Chapter 24 Doctor Dolittle's Zoo by Hugh Lofting
MOORSDEN MANOR
At this point, before any one was quite certain whether the Stable Mouse had finished her story or not, some sort of a commotion started at the back of the hall. There was a great deal of excited whispering and we could see that some new arrival had just turned up in a very breathless state. He seemed to be demanding to speak with the Doctor at once.
The white mouse, as president and chairman of the meeting, started for the back of the hall to see what all the excitement was about. But the newcomer was apparently in much too great a hurry to stand on ceremony; and before the white mouse had more than got out of his seat he could be seen elbowing his way through the crowd making for John Dolittle.
“Doctor,” he cried, “there's a fire over at Moorsden Manor. It's in the cellar. And everybody's asleep and no one knows anything about it.”
“Good gracious!” cried the Doctor, rising and looking at his watch—”Asleep! Is it as late as that?—Why, so it is. Nearly an hour past midnight! What's in the cellar—wood, coal?”
“It's chock full of wood,” said the mouse. “But the fire hasn't got to it yet—thank goodness! My nest, with five babies in it, is right in the middle of the wood pile. The wife thought the best thing I could do would be to come and tell you. Nobody else understands our language, anyway. She's staying with the children. The fire started in a heap of old sacks lying in a corner of the cellar. The place is full of smoke already. There is no chance of our carrying the babies out because there are too many cats around. Once the fire reaches the wood it's all up with us. Won't you come—quick, Doctor?”
“Of course I will,” said John Dolittle. He was already scrabbling his way out through the tunnel, nearly wrecking the Rat and Mouse Club on the way. “Stubbins,” he called as he reached the top, “go and wake Bumpo—and send Jip along to Matthew's house. We'd better get all the help we can. If the blaze hasn't gone too far we can probably get it under all right. Here's a note that Jip can give to Matthew, for the fire brigade—but it always takes them an eternity to get on the scene.”
He hastily scribbled a few words on an old envelope with which I dashed off in one direction while he disappeared in another.
For the next fifteen minutes I was occupied in getting first Jip and then Bumpo aroused and informed of the situation. Bumpo was always the slowest man in the world to wake up. But after a good deal of hard work I managed to get him interested in clothes—and fires. Jip I had already sent trotting down the Oxenthorpe Road with his note to fetch Matthew to the scene.
Then I clutched Bumpo (still only half dressed and half awake) firmly by the hand and hurried off after the Doctor in the direction of the fire.
Now Moorsden Manor was the largest and most pretentious private residence in Puddleby. Like the Doctor's home, it was on the outskirts of the town and was surrounded by a large tract of its own land. Its present owner, Mr. Sidney Throgmorton, was a middle-aged man who had only recently come into the property. His millionaire father had died the year before, leaving him this and several other handsome estates in different parts of England and Scotland. And many people had expressed surprise that he remained at the Manor all the year round when he had so many other castles and fine properties to go to.
The main gates to the estate were guarded by a lodge. And when I arrived I found the Doctor hammering on the door trying to wake the lodge-keeper up. The gates of course were locked; and the whole of the grounds were enclosed by a high wall which was much too high to climb over.
Almost at the same moment that Bumpo and I got there Matthew Mugg, led by Jip, also arrived.
“Good gracious!” the Doctor was saying as he thumped the door with his fist. “What sleepers! The whole place could burn down while we're standing here. Can it be that the lodge is empty?”
“No,” said Matthew. “The keeper's here—or his wife. One of them is always on duty. That I know. I'll throw a stone against the window.”
It was only a small pebble that he threw; but the Cats'-meat-Man put such force behind it that it went right through the pane with a crash.
Indignant shouts from inside told us that at last we had succeeded in arousing some one. And a few moments later a man in a nightshirt, with a shotgun in one hand and a candle in the other, appeared at the door. As the Doctor stepped forward he quickly set the candle down and raised the gun as if to shoot.
“It's all right,” said John Dolittle. “I've only come to warn you. There's a fire up at the Manor—in the cellar. The people must be roused at once. Let me through, please.”
“I will not let you through,” said the man stubbornly. “I heard tell of hold-up gangs playing that game afore. The cheek of you, coming breaking into my windows this time of night! And how do you come to know what's going on up at the Manor?”
“A mouse told me about it,” said the Doctor. Then seeing the look of disbelief coming over the man's face, he added, “Oh, don't argue with me! I know there's a fire there. Won't you please let us in?”
But the man had apparently no intention whatever of doing so. And I cannot say that he should be altogether blamed for that. For with Bumpo and Matthew we certainly must have seemed a queer delegation to call in the middle of the night.
Goodness only knows how long we would have stood there while the fire in the Manor cellar went on growing, if Matthew hadn't decided to deal with the situation in his own peculiar way. With a whispered word to Bumpo he suddenly ducked forward and wrenched the shotgun out of the lodge-keeper's hands. Bumpo grabbed the candle that stood beside the door. And the fort was in our possession.
“Come on, Doctor,” said the Cats'-meat-Man. “There's another door through here which leads into the grounds. We can't wait to talk things over with him. Maybe when the brigade comes along in an hour or so he will believe there really is a fire.”
Bumpo had already found and opened the second door. And before the astonished keeper had had time to get his breath we were all through it and running up the drive that led to the big house.
“I suppose it will take us another age to get any one awake here,” gasped the Doctor, as we arrived breathless before the imposing portico and gazed up at the high double doors.
“No, it won't,” said Matthew. And he let off the lodge-keeper's shotgun at the stars and started yelling, “Fire!” at the top of his voice. This din the Doctor, Bumpo and I added to by hammering on the panels and calling loudly for admittance.
But we did not have long to wait this time. The shotgun was a good alarm. Almost immediately lights appeared in various parts of the house. Next, several windows were thrown open and heads popped out demanding to know what was the matter.
“There's a fire,” the Doctor kept shouting—”A fire in your house. Open the doors and let us in.”
A few minutes later the heavy bolts were shot back and an old man-servant with a candle opened the door.
“I can't find the master,” he said to the Doctor. “He isn't in his room. He must have fallen asleep in some other part of the house. All the rest have been woken up. But I can't find the master.”
“Where's the cellar?” asked the Doctor, taking the candle and hurrying by him. “Show me the way to the cellar.”
“But the master wouldn't be in the cellar, Sir,” said the old man. “What do you want in the cellar?”
“A family of mice,” said the Doctor—”Young ones. They're in great danger. Their nest is in the wood-pile. Show me the way, quick!”