Chapter 25 Doctor Dolittle's Zoo by Hugh Lofting
THE FIRE
I think that, for both the Doctor and myself, that was one of the most extraordinary nights we ever experienced. John Dolittle, as every one knows, had for a long time now taken no part whatever in the neighborhood's human affairs. Ever since he had given up his practise as an ordinary doctor and come to be looked upon as a crank naturalist, he had accepted the reputation and retired from all social life. While he was pleasant and kind to every one, he avoided his neighbors even more than they avoided him.
And now suddenly, through this alarm of fire brought by the mouse from the Manor cellar, he found himself pitchforked by Fate, as it were, into a whole chain of happenings and concerns which he would have given a great deal to stay out of.
When Matthew, Bumpo and I followed him into the hall of the great house we found things in a pretty wild state of confusion. In various stages of dress and undress people were running up and down stairs, dragging trunks, throwing valuables over the bannisters and generally behaving like a hen-roost in a panic. The smell of smoke was strong and pungent; and when more candles had been lit I could see that the hall was partly filled with it.
There was no need for the Doctor now to ask the way to the cellar. Over to the left of the hall there was a door leading downward by an old-fashioned winding stair. And through it the smoke was pouring upward at a terrible rate.
To my horror, the Doctor tied a handkerchief about his face, dashed through this doorway and disappeared into the screen of smoke before any one had time to stop him. Seeing that Bumpo and I had it in our minds to follow, Matthew held out his hand.
“Don't. You'd be more trouble than help to him,” he said. “If you keeled over, the Doctor would have to fetch you up too. Let's get outside and break the cellar windows. It must be full of smoke down there—more smoke than fire, most likely. If we can let some of it out, maybe the Doctor can see what he's doing.”
With that all three of us ran for the front door. On the way we bumped into the old man-servant who was still wandering aimlessly around, wringing his hands and wailing that he couldn't find “the master.” Matthew grabbed him and shoved him along ahead of us into the front garden.
“Now,” said he, “where are the cellar windows?—Quick, lead us to 'em!”
Well, finally we got the poor old doddering butler to take us to the back of the house where, on either side of the kitchen door, there were two areaways with cellar windows in them. To his great astonishment and horror we promptly proceeded to kick the glass out of them. Heavy choking smoke immediately belched forth into our faces.
“Hulloa there!—Doctor!” gasped Matthew. “Are you all right?”
The Cats'-meat-Man had brought a bullseye lantern with him. He shone it down into the reeking blackness of the cellar. For a few moments, which seemed eternally long, I was in an agony of suspense waiting for the answering shout that didn't come. Matthew glanced upward over his shoulder.
“Humph!” he grunted with a frown. “Looks as though we'll have to organize a rescue party by the stair anyway.”
But just as he was about to step up out of the area I clutched him by the arm.
“Look!” I said, pointing downward.
And there in the beam of his lantern a hand could be seen coming through the reeking hole in the broken window. It was the Doctor's hand. And in the hollow of the half-open palm five pink and hairless baby mice were nestling.
“Well, for the love of Methuselah!” muttered Matthew, taking the family and passing it up to me.
The Doctor's hand withdrew and almost immediately reappeared again, this time with the thoroughly frightened mother-mouse—whom I also pocketed.
But Matthew didn't wait for the Doctor's hand to go back for anything else. He grabbed it by the wrist and with a mighty heave pulled John Dolittle, with the window-sash and all, up into the areaway. We saw at once that he was staggering and in pretty bad condition; and we half dragged, half lifted him out of the area, away from the choking smoke, to a lawn nearby. Here we stretched him out flat and undid his collar.
But before we had time to do anything else for him he began to struggle to his feet.
“I'm all right,” he gasped. “It was only the smoke. We must get a bucket chain started. The fire has just reached the wood pile. If it's allowed to get a good hold the whole place will burn down.”
There is not the least doubt that that mouse who brought the news of the fire to the Doctor saved Moorsden Manor from total destruction—and possibly several lives as well. Certainly if it had not been for our efforts the place would never have been saved by those living there, even if they had been awakened in time. I never saw such an hysterical crew in my life. Everybody gave advice and nobody did anything. And the head of the servants, the old white-haired butler, continued to dodder around getting in every one's way, still asking if the master had been seen yet.
However, without waiting for assistance from any one else, the Doctor, Matthew, Bumpo and I formed a bucket line on our own; and by it we conveyed from the kitchen sink a continuous supply of water to those burning sacks and firewood. And before very long nothing remained but a charred and hissing mass of what had promised to be a very serious conflagration.
In addition to this Matthew discovered a tap in the garden; and with the help of a hose which we got out of the stable we brought another stream into the cellar through the broken window which could be kept in constant readiness if the fire should break out again.
While we were attaching the hose in the garden a man suddenly appeared out of a shrubbery and accosted the Doctor in a distinctly unfriendly manner.
“Who are you?”
“I?” said the Doctor, a little taken aback. “I'm John Dolittle. Er—and you?”
“My name is Sidney Throgmorton,” said the man. “And I would like to know what you mean by breaking into my lodge at this hour of night, smashing windows and assaulting the keeper.”
“Why, good gracious!” said the Doctor. “We wanted to warn you about the fire. We hadn't time to stand on ceremony. The keeper wouldn't let us in. As it was, we only just got here in time. I think I can assure you that if we hadn't got here the house would have been burned to the ground.”
I now saw in the gloom behind the man's shoulder that the lodge-keeper was with him.
“You have acted in a very high-handed manner, Sir,” said Sidney Throgmorton. “My lodge-keeper has his orders as to whom he shall, and whom he shall not, admit. And there is a fire department in the town whose business it is to look after conflagrations. For you to thrust your way into my home in this violent and unwarrantable manner, in the middle of the night, is nothing short of a scandal, Sir—for which I have a good mind to have you arrested. I will ask you and your friends to leave my premises at once.”