Part II Chapter 9 Doctor Dolittle's Return by Hugh Lofting
GILESBOROUGH
After Matthew had left, the Doctor and I sat on chatting for a while longer. It was quite plain, as John Dolittle talked, that he was becoming more and more taken up with the idea of jail as his one best place to go for finishing his book. The work at his house interested him no end; but there was clearly no possible chance of his getting at his writing while he stayed at home. He felt that this book was a greater thing than he had done, or ever would do. At the same time he hated to leave his patients. He put these matters before me now for consideration; and I was very flattered that he wanted my opinion.
"Well, Doctor," I said, "it seems to me that it is a question of which is the most important, the book or the patients."
"Quite so, Stubbins," said he. "That's just it. And it's hard for me to make up my mind. You see, as I told you, so many of these sick animals have come to rely on me—and me alone—to help them in their troubles."
"Yes, but just the same," I said, "how did they get along while you were away before? I can't see why you feel you must take care of everybody and everything in the world, Doctor. That's more than any one could do. It won't take you for ever to write your book. Why can't the patients manage without your help for that length of time, the same as they did while you were away in the moon?"
He shrugged his shoulders but did not answer.
The next day I talked the matter over with Dab-Dab.
"Tommy," said she, "that man Matthew Mugg is a scallywag, but he's got brains. Jail may not be the pleasantest place in the world. But don't you see what's going to happen if John Dolittle doesn't go away somewhere?"
"What?" I asked.
"He'll try and do both things," said Dab-Dab. "He'll try to look after all these blessed animals—many of them aren't really sick, you know, they just want to get a look at the great man and then go back and brag about it to their friends—and he'll try to write the book. Both at the same time. He'll get ill from overwork. No, the more I think of it, the surer I feel. Matthew's right. The place for John Dolittle is jail. He'll be safe there."
Well, it was towards the end of that week that the Doctor came to a decision. We had a very long line of patients calling on him—worse than usual. The cases were not serious ones, but they kept him on the go from the time he got out of bed till the time he went back to it—long after midnight. To make matters worse still, four new dogs arrived who wished to become members of the "Home." And the same afternoon Whitey discovered two new families of wild mice who said they'd like to join the Rat and Mouse Club. When I went with the Doctor up to his bedroom that night he was all worn out.
"Stubbins," he said, as he sank into a chair, "it's no use my staying here any longer. I've just got to go away."
"Yes, Doctor," I said, "I think you're right."
"To-morrow, Stubbins," said he, "we'll go over to Gilesborough. You get hold of Matthew for me. I am a little bit afraid of what he may do. But, on the other hand, I am not—er—as experienced as he is in these matters. So I think it would be a good idea if we had him with us, don't you?"
"Yes," I said, "I do."
"Anyway," he went on, "call me early, won't you? We must get those notes arranged. I fancy one is not allowed to take much baggage when one goes to jail. We'll have to copy the notes out on to ordinary paper, you know—much less bulky than those palm-leaf sheets I brought down from the moon."
"Very good," said I. "We can manage that all right. Now get some sleep, Doctor. It's a quarter to one."
I was down very early the next morning; and, thinking I'was up ahead of everybody, I was tiptoeing through the house on my way out to visit Matthew when I found the whole family sitting at breakfast round the kitchen-table.
"Well, Dab-Dab," I said, "he's going!"
"Who's going?" asked Gub-Gub.
"The Doctor," I said.
"Where is he going?" asked the white mouse.
"To jail," I answered.
"Why is he going?" asked Jip.
"Because he has to," said I, as patiently as I could.
"When is he going?" asked Too-Too.
"As soon as he can," I said.
It was the usual bombardment of questions that I got regularly whenever I broke any news of the Doctor.
"Now look here," said Dab-Dab, addressing the rest of them. "Stop bothering Tommy with your chatter. The Doctor has decided to go to jail so he can be free."
"Free—in jail!" cried the white mouse.
"Just that," said Dab-Dab. "He needs quiet. And you must all understand that where he is going is to be kept a secret."
"Dear me!" sighed the white mouse. "We always seem to be having to keep secrets round here."
"Well, there's to be no seeming about this," snorted Dab-Dab. "No one is to know where John Dolittle is going. Is that clear to all of you? For a while the Doctor has just got to disappear from the world—the world of animals as well as of people. All of us must see to it that no one, absolutely no one, gets to hear of where he has gone."
After a glass of milk I hurried away to see Matthew. The Cats'-meat-Man agreed to meet us, the Doctor and myself, in Gilesborough that afternoon.
On my return I got the notes arranged as the Doctor wanted. We did not plan to take them all with us at once. We felt sure I could bring him more later, as he needed them. And so it was only with a satchel for baggage that we set out together to walk to Gilesborough—a distance of some seven miles from Puddleby.
I must confess that I had to smile to myself as we set off. John Dolittle, the great traveller who had undertaken such adventurous voyages, was starting off on the strangest journey of all: to go to jail! And for the first time in his life he was worried that he might not get there.
