“I THINK your house is the most interesting house I was ever in,” I
said as we set off in the direction of the town. “May I come and see
you again to-morrow?”
“Certainly,” said the Doctor. “Come any day you like. To-morrow I’ll
show you the garden and my private zoo.”
“Oh, have you a zoo?” I asked.
“Yes,” said he. “The larger animals are too big for the house, so I
keep them in a zoo in the garden. It is not a very big collection but
it is interesting in its way.”
“It must be splendid,” I said, “to be able to talk all the languages of
the different animals. Do you think I could ever learn to do it?”
“Oh surely,” said the Doctor—“with practise. You have to be very
patient, you know. You really ought to have Polynesia to start you. It
was she who gave me my first lessons.”
“Who is Polynesia?” I asked.
“Polynesia was a West African parrot I had. She isn’t with me any more
now,” said the Doctor sadly.
“Why—is she dead?”
“Oh no,” said the Doctor. “She is still living, I hope. But when we
reached Africa she seemed so glad to get back to her own country. She
wept for joy. And when the time came for me to come back here I had not
the heart to take her away from that sunny land—although, it is true,
she did offer to come. I left her in Africa—Ah well! I have missed her
terribly. She wept again when we left. But I think I did the right
thing. She was one of the best friends I ever had. It was she who
first gave me the idea of learning the animal languages and becoming
an animal doctor. I often wonder if she remained happy in Africa, and
whether I shall ever see her funny, old, solemn face again—Good old
Polynesia!—A most extraordinary bird—Well, well!”
Just at that moment we heard the noise of some one running behind us;
and turning round we saw Jip the dog rushing down the road after us,
as fast as his legs could bring him. He seemed very excited about
something, and as soon as he came up to us, he started barking and
whining to the Doctor in a peculiar way. Then the Doctor too seemed to
get all worked up and began talking and making queer signs to the dog.
At length he turned to me, his face shining with happiness.
“Polynesia has come back!” he cried. “Imagine it. Jip says she has just
arrived at the house. My! And it’s five years since I saw her—Excuse
me a minute.”
He turned as if to go back home. But the parrot, Polynesia, was already
flying towards us. The Doctor clapped his hands like a child getting
a new toy; while the swarm of sparrows in the roadway fluttered,
gossiping, up on to the fences, highly scandalized to see a gray and
scarlet parrot skimming down an English lane.
On she came, straight on to the Doctor’s shoulder, where she
immediately began talking a steady stream in a language I could not
understand. She seemed to have a terrible lot to say. And very soon
the Doctor had forgotten all about me and my squirrel and Jip and
everything else; till at length the bird clearly asked him something
about me.
“Oh excuse me, Stubbins!” said the Doctor. “I was so interested
listening to my old friend here. We must get on and see this squirrel
of yours—Polynesia, this is Thomas Stubbins.”
The parrot, on the Doctor’s shoulder, nodded gravely towards me and
then, to my great surprise, said quite plainly in English,
“How do you do? I remember the night you were born. It was a terribly
cold winter. You were a very ugly baby.”
“Stubbins is anxious to learn animal language,” said the Doctor. “I was
just telling him about you and the lessons you gave me when Jip ran up
and told us you had arrived.”
“Well,” said the parrot, turning to me, “I may have started the Doctor
learning but I never could have done even that, if he hadn’t first
taught me to understand what _I_ was saying when I spoke English.
You see, many parrots can talk like a person, but very few of them
understand what they are saying. They just say it because—well, because
they fancy it is smart or, because they know they will get crackers
given them.”
By this time we had turned and were going towards my home with Jip
running in front and Polynesia still perched on the Doctor’s shoulder.
The bird chattered incessantly, mostly about Africa; but now she spoke
in English, out of politeness to me.
“How is Prince Bumpo getting on?” asked the Doctor.
“Oh, I’m glad you asked me,” said Polynesia. “I almost forgot to tell
you. What do you think?—_Bumpo is in England!_”
“In England!—You don’t say!” cried the Doctor. “What on earth is he
doing here?”
“His father, the king, sent him here to a place called—er—Bullford, I
think it was—to study lessons.”
“Bullford!—Bullford!” muttered the Doctor. “I never heard of the
place—Oh, you mean Oxford.”
“Yes, that’s the place—Oxford,” said Polynesia “I knew it had cattle in
it somewhere. Oxford—that’s the place he’s gone to.”
“Well, well,” murmured the Doctor. “Fancy Bumpo studying at
Oxford—Well, well!”
