a large audience was gathered and yokels were gasping in wonder as the strong man lifted enormous weights in the air. There was no fake about this show. And John Dolittle, deeply interested, joined in the clapping and the gasping.
The strong man was an honest-looking fellow, with tremendous muscles. The Doctor took a liking to him right away. One of his tricks was to lie on the stage on his back and lift an enormous dumb-bell with his feet till his legs were sticking right up in the air. It needed balance as well as strength, because if the dumb-bell should fall the wrong way the man would certainly be injured. Today when he had finally brought his legs into an upright position and the crowd was whispering in admiration, suddenly there was a loud crack. One of the boards of the stage had given way. Instantly down came the big dumb-bell right across the man’s chest.
The crowd screamed and Blossom jumped up on the platform. It took two men’s strength to lift the dumb-bell off the strong mans’ body. But even then he did not arise. He lay motionless, his eyes closed, his face a deathly white.
“Get a doctor,” Blossom shouted to the Cat’s-Meat-Man. “Hurry! He’s hurt hisself – unconscious. A doctor, quick!”
But John Dolittle was already on the stage, standing over the ringmaster, who knelt beside the injured man.
“Get out of the way and let me examine him,” he said quietly.
“What can you do? He’s hurt bad. Look, his breathing’s queer. We got to get a doctor.”
“I am a doctor,” said John Dolittle. “Matthew, run to the van and get my black bag.”
“You a doctor!” said Blossom, getting up off his knees. “Thought you called yourself Mr. Smith.”
“Of course, he’s a doctor,” came a voice out of the crowd. “There wur a time when he wur the best known doctor in the West Country. I know un. Dolittle’s his name – John Dolittle, of Puddleby-on-the-Marsh.”
Chapter 5
The Doctor Is Discouraged
The Doctor found that two of the strong man’s ribs had been broken by the dumb-bell. However, he prophesied that with so powerful a constitution the patient should recover quickly. The injured man was put to bed in his own caravan and until he was well again the Doctor visited him four times a day and Matthew slept in his wagon to nurse him.
The strong man (his show name was Hercules) was very thankful to John Dolittle and became greatly attached to him – and very useful sometimes, as you will see later on.
So the Doctor felt, when he went to bed that first night of his circus career, that if he had made an enemy in Fatima, the snake charmer, he had gained a friend in Hercules, the strong man.
Of course, now that he had been recognized as the odd physician of Puddleby-on-the-Marsh, there was no longer any sense in his trying to conceal who he was. And very soon he became known among the circus folk as just “the Doctor” – or “the Doc.” On the very high recommendation of Hercules, he was constantly called upon for the cure of small ailments by everyone, from the bearded lady to the clown.
The next day, the pushmi-pullyu was put on show for the first time. He was very popular. A two-headed animal had never before been seen in a circus and the people thronged up to pay their money and have a look at him. At first he nearly died of embarrassment and shyness, and he was forever hiding one of his heads under the straw so as not to have to meet the gaze of all those staring eyes. Then the people wouldn’t believe he had more than one head. So the Doctor asked him if he would be so good as to keep both of them in view.
“You need not look at the people,” he said. “But just let them see that you really have two heads. You can turn your back on the audience – both ends.”
But some of the silly people, even when they could see the two heads plainly, kept saying that one must be faked. And they would prod the poor, timid animal with sticks to see if part of him was stuffed. While two country bumpkins were doing this one day the pushmi-pullyu got annoyed, and bringing both his heads up sharply at the same time, he jabbed the two inquirers in the legs. Then they knew for sure that he was real and alive all over.
But as soon as the Cat’s-Meat-Man could be spared from nursing Hercules (he turned the job over to his wife) the Doctor put him on guard inside the stall to see that the animal was not molested by stupid visitors. The poor creature had a terrible time those first days. But when Jip told him how much money was being taken in, he determined to stick it out for John Dolittle’s sake. And after a little while, although his opinion of the human race sank very low, he got sort of used to the silly, gaping faces of his audiences and gazed back at them – from both his heads – with fearless superiority and the scorn that they deserved.
During show hours, the Doctor used to sit in a chair on the front platform, taking the sixpences and smiling on the people as they went in – for all the world as though every one of them were old friends visiting his home. And, in fact, he did in this way re-meet many folks who had known him in years gone by, including the old lady with rheumatism, Squire Jenkyns and neighbours from Puddleby.
Poor Dab-Dab was busier than ever now. For in addition to the housekeeping duties she always had to keep one eye on the Doctor; and many were the scoldings she gave him because he would let the children in for nothing when she wasn’t looking.
Too-Too was always there
At the end of each day Blossom, the manager, came to divide up the money. And Too-Too, the mathematician, was always there when the adding was done, to see that the Doctor got his proper share.
Although the pushmi-pullyu was so popular, the Doctor saw very early in his new career that it would take quite a time to earn sufficient money to pay the sailor back for the boat – let alone to make enough for himself and his family to live on besides.
He was rather sorry about this; for there were a lot of things in the circus business that he did not like and he was anxious to leave it. While his own show was a perfectly honest affair, there were many features of the circus that were faked; and the Doctor, who always hated fake of any kind, had an uncomfortable feeling that he was part of an establishment not strictly honest. Most of the gambling games were arranged so that those who played them were bound to lose their money.
But the thing that worried the Doctor most was the condition of the animals. Their life, he felt, was in most cases an unhappy one. At the end of his first day with the circus, after the crowds have gone home and all was quiet in the enclosure, he had gone back into the menagerie and talked to the animals there. They nearly all had complaints to make: their cages were not kept properly clean; they did not get exercise or room enough; with some the food served was not the kind they liked.
The Doctor heard them all and was so indignant he sought out the ringmaster in his private caravan right away and told him plainly of all the things he thought ought to be changed.
Blossom listened patiently until he had finished and then he laughed.
“Why, Doc,” said he, “if I was to do all the things you want me to I might as well leave the business! I’d be ruined. What, pension off the horses? Send the hurri-gurri back to
