Part III Chapter 4 Doctor Dolittle and the Green Canary by Hugh Lofting
John Dolittle, M.d
John Dolittle hadn't been in London more than five minutes before he discovered news of his arrival had already spread among the animal life of the city. This, of course, was due to the gossip of Cheapside and his fellow sparrows of the streets. While the Doctor and his party were still at the inn yard where they had just stepped down from the Greenheath coach a funny, scrubby little bird flew up and whispered something to Cheapside who was travelling with the Doctor. Cheapside brought him forward and introduced him.
'This is One–Eyed Alf, Doctor,' said Cheapside, 'the feller I was telling you about. 'E's got something 'e wants to say to you.'
'Oh, how do you do?' said John Dolittle. 'I'm very glad to make your acquaintance. I learn that it was largely through you that we have been able to trace our man. We are very grateful to youl.'
The newcomer was indeed a strange looking bird. The first thing the Doctor noticed about him was that, in spite of his having only one eye, he seemed very alert and wide–awake. He had several feathers missing form his tail and altogether looked like a very rough customer.
'Don't mention it, Doc,' said he. 'Only too glad to be of any help. O' course, I'd heard a whole lot about you, and we city folks are always 'appy when you pays us a visit. I got a sister over in Wapping what got herself tangled up in a clothesline. I'd be glad if you could come and take a look at her. She's broke a wing, I think. Ain't been able to fly for over a month. We've had to bring 'er crumbs to 'er and feed 'er like a baby.'
'I'll certainly do anything I can,' said the Doctor. 'Take us to where she is and I'll see what can be done.'
'Look here, Cheapside, 'whispered Pippinella as the party set off in a new direction under the guidance of One–Eyed Alf, 'you'll have to protect the Doctor. Once it gets round that he is doctoring animals he is just swamped with patients of all kinds. Dab–Dab told me it always happens this way. He'll never get to my window–cleaner if you let him be side–tracked by every sparrow who wants to see him.'
And it turned out that Pippinella was right in her fears. For when John Dolittle arrived at the place where One–Eyed Alf was leading them he found plenty of work for him. In the back yard of an empty house in one of London's slummiest quarters there was awaiting him not one sparrow but over fifty. Birds with broken legs, birds that had been bitten by dogs, birds that had fallen into paint pots—even birds that had their tails injured under carriage wheels were there. All the accidents, all the casualties of London's sparrowdom were gathered to await the arrival of the famous Doctor.
'I'm sorry, Doc,' said One–Eyed Alf as he gazed over the collection of patients waiting in the grimy yard. 'I didn't mean to let you in for nothing like this. I told Maria to keep quiet about your coming here. But you know how women is—they must talk.'
'Lor' bless us!' murmured Cheapside, scratching the top of his head with a thoughtful claw. 'Like Puddleby days, ain't it, Doctor? I don't know what you better do. I s'pose the dogs and cats will 'ear of it next and you'll have another bunch of hinvalids waitin' for you tomorrow. P'raps you better disguises yourself and let me give it out that you've left town.'
'No, Cheapside,' said the Doctor. 'That would never do. I must patch these birds up, now I'm here. But I think you had better let it be known that I will see animals patients between seven and ten every morning out at Greenheath. That's what I've had to do in other towns―regular dispensary hours. Now, which is your sister, Alf?'
'That's Maria across there in the corner,' said the gang leader. 'Hey, Maria! Come over 'ere. The Doctor wants you.'
A very dejected little bird, trailing a stiff wing behind her on the ground, shuffled her way through the throng of sparrows and approached the Doctor.
In a moment John Dolittle had his little black bag open, and then his fat but nimble fingers got busy with the tiny wing joints of the patient.
'Yes,' he said, 'it's broken—in the upper bone. But we can mend it. You'll have to wear a cast for a week or two and carry your wing in a sling. Find a dry sheltered spot, a place where cats can't reach you, and keep perfectly still for ten days at least. Have your brother, Alf, bring your meals to you as before. Don't peck this plaster off till I have seen you again. There you are, now! A strip of this handkerchief will make a sling for you—so—round your neck. Now you're all fixed up. Next, please.'
