DR. WHISKER'S BUSY DAY
Neighbour Field-Mouse's new bungalow was begun before sunrise next
morning. Squire Cricket and Daddy Grasshopper brought their saws, Jack
Rabbit and Mr. Hop Toad had shovels, and all the neighbors came with axes,
hammers and other tools ready for work.
"Pa Field-Mouse has chosen this spot under the laurel bush," explained
Uncle Squeaky. "First we must dig a cellar where he can store his winter's
food."
"Don't forget that I want a stone fireplace just like yours, Mr. Squeaky,"
reminded Debby Field-Mouse. "And a dining-room, also, if you please."
"Ah, yes, Debby! A good living-room, a big pantry--you shall have all the
fixings."
They worked busily away. By-and-by, Grand-daddy Whiskers paused to look
around.
"It looks pretty fine already," he declared. "I'm having a great vacation
day. Plenty of fresh air, sunshine, pine breezes and vigorous exercise
make a mouse feel good, Neighbor Field-Mouse. I suppose there will not be
much work for old Dr. Whiskers in this healthy country in summertime,
because--"
"Dr. Whiskers! Dr. Whiskers!" interrupted Nimble-toes, "this little Skunk
says that old Simon Skunk has a dreadful attack of asthma and wants you to
come quick."
Down went Grand-daddy's ax, and away he trotted to Gray Rock Bungalow
where he had left Granny and his medicine bag.
"Did you say Simon Skunk was ill?" asked Granny in alarm. "Don't you go a
step, Zenas. Remember your solemn promise to fetch us all safe and sound
to our attic home before snow flies. How will you do it, I want to ask
you, Zenas Whiskers, if Simon Skunk harms you?"
"Better keep away from that Skunk tribe," advised Aunt Squeaky.
Even Mother Graymouse, who was usually so brave, looked anxious.
"Everyone says that Simon is ill-natured. He is a giant beside you,
Grand-daddy," she said.
Grand-daddy grew impatient. "I was wondering whether I wished to visit
Simon, but I'll be blamed, Hezekiah, if I'm going to be bossed by a lot of
women mice! A doctor must be brave. I'll risk it. I'm on my way to Skunk
Avenue," and away marched Grand-daddy.
Mrs. Dinah Skunk was watching for Dr. Whiskers.
"Oh, hurry!" she cried. "Simon has wheezed all night and can hardly
breathe."
"A strange time o' year to have asthma, Simon," grinned Dr. Whiskers.
"Wheezes mostly come in cold weather."
"Too much woods smoke," gasped poor Simon.
"Ah, I see! Well, let me rub this grease into your chest. You must take
two of these pills every half hour until you stop wheezing."
"Haven't any clock," growled Simon.
"How shall I know when to give him the pills, doctor?" asked Dinah.
Grand-daddy scratched his head. He did not wish to lend his watch.
"It takes half an hour to trot from here to Polly-Wog Bridge and back," he
decided. "Send a little Skunk to the bridge and give Simon two pills every
time the little Skunk gets home. It will keep that little Skunk out of
mischief who set the fire.
"One of my ancestors," went on Dr. Whiskers pleasantly, "a
great-great-great-grandfather, was a mouse of the wilds, a regular Indian.
He told his children, and the story was repeated until it came down to me,
that a hornet's nest smoked in a pipe would cure the worst case of asthma
that ever was known."
"Haven't any pipe; no hornet's nest," grumbled Simon.
"Neither have I," chuckled Dr. Whiskers. "I threw mine away after the
hired man set the barn afire with a spark from his pipe. I'll try to find
a hornet's nest and maybe I can borrow a pipe from Daddy Longlegs. Now
take these pills and start young Skunk to trotting. Good-day to you,
Simon. I hope you'll feel better soon.
"I'll have the kiddies hunt for a hornet's nest," planned Grand-daddy.
Buster, Wink, and Wiggle met him by the pond.
"All safe, Grand-daddy?" they cried.
"Sure," grinned Grand-daddy. "They are harmless folk. Have you seen a gray
paper balloon dangling from the bushes, kiddies?"
