Part III Chapter 7 Doctor Dolittle's Garden by Hugh Lofting
THE HOME OF THE GIANT MOTH
A general chatter of comment and criticism broke out around the kitchen table as Chee-Chee brought his story to an end.
"It's a good yarn, Chee-Chee," said Gub-Gub—"quite good. But I don't like it as well as the one about Otho Bludge."
"Why, Gub-Gub?" the Doctor asked.
"Oh, well," said the pig, "Otho's story was more romantic. I have a natural preference for romantic stories. I liked that part about the bracelet of stone beads which Pippiteepa left on the rock behind her—which Otho took and wore on his own wrist the rest of his days. That's a very romantic idea. It is dreadfully sad that he never met her any more. I wish Chee-Chee would tell us that one over again."
"Some other night perhaps," said the Doctor. "It is getting late now and we should be thinking of bed."
The Doctor was almost as interested in the great orange-coloured flowers which the moth had brought with him as he was in the moth himself. To begin with, he had almost immediately on discovering them taken the greatest pains to preserve the great blooms. Huge quantities of ice (which was quite an expensive luxury in Puddleby) were procured from the fishmonger to keep the flowers fresh as long as possible. Meantime John Dolittle experimented with one specimen to find out what gases its perfumes contained, etc.
The work apparently proved very interesting for him. He was quite good at analytical chemistry and he told me that the flowers presented problems which he felt had never been encountered by chemists before.
When he was done with this he turned his attention again to the moth himself, but took precautions in the meantime that the remaining flowers should be given the best of care and made to last as long as possible.
In his study of the moth progress was slow. If it had not been for the fact that the giant insect itself was most kindly disposed towards his investigations and did his best to help the Doctor in every way, I doubt if he would have got anywhere. But one day I gathered from the fact that John Dolittle had stayed out on that particular subject for nearly twenty-four hours at a stretch, and had missed his night's sleep altogether, that he was most likely achieving something important.
Well, the outcome of these long sessions of study on the Doctor's part was that one very early morning he rushed into my room his eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Stubbins," he said, "it's too good to be true. I'm not certain of anything yet, but I think—I think, mind you—that I've discovered where this creature comes from."
"Goodness!" I said. "That's news worth a good deal.—Where?"
"I guessed," he said, "that it couldn't be Europe. The more remote corners of the world, like the sub-arctic and the tropics, didn't quite—well, they didn't exactly fit in either."
"Anyway, you know now," I said. "Tell me quick, I'm dying to hear."
"I have every reason," he said, looking sort of embarrassed lest I should disbelieve him, "to suppose that he comes from the Moon!"
"Heaven preserve us!" I gasped—"The Moon?"
"I have very little doubt," he answered. "I managed to rig up some sort of apparatus—after a good many trials and a good many failures—which should convey his vibrations. If it had not been that he was just as anxious as I to get in contact I could never have done it. He came as a messenger, it seems. You remember Polynesia has told you, I know, of the time when the monkeys in Africa sent word to me by a swallow that they were suffering from an epidemic—that they had heard of me and wanted me to come to the rescue?"
"Yes," I said, "Polynesia has told me many times."
"Well," said he, "this is something of the same kind. It seems unbelievable. And every once in a while I wake up, as it were, and pinch myself for fear I am trying to believe in some extraordinary and delightful dream—something that I have conjured up myself because I wanted it so to be true. And yet I think I have real reason to believe it. If so, this is by far the greatest moment of my career. To be called to Africa by the monkeys on the strength of my reputation, to cure them in the hour of their distress, that was a great compliment. To let loose Long Arrow, the Indian naturalist, from his prison in the cave, that was a moment well worth living for. But to be summoned to another world by creatures that human eyes have never seen before, that, Stubbins, is—"
He waved his hand without further words. His voice sounded strangely chokey. It was not often that I had seen John Dolittle overcome by emotion.