Chapter 26 Doctor Dolittle's Zoo by Hugh Lofting
THE LEATHER BOXES
For a moment or two the Doctor was clearly about to reply. I could see by the dim light of Matthew's lantern the anger and mortification struggling in his face. But finally he seemed to feel that to a man of this nature no words of explanation or justice would mean anything.
And certainly this Throgmorton person was an extraordinary individual. From his speech he seemed fairly well educated. But the whole of his bloated, red-faced appearance was as vulgar and as unprepossessing as it could be.
“My coat is in your cellar,” said the Doctor quietly at last. “I will get it. Then we will go.”
To add insult to injury, the man actually followed us down into the cellar, as though we might steal something if we were not watched. Here lamps were still burning which we had lit to help us in making sure that there were no sparks of fire left that might smolder up again. The man muttered some expression of annoyance beneath his breath when he saw the water which flooded the floor.
At this last show of ingratitude for what we had done, Bumpo could contain his indignation no longer.
“Why, you discourteous and worm-like boor!” he began, advancing upon Throgmorton with battle in his eye.
“Please! Bumpo!” the Doctor interrupted. “No further words are necessary. We will go.”
By the brighter light of the lamps I now saw that Throgmorton carried beneath his arm several small leather boxes. In climbing up over the wood pile, in order to see what damage we might have done on the other side, he laid these down for a moment on top of a wine cask. I was close to Matthew. In the fraction of a second while Throgmorton's back was turned I saw the Cats'-meat-Man open the upper one of the boxes, glance into it and shut it again.
The box contained four enormous diamond shirt-studs.
As soon as he had his coat the Doctor wasted no further time, but made his way, with us following him, up the stairs and out of the house which he had saved from destruction.
The keeper accompanied us to the lodge and let us out. Matthew, like Bumpo, was just burning up to speak his mind even to this representative of the establishment which had shown us such discourtesy. But the Doctor seemed determined there should be no further controversy and checked him every time he tried to open his mouth.
However, at the gate we met the fire brigade coming to the rescue. This was too much for Matthew's self-control and he called to them as we stepped out on to the road,
“Oh, turn around and go back to bed! We put that fire out before you'd got your boots on.”
Outside the boundaries of the Moorsden Manor estate not even the Doctor could stay the tide of Matthew's and Bumpo's indignant eloquence.
“Well, of all the good-for-nothing, mangy, low-down ingrates,” the Cats'-meat-Man began, “that stuffed pillow of a millionaire takes the prize! After all we done for him! Getting up out of our beds, working like horses—all to keep his bloomin' mansion from burning down. And then he tells us we've ruined his cellar by pouring water into it!”
“Such a creature,” said Bumpo, “would make any one feel positively rebellious. In Oxford he would not be allowed, under any circumstances, to proceed further with his obnoxious existence. It was only with the greatest difficulty that I restrained myself from hitting him on the bono publico.”
“Enough,” said the Doctor. “Please don't say any more. I am trying to forget it. The whole affair is just one of those incidents which it is no use thinking about or getting yourself worked up over afterwards. I'm often very grateful that life has made it possible for me to keep away from my neighbors and mind my own business. This occasion couldn't be helped—but it has made me more grateful still. Thank goodness, anyway, that we got the mice out all right before the fire reached them. You have them safely in your pocket, Stubbins, have you not?”
“Yes,” said I, putting my hand in to make sure. “Oh, but, Doctor, your hat? Where is it? You've left it behind.”
John Dolittle raised his hand to his bare head.
“Dear me!” said he. “What a nuisance!—Well, I'll have to go back, that's all.”
I knew how he hated to. But the well-beloved headgear was too precious. In silence all four of us turned about.
The gate was still open from the arrival of the fire brigade. Unchallenged, we walked in and down the drive towards the house.
Half way along the avenue the Doctor paused.
“Perhaps it would be as well,” said he, “if you waited for me here. After all, there is no need for four of us to come to fetch a hat.”
He went on alone while we stood in the shadow of the trees. The moon had now risen and we could see more plainly.
I noticed that Matthew was restless and fidgety. He kept muttering to himself and peering after the Doctor down the drive. Presently in a determined whisper he jerked out,
“No. I'm blessed if I let him go alone! I don't trust that Mr. Throgmorton. Come on, you chaps. Let's follow the Doctor. Keep low, behind the trees. Don't let yourselves be seen. But I've a notion he may need us.”
I had no idea what was in Matthew's mind. But from experience I knew that usually when he acted on impulse, without rime or reason like this, he acted rightly. I always put it down to some mysterious quality he inherited with his gipsy blood.
So, like a band of Indian scouts, scuttling from tree to tree, we shadowed the Doctor up the avenue drive till he came to the clearing before the house. Here the fire brigade, with a great deal of pother and fuss, was in the act of departing—after its captain had made sure that the fire was really out. The big door lamps, either side of the portico, had been lighted and the courtyard was fairly well illumined. Mr. Throgmorton could be seen dismissing the firemen and their worthy captain. We saw John Dolittle go up to him, but he pretended to be too busy to attend to anything but the business of the fire brigade.
And it was only after the engine and ladder-wagon had clattered noisily away, leaving the courtyard empty save for him and the Doctor, that he deigned to notice John Dolittle's presence. This time he did not wait for the Doctor to speak.
“You here again!” he shouted. “Didn't I tell you to get off the premises? Clear out of here, or I'll set the dogs on you.”
“I've come back for my hat,” said the Doctor, controlling himself with truly wonderful restraint. “It's in the hall.”
“Get out of here!” the other repeated threateningly. “I'll have no more of you suspicious characters messing round my place to-night. I find you smashed the windows in the cellar as well as the lodge. Clear out, unless you want the dogs after you.”
“I will not go,” said the Doctor, firmly, “until I have my hat.”
(“My goodness! But I'd love to give that fellow a crack on the jaw!” whispered Matthew, who was standing behind the same tree as myself.)
The Doctor's answer seemed to infuriate Throgmorton beyond all bounds. He drew a whistle from his pocket and blew upon it loudly. An answering shout came from somewhere in the darkness of the gardens.
“Let go Dina and Wolf!” called Throgmorton.
(“That's his two man-killing mastiffs,” chuckled Matthew in my ear. “I know 'em—regular savages. He keeps 'em to defend the place. Now we'll see some fun.”)