The second patient to come forward was a very woeful sight—a young, inexperienced bird who had been fighting on a new building. In his excitement he had fallen into a paint pot and all his feathers were caked stiff with white lead, making it, of course, impossible for him to fly. The Doctor's task here was to take the paint out of the plumage without injuring the bird's skin.
Then came a bad case of dog bite. A sparrow who lived around a cab rank, feeding on the oats that fell from the nose bags, had been caught off his guard and severely mauled by a fox terrier.
'One of the cab horses moved and trod on the dog's tail just in the nick of time,' said the patient, telling the story of his adventures as the Doctor's swift hands felt for the injured rib. 'If he hadn't 'a done that I'd be a goner for sure. I was half–way down his throat when he gave an awful yelp and coughed me up again. Then I scurried under the cab–man's shelter while he nursed his tail.'
'The horse must have been a friend of yours,' said the Doctor. 'Lucky escape. No serious harm done. Some sprains. You'll be all over it in a week. Next, please!'
The afternoon was more than half gone before the Doctor had attended to all his patients and was able to continue his way to the workhouse.
Reaching that gloomy building at last, he knocked upon the door marked 'Visitors' and was admitted by a porter. He had asked Cheapside and Becky to wait for him outside. He was conducted to a large waiting–room and presently the superintendent appeared and inquired whom it was he wished to see. When he said it was someone in the infirmary the Doctor in charge was brought forward. Not knowing the window–cleaner's name, John Dolittle had to describe him as best he could, and at length he succeeded in making the authorities understand who its was.
'Oh, you mean the man in bed No. 17,' said the doctor in charge. 'Humph! You can't see him. He's very sick.'
'What's the matter with him?' asked John Dolittle.
'Memory gone,' said the other, shaking his heads gravely. 'A very bad case.'
Well, finally, after explaining that he himself was a doctor of medicine, the visitor was told that he might see the sick man, but must not remain with him long.
'He gets so easily excited,' the workhouse doctor explained as he led the way down a long passage and up a flight of stairs. 'We moved him into a private room last week. It's a very mysterious case altogether. He seems to have forgotten even his name. Gets dreadfully worked up when anyone asks him. I'm afraid we have very little hope of his recovery.'
Upstairs they were taken to a small room at the end of another corridor. And by the light of a candle, for it was now growing dark, the Doctor saw a man lying in a bed.
'He seems to be sleeping,' John Dolittle whispered to the doctor in charge. 'Would you please leave me with him till he wakes up?'
'All right,' said the other. 'But don't stay long, and please don't get him excited.'
As soon as the door was closed the Doctor brought Pippinella's cage out of his pocket and stood it on the table beside the bed.
'It's he, Doctor,' whispered the canary. And she chirruped gently with joy. Instantly the man on the bed opened his eyes and tried weakly to sit up. For a moment he stared stupidly at the bird in the cage.
'Pip–Pippin—' he began hesitatingly. 'No, I can't remember. It's all hazy.'
'Pippinella—your canary. Don't you recognize her?' said the Doctor quietly from the chair beside the bed.
The sick man had not realized there was another person in the room. He turned suddenly and glared at the Doctor in a funny, frightened sort of way.
'Who are you? he asked suspiciously.
'My name is Dolittle,' said the Doctor—'John Dolittle. I'm a physician. Don't be afraid of me. I've brought you your canary—Pippinella.'
'I don't know you,' said the window–cleaner in a hoarse gasp. 'This is some plot—a trick. But it's no good now. You can't worm any secrets out of me. I haven't any. Don't even know my own name. Hah! It's a good joke. Everything a blank. Memory gone. And no one can get it back for me. I was so successful keeping my life a secret from the world that now no one can tell me even who I am!'
As the window–cleaner finished speaking he sank back on the bed and closed his eyes.
'Oh, dear!' whispered Pippinella. 'What shall we do, Doctor? What shall we do?'
The Doctor though a moment in silence. Then he leaned forward and touched the patient gently on the shoulder.
