[Illustration: “‘_Watch out, Tommy!_’”]
“Watch out, Tommy!” said she, in a mysterious whisper as she settled on
my shoulder.
“Why?” I asked. “Is anything amiss?”
“I don’t quite know,” said she. “But I’m uneasy and I wanted to warn
you. Listen: that whole crowd that came to be doctored yesterday, you
know? Well, not one of them has shown up again since. Why?”
There was a pause.
“Well,” said I presently, “I don’t see any particular reason why they
should. They got their medicine, their treatment. Why should they pester
the Doctor further? It’s a jolly good thing that some patients leave him
alone after they are treated, isn’t it?”
“True, true,” said she. “Just the same their all staying away the next
day looks fishy to me. They didn’t _all_ get treated. There’s something
in it. I feel it in my bones. And besides, I can’t find the Moon Man
himself. I’ve been hunting everywhere for him. He too has gone into
hiding again, just the same as they all did when we first arrived here.
. . . Well, look out! That’s all. I must go back now. But keep your eyes
open, Tommy. Good luck!”
I couldn’t make head or tail of the parrot’s warning and, greatly
puzzled, I proceeded on my way to the pool to fill my water-pots.
There I found the Moon Man. It was a strange and sudden meeting. I had
no warning of his presence till I was actually standing in the water
filling the gourds. Then a movement of one of his feet revealed his
immense form squatting in the concealment of the dense jungle. He rose
to his feet as soon as he saw that I perceived him.
His expression was not unfriendly—just as usual, a kindly, calm
half-smile. Yet I felt at once uneasy and a little terrified. Lame as he
was, his speed and size made escape by running out of the question. He
did not understand my language, nor I his. It was a lonely spot, deep in
the woods. No cry for help would be likely to reach the Doctor’s ears.
I was not left long in doubt as to his intentions. Stretching out his
immense right hand he lifted me out of the water as though I were a
specimen of some flower he wanted for a collection. Then with enormous
strides he carried me away through the forest. One step of his was
half-an-hour’s journey for me. And yet it seemed as though he put his
feet down very softly, presumably in order that his usual thunderous
tread should not be heard—or felt—by others.
At length he stopped. He had reached a wide clearing. Jamaro Bumblelily,
the same moth that had brought us from the Earth, was waiting. The Moon
Man set me down upon the giant insect’s back. I heard the low rumble of
his voice as he gave some final orders. I had been kidnapped.
THE LAST CHAPTER
Puddleby Once More
Never have I felt so utterly helpless in my life. While he spoke with
the moth the giant held me down with his huge hand upon the insect’s
back. A cry, I thought, might still be worth attempting. I opened my
mouth and bawled as hard as I could. Instantly the Moon Man’s thumb came
round and covered my face. He ceased speaking.
Soon I could feel from the stirring of the insect’s legs that he was
getting ready to fly. The Doctor could not reach me now in time even if
he had heard my cry. The giant removed his hand and left me free as the
moth broke into a run. On either side of me the great wings spread out,
acres-wide, to breast the air. In one last mad effort I raced over the
left wing and took a flying leap. I landed at the giant’s waistline and
clung for all I was worth, still yelling lustily for the Doctor. The
Moon Man picked me off and set me back upon the moth. But as my hold at
his waist was wrenched loose something ripped and came away in my hand.
It was the masterpiece, the horn picture of Pippiteepa. In his anxiety
to put me aboard Jamaro again, who was now racing over the ground at a
terrible speed, he never noticed that I carried his treasure with me.
Nor indeed was I vastly concerned with it at the moment. My mind only
contained one thought: I was being taken away from the Doctor.
Apparently I was to be carried off alone and set back upon the Earth. As
the moth’s speed increased still further I heard a fluttering near my
right ear. I turned my head. And there, thank goodness, was Polynesia
flying along like a swallow! In a torrent of words she poured out her
message. For once in her life she was too pressed for time to swear.
“Tommy!—They know the Doctor is worried about your staying away from
your parents. I told him to be careful last night. They heard. They’re
afraid if you stay he’ll want to leave too, to get you back. And—”
The moth’s feet had left the ground and his nose was tilted upward to
clear the tops of the trees that bordered the open space. The powerful
rush of air, so familiar to me from my first voyage of this kind, was
already beginning—and growing all the time. Flapping and beating,
Polynesia put on her best speed and for a while longer managed to stay
level with my giant airship.
“Don’t worry, Tommy,” she screeched. “I had an inkling of what the Moon
Man had up his sleeve, though I couldn’t find out where he was hiding.
