Doctor Dolittle's Circus (Musaicum Children's Classics). Hugh Lofting
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– in fact, more. He had written a book to prove this. He called it Dog Psychology. Most metaphysicians had pooh-poohed it, saying that no one but a hair-brain would write on such a subject. But this was only to hide the fact that they couldn’t understand it.
Certainly these two, Swizzle, the clown’s dog, and Toby, the Punch-and-Judy dog, had very different personalities. Swizzle (to look at, he was nothing but a common mongrel) had a great sense of humour. He made a joke out of everything. This may have been partly on account of his profession – helping a clown make people laugh. But it was also part of his philosophy. He told both the Doctor and Jip more than once that when he was still a puppy he had decided that nothing in this world was worth taking seriously. He was a great artist, nevertheless, and could always see the most difficult jokes – even when they were made at his own expense.
It was Swizzle’s sense of humour that gave the Doctor the idea for the first comic papers printed for animals – when later he founded the Rat-and-Mouse Club. They were called Cellar Life and Basement Humour and were intended to bring light entertainment to those who live in dark places.
Toby, the other, was as different from his friend Swizzle as it is possible to be. He was a small dog, a dwarf white poodle. And he took himself and life quite seriously. The most noticeable thing about his character was his determination to get everything which he thought he ought to get. Yet he was not selfish, not at all. The Doctor always said that this shrewd business-like quality was to be found in most little dogs – who had to make up for their small size by an extra share of cheek. The very first time Toby came visiting to John Dolittle’s caravan he got on the Doctor’s bed and made himself comfortable. Dab-Dab, highly scandalized, tried to put him off. But he wouldn’t move. He said the Doctor didn’t seem to mind and he was the owner of the bed. And from that time on he always occupied this place in the caravan’s evening circle when he came to visit. He had won a special privilege for himself by sheer cheek. He was always demanding privileges, and he usually got them.
Toby and Swizzle
But there was one thing, in which Toby and Swizzle were alike; and that was the pride they took in their personal friendship with John Dolittle, whom they considered the greatest man on earth.
One night on the first trip between towns the procession had stopped by the side of the road as usual. There was a nice old-fashioned farm quite near and Gub-Gub had gone off to see if there were any pigs in the stye. Otherwise the Doctor’s family circle was complete. And soon after the kettle had been put on to boil along came Toby and Swizzle. The night was cool; so, instead of making a fire outside, Dab-Dab was using the stove in the caravan, and everybody was sitting around it chatting.
“Have you heard the news, Doctor?” said Toby, jumping up on the bed.
“No,” said John Dolittle. “What is it?”
“At the next town – Ashby, you know, quite a large place – we are to pick up Sophie.”
“Who in the world is Sophie?” asked the Doctor, getting out his slippers from behind the stove.
“She left us before you joined,” said Swizzle. “Sophie’s the performing seal – balances balls on her nose and does tricks in the water. She fell sick and Blossom had to leave her behind about a month ago. She’s all right now, though, and her keeper is meeting us at Ashby so she can join us again. She’s rather a sentimental sort of girl, is Sophie. But she’s a good sport, and I’m sure you will like her.”
The circus reached Ashby about nine o’clock on a Wednesday evening. It was to open to the public the first thing the following morning. So all through that night, by the light of flares, the men were busy hoisting tents, setting up booths, and spreading tanbark. Even after the pushmi-pullyu’s stand was put together and the Doctor’s family retired to rest, no one got any sleep; for the ground still shook with the hammers driving pegs; and the air was full of shouts and the spirits of work, till the dusk of dawn crept over the roofs of Ashby and showed the city of canvas that had been built in a night.
He climbed wearily from his sleepless bed
John Dolittle decided, as he climbed wearily from his sleepless bed that circus life took a lot of getting used to. After breakfast, leaving Matthew in charge of his stand, he set out to make the acquaintance of the performing seal.
Chapter 6
Sophie, from Alaska
Sophie’s keeper, like the rest of the showmen, had by this time got his part of the circus in readiness to open to the public. The seal was accustomed to perform in the big tent twice a day, following the Pinto Brothers (trapeze acrobats) and the Talking Horse. But during the rest of the day she was a side-show like the pushmi-pullyu. Here in an enclosed tank she dived after fish for the amusement of anyone who paid threepence to come and see her.
This morning – it was still quite early – Sophie’s keeper was eating his breakfast outside on the steps when the Doctor entered the stand. Inside, a tank about twelve feet across had been let into the ground; and around it was a platform with a railing where visitors stood to watch the performance. Sophie, a fine five-foot Alaskan seal, with sleek skin and intelligent eyes, was wallowing moodily in the water of the tank. When the Doctor spoke to her in her own language, and she realized who her visitor was, she burst into a flood of tears.
“What is the matter?” asked John Dolittle.
The seal, still weeping, did not answer.
“Calm yourself,” said the Doctor. “Don’t be hysterical. Tell me, are you still sick? I understood you had recovered.”
“Oh, yes, I got over that,” said Sophie through her tears. “It was only an upset stomach. They will feed us this stale fish, you know.”
“Then what’s the matter?” asked the Doctor. “Why are you crying?”
“I was weeping for joy,” said Sophie. “I was just thinking as you came in that the only person in the world who could help me in my trouble was John Dolittle. Of course, I had heard all about you through the Post Office and the Arctic Monthly. In fact, I had written to you. It was I who contributed those articles on under-water swimming – you remember? – The Alaskan Wiggle, you know – double overhand stroke. It was printed in the August number of your magazine. We were awfully sorry when you had to give up the Arctic Monthly. It was tremendously popular among the seals.”
“But what was this trouble you were speaking of?” asked the Doctor.
“Oh, yes,” said Sophie, bursting into tears again. “That just shows you how glad I am; I had forgotten all about it for the moment. You know, when you first came in I thought you were an ordinary visitor. But the very first word of sealish that you spoke – and Alaskan sealish at that – I knew who you were; John Dolittle, the one man in the world I wanted to see! It was too much, I—”
“Come, come!” said the Doctor. “Don’t break down again. Tell me what your trouble is.”
“Well,” said Sophie, “it’s this: While I—”
At that moment there was a noise outside, the rattling of a bucket.
“Sh! It’s the keeper coming,” whispered the Doctor quickly. “Just carry on with your tricks. I’m not letting them know I can talk to the animals.”
When the keeper entered to swab the floor, Sophie was frisking and diving for an audience of one: a quite little fat man with a battered high hat on the back of his head. The keeper just glanced at him, before setting to work, and decided that he was quite an ordinary person, nobody in particular at