Part V Chapter 1 Doctor Dolittle's Circus by Hugh Lofting
MR. BELLAMY OF MANCHESTER
By getting a lift on the road in a fast trap that overtook him, John Dolittle reached the circus late that night, instead of early the following morning, as he had expected. And the first thing that Matthew Mugg said to him as he entered the wagon was:
"Blossom told me he wanted to see you as soon as you got in. That toff from Manchester is still with him."
Thereupon the Doctor immediately left his own wagon and set out for that of the ringmaster. Jip asked could he come along, and the Doctor said yes.
The circus was now all packed up ready for departure early to-morrow morning. As John Dolittle approached Blossom's caravan he saw a light in the window. It was very late--after midnight.
Within he found the ringmaster sitting at the little table with the smartly dressed man whom he had seen earlier in the day.
"Good evening, Doctor," said the ringmaster. "This gentleman is Mr. Frederick Bellamy, proprietor and manager of the Manchester Amphitheatre. He has something 'e'd like to say to you."
The Doctor shook hands with Mr. Bellamy, who at once leant back in his chair, put his thumbs in the armholes of his white waistcoat and began:
"I have delayed my return to Manchester, Doctor Dolittle--in spite of urgent and pressing business--in order to discuss with you an engagement which I had offered to Mr. Blossom this afternoon. I witnessed your act with the Talking Horse and was greatly interested in it. Mr. Blossom tells me that he tried to get you to consent to take part in his show's performance in my theatre, but that you refused--took the horse away to put him grazing."
The Doctor nodded, and Mr. Bellamy went on:
"I then supposed that the deal was off, because--I don't mind telling you--without your turn I would not be interested in this circus. But Mr. Blossom has persuaded me to remain and talk with you myself. He assured me that the intelligence of the performance was not in that particular horse, but in your own unusual powers with animals--that you could give as good a show with any horse. He tells me, though I confess I can hardly believe it, that you can actually communicate with animals in their own language. Is that so?"
"Well," said the Doctor, looking uncomfortable, "I'm sorry that Mr. Blossom told you this. I don't claim it, or talk of it, myself, because I find that people don't usually believe me. But,--yes, it is true. With most animals I can converse freely."
"Indeed," said Mr. Bellamy. "Most extraordinary! That being the case, we had thought that perhaps you would be willing to do us an act with some other animal, or animals, in place of the horse that you have just taken away. My idea is to make it something more elaborate--to have it form the bigger, more important part of Mr. Blossom's show. It is something quite new, this gift of yours. And, properly put on, it ought to make a great sensation. Of course, you understand, it would be well paid for--very, I might say. Would you consider it?"
"I haven't any other turn worked out at the moment," said the Doctor. "I am somewhat new to this business. My idea of shows with animals is that they must always be done with the consent and willing cooperation of the animals themselves."
"Oh, quite, quite," said Mr. Bellamy. "It is very late now. Suppose you think it over until to-morrow. I cannot catch the coach to-night. And if you consider it, let me know in the morning, eh?"
As the Doctor made his way back to his own wagon, Jip who had listened to the conversation with great interest, trotted by his side.
"Doctor," said he, "this seems to me a grand chance for us to do our play--just your own family--me, Too-Too, Gub-Gub, Toby, Swizzle, and perhaps the white mouse. You know, you said you would let us try it some time--'The Animals' Theatre.' You write a comic play for us--Gub-Gub's is no good--sort of vegetable knockabout. You write a play of your own--for animals--something high class. And we'll act it. I'm sure it will make a great sensation in Manchester. It's a big city. And we'll have a real intelligence audience."
In spite of the lateness of the hour, John Dolittle found, when he went back to his own wagon, that all his pets were sitting up waiting to see him and to hear the story of his day's doings.
Jip immediately told them of the interview with the Manchester manager and his own idea of providing an act by getting up an animal play. This was greeted with tremendous enthusiasm and applause from everyone, down to the white mouse.
"Hooray!" gurgled Gub-Gub. "At last I'm to be an actor. And, just think, I shall make my first appearance in Manchester!"
"Don't go so fast," said the Doctor. "We don't know yet that there will be a play. It may not be possible. It doesn't follow because a play amuses you that it will amuse your audience."
Then began a heated argument among the animals about plots for plays--about what kind of things amused people.
"Let's do Cinderella," cried the white mouse. "Everybody knows that, and then I can be one of the mice that the witch turned into footmen."
"Let's do Little Red Riding Hood," said Swizzle. "Then I can play the wolf."
The discussion became so general and interested that the Doctor thought this would be a good time to break the news to Dab-Dab that he had spent the twenty-six pounds.
This he did. And the evening was spoilt for the housekeeper.
"Doctor, Doctor!" she sighed, shaking her head. "What shall I do with you? You're not to be trusted with money--really, you're not. Oh, dear, we'll never get back to Puddleby, I suppose."
But the others, wrapped up in their new interest, brushed the matter aside as though it were nothing.
"Oh," said Gub-Gub, airily, "we'll soon make some more. What is money? Poof! Look here, Doctor, why don't we do Beauty and the Beast? Then I can act the part of the Beauty."
"Great heavens!" cried Jip. "What an idea! No; listen, Doctor: you write the play yourself--because you know what will interest people."
"Why don't you let the Doctor go to bed?" asked the Dab-Dab angrily. "He has had a long day. And it's time you were all asleep yourselves."
"My gracious!" said the Doctor, looking at his watch. "Do you know what time it is? It is two o'clock in the morning . . . . Go to bed, all of you."
"Oh, we're traveling to-morrow, Doctor," said Gub-Gub. "It doesn't matter what time we get up. Let us stay a little longer. We have to settle on what play we are going to give."
"No, you don't," said Dab-Dab--"not to-night. The Doctor's tired."
"No, I'm not tired," said John Dolittle.
"Well, it's bad for them to stay up late. There's nothing like early bed as a habit."
"Yes, I suppose so," said the Doctor. "But myself, I don't like getting into habits, you know."
"Well, I do," said Dab-Dab--"when they're good ones. I like regular people."
"Do you, Dab-Dab? That's why you're such an excellent housekeeper. There are two kinds of people: those who like habits and those who don't. They both have their good qualities."
"You know, Doctor," Gub-Gub put in, "me--I always divide people into the pickle-eaters and the plain feeders--those who like chutneys and sauces on their food and those who like everything plain."
"It's the same idea, Gub-Gub," the Doctor laughed. "Those that like change in their lives and those that like sameness. Your chutney-eaters are the change-lovers and your plain-fooders are the er--housekeepers. Myself, I hope to grow more adaptable as I grow older."
"What's adaptable, Doctor?" asked Gub-Gub.
"It would take too long to explain now. Go to bed. We'll talk about the play in the morning."