Part II Chapter 13 Doctor Dolittle's Return by Hugh Lofting
IN THE DOCTOR'S CELL
But in spite of all there was to do, the old place was not the same without John Dolittle. I missed him terribly—so did the animals. The chats around the kitchen fire after supper were not the same. Somebody would start a story and we would all begin by listening attentively. Yet sooner or later the interest would wear off, the thoughts of the listeners would stray away and we would end by talking about the Doctor and wondering how he was getting on.
Dab-Dab, Too-Too, Jip and Chee-Chee—although they missed him as keenly as any—did not seem to worry about him so much. They were old and experienced friends of John Dolittle. They felt that he could take care of himself and would send us news of how he was getting on as soon as it was convenient for him to do so. But Gub-Gub and the white mouse began to get very upset as day after day went by and no news came from Goresby-St. Clements. They took me aside one morning when I was attending to the moon plants. (Polynesia was with me at the time.) They both looked very serious.
"Tell me, Tommy," said Gub-Gub, "when are you planning to visit the Doctor?"
"Oh," said I, "I hadn't set any exact date. But he especially asked me to leave him alone for a good while. He's afraid that the police may find out that he got in jail on purpose. He wants to get sort of settled down before he has any visitors."
"Settled down!" cried the white mouse. "That sounds as though he might be there a terribly long time."
"We don't even know," said Gub-Gub with a very worried look, "how long they sent him to prison for. Maybe they sent him to jail for life!"
"Oh, no, Gub-Gub," I said, laughing. "They don't send people to prison for life—except for terribly serious crimes."
"But we haven't heard" squeaked the white mouse. "Maybe he did do something serious. He wasn't very successful with the window-breaking business. Perhaps he got desperate and killed a policeman—or a judge—just by accident I mean. Who knows?"
"No, no," I said, "that's not at all likely. If he got a sentence of a month in jail, that would be the most. And he would consider himself lucky to get that."
"But we don't know, Tommy, do we?" said the white mouse. "This—er—uncertainty is very wearing. We've heard nothing since he left. I can hardly sleep worrying about it, and ordinarily I'm a very good sleeper—at least I was until you brought that terrible cat into the house. But I do wish we had some word of how he is."
"What is he getting to eat?" asked Gub-Gub.
"I've no idea," I said, "but enough, anyhow, I'm sure."
"When we were thrown into jail by the King of the Jolliginki in Africa," said Gub-Gub, "we weren't given anything to eat at all!"
"Fiddlesticks!" snorted Polynesia, who was sitting on a tree near by. "We got put in prison after lunch and we escaped again before supper-time. What do you expect in jail—four meals a day?"
"Well, we didn't get anything to eat while we were in prison," said Whitey. "Gub-Gub's right. I was there too and I know. Something should be done about the Doctor. I'm worried."
"Oh, mind your own business!" said Polynesia.
"The Doctor will take care of himself. You're a fuss-budget."
"A which budget?" asked the white mouse.
"A fuss-budget," squawked the parrot. "Mind your own business."
As a matter of fact I was beginning to be a little bit disturbed about the Doctor myself. Although he had told me he would "be all right" I was anxious to hear how he was getting on. But that same afternoon Cheapside, the London sparrow, came to pay a visit. He was of course very interested to hear what had happened to his friend. When I told him that the Doctor had gone to jail to write a book he chuckled with delight.
"Well, if that ain't like 'im!" said he—"Jail!"
"Listen, Cheapside," said I, "if you're not busy perhaps you'd fly over to Goresby and see what you can find out."
"You bet," said Cheapside. "I'll go over right away."
The sparrow disappeared without another word.
He was back again about tea-time—as was usual with him. And I was mighty glad to see him. I took him into the study where we could talk privately. He had seen the Doctor, he told me—got through the bars of his prison window and had a long chat with him.
"How did he look, Cheapside?" I asked eagerly.
"Oh, pretty good," said the sparrow. "You know John Dolittle—'e always keeps up. But 'e said 'e'd like ter see yer, Tommy. 'E wants some more of his notes. And 'e's used up all the pencils 'e took with 'im. 'Tell Stubbins,' 'e said, 'there ain't no special 'urry but I would like to see 'im. Ask 'im to come over about the end of the week—say Sunday.'"
"How is he otherwise?" I asked. "Is he getting enough to eat and all that?"
"Well," said Cheapside, "I can't say as 'ow 'is board and lodgin' is any too elegant. 'E 'ad a kind of thing to sleep on—sort of a cot, you'd call it, I suppose. But it looked to me more like an ironin' board. Grub? Well, there again, o' course 'e didn't complain. 'E wouldn't. You know John Dolittle—the really important things o' life never did seem to hinterest 'im. I 'ad a peek in the bowl what was left from 'is supper. And it looked to me like it was 'ash."
"Hash?" I asked.