And I warned the Doctor. He gave me this last message for you in case
they should try to ship you out: Look after the old lame horse in the
stable. Give an eye to the fruit trees. _And don’t worry!_ He’ll find a
way down all right, he says. Watch out for the second smoke signal.”
(Polynesia’s voice was growing faint and she was already dropping
behind.) . . . “Good-by and good luck!”
I tried to shout an answer; but the rushing air stopped my breath and
made me gasp. “Good-by and good luck!”—It was the last I heard from the
Moon.
I lowered myself down among the deep fur to avoid the pressure of the
tearing wind. My groping hands touched something strange. It was the
moon-bells. The giant in sending me down to the Earth had thought of the
needs of the human. I grabbed one of the big flowers and held it handy
to plunge my face in. Bad times were coming, I knew when we must cross
the Dead Belt. There was nothing more I could do for the present. I
would lie still and take it easy till I reached Puddleby and the little
house with the big garden.
Well, for the most part my journey back was not very different from our
first voyage. If it was lonelier for me than had been the trip with the
Doctor, I, at all events, had the comfort this time of knowing from
experience that the journey _could_ be performed by a human with safety.
But dear me, what a sad trip it was! In addition to my loneliness I had
a terrible feeling of guilt. I was leaving the Doctor behind—the Doctor
who had never abandoned me nor any friend in need. True it was not my
fault, as I assured myself over and over again. Yet I couldn’t quite get
rid of the idea that if I had only been a little more resourceful or
quicker-witted this would not have happened. And how, _how_ was I going
to face Dab-Dab, Jip and the rest of them with the news that John
Dolittle had been left in the Moon?
The journey seemed endlessly long. Some fruit also had been provided, I
found, by the Moon Man; but as soon as we approached the Dead Belt I
felt too seasick to eat and remained so for the rest of the voyage.
At last the motion abated enough to let me sit up and take observations.
We were quite close to the Earth. I could see it shining cheerfully in
the sun and the sight of it warmed my heart. I had not realized till
then how homesick I had been for weeks past.
The moth landed me on Salisbury Plain. While not familiar with the
district, I knew the spire of Salisbury Cathedral from pictures. And the
sight of it across this flat characteristic country told me where I was.
Apparently it was very early morning, though I had no idea of the exact
hour.
The heavier air and gravity of the Earth took a good deal of getting
used to after the very different conditions of the Moon. Feeling like
nothing so much as a ton-weight of misery, I clambered down from the
moth’s back and took stock of my surroundings.
Morning mists were rolling and breaking over this flat piece of my
native Earth. From higher up it had seemed so sunny and homelike and
friendly. Down here on closer acquaintance it didn’t seem attractive at
all.
Presently when the mists broke a little, I saw, not far off, a road. A
man was walking along it. A farm laborer, no doubt, going to his work.
How small he seemed! Perhaps he was a dwarf. With a sudden longing for
human company, I decided to speak to him. I lunged heavily forward (the
trial of the disturbing journey and the unfamiliar balance of earth
gravity together made me reel like a drunken man) and when I had come
within twenty paces I hailed him. The results were astonishing to say
the least. He turned at the sound of my voice. His face went white as a
sheet. Then he bolted like a rabbit and was gone into the mist.
I stood in the road down which he had disappeared. And suddenly it came
over me what I was and how I must have looked. I had not measured myself
recently on the Moon but I did so soon after my return to the Earth. My
height was nine feet nine inches and my waist measurement fifty-one
inches and a half. I was dressed in a home-made suit of bark and leaves.
My shoes and leggings were made of root-fiber and my hair was long
enough to touch my shoulders.
No wonder the poor farm hand suddenly confronted by such an apparition
on the wilds of Salisbury Plain had bolted! Suddenly I thought of Jamaro
Bumblelily again. I would try to give him a message for the Doctor. If
the moth could not understand me, I’d write something for him to carry
back. I set out in search. But I never saw him again. Whether the mists
misled me in direction or whether he had already departed moonwards
again I never found out.
So, here I was, a giant dressed like a scarecrow, no money in my
pockets—no earthly possessions beyond a piece of reindeer horn, with a
pre-historic picture carved on it. And then I realized of course that
the farm laborer’s reception of me would be what I would meet with
everywhere. It was a long way from Salisbury to Puddleby, that I knew. I
must have coach-fare; I must have food.
I tramped along the road a while thinking. I came in sight of a
farmhouse. The appetizing smell of frying bacon reached me. I was
terribly hungry. It was worth trying. I strode up to the door and
knocked gently. A woman opened it. She gave one scream at sight of me
and slammed the door in my face. A moment later a man threw open a
window and leveled a shotgun at me.
