Part II Chapter 8 Doctor Dolittle's Return by Hugh Lofting
HOW TO GET INTO JAIL?
Of course as time went on the Doctor became more and more anxious to get at his notes and the writing of his book about the moon. One evening, after all our work for the day had been attended to, we were sitting in the kitchen. Matthew Mugg, the Cats'-meat-Man, was with us. It was nearly midnight and I had packed all the animals off to bed because both John Dolittle and myself were pretty tired.
The Doctor was filling his pipe from the big tobacco-jar; and when he got it lighted and going well he said to me,
"You know, Stubbins, I can't see how I'll ever get that book started, as things are going at present."
"Yes, Doctor," I said, "I know what you mean."
"It isn't that I begrudge the time I give to the animals here, you understand," he went on. "It's just that there are only twenty-four hours to the day. And no matter how I try to arrange it, I don't—I simply don't—seem to find any time for writing. You see, I always feel that these animals that call upon me with their troubles, well, that is a living, an immediate, thing. The book should be able to wait. Maybe nobody will take any notice of it, anyway, when it comes out. But I do want to get it written. I hope it's going to be a very important work."
"You ought to go away somewhere, Doctor," said the Cats'-meat-Man—"so you could 'ave peace and quiet. From what Tommy tells me, you ain't likely to get none 'ere."
"That's an idea," cried John Dolittle. "To go away-But where?"
"Take a seaside 'oliday, Doctor," said Matthew. "Go down to Margate.—Lovely place! I got a cousin down there in the lobster-fishin' business. Nobody would bother you in Margate. It's far enough off from Puddleby so not even the animals 'ereabouts would know where you'd gone."
The Doctor frowned slightly as he looked into the bowl of his pipe.
"Yes," he said, "but you see, Matthew, there's always that wretched question of money. Where can a man go without money?"
Matthew drummed a moment on the table with his fingers.
"Now, Doctor," he said presently, "the main thing you're lookin' for is peace and quiet, ain't it?"
"That's it," said John Dolittle. "A place where I can write my book undisturbed."
"Well," said Matthew. "There's only one place I know where a man can get all the peace and quiet 'e wants and it don't cost 'im nothin'."
"Where's that?" asked the Doctor.
"In jail," said Matthew.
"Oh," said the Doctor, a little surprised. "Ah, yes, I see. I hadn't thought of that. Yet—er—after all, it is an idea. Quite an idea. But tell me—er—how does one go about getting into jail?"
"That's a fine thing for you to be askin' me, John Dolittle! My trouble wasn't never 'ow to get into jail; it was always 'ow to stay out of it."
Both the Doctor and I knew Matthew's occasional troubles with the police. His great weakness was poaching, that is, snaring rabbits and pheasants on other people's property. Nothing on earth could ever persuade him this was wrong. And whenever he was missing and suddenly turned up again after several weeks' absence the Doctor never asked him where he had been. For he guessed he most likely had had one of his "little run-ins with the police" as he called them. But to-night neither of us could keep from laughing outright.
"Now listen," said Matthew, leaning forward, "let's go into committee on this. First thing we got to decide is which jail we got to get you into, see? There's lots o' difference in 'em. I wouldn't recommend you Puddleby jail. No—too draughty. I got an awful nooralgy in me face last time I was there. Well, then, there's Oxenthorpe jail. No—come to think of it—I wouldn't pick that one neither. It's a nice jail, you understand. But the old Justice of the Peace what sits on the bench up there is a snooty old bloke and 'e's liable to give you 'ard."
"Hard?" said the Doctor. "I don't quite understand."
"'Ard labour," said Matthew. "You know, work. You 'ave to work all the time you're in there—makin' ropes and that kind o' thing. You wouldn't want that. You want peace and quiet so you can write a book. No, Oxenthorpe is out. But then there's Gilesborough. Ah, now that's the place you—"
"But excuse me," the Doctor put in. "One has to do something to get into jail, doesn't one? I mean, you must commit some sort of an offence, break the law. What?"
"Oh, that's easy, Doctor," said the Cats'-meat-Man. "Listen, all you got to do is go up to a policeman and push 'im in the face. You'll get into jail all right."
"But, my dear Matthew," cried the Doctor, "how can I possibly go up to a policeman, a perfect stranger, a man who never did me any harm, and—er—push him in the face?"
"Doctor," said Matthew, "don't let your conscience worry you none. It's a worthy deed—a werry worthy deed—that's what it is. All policemen had oughter be pushed in the face. Look, if you don't think you can do it, I'll come and 'elp yer!"
"Er—er—well, now wait a minute," said the Doctor. "I'm not what's called conventional, as you know, Matthew. In fact, I too have been in prison. I was thrown into a dungeon in Africa by Prince Bumpo's father, the King of the Jolliginki. But I didn't have to do anything for that. The King just didn't like white men. And I can't say that I blame him—seeing what his experience with them had been. But, to come back: I think that your idea sounds good in many ways. A prison, with high stone walls, should be a splendid place to write."
"The grub's rotten—that's the only thing," said Matthew, reaching for the tobacco-jar.
"Well, that won't bother me," said John Dolittle. "I'm eating as little as possible now, you know, on account of my weight. But the way to get into jail is the thing that may prove difficult. Listen, Matthew: don't you think I could do something less violent? I mean, instead of pushing a policeman's face, couldn't I just—er—break a window or something?"
"Oh, positively," said Matthew. "There's lots of ways of getting into jail. But, you see, just for bustin' a window you'd only get a sentence of a few days. 'Ow long was you thinkin' you'd want to stay?"
"Er—I don't just know, Matthew," said the Doctor. "But certainly until I get most of my book finished."
"Well," said the Cats'-meat-Man, "there's no need to worry about that yet a while. If the judge only gives you fourteen days and you want to stay longer, all you got to do is tear up your bed or something like that. Or, if they puts you out, you can just break another window and come right back in again, see? That part's easy. Now I got to be goin'. Theodosia always gets kind of fussy if I'm out late at night. But you think it over, Doctor. If you wants peace and quiet there's no place like a prison cell. But when you starts your window-breakin' you better let me come and 'elp you—No, don't thank me, Doctor, it'll be a pleasure, I assure you! 'Twould never do to 'ave no bunglin'. The job's got to be done right. Yer might get into trouble! And choose Gilesborough. Trust me. It's a nice jail. Good night!"