Chapter 28 Doctor Dolittle's Zoo by Hugh Lofting
THE SCRAP OF PARCHMENT
The rescued mouse family which I had brought home in my pocket were given quarters in the club. The white mouse personally saw to it that the very best furnished suite was given to them. And, of course, they immediately became public heroes in Mouse Town. The thrilling story they had to tell of the fire; the father-mouse's midnight gallop for help; their perilous rescue by John Dolittle himself; and finally the Doctor's treatment at the hands of the churlish owner of the Manor, was undoubtedly the sensation of the season.
Many of the members were so infuriated over the discourtesy shown to the Doctor that they wanted to organize a campaign of revenge—which would, I believe, have utterly ruined the Manor if they had been allowed to carry it out. For they planned to chew up the curtains, drill the paneling, eat holes in the tapestries, break the wine glasses, and a whole lot of other mischief which rats and mice can easily accomplish if they want to. But to their indignation, as to Matthew's, the Doctor turned a deaf ear. He wanted to forget it.
Nevertheless, in the Rat and Mouse Club Throgmorton's ingratitude and his scandalous behavior continued for a long time the principal topic of conversation. And any mice from the Manor who dropped in of an evening were always the center of attention while they stayed, so great was the public interest in gossip from that quarter.
And it was through this that the poor Doctor, despite his earnest desire to stay out of the affairs of Sidney Throgmorton or any other neighbors, found himself finally forced by circumstances to take further part in matters which he insisted were “none of his business.”
It began by the white mouse coming to me one night and saying,
“There's a mouse just run over from the Manor who has lived up there for quite a while. He has something he wants to show the Doctor. But the poor man is always so busy I thought I'd speak to you first. Will you come down to the club and see him?”
“All right,” I said. And I left what I was doing and went down right away.
When I got into the Assembly Room I found a whole crowd of members gathered around a mouse who seemed quite pleased with the sensation he was creating. They were all staring at a torn scrap of paper about the size of a visiting card.
“I thought this might be of importance,” said the mouse to me. “Of course I can't read what it says on it. But it is made of a very unusual kind of paper. That's a subject I do know something about, paper. I wondered whether the Doctor ought to see it. Perhaps you can tell us.”
I examined the slip. It was nibbled irregularly all round the edges like any piece of paper would be that had been part of a mouse's nest. But it was true: the paper itself was of a special kind. It was real parchment. Then I read the few words which were written in four lines across the scrap of parchment.
Well, after that I decided that the Doctor ought to see it. And without further ado I took it to him and told him so.
Matthew happened to be with him in the study at the time. And in spite of the fact that he couldn't read, he became quite interested as soon as he heard where the paper had come from.
“But what made the mouse think it would be of importance?” asked the Doctor, as he took it from me and put on his spectacles.
“On account of the nature of the paper,” I said. “It's real parchment, the kind they use for special legal documents.”
While the Doctor was reading the few words written on the torn scrap I watched his face carefully. And I felt sure from his expression that he guessed what I had guessed. But he evidently wasn't going to admit it. Rather hurriedly he handed it back to me.
“Yes, er—quite interesting, Stubbins,” said he, turning to his work at the table. “I'm rather busy just now. You'll excuse me, won't you?”
This was his polite way of telling me to go away and not bother him. And in the circumstances I felt there wasn't anything else for me to do but go.
Matthew's interest, on the other hand, was growing rather than diminishing. And as I left the room he followed me out. “What do you make of that, Tommy?” he asked as soon as we had closed the door behind us.
“Why, between ourselves, Matthew,” said I, “I think it's a will—or rather a piece of one. What's more, I believe the Doctor thinks so, too. But it is quite clear that he doesn't want to have anything to do with it. And nobody can blame him, after all he had to put up with from that horrible Throgmorton.”
“A will?” said Matthew. “Whose will?”
“We don't know,” I said. “This is all we have, just a corner of it.”
“A will, eh?” he muttered again. “I wonder where that would fit in.... Humph!”
“What do you mean, fit in?” I asked.
“Into the puzzle,” he said, staring at the floor rapt in thought.
“I don't understand you, Matthew,” said I rather impatiently. “What puzzle?”
“I'll tell you later,” said he, “after I've found out a little more. But I knew I was right. There was a mystery in that house. Keep that piece of paper carefully.”
And at that he left me, with the scrap of parchment in my hand, pondering over his words.