Gub–Gub called it the Underground Dolittle Library, and he was very proud of having helped in the building of it. Not only that, but he was still more proud that his name was so often mentioned in those stacks and stacks of writing which we piled against the walls inside. On winter nights the animals often asked me to read aloud to them by the big kitchen fire, the same as the Doctor had done. And Gub–Gub always wanted me to read those parts from the books which spoke about him. He liked particularly to hear about himself and his great performances in the days of the Puddleby Pantomime. The other animals were not always pleased at this.
"Oh, gosh, Gub–Gub!" said Jip. "I should think you'd get tired of hearing about yourself all the time."
"But why?" said Gub–Gub. "Am I not the most important pig in history?"
"Poof!" growled Jip in disgust—"Most important pig on the garbage heap, you mean!"
But the day came when, as general manager of the Doctor's home, I found myself in difficulties. You cannot keep a family of animals and yourself on nothing at all. What money I had made shortly after my own return from the moon was all used up. True, a good deal of food could be raised on the place. Wild ducks (friends of Dab–Dab's) brought us eggs. With the animals' help I kept the garden in very good condition. I pruned the apple–trees as the Doctor had told me; and the kitchen garden was always well planted with vegetables.
Gub–Gub the pig was the one most interested in this. Although his habit of digging with his nose instead of a spade was somewhat untidy, he was a great help in keeping watch over everything as it grew. A pig was much better for this—in many ways–than a gardener. "Tommy," he would say, "the cut–worms are getting at the celery roots." Or, "Tommy, the caterpillars are spoiling the cabbages—and the new spinach needs watering."
Some of the vegetables I exchanged with neighbours, who had farms, for milk; and after I had learned how to make cheese from milk I could supply the white mouse with his favourite food.
But money in cash I needed for a lot of other household things like candles, matches and soap. And some of the animals, although they were not meat–eaters, could not be fed from the garden. For instance, there was the old lame horse in the stable whom the Doctor had told me especially to look after. The hay and the oats in his stable were all gone. What grass he could eat from the lawns was already cropped down to the roots. He must have oats to keep his strength up. No, there was nothing for it; I must make some money, earn some money. But how?
2
The Cats'-meat-man's Advice
I went into the garden to think. I always seemed to be able to think better in that great garden of the Doctor's than anywhere else. I wandered down towards the new library and from there into the Zoo. This quiet spot, enclosed by high walls on which the peach–trees grew, had once been a very busy place. Here we had kept the Rat and Mouse Club, the Home for Cross–bred Dogs, and all the other institutions for animals' comfort and happiness. They were all deserted now, with nothing but a few early swallows skimming over the grass which the old lame horse had nibbled short and neat and trim.
I felt very sad. Nothing seemed the same without the Doctor. I began pacing to and fro, thinking about my problem. I heard the latch in the garden door click. I turned. There stood Matthew Mugg, the Cats'–meat–Man.
"Oh, hulloa, Matthew!" I cried. "I'm glad to see you."
"My, Tommy!" said he. "You do look serious. Anything the matter?"
"Yes, Matthew," I said. "I've got to get a job–must make some money. Need it for housekeeping."
"Well, what kind of a job do you want?" he asked.
"Any kind, Matthew," said I—"any kind that I can get."
"'Ave you been to your father about it? Why can't you 'elp 'im in 'is business and earn money that way?"
He started walking back and forth at my side.
"Yes, I've been to see my parents. But it wasn't much use. Father's business is too small for him to need an assistant—even if I were any good at shoemaking, which I'm not."
"Humph!" said the Cats'–meat–Man. "Let me think."
"You see," I said, "it can't be a job which will take me away from here. There is too much that I must attend to—the garden and the rest. And besides, there's the Doctor's return. I wouldn't be away from here at the moment he gets home for anything in the world. You haven't told any one about our trip to the moon, have you, Matthew?" He tapped his pipe out against the heel of his boot.
"Not a word, Tommy, not a word." "That's right, Matthew. It must be kept an absolute secret. We have no idea what he will be like to look at when he arrives. We don't want newspapermen coming around and writing up reports."
"No," said Matthew. "That would bring the whole world clattering at the gates. Everybody would want to 'ave a look at the man from the moon."
"Quite so, Matthew; that's another reason why I have to have a job. I don't know what the Doctor may need when he gets here. He may be sick; he may need special kinds of food. And I haven't a penny in the house."
"I know, I know," said Matthew, shaking his head. "Money, money, money, what a curse it is!—as the good man said himself. Can't seem to do nothing without it though. But look 'ere, Tommy, you shouldn't 'ave no trouble findin' a job. 'Cause you got eddication, see?"
"Well, I've some education, Matthew. But what good does it do me here in Puddleby? If I was able to get away and go to London, now, that would be different."
"Oh, listen," said the Cats'–meat–Man. "You boys all think you 'ave to go to London to make yer fortunes—same as Dick Whittington. But young men what 'as eddication can make a good livin' 'ere in Puddleby. You can read and write and do 'rithmetic. Why can't you be a clerk in the Puddleby Bank, or a secketary, or somethin' like that?';
"But, Matthew," I cried, "don't you see? I'd have to stay at work in the town after it was dark—in the winter months anyhow. And as you know the Doctor told me to watch the moon for signals of his coming down. Of course it is true the animals take their turns too, watching for the smoke signals. But I would have to be there even if I'm sleeping, so that I could be called at once if—er—if—"
I don't exactly know why I broke off without finishing what I had to say. But I suppose my voice must have sounded uncertain, puzzled and upset; because Matthew suddenly looked up from refilling his pipe and said:
"But, Tommy, you ain't worried, are yer?—I mean, about the Doctor's returnin'. You feel sure 'e is comin' back from the moon?"
"Oh, yes," I said. "I suppose so."
"Suppose so!" cried Matthew. "Why, of course 'e will, Tommy! John Dolittle's one of them men what never comes to 'arm. 'E'll get back all right. Don't you worry."
"But supposing the Moon Man won't let him come?" I said.
"It'll take a good deal more than a bloomin' Moon Man to stop John Dolittle from gettin' away if 'e wants to."
"Well, but—er—Matthew," I said, "I sometimes wonder if he does want to come back."
Matthew's eyebrows went up higher than ever.
"Want to come back!" he gasped. "What d'yer mean?"
"Matthew Mugg," I said, "you know the Doctor cannot be judged the same as other folk. I mean, you never can tell what he'll do next. We found a very curious state of affairs in the moon. It is a year now since he has been gone. I haven't said anything about it to the animals in the house here, but the last few weeks I've begun to wonder if John Dolittle has not perhaps decided to stay on the moon—for good."