"I have," cried Wink. "Uncle said hornets lived in it and they were real
fighters."
"I'll fight 'em, then. I want that nest for medicine. Trot ahead and show
it to me."
"Hi! hi! Dr. Whiskers!" came a cry from the Lake.
Grand-daddy ran to the water's edge. There sat Grandpa Bull Frog groaning
miserably.
"Hello! a fish hook!" exclaimed Dr. Whiskers. "Let's see if I can extract
it."
He took a sharp instrument from his bag.
"I'll be as careful as possible, Grandpa Bull Frog, but it is bound to
hurt you considerable," he explained. "Now open your mouth wide."
Dr. Whiskers twisted and pulled upon the hook. At last, out flew the ugly
thing.
"How did it happen?" he asked, wrapping the instrument carefully.
"I've been hoarse for years," croaked Grandpa Bull Frog as he wiped away
the tears. "Squire Cricket told me that red flannel cured his throat, so
when I saw some red flannel dangling from a line right over this log, I
grabbed it. I got it easily, and this cruel hook beside. The Giant boy has
gone away. I thank you kindly, Dr. Whiskers. Ahem! You might tell Mr.
Squeaky that I say his band played very fine music last evening."
"Better leave fish-hooks alone, hereafter, Grandpa Bull Frog," chuckled
Dr. Whiskers. "When you need red flannel, hop over to Wild Rose Cottage.
Granny fetched a good supply from Mrs. Giant's trunk."
[Illustration: Dr. Whiskers twisted and pulled upon the hook.]
"Grand-daddy!" called Wiggle from the grove. "I have the hornet's nest.
Isn't it big? We had a fight with the hornets. I ran away, but Buster and
Wink are chuck full of stingers. They want you to come quick. Buster is
howling real loud."
Dr. Grand-daddy trotted along the pine-needle path.
"Oh, Grand-daddy, those hornets were full of hot prickers!" sobbed Buster.
"Wait a bit, kiddies," he called. "I'll mix some mud plasters that will
stop the pain. So the hornets won out, did they?"
"No, sir, they didn't!" cried Wink, doubling his little fists. "We beat
'em, Grand-daddy. We got what we went after. Wiggle rolled their nest
home."
"I guess you are right, sonny," grinned Grand-daddy. "I'll soon cure the
wounds for my brave soldiers. There, you feel better already. Forward
march. I want to get back and work on the new bungalow."
But Grand-daddy had just begun to nail up a pantry shelf, when Mother
Graymouse beckoned.
He found Tim Scrabble waiting for him.
"Can you go home with me, Dr. Whiskers?" he asked eagerly. "Jimmie and
Johnnie have the whooping cough; Janie ate some candy and it made her
tooth ache, and Baby Judy has the croup. Worst of all, Polly went into
Mrs. Giant's pantry and it is a wonder she ever got back down cellar. She
is all rolled up in sticky fly-paper. And me with four sick babies on my
paws!"
"I'll come at once, Tim," agreed Dr. Whiskers. "Limpy-toes and I will soon
fix things all right."
He called Limpy-toes to help carry his heavy bag.
"We'll not take the automobile," he decided. "The Giants might hear it
chug-chug. If you please, Belindy, let Scamper go over and tell Granny
that we will probably be home by midnight. She may wish to return and
spend the night with you. Now we're off to help that poor Scrabble
family."
It was a long journey and there were many doses to be ordered for the
little patients. It took a long time to remove Polly's fly-paper with an
alcohol bath. Then cure-all salve must be rubbed in where patches of skin
came off. But at last every patient was made comfortable. Tim and Polly
thanked them again and again.
"Now for our long homeward tramp, Limpy-toes," sighed Grand-daddy wearily.
It was long past midnight when tired old Grand-daddy pulled off his boots.
"A great vacation day it proved," he yawned. "Bless me, it has been the
busiest day I ever lived! And yet, I'm glad that I am a doctor-mouse."
[Illustration: It was long past midnight when tired old Grand-daddy pulled
off his boots.]