Читать книгу Doctor Dolittle’s Zoo - Hugh Lofting - Страница 8

AS a matter of fact, I did not entirely miss witnessing the Doctor's homecoming. When Matthew and I entered at the kitchen door we found an air of mystery in the house. We had expected, of course, an enormous amount of noise—greetings, questions and so forth. But there wasn't a soul even visible besides the Doctor himself—and Dab-Dab who promptly berated me for taking so long over getting the sausages.

“But where is Gub-Gub?” the Doctor was asking as we came in.

“How on earth should I know, Doctor?” said Dab-Dab. “He'll turn up presently—and the rest of them, no doubt. Have you washed your hands for supper? Please don't leave it to the last moment. The food will be on the table in five minutes. I'll want you to help me, Tommy, with the sausages. By the way, Doctor, we're going to have supper in the dining room.”

“In the dining room!” cried John Dolittle. “What on earth for? Why don't we use the kitchen as usual?”

“Not big enough,” grunted Dab-Dab.

I suspected from an odd look in the house-keeper's eye that there was some surprise in store. And, sure enough, when the dining room door was opened, there it was. The whole crowd of them, Gub-Gub, Too-Too, Swizzle, Toby and the white mouse, all in fancy dress. It was a surprise party given in the Doctor's honor.

The dining room was a funny old stately chamber which the Doctor had closed up years and years ago—in fact, it had not been used since his sister Sarah had left him. But to-night it was gaily decorated with colored papers, ribbons and evergreens. The animals were all in their old pantomime costumes, even the white mouse was wearing a tiny waistcoat and pants in which he used to appear in the famous Dolittle Circus of bygone days.

Now, with the Doctor's appearance at the door, the noise which we had missed began in earnest. Barks, yelps and squeals of greeting broke forth. But there was very little disorderly behavior, for apparently a regular program of entertainment had been arranged. The meal was most elaborate, the table piled high with fruits and dainties of every kind. Between courses each one of the animals who had stayed at home had some performance to give. Gub-Gub recited one of his own food poems, entitled “The Wilted Cauliflower”; Toby and Swizzle gave a boxing match (the stage was the middle of the table) with real boxing gloves tied on their front paws; and the white mouse showed us what he called “The Punchbowl Circus.” This took place in a large glass bowl, and was the most thrilling thing of its kind I have ever seen. The white mouse was ringmaster, and he swaggered about on his hind legs with a tiny top hat on his head made of paper. In his troupe he had a lady bareback rider, a clown and a lion tamer. The rider was another mouse (using a cutlet frill for a ballet skirt), and she rode a squirrel for a horse—the fastest mount I ever saw. The lion tamer was still another mouse, and his lion was a large rat dressed up with strings on his head for a mane.

Taken all in all, the Punchbowl Circus was, I think, the greatest success of the evening. The white mouse had even, in a way, made himself up. With some heavy black grease paint, which Swizzle, the old clown dog of the circus, had lent him from his own private makeup box, he had waxed his whiskers together so that they looked exactly like the long, ferocious mustachios of a regular ringmaster. The lady bareback artist leapt through paper hoops, the mouse clown (also made up with a red and white face), threw somersaults, and the rat lion roared savagely.

"'People don't believe you, so what's the use?'"

“I don't know how on earth you all managed to get the show ready in time,” said the Doctor, tears of laughter running down his cheeks at the antics of the mouse clown. “It's better than anything I ever had in my circus. And you only knew I was coming half an hour before I got here. How did you do it?”

“You'll soon see how it was done if you go upstairs, Doctor,” said Dab-Dab severely. “It was Gub-Gub's idea. They turned the house inside out to get the costumes and the ribbons and they turned the garden upside down to get the evergreens. Tut! Such foolishness! And just when I needed every one of them to help me put the house in proper order against your coming.”

“Oh, well, never mind, Dab-Dab,” said the Doctor, still laughing. “It was worth it. I never enjoyed anything so much in all my life. We can soon get the house straightened out. You have Stubbins and Bumpo and me to help you now, you know.”

