fifteenth, the Museum Mouse had promised to entertain them. The meeting was then declared adjourned and every one went home.
The next evening, in spite of the fact that both the Doctor and I were very busy, we were in our places in the Assembly Room by eight o'clock because we did not want to miss the adventures of the Museum Mouse. We knew him to be quite a personality. He had already interested us considerably by his observations on natural history. He looked something like a little old professor himself. He had tiny beady black eyes and a funny screwed-up look to his sharp-nosed face. His manner was cut and dried.
“I've lived all my life in natural history museums,” he began. “Main reason why I like them is because when they're closed to the public you have the place to yourself—from six in the evening to ten o'clock the next morning, and till two in the afternoon on Sundays. This story is mainly concerned with the nest of the Three-ringed Yah-yah, a strange East Indian bird who builds a peculiar home; and with Professor Jeremiah Foozlebugg, one of the silliest animal-stuffers I ever knew.
“Why, just to show you how stupid that professor was: one day he was putting together the skeleton of a prehistoric beast, the Five-toed Pinkidoodle——”
“The what?” cried the Doctor sitting up.
“Well, I was never good on names,” said the Museum Mouse. “It was a five-toed something. Anyway, while he was out of the room a moment his dog dragged in an old ham bone and left it among the parts of the skeleton. And would you believe it? Jeremiah Foozlebugg spent days and nights trying to fit that ham bone into the skeleton of the five-toed—er—thimajigg and wondering why there was one bone left over.
“Now when I was first married I took my wife for a wedding trip to the natural history museum. And after I had shown her all over it she thought she'd like to settle down there. And we began to look around to decide where in the building we would make our home.
“'It must be a snug, warm place, Nutmeg,' says she, 'on the children's account. It's a pesky business raising young mice where there are drafts and cold winds.'
“'All right, Sarsparilla,' I said. 'I know the very spot. Come with me.'
“Now what we called the Stuffing Room was a long workshop downstairs where Foozlebugg and his assistants stuffed birds and animals and prepared specimens of plants and butterflies and things to be brought up later and put in the glass cases for the public to look at. All natural history museums have more collections and specimens presented to them than they can possibly use. And our Stuffing Room was always cluttered up with everything from elephants' tusks to fleas in bottles. Among all this junk there was a collection of birds' nests—many of them with the limb of the tree in which they had been built. For months and months this collection had lain upon a dusty shelf—nests of all sizes, shapes and sorts. One was quite peculiar. It was the nest of the Three-ringed Yah-yah. In form it was quite round, like a ball, and had for entrance one little hole—just big enough for a mouse to slip through. When you were inside no one would know you were there.
“I showed it to Sarsparilla and she was delighted. Without further delay we got some extra scraps of silk, which Foozlebugg had been using for some of his stuffing business, and lined it soft and snug—although it was already well padded with horse-hair and thistledown by the Three-ringed Yah-yah who had built it. Then for several days we led a peaceful happy life in our new home. During regular hours in the workshop we lay low and often had hard work stopping our giggles as we watched Professor Foozlebugg stuffing animals all out of shape and calling on his assistants to admire them.
“Well, the children came and then we were very glad about our selection of a home. For no place could have been more ideal for baby mice than was that old bird's nest with its round walls and draft-proof ceiling and floor. Now there is one disadvantage in living in museums: you have to go out for all your meals. There's practically nothing to eat in the building, and what there is, like waxes and things of that sort, you soon learn to leave strictly alone; because those old professors use strong poisons on all their stuffing materials to keep the bugs from getting into them. Of course even with all the doors locked any mouse can find his way in and out of a building somewhere. But occasionally when the weather is bad it is very inconvenient to have to go out for every single thing you eat. And now with a family of youngsters to feed this problem became more serious than usual.
“So Sarsparilla and I used to take it in turns to look after the youngsters while the other went out foraging for food. Sometimes we had to go a long way and to bring crumbs from various places to the lobby of the building before we hauled them down to the Stuffing Room. Well, one night I had been up very late foraging for food and didn't get in until nearly daylight. I was dog-tired, but even then I didn't get any sleep because the children were querulous and fretful and they kept me awake. As soon as evening came Sarsparilla left me in charge and started out on her food hunt. Shortly after she had gone the children settled down quietly, and right away, worn out with fatigue, I fell into a deep sleep.
“When I awoke the sunlight was streaming in through the entrance-hole of our nest. I supposed I must have long overslept. But I never remembered the direct rays of the sun to have shone in at our door like this before. I got up and peeped out cautiously.
“I could hardly believe my eyes. Our nest was no longer in the Stuffing Room! Instead we were in a glass case in one of the main halls of the museum. Around us, on various twigs and stands and things, were the other nests of the old collection which had lain so long on the dusty shelf. Our house had been put on show for the public, shut up tight in a glass case; and that stupid old duffer Foozlebugg who had put it there was still standing outside, displaying his handiwork with great pride to a fat woman and two children who were visiting the museum!”