“Get off the place,” he snarled—“Quick! Or I’ll blow your ugly head
off.”
More miserable than ever I wandered on down the road. What was to become
of me? There was no one to whom I could tell the truth. For who would
believe my story? But I must get to Puddleby. I admitted I was not
particularly keen to do that—to face the Dolittle household with the
news. And yet I must. Even without the Doctor’s last message about the
old horse and the fruit trees, and the rest, it was my job—to do my
best to take his place while he was away. And then my parents—poor
folk! I fear I had forgotten them in my misery. And would even they
recognize me now?
Then of a sudden I came upon a caravan of gipsies. They were camped in a
thicket of gorse by the side of the road and I had not seen them as I
approached.
They too were cooking breakfast and more savory smells tantalized my
empty stomach. It is rather strange that the gipsies were the only
people I met who were not afraid of me. They all came out of the wagons
and gathered about me gaping; but they were interested, not scared. Soon
I was invited to sit down and eat. The head of the party, an old man,
told me they were going on to a county fair and would be glad to have me
come with them.
I agreed with thanks. Any sort of friendship which would save me from an
outcast lot was something to be jumped at. I found out later that the
old gipsy’s idea was to hire me off (at a commission) to a circus as a
giant.
But as a matter of fact, that lot also I was glad to accept when the
time came. I had to have money. I could not appear in Puddleby like a
scarecrow. I needed clothes, I needed coach-fare, and I needed food to
live on.
The circus proprietor—when I was introduced by my friend the
gipsy—turned out to be quite a decent fellow. He wanted to book me up
for a year’s engagement. But I of course refused. He suggested six
months. Still I shook my head. My own idea was the shortest possible
length of time which would earn me enough money to get back to Puddleby
looking decent. I guessed from the circus man’s eagerness that he wanted
me in his show at almost any cost and for almost any length of time.
Finally after much argument we agreed upon a month.
Then came the question of clothes. At this point I was very cautious. He
at first wanted me to keep my hair long and wear little more than a loin
cloth. I was to be a “Missing Link from Mars” or something of the sort.
I told him I didn’t want to be anything of the kind (though his notion
was much nearer to the truth than he knew). His next idea for me was
“The Giant Cowboy from the Pampas.” For this I was to wear an enormous
sun-hat, woolly trousers, pistols galore, and spurs with rowels like
saucers. That didn’t appeal to me either very much as a Sunday suit to
show to Puddleby.
Finally, as I realized more fully how keen the showman was to have me, I
thought I would try to arrange my own terms.
“Look here, Sir,” I said: “I have no desire to appear something I am
not. I am a scientist, an explorer, returned from foreign parts. My
great growth is a result of the climates I have been through and the
diet I have had to live on. I will not deceive the public by
masquerading as a Missing Link or Western Cowboy. Give me a decent suit
of black such as a man of learning would wear. And I will guarantee to
tell your audiences tales of travel—true tales—such as they have never
imagined in their wildest dreams. But I will not sign on for more than a
month. That is my last word. Is it a bargain?”
Well, it was. He finally agreed to all my terms. My wages were to be
three shillings a day. My clothes were to be my own property when I had
concluded my engagement. I was to have a bed and a wagon to myself. My
hours for public appearance were strictly laid down and the rest of my
time was to be my own.
It was not hard work. I went on show from ten to twelve in the morning,
from three to five in the afternoon, and from eight to ten at night. A
tailor was produced who fitted my enormous frame with a decent looking
suit. A barber was summoned to cut my hair. During my show hours I
signed my autograph to pictures of myself which the circus proprietor
had printed in great numbers. They were sold at three pence apiece.
Twice a day I told the gaping crowds of holiday folk the story of my
travels. But I never spoke of the Moon. I called it just a “foreign
land”—which indeed was true enough.
At last the day of my release came. My contract was ended and with three
pounds, fifteen shillings in my pocket, and a good suit of clothes upon
my back I was free to go where I wished. I took the first coach in the
direction of Puddleby. Of course many changes had to be made and I was
compelled to stop the night at one point before I could make connections
for my native town.
On the way, because of my great size, I was stared and gaped at by all
who saw me. But I did not mind it so much now. I knew that at least I
was not a terrifying sight.
On reaching Puddleby at last, I decided I would call on my parents
first, before I went to the Doctor’s house. This may have been just a
putting off of the evil hour. But anyway I had the good excuse that I
should put an end to my parents’ anxiety.