“There were great doings in Jolliginki when he left. He was scared to
death to come. He was the first man from that country to go abroad. He
thought he was going to be eaten by white cannibals or something. You
know what those niggers are—that ignorant! Well!—But his father made
him come. He said that all the black kings were sending their sons to
Oxford now. It was the fashion, and he would have to go. Bumpo wanted
to bring his six wives with him. But the king wouldn’t let him do that
either. Poor Bumpo went off in tears—and everybody in the palace was
crying too. You never heard such a hullabaloo.”
“Do you know if he ever went back in search of The Sleeping Beauty?”
asked the Doctor.
“Oh yes,” said Polynesia—“the day after you left. And a good thing for
him he did: the king got to know about his helping you to escape; and
he was dreadfully wild about it.”
“And The Sleeping Beauty?—did he ever find her?”
“Well, he brought back something which he _said_ was The Sleeping
Beauty. Myself, I think it was an albino niggeress. She had red hair
and the biggest feet you ever saw. But Bumpo was no end pleased with
her and finally married her amid great rejoicings. The feastings lasted
seven days. She became his chief wife and is now known out there as the
Crown-Princess Bum_pah_—you accent the last syllable.”
“And tell me, did he remain white?”
“Only for about three months,” said the parrot. “After that his face
slowly returned to its natural color. It was just as well. He was so
conspicuous in his bathing-suit the way he was, with his face white and
the rest of him black.”
“And how is Chee-Chee getting on?—Chee-Chee,” added the Doctor in
explanation to me, “was a pet monkey I had years ago. I left him too in
Africa when I came away.”
“Well,” said Polynesia frowning,—“Chee-Chee is not entirely happy. I
saw a good deal of him the last few years. He got dreadfully homesick
for you and the house and the garden. It’s funny, but I was just the
same way myself. You remember how crazy I was to get back to the dear
old land? And Africa _is_ a wonderful country—I don’t care what anybody
says. Well, I thought I was going to have a perfectly grand time. But
somehow—I don’t know—after a few weeks it seemed to get tiresome. I
just couldn’t seem to settle down. Well, to make a long story short,
one night I made up my mind that I’d come back here and find you. So
I hunted up old Chee-Chee and told him about it. He said he didn’t
blame me a bit—felt exactly the same way himself. Africa was so deadly
quiet after the life we had led with you. He missed the stories you
used to tell us out of your animal books—and the chats we used to have
sitting round the kitchen-fire on winter nights. The animals out there
were very nice to us and all that. But somehow the dear kind creatures
seemed a bit stupid. Chee-Chee said he had noticed it too. But I
suppose it wasn’t they who had changed; it was we who were different.
When I left, poor old Chee-Chee broke down and cried. He said he felt
as though his only friend were leaving him—though, as you know, he has
simply millions of relatives there. He said it didn’t seem fair that I
should have wings to fly over here any time I liked, and him with no
way to follow me. But mark my words, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if
he found a way to come—some day. He’s a smart lad, is Chee-Chee.”
At this point we arrived at my home. My father’s shop was closed and
the shutters were up; but my mother was standing at the door looking
down the street.
“Good evening, Mrs. Stubbins,” said the Doctor. “It is my fault your
son is so late. I made him stay to supper while his clothes were
drying. He was soaked to the skin; and so was I. We ran into one
another in the storm and I insisted on his coming into my house for
shelter.”
“I was beginning to get worried about him,” said my mother. “I am
thankful to you, Sir, for looking after him so well and bringing him
home.”
“Don’t mention it—don’t mention it,” said the Doctor. “We have had a
very interesting chat.”
“Who might it be that I have the honor of addressing?” asked my mother
staring at the gray parrot perched on the Doctor’s shoulder.
“Oh, I’m John Dolittle. I dare say your husband will remember me. He
made me some very excellent boots about four years ago. They really
are splendid,” added the Doctor, gazing down at his feet with great
satisfaction.
“The Doctor has come to cure my squirrel, Mother,” said I. “He knows
all about animals.”
“Oh, no,” said the Doctor, “not all, Stubbins, not all about them by
any means.”
“It is very kind of you to come so far to look after his pet,” said my
mother. “Tom is always bringing home strange creatures from the woods
and the fields.”
“Is he?” said the Doctor. “Perhaps he will grow up to be a naturalist
some day. Who knows?”
“Won’t you come in?” asked my mother. “The place is a little untidy
because I haven’t finished the spring cleaning yet. But there’s a nice
fire burning in the parlor.”
“Thank you!” said the Doctor. “What a charming home you have!”
And after wiping his enormous boots very, very carefully on the mat,
the great man passed into the house.
_THE SIXTH CHAPTER_