Doctor Dolittle's Circus (Musaicum Children's Classics). Hugh Lofting
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“Well, well, Sarah!” said John Dolittle when he had finally made his way to her. “My, how well and plump you’re looking!”
“I’m nothing of the sort, John,” said Sarah, severely. “Will you please tell me what you mean by gallivanting around on that platform like a clown? Wasn’t it enough for you to throw away the best practice in the West Country for the sake of pet mice and frogs and things? Have you no pride? What are you doing up there?”
“I was thinking of going into the circus business,” said the Doctor.
Sarah gasped and put her hand to her head as though about to swoon. Then a long lean man in parson’s clothes who was standing behind her came and took her by the arm.
“What is it, my dear?” said he.
“Launcelot,” said Sarah weakly, “this is my brother, John Dolittle. John, this is the Reverend Launcelot Dingle, rector of Grimbledon, my husband. But, John, you can’t be serious. Go into the circus business! How disgraceful! You must be joking – and who is this person?” she added as Matthew Mugg shuffled up and joined the party.
“This is Matthew Mugg,” said the Doctor. “You remember him, of course?”
“Ugh! – the rat-catcher,” said Sarah, closing her eyes in horror.
“Not at all. He’s a meat merchant,” said the Doctor. “Mr. Mugg, the Reverend Launcelot Dingle.” And the Doctor introduced his ragged greasy friend as if he had been a king. “He’s my most prominent patient,” he added.
“But, listen, John,” said Sarah, “if you do go into this mad business, promise me you’ll do it under some other name. Think what it would mean to our position here if it got known that the Rector’s brother-in-law was a common showman!”
The Doctor thought a moment. Then he smiled.
“All right, Sarah, I’ll use some other name. But I can’t help it if someone recognizes me, can I?”
After they had bidden farewell to Sarah, the Doctor and Matthew again sought out the manager. They found him counting money at the gate, and this time were able to talk to him at their ease.
John Dolittle described the wonderful animal that he had at home and said he wanted to join the circus with him. Alexander Blossom admitted he would like to see the creature, and told the Doctor to bring him here. But John Dolittle said it would be better and easier if the manager came to Puddleby to look at him.
This was agreed upon. And after they had explained to Blossom how to get to the little house on the Oxenthorpe Road, they set out for home again, very pleased with their success so far.
“If you do go with Blossom’s Circus,” Matthew asked, as they tramped along the road chewing sardine sandwiches, “will you take me with you, Doctor? I’d come in real handy, taking care of the caravan, feeding and cleaning and the likes o’ that.”
“You’re very welcome to come, Matthew,” said the Doctor. “But what about your own business?”
“Oh, that,” said Matthew, biting viciously into another sandwich. “There ain’t no money in that. Besides, it’s so tame, handing out bits of meat on skewers to overfed poodles! There’s no – no what d’y’ call it?” – (he waved his sandwich towards the sky) – “no adventure in it. I’m naturally venturesome – reckless like – always was, from my cradle up. Now the circus: that’s the real life! That’s a man’s job.”
He waved his sandwich towards the sky
“But how about your wife?” asked the Doctor.
“Theodosia? Oh, she’d come along. She’s venturesome, like me. She could mend the clothes and do odd jobs. What do you think?”
“What do I think?” asked the Doctor, who was staring down at the road as he walked. “I was thinking of Sarah.”
“Queer gent, that what she married, ain’t he,” said Matthew, “the Reverend Dangle?”
“Dingle,” the Doctor corrected. “Yes. He’s venturesome too. It’s a funny world – Poor dear Sarah! – Poor old Dingle! – Well, well.”
Late that night, when the Grimbledon Fair had closed, Mr. Blossom, the ringmaster, came to the Doctor’s house in Puddleby.
After he had been shown by the light of a lantern the pushmi-pullyu grazing on the lawn, he came back into the library with the Doctor and said:
“How much do you want for that animal?”
“No, no, he’s not for sale,” said the Doctor.
“Oh, come now,” said the manager. “You don’t want him. Anyone could see you’re not a regular showman. I’ll give you twenty pounds for him.”
“No,” said the Doctor.
“Thirty pounds,” said Blossom.
Still the Doctor refused.
“Forty pounds – fifty pounds,” said the manager. Then he went up and up, offering prices that made the Cat’s-Meat-Man who was listening open his eyes wider and wider with wonder.
“It’s no use,” said the Doctor at last. “You must either take me with the animal into your circus or leave him where he is. I have promised that I myself will see he is properly treated.”
“What do you mean?” asked the showman. “Ain’t he your property? Who did you promise?”
“He’s his own property,” said the Doctor. “He came here to oblige me. It was to himself, the pushmi-pullyu, that I gave my promise.”
“What! – Are you crazy?” asked the showman.
Matthew Mugg was going to explain to Blossom that the Doctor could speak animals’ language. But John Dolittle motioned to him to be silent.
“And so, you see,” he went on, “you must either take me and the animal, or neither.”
Then Blossom said no, he wouldn’t agree to that arrangement. And to Matthew’s great disappointment and grief he took his hat and left.
But he had expected the Doctor to change his mind and give in. And he hadn’t been gone more than ten minutes before he rang the door-bell and said that he had come back to talk it over.
Well, the upshot of it was that the showman finally consented to all the Doctor asked. The pushmi-pullyu and his party were to be provided with a new wagon all to themselves and, although travelling as part of the circus, were to be entirely free and independent. The money made was to be divided equally between the Doctor and the manager. Whenever the pushmi-pullyu wanted a day off he was to have it, and whatever kind of food he asked for was to be provided by Blossom.
When all the arrangements had been gone into, the man said he would send the caravan here next day, and prepared to go.
“By the way,” he said, pausing at the front door. “What’s your name?”
The Doctor was just about to tell him, when he remembered Sarah’s request.
“Oh, well, call me John Smith,” said he.
“All right, Mr. Smith,” said the showman. “Have your party ready by eleven in the morning. Good night.”
“Good night,” said the Doctor.
As soon as the door had closed, Dab-Dab, Gub-Gub, Jip, Too-Too and the white mouse, who had been hiding and listening in various corners of the house, all came out into the hall and started chattering at the top of their voices.
“Hooray!”