Читать книгу Doctor Dolittle's Return - Hugh Lofting - Страница 6

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The Cats'-meat-Man was quite successful. Obadiah Simpson, the butcher, was only too glad to hear of some one who would do his bookkeeping for him without telling anybody about it. Matthew Mugg brought me two large brand-new ledgers, as they were called, heavy, red-bound, blank books with OBADIAH SIMPSON & SONS—BUTCHERS: PUDDLEBY-ON-THE-MARSH stamped in gold on their covers. With these, twice every week, he brought also an envelope full of greasy slips of paper on which were written the butcher's sales of meat to his customers. The writing was awful and very hard to make out. Most of the customers' names were spelled wrong—often many different ways in one batch of bills. But after I had asked Matthew to get the proper spelling of the names for me I entered up each customer in the big elegant red books. I used a bold round handwriting, very elegant, I thought. It was in fact a boyish copy of Doctor Dolittle's. But anyhow, alongside of poor Simpson's dreadful-looking pothooks of letters and figures it did look very clear, grown-up and business-like.

The butcher was delighted with my work. I learned afterwards that he told his family that the bookkeeping and the bold round handwriting were his own and that he had taken a special course in mathematics from a professor!

He paid me three shillings and sixpence a week. It does not sound much, I know. But in those days money went a great deal further than it does now. By economizing I was able to buy the things I needed for the house and the animals and I even managed to save a little out of it for a rainy day. And it was a good thing, too, that I did, as I will explain later on.

Spring was now turning into Summer and the days were getting long again. One late afternoon we were sitting down to tea, and although daylight still lasted, a beautiful, pale full moon hung in the sky. The animals were gathered around the table in the kitchen.

"Who is on duty watching the moon to-night, Tommy?" asked Jip, looking up at the sky through the window.

"Too-Too," I said. "He will be there till midnight, then I will go up, Jip."

"Listen, Tommy," said the dog, "I see some cloud banks over in the West there. What will happen if the clouds spread over the moon just at the moment when the Doctor wants to set off the smoke signals?"

"You can see the earth from the moon just as plainly as you can see the moon from here," I said, "only the earth looks much larger. You remember I told you the earthlight on the moon was much stronger than the moonlight is on the earth. If the Doctor sees clouds around the side of the earth that is facing towards the moon he will put off signalling till they clear away."

"Yes, but suppose," said Jip, "that he is trying to get away secretly, without letting the Moon Man know; he might miss a chance that way which he would never get again."

"I am afraid, Jip," I answered, "that getting off the moon without Otho Bludge knowing it would be impossible for the Doctor—or anybody else."

"It doesn't seem to me," squeaked the white mouse,"—from what Tommy has told us about that horrid old Moon Man—that John Dolittle will stand any chance at all of leaving without his permission and his help. Isn't that so, Tommy?"

"Er—yes, I'm afraid it is, pretty much," I answered. "You see, gathering together enough of that special wood I told you about is a big job. To make a smoke explosion big enough to be seen from here you need to have a regular mountain of the stuff."

"Is there any other way for him to get down," asked Jip, "except by using the giant moth who took you both up there?"

"Well, Jip," I said, "that's the only means that I know he could use. Still, you must remember, that I was only on the moon for a short time. And although we went part way into the further side of the moon—the side you never see from here—we had not explored it all when I left, by any means. The Doctor may have discovered new animals since—flying insects and birds, you know—which I never saw. He might get help from them."

"But look here," said Gub-Gub, "didn't you say that all the creatures and plants on the moon obeyed the orders of Otho Bludge because he was President of the Council? Well, how could they help—"

"Oh, do be quiet!" snapped Dab-Dab. "Enough of your everlasting questions. The Doctor will get down in his own time and his own way."

I was glad of the old housekeeper's interruption. For months now I had had to answer a never-ending stream of inquiries about the Doctor and his chances of getting off the moon. With her clever motherly sense, Dab-Dab had seen that my heart was sinking lower and lower as the months went by, while I still tried to keep up a cheerful front. Yet no one was more uneasy about the Doctor's safety—though she did not show it—than Dab-Dab herself. I had found her more than once of late secretly dusting his room, brushing his clothes and putting his shaving things in order with tears in her eyes. She confessed to me, years afterwards, that she had given up all hope of seeing her dear old friend again when the tenth month had passed.

"Yes, but what I don't understand," said the white mouse, "is how the—"

"There are a lot of things you don't understand," Dab-Dab put in. "Who wants a piece of hot toast?"

"I do," said Gub-Gub.

I took a large plate full of toast from the hearth and set it on the table. And for a while we all munched away and drank tea in silence.