I found them just the same as they had always been—very glad to see me,
eager for news of where I had gone and what I had done. I was
astonished, however, that they had taken my unannounced departure so
calmly—that is, I _was_ astonished until it came out that having heard
that the Doctor also had mysteriously disappeared, they had not been
nearly so worried as they might have been. Such was their faith in the
great man, like the confidence that all placed in him. If _he_ had gone
and taken me with him then everything was surely all right.
I was glad too that they recognized me despite my unnatural size. Indeed
I think they took a sort of pride in that I had, like Cæsar, “grown so
great.” We sat in front of the fire and I told them all of our
adventures as well as I could remember them.
It seemed strange that they, simple people though they were, accepted my
preposterous story of a journey to the Moon with no vestige of doubt or
disbelief. I feared there were no other humans in the world—outside of
Matthew Mugg, who would so receive my statement. They asked me when I
expected the Doctor’s return. I told them what Polynesia had said of the
second smoke signal by which John Dolittle planned to notify me of his
departure from the Moon. But I had to admit I felt none too sure of his
escape from a land where his services were so urgently demanded. Then
when I almost broke down, accusing myself of abandoning the Doctor, they
both comforted me with assurances that I could not have done more than I
had.
Finally my mother insisted that I stay the night at their house and not
attempt to notify the Dolittle household until the morrow. I was clearly
overtired and worn out, she said. So, still willing to put off the evil
hour, I persuaded myself that I _was_ tired and turned in.
The next day I sought out Matthew Mugg, the Cats’-meat-Man. I merely
wanted his support when I should present myself at “the little house
with the big garden.” But it took me two hours to answer all the
questions he fired at me about the Moon and our voyage.
At last I did get to the Doctor’s house. My hand had hardly touched the
gate-latch before I was surrounded by them all. Too-Too the vigilant
sentinel had probably been on duty ever since we left and one hoot from
him brought the whole family into the front garden like a fire alarm. A
thousand exclamations and remarks about my increased growth and changed
appearance filled the air. But there never was a doubt in their minds as
to who I was.
And then suddenly a strange silence fell over them all when they saw
that I had returned alone. Surrounded by them I entered the house and
went to the kitchen. And there by the fireside, where the great man
himself has so often sat and told us tales, I related the whole story of
our visit to the Moon.
At the end they were nearly all in tears, Gub-Gub howling out loud.
“We’ll never see him again!” he wailed. “They’ll never let him go. Oh,
Tommy, how _could_ you have left him?”
“Oh, be quiet!” snapped Jip. “He couldn’t help it. He was kidnapped.
Didn’t he tell you? Don’t worry. We’ll watch for the smoke signal. John
Dolittle will come back to us, never fear. Remember he has Polynesia
with him.”
“Aye!” squeaked the white mouse. “She’ll find a way.”
“_I_ am not worried,” sniffed Dab-Dab, brushing away her tears with one
wing, and swatting some flies off the bread-board with the other. “But
it’s sort of lonely here without him.”
“Tut-tut!” grunted Too-Too. “Of course he’ll come back!”
There was a tapping at the window.
“Cheapside,” said Dab-Dab. “Let him in, Tommy.”
I lifted the sash and the cockney sparrow fluttered in and took his
place upon the kitchen table where he fell to picking up what bread
crumbs had been left after the house-keeper’s careful “clearing away.”
Too-Too told him the situation in a couple of sentences.
“Why, bless my heart!” said the sparrow. “Why all these long faces? John
Dolittle stuck in the Moon!—Preposterous notion!—_Pre_-posterous, I
tell you. You couldn’t get that man stuck nowhere. My word, Dab-Dab!
When you clear away you don’t leave much fodder behind, do you? Any mice
what live in your ‘ouse shouldn’t ‘ave no difficulty keepin’ their
figures.”
Well, it was done. And I was glad to be back in the old house. I knew it
was only a question of time before I would regain a normal size on a
normal diet. Meanwhile here I would not have to see anyone I did not
want to.
[Illustration: “‘_Don’t worry, Tommy, he’ll come back_’”]
And so I settled down to pruning the fruit trees, caring for the comfort
of the old horse in the stable and generally trying to take the Doctor’s
place as best I could. And night after night as the year wore on Jip,
Too-Too and I would sit out, two at a time, while the Moon was visible
to watch for the smoke signal. Often when we returned to the house with
the daylight, discouraged and unhappy, Jip would rub his head against my
leg and say:
“Don’t worry, Tommy. He’ll come back. Remember he has Polynesia with
him. Between them they will find a way.”
THE END
[Illustration]