'Listen,' he said. 'Please believe that I am your friend. I don't want to trick you into telling me your secrets. I know a great deal of your life already. In fact, I am the only man in the world who does know. You have been very ill. But you are going to get all right again. You are going to get your memory back. Let us see if we can't recall things. You remember the windmill on the hill?'
Very quietly and soothingly John Dolittle then told the window–cleaner the story of his own life which he had learned through his knowledge of bird language from Pippinella. At first the man on the bed listened without a great deal of attention. On and on the Doctor went, telling of the old cathedral town, of Aunt Rosie's house, of the secret writings, of the kidnapping, the escape from the ship, of Ebony Island, the raft, the rescue. Gradually the window–cleaner's haggard face showed interest. At length, when the Doctor was describing his return to the mill and his finding the place deserted, the patient suddenly gave a cry and clutched John Dolittle by the arm.
'Stop!' he cried. 'I remember now. The old windmill—the hole in the floor where I kept my papers. Did you steal them?'
'No,' said the Doctor quietly. 'I have told you I am your friend.'
'But how do you know all this?' cried the other. 'It's all true—every word. It's coming back to me. Tell me what you are?'
'I'm just a doctor,' said John Dolittle—'a doctor who has spent most of his life learning the ways and the speech of animals. Most people think I'm crazy when I tell them that. But it's true. You see the canary on the table there?'
'Yes,' said the window–cleaner. 'That's Pippinella. She was stolen from me when I got back to the mill.'
'Exactly,' said the Doctor. 'Well, it was she who told me the story of your life. If you don't believe me, give me some question now to ask her and I'll show you that I can do as I say.'
The sick man gazed at the Doctor a moment, still with something of suspicion in his eyes.
'Either you are crazy or I am,' he said at last.
'I know,' said the Doctor, smiling. 'That's what everybody says. But give me a question to ask and I'll prove it.'
'Ask her,' said the window–cleaner, 'where I kept the ink.'
And then he chuckled to himself quietly.
The Doctor turned and exchanged a few words with the canary at his elbow.
'She tells me,' said he, facing the bed again, 'that you never used ink at all. You wrote in indelible pencil—everything. Is that right? She says you kept a box of them on the kitchen mantelpiece.'
The window–cleaner's eyes grew wide with wonder.
'It's uncanny,' he murmured—'absolutely uncanny. And yet—what you say must be true. The things you've told me, about the journey back to the mill—and all the rest—there was no one there but her, Pippinella. Funny I always thought she was listening and watching. So you speak her language, eh? It sounds impossible. But it must be true. I—I am sorry if I mistrusted you.'
When the infirmary doctor re–entered the room John Dolittle at once broached the subject of the patient's being moved as soon as possible. This apparently meant a great deal of filling out of papers and signing of documents. The Doctor had to guarantee that he would care for the sick man for a certain length of time. That of course he was quite willing to do. And after a day had been agreed upon for his next visit, he and Pippinella left and set off on their way home.
The canary's joy knew no bounds. She was a different bird. She sang all the way home. The night air was cold; so the Doctor put her little travelling cage in his pocket. But even there, so great was her relief to know that her friend the window–cleaner was safe, she went on warbling away at the top of her voice. And people passing the Doctor in the street were greatly puzzled to know where the sound was coming from.
When the Doctor and Pippinella arrived at Greenheath the whole family gathered about him as soon as he entered the wagon, clamouring for news.
'When is he coming?' cried Gub–Gub.
'Next Thursday,' said the Doctor,' 'if he is well enough to make the journey. I think he will recover more quickly here than at the infirmary. Theodosia, do you think you could fix up a bed in your wagon for Pippinella's friend? He'll need a great deal of rest at first.'
'Certainly, Doctor,' said Theodosia. 'I'll be happy to.'
That night Pippinella entertained the whole company with her gayest songs. She was in splendid voice because the window–cleaner was found and would have gone on all night if Dab–Dab hadn't brought the celebration to an end by reminding them that it was past twelve o'clock and time they were all asleep.