"What are you thinking about, Gub-Gub?" asked the white mouse presently.

"I was thinking of the kitchen garden of Eden—if you must know," grunted Gub-Gub with his mouth full.

"The kitchen garden of Eden! Tee, hee, hee!" tittered the white mouse. "What an idea!"

"Well, they had apples in the garden of Eden, didn't they?" said Gub-Gub. "And if they had orchards they must have had a kitchen garden. I do wish the Bible had said more about it. I could have used it very nicely in my Encyclopedia of Food."

"'Well, they had apples in the garden of Eden, didn't they?' said Gub-Gub"

"What would you have called it?" tittered the white mouse. "'Chapter on Biblical Eating'?"

"I don't know," said Gub-Gub seriously. "But listen: I did know a biblical family once."

"You did!" cried the white mouse. "A biblical family!"

"Certainly," said Gub-Gub. "Very biblical. They all wore bibs—the children, the parents, and even the grandfather. But I do wish I knew what Adam and Eve ate besides apples."

"Oh, well, why bother?" sighed Jip. "Just make it up out of your fat head as you go along. Who will know the difference? Nobody was ever there."

"Why not call it 'Heavenly Vegetables'?" said the white mouse, carefully brushing the toast crumbs out of his silky whiskers.

"Yes, I was thinking of that," said Gub-Gub. "After all, what would heaven be without vegetables?"

"Just heaven," said Jip with a sigh.

"Sh!" said Dab-Dab. "What's that noise?"

"Why, it's Cheapside! Look!" cried the white mouse. "At the window."

We all glanced up and there, sure enough, was the Cockney sparrow tapping on the glass with his stubby bill. I ran and pushed the window up. He hopped inside.

"What ho, me 'earties!" he chirped. "'Ere we are again! The old firm—what, 'avin' tea? Good, I'm just in time. I always makes an 'abit of arrivin' places just in time for tea."

He flew on to the table and began helping me to eat my piece of toast.

"Well," said he, "what's new in Puddleby?"

"Nothing much, Cheapside," I said. "I have a small job which brings in a little money—enough to keep us going. But we always expect you to bring the news, you know. How is Becky?"

"Oh, the wife," said he. "She's all right. Yer know the old sayin', 'naught can never come to 'arm.' Ha, ha! We're busy buildin' the new spring nest now—Yes, same old place, St. Edmund's left ear, south side of the Cathedral. But we got a new architect in charge of St. Paul's now. And what d'yer think was the first thing 'e did? Why, 'e gave orders to 'ave all the saints washed! It's a fact. Sacrilegious, I calls it. And ain't we sparrows got no rights neither? Mussin' up our nests with dirty water! Why, me and Becky 'ave built our nest in St. Edmund's left ear for six years now. Thought we was goin' to 'ave to move over to the Bank of England this Spring—straight, we did. But at last them bloomin' masons got finished with their moppin' and sloppin' and we're back at the old address for another year. Any word of the Doctor?"

A little silence fell over us all.

"No, Cheapside," I said at last. "No signals as yet. But tell me, what is the news from London?"

"Well," said Cheapside, "they're all talkin' about this 'ere eclipse of the moon."

"What are clips of the moon?" asked Gub-Gub. "An eclipse, Gub-Gub," I said, "is when the earth gets between the sun and the moon—exactly in between. The earth's shadow is then thrown upon the moon and its light is put out—for us. When is this eclipse, Cheapside?"

"It's to-night, Tommy," said the sparrow. "It's the first full eclipse in I don't know how many years. And everybody up in London is getting out their telescopes and opery-glasses so as to be ready to see it. That's why I come 'ere to-night. 'Becky,' I says to the missus, 'I believe I'll take a run down to Puddleby this evenin'.' 'What d'yer want to do that for?' she says. 'What about the nest buildin'?' she says. 'Ain't you interested in yer children no more?' 'Ho no!' I says to 'er, I says. 'It ain't that, old girl. But when a feller's 'ad as many families as I've 'ad, yer can't expect—well, the newness of the idea gets worn off a bit, you know. There's an eclipse to-night, Becky,' I says, 'and this 'ere city air is so foggy. I'd like to run down to the Doctor's place and see it from the country. You can finish the nest by yerself. It's nearly done already.' 'Oh, very well,' she says. 'You and your eclipses! It's a fine father you are! Run along.' And'ere I am, the old firm. Let's 'ave another piece of toast, Dab-Dab."

"Do you know what time the eclipse is supposed to be, Cheapside?" I asked.

"A few minutes after eleven o'clock, Tommy," said he. "I'm going to go up and watch it from the roof, I am."