"Yus, 'ash," said Cheapside—"or maybe oatmeal gruel, I wouldn't be sure which. But it wouldn't make no difference to the Doctor. 'E'd eat what was given 'im and ask no questions. You know 'ow 'e is!"
At this moment I heard a scuttling among the book-shelves.
"What was that noise, Cheapside?" I asked.
"Sounded to me like a mouse," said he.
It was hard for me to wait until the end of the week. But I did not want to visit the Doctor earlier than he had asked me to; so in spite of the animals clamouring at me to go right away, I had to contain my soul in patience.
Starting out early on Sunday morning I reached Goresby jail about eleven o'clock. I noticed as I entered the building that many labourers were digging at the side of one wall, as if they were at work on the foundations.
Inside, a policeman booked my name at the desk and made out a pass for me as a visitor. As he gave it to me he said,
"Young man, I think you're maybe just in time."
"Pardon me," I said—"just in time? I don't quite understand."
"The superintendent," he said. "He's awful mad. He wants to have the prisoner Dolittle removed."
I was about to ask him why the superintendent wished to get rid of the Doctor. But at that moment another policeman led me away to my friend's cell.
It was a strange room. The high walls were made of stone. There was a window near the ceiling. Seated on the bed which was littered with papers John Dolittle was writing fast and furiously. He was so taken up with his work that he did not seem even to notice our coming in. The policeman went out again right away and, locking the door behind him, left us together.
Still the Doctor did not look up. It was only when I started to make my way across to where he sat that I noticed the condition of the floor. It was paved with cobblestones—or rather, I should say, it had been. Now it looked like a street which had been taken up by workmen. The whole floor was broken into big holes and all the cobblestones lay around higgledy-piggledy. Littered among these were scraps of food, pieces of cheese, hunks of bread, radishes—even chop-bones, looking the worse for wear.
"Why, Doctor," I asked, touching him gently on the shoulder, "what's happened here?"
"Oh, hulloa, Stubbins," said he. "Well, I hardly know—er—that is, not exactly. You see I've been so busy. But it seems that I'm going to have to leave very soon."
"Why, Doctor?" I asked—"Why? What has happened?"
"Well," said he, "everything went fine until three days ago. I had done my best. I broke all the windows in the front of the police-station. I was arrested at once. They gave me a sentence of thirty days in jail, and I thought everything was all right. I set to work on the book and I got a good deal done. Everything was going splendidly. And then, Wednesday—I believe it was Wednesday—a mouse came in and visited me. Yes, I know you'd think it was impossible, with all these stone walls. But he got in somehow. Then more came, rats too. They seemed to burrow under the corners, everywhere. They brought me food. They said they had come to set me free."
"But how did they know you were here?" I cried. "It has been kept a dead secret."
"I've no idea," he said. "I asked them, but they wouldn't tell me. Then after the mice had fetched up a lot of rats, the rats went off and fetched a whole lot of badgers. They brought me food, too—all sorts of stuff. Apparently they did not think I was getting enough to eat. The badgers began digging a tunnel under the prison wall to let me out by. I begged them to leave the place alone, but they wouldn't listen. Their minds were made up that it wasn't good for me to stay in jail. And there you are.... Sit down, Stubbins, sit down!"
I moved some of the papers aside on the bed and made room for myself.
"When the police discovered what a mess had been made," he went on, "they moved me into another cell, this one here. But the same thing happened again. The rats and badgers came tunnelling in at night under the walls."
"But, Doctor," said I, "outside, as I came in, they told me something about the superintendent. What does it mean?"
"It means, I fear," he said, "that I'm going to get put out of the prison altogether. After all my work in getting in here! And my book isn't one-quarter done yet!"
As the Doctor finished speaking we heard the rattling of a key in the lock. Two policemen entered. One I could see from his uniform was a superior officer of some kind. He held a paper in his hand.
"John Dolittle," he said, "I have here an order for your release."
"But, Superintendent," said the Doctor, "I was sentenced to thirty days. I've hardly been here half that time."
"I can't help it," said the superintendent. "The whole building is falling down. A new crack has just shown up in the guardroom wall—all the way from floor to ceiling. We've called the architect in and he says the whole jail is going to be wrecked if something isn't done. So we've got a special order from the court withdrawing the charge against you."
"But look here," said the Doctor, "you must admit I was a very well-behaved prisoner. All this disturbance was not my fault."
"I don't know anything about that," said the superintendent. "Whether these were your own trained circus animals that did the mischief is not the point. I've been in charge here for seven years now and nothing like this ever happened before. We've got to save the jail. The charge is withdrawn and out you've got to go."
"Dear, dear!" sighed the Doctor, "and just when I was getting so comfortably settled and everything. I don't know what I'll do now, really I don't."
He looked again at the superintendent as if he hoped he might relent and change his mind. But all that gentleman said was,
"Get your things packed up now. We've got to let the workmen in here to relay this floor."
Miserably the Doctor put his papers together and I helped him pack them into the satchel. When we were ready the police once again showed us, very politely, to the door and freedom.