Chapter 27 Doctor Dolittle's Zoo by Hugh Lofting
THE WATCH DOGS
Next moment we heard a scraping rush of paws upon the gravel and two gigantic dogs bounded out of the gloom into the lighted courtyard.
“Grab 'im!—Go get 'im!” shouted Throgmorton.
Together the two dogs hurled themselves towards the figure of the stranger. Then Mr. Throgmorton got a great surprise. The stranger did not run or indeed show any panic whatever. But as he turned his face in the direction of the oncoming dogs he made some curious sounds, almost like another kind of growl answering theirs.
At this the two hounds behaved in a most curious manner. Instead of grasping their prey by the throat, they wagged their tails, licked his hand and generally carried on as though he were no stranger at all but a very old and dear friend of theirs. Then, in response to an order he gave them, they disappeared into the darkness from which they had come.
Beside me, behind the tree, Matthew covered his face with his hand to keep from laughing.
“I will now get my hat,” said the Doctor. And he walked calmly into the house.
As for Throgmorton, he was just speechless with rage. It had been his proud boast that these two mastiffs, Dina and Wolf, had, between them, killed a burglar who had once attempted to rob the Manor. To be made ridiculous like this by such a quiet small person was more than he could bear.
Within the hall the Doctor could now be seen on his way out—with the precious hat. Throgmorton withdrew into the shadow of a door-column and waited.
“Yes, I thought so!” muttered Matthew. And he slid like a shadow out from behind the tree and crept towards the figure of the waiting Throgmorton.
John Dolittle, unaware of anything beyond the fact that he was anxious to get away from this disagreeable establishment as soon as possible, stepped briskly forth on to the gravel. An enormous weight landed on his shoulders and bore him to the ground.
“I'll teach you,” growled Throgmorton, “to walk in and out of my house as though you——”
But he got no further, for Matthew had landed on top of him just as he had landed on the Doctor.
But Sidney Throgmorton, in spite of his bloated, unwholesome appearance, was a heavy, powerful man. He rose and threw Matthew off as though he were a fly. And he was just about to aim a kick at the Doctor lying on the ground when he suddenly found himself gripped from behind and lifted off his feet like a doll.
Indeed Bumpo, softly crooning his favorite African battle-song, not only lifted him, but was now proceeding to carry his portly victim bodily away towards the building.
“Well!” said the Doctor, rising and brushing off his clothes, “what an offensive person! Who would ever have thought he'd do that? The man must be out of his senses.—Oh, Bumpo! Stop, stop, for heaven's sake!”
John Dolittle leapt forward—and only just in time. For the Crown Prince of the Jollinginki was apparently just on the point of knocking Mr. Throgmorton's brains out on his own doorstep.
“Well, but,” said he as the Doctor grabbed him, “is he not a useless and unsightly encumbrance to the earth?—Permit me, Doctor. A little tap on the geranium and all will be well.”
“No, no,” said the Doctor, quickly. “You're not in Africa, now, Bumpo. Put him down and let us be going.”
“I'll have you all in jail for this,” grunted Throgmorton, as Bumpo let him fall heavily, like a large sack of potatoes, to the ground.
“If you take my tip,” grinned Matthew, “you'll keep your silly mouth shut. There's three witnesses here saw you make that attack on the Doctor—slinkin' up and waitin' for him behind the door-post. And don't forget, his honesty is as well known as yours, you know—maybe better—even if folks do call him a crank. Your money can't do everything.”
“And I have witnesses, too,” spluttered the other, “who saw you all breaking into my lodge and using violence on the keeper.”
“Yes, to save your hide and your house from burning,” added Matthew. “Go on and do your worst. I dare you to take it to any court.”
“Come, come!” said the Doctor, herding us away like children. “Let us be going. No more, Matthew—please! Come, Bumpo!”
And leaving the fuming, spluttering master of the Manor to pick himself up from the gravel, we walked down the drive.
On the return walk all four of us were silent—also a little tired for, as Matthew had said, we had worked hard at our thankless task. And we must have been more than half way to the house before any one spoke. It was the Cats'-meat-Man.
“You know,” said he breaking out suddenly, “there's something fishy about the whole thing. That's my opinion.”
“How do you mean?” said the Doctor sleepily, trying to show polite interest.
“About his ingratitude,” said Matthew, “his wanting to get us off the place in such a hurry and—and, well, his general manner. I don't believe he ever thought we were suspicious characters at all—maybe the lodge-keeper might have, but not the owner. Why, every one in Puddleby knows you, Doctor—even if you don't mix in with the society tea parties and the afternoon muffin-worries.... And then the way things was run, up at the house there: nobody in charge unless the 'master' is on the job.—And the master wasn't.... Why wasn't he? What was he doing all that time while old Moses was runnin' round hollerin' for him?... And why——”
“Oh, Matthew,” the Doctor broke in, “what's the use of guessing and speculating about it? Personally, I must confess I don't care what he was doing—or what he ever will do. Thank goodness, the whole stupid affair is over!”
But Matthew was much too wrapped up in his subject to dismiss it like that. And though he kept his voice low, as if he were talking to himself, he continued a quite audible one-man conversation for the rest of the way home.
“Yes, there's a mystery there, all right. And if anybody was to get to the bottom of it I'll bet they'd get a shock.... Why, even the lodge-keeper—there's another queer thing: supposing he was scared by the way we woke him up, just the same, no man in his senses—orders or no orders—is going to take no notice of a fire alarm. If he didn't want to let us in, he could anyway call to his wife and send her up to the Manor to find out. And then when he does follow us up to the house, and sees that there really is a fire, does he do anything to help us put it out? No, he does not. He goes and tells the precious 'master' how badly we treated him getting in to save 'em all from burning to death.—And, by the way, that's still another queer thing: how did he know where to find the master? The old butler didn't know—no, nor nobody else.”
The Doctor sighed gratefully as we finally reached the little gate. After this hard and trying night the thought of a good bed was very pleasant—as was also the prospect of getting a respite from Matthew's thinking aloud.