“Yes, and I don't know where I'm going to put Bumpo to sleep, either,” said Dab-Dab. “None of the beds we have will fit him.”

“Well, we'll manage,” said the Doctor. “If the worst comes to the worst we can put two mattresses together on the floor.”

“And now, Doctor,” said Gub-Gub, “your part of the performance begins. We want to hear all about your travels since you left here.”

“Yes, yes,” they all cried. “Begin at the beginning.”

“But, good gracious!” cried John Dolittle. “I couldn't tell you our complete diary for three years in one evening!”

“Well, tell us some of it,” squeaked the white mouse; “and keep the rest for to-morrow night.”

So, lighting his pipe, which, with the tobacco jar, Chee-Chee brought down off the mantelpiece, the Doctor began at the beginning—the tale of his travels. It was a wonderful scene—the long dining room table packed all around with listening faces, animal and human. The Doctor's household had never, to my knowledge, been so complete before: Bumpo, Matthew Mugg, myself, Dab-Dab, Gub-Gub, Chee-Chee, Polynesia, Jip, Too-Too, Toby, Swizzle and the white mouse. And then, just as he was about to begin there came a thud at the window, and a voice said:

“Let me in. I want to listen, too.”

It was the old lame horse from the stable. He had heard the noise, and, realizing that the Doctor had arrived at last, had come across to join the party.

Greatly to Dab-Dab's annoyance the double French windows which opened onto the garden were unlatched and the old lame horse invited to join the party. The good housekeeper did insist, however, that I brush his hoofs clean of mud before he was allowed in onto the carpets. It was surprising to see how naturally he took to such unusual surroundings. He passed through the room without upsetting anything and took up a place between the Doctor's chair and the sideboard. He said he wanted to be near the speaker, because his hearing wasn't what it used to be. John Dolittle was overjoyed to see him.

“I was on my way out to your stable to call on you,” he said, “when supper was announced. You know how particular Dab-Dab is. Have you been getting your oats and barley regularly since I've been gone?”

“Yes, thank you,” said the old horse. “Everything's been quite all right—lonely, of course, somewhat, without you and Jip—but all right otherwise.”

Once more the Doctor settled down to begin his story and once more he was interrupted by a tapping at the window.

“Oh, goodness! Who is it now?” wailed Gub-Gub.

I opened the window and three birds fluttered in—Cheapside, with his wife Becky, and the famous Speedy-the-Skimmer.

"Gub-Gub recited one of his food poems"

“Bless my soul!” chirped the Cockney sparrow, flying up onto the table. “If anybody ever broke into this 'ouse 'e'd deserve all 'e could pinch. That's what I say. Me and Becky 'as been pokin' round the doors and windows for hours, lookin' for a way in. Might as well try to get into the Bank of Hengland after closin' time. Well, Doc, 'ere we are! The old firm! Glad to see you back. Me and the missis was just turnin' in up at St. Paul's when we 'eard the pigeons gossipin' below us. There was a rumor, they said, that you'd got back. So I says to Becky, I says, 'Let's take a run down to Puddleby and see.' 'Right you are,' says she. And down we come. Nobody can't never——”

“Oh, be quiet!” Too-Too broke in. “The Doctor is about to tell us of his voyage. We don't want to listen to you all night.”

“All right, Cross-eyes, all right,” said Cheapside, picking up a crumb from the table and talking with his mouth full, “keep your feathers on. 'Ow long 'ave you owned this 'ouse, anyway? Hey, Speedy, come over 'ere where it's warmer.”

The famous swallow, champion speed flyer of Europe, Africa and America, modestly came forward to a warmer place under the branching candlesticks. He had returned to England a little earlier this year than usual, but the warm weather which had tempted him northward had given way to a cold snap. And now in the brighter light near the center of the table we could plainly see that he was shivering.

“Glad to see you, Doctor,” said he quietly. “Excuse us interrupting you like this. Please begin, won't you?”