FOR a long time after that Cabinet Meeting of which I have just told you we did not ask the Doctor anything further about going home. Life in Spidermonkey Island went forward, month in month out, busily and pleasantly. The Winter, with Christmas celebrations, came and went, and Summer was with us once again before we knew it.
As time passed the Doctor became more and more taken up with the care of his big family; and the hours he could spare for his natural history work grew fewer and fewer. I knew that he often still thought of his house and garden in Puddleby and of his old plans and ambitions; because once in a while we would notice his face grow thoughtful and a little sad, when something reminded him of England or his old life. But he never spoke of these things. And I truly believe he would have spent the remainder of his days on Spidermonkey Island if it hadn't been for an accident-- and for Polynesia.
The old parrot had grown very tired of the Indians and she made no secret of it.
"The very idea," she said to me one day as we were walking on the seashore--"the idea of the famous John Dolittle spending his valuable life waiting on these greasy natives!--Why, it's preposterous!"
All that morning we had been watching the Doctor superintend the building of the new theatre in Popsipetel--there was already an opera-house and a concert-hall; and finally she had got so grouchy and annoyed at the sight that I had suggested her taking a walk with me.
"Do you really think," I asked as we sat down on the sands, "that he will never go back to Puddleby again?"
"I don't know," said she. "At one time I felt sure that the thought of the pets he had left behind at the house would take him home soon. But since Miranda brought him word last August that everything was all right there, that hope's gone. For months and months I've been racking my brains to think up a plan.
If we could only hit upon something that would turn his thoughts back to natural history again-- I mean something big enough to get him really excited--we might manage it. But how?"--she shrugged her shoulders in disgust--"How?--when all he thinks of now is paving streets and teaching papooses that twice one are two!"
It was a perfect Popsipetel day, bright and hot, blue and yellow.
Drowsily I looked out to sea thinking of my mother and father. I wondered if they were getting anxious over my long absence.
Beside me old Polynesia went on grumbling away in low steady tones; and her words began to mingle and mix with the gentle lapping of the waves upon the shore. It may have been the even murmur of her voice, helped by the soft and balmy air, that lulled me to sleep. I don't know. Anyhow I presently dreamed that the island had moved again-- not floatingly as before, but suddenly, jerkily, as though something enormously powerful had heaved it up from its bed just once and let it down.
How long I slept after that I have no idea. I was awakened by a gentle pecking on the nose.
"Tommy!--Tommy!" (it was Polynesia's voice) "Wake up!--Gosh, what a boy, to sleep through an earthquake and never notice it!--Tommy, listen: here's our chance now. Wake up, for goodness' sake!"
"What's the matter?" I asked sitting up with a yawn.
"Sh!--Look!" whispered Polynesia pointing out to sea.
Still only half awake, I stared before me with bleary, sleep-laden eyes. And in the shallow water, not more than thirty yards from shore I saw an enormous pale pink shell. Dome-shaped, it towered up in a graceful rainbow curve to a tremendous height; and round its base the surf broke gently in little waves of white. It could have belonged to the wildest dream.
"What in the world is it?" I asked.
"That," whispered Polynesia, "is what sailors for hundreds of years have called the Sea-serpent. I've seen it myself more