Gilesborough was quite a place—in many ways more important than Puddleby. It was a Saxon town, the centre of a "hundred," as it was called in the old days. Its square-towered little church sat up among its surrounding oak-trees and could be seen from a long way off. What is more, it was a market-town. Every Friday fine cattle were driven in—Jersey cows, sheep, and Berkshire pigs—by the farmers of the neighbourhood. And then once a year, just before Michaelmas, there was the Goose Fair. This was attended by visitors for many miles around and was a county-wide affair of great importance.
I had visited the town before; and I had enjoyed seeing those jolly farmers with their apple-cheeked wives gathering in the White Hart Inn or the Fitz-Hugh Arms Hotel to talk over the fine points of the sheep shown in the market pens, or neighbours' calves sold at new high prices. They always had splendid horses for their gigs, these men, in which they drove to town—even if the gigs were in sad need of repairs, painting and washing. Taken all in all, Gilesborough was one of the spots of Old England anyone would love to visit.
The Doctor and I arrived there on a late Friday afternoon. The market was over and the farmers had retired to take their last mug of cider at the taverns before going home. We found the Cats'meat-Man at our meeting-place, waiting for us.
"Now look here, Matthew," said the Doctor, "about this window-breaking business: you understand I wouldn't want to break the windows of any poor people—those who couldn't afford it, you know."
"A worthy thought," said Matthew, "a werry worthy thought. I take it you'd like better to break the windows of the wealthy. So would I. Well, 'ow about the bank—the Gilesborough Investment Corporation? They've got lots of money and they'd be sure to prosecute, too, mind yer. That's important. They just loves to prosecute people. Yes, Doctor, that's the idea. Let's bust the bank's winders. They're made of plate glass—lovely! They'll be closed to customers now, but the clerks and cashiers will still be there. We'll go and take a whack at the bank—helegant! Now, let me see—where are some good stones? Yes—'ere we are! You take a couple in your pockets and I'll take a few too. Wouldn't never do to 'ave no bunglin'!"
Matthew picked up a handful of large pebbles from the roadway. He handed some to the Doctor and put some more in his own pockets.
"Now," said he, "we just go and stroll down the street—saunterin' like. Then when we gets in front of the bank we—"
"Just a minute," said the Doctor. "Are you going to throw the stone to break the window, or am I?"
"It just depends, Doctor," said Matthew, "on how much of a crowd we finds in front of the bank and the distribution of the population, as you might say, see?"
"No, I can't say that I see—quite," said the Doctor.
"Well," said the Cats'-meat-Man, "you got to use judgment in these things—tactics, yer know. You might find a whole lot of people in between you and the bank front, and you wouldn't be able to let fly proper, while me—I might see a chance when you wouldn't, see? It won't do to 'ave no bunglin'! You take your cue from me, Doctor. I'll get you into jail all right!"
Matthew went ahead of us a little. The Doctor, with me following behind, was clearly worried.
"I don't quite like this, Stubbins," he whispered. "But I suppose Matthew knows what he's doing."
"I hope so, Doctor," I said.
We arrived in front of the bank. It was in a wide square known as the Bargate. Many people were on the pavements. The Doctor was craning his neck here and there, dodging about, trying to see over their heads. Suddenly there was a crash, followed by the noise of falling glass.
"It sounds to me," said the Doctor, "as though Matthew has been helping us."
Before I had time to answer him I heard cries from the people around us: "Stop him! Stop thief!—He tried to break into the bank—Stop him! Catch him!"
"Dear me!" said the Doctor. "Is it Matthew they're after?"
We saw a scuffle going on ahead of us.
"Yes—yes!" cried the Doctor. "That's he. Matthew's broken the bank window. Follow me, Stubbins."
We shouldered our way into the crowd that was now gathering thick and fast. In the centre of it, sure enough, we found Matthew struggling in the grasp of a policeman.
"Pardon me," said the Doctor politely, touching the policeman on the shoulder, "but it was I who threw the stone—er—thereby breaking the window."
"I might believe you, sir," said the policeman—"being as how you looks an honest gent. But I seen him with my own eyes. Took a stone out of his pocket—with me right behind him, and threw it through the bank's front window. Besides, I know this cove. He's a poacher over from Puddleby way. A bad lot, he is. Come along o' me, young feller. And it's my duty to warn you that anything you say may be held agin you in court!"
And poor Matthew was marched away towards the jail.
"But, Constable," said the Doctor to the policeman, "you must listen to me. I—"
"Never mind," whispered Matthew. "Don't you come to the court, Doctor. You don't want to be known there—not yet. No cause to worry about me. I'll be out of that jail almost afore they puts me in there. I know all the locks, see.... Yes, I'm a-comin', old funny-face. Stop pullin'—Gimme a chance to talk to me friend before I goes to the scaffold, can't yer? I'm surprised at you!" (Matthew dropped his voice to a whisper again.) "I'll be seem' yer, Doctor. Just a little mistake, see? If at first yer don't succeed, try, try—yer know the old sayin'. Better wait till I can 'elp yer. Wouldn't do to 'ave no bunglin', you know. I'll get yer into jail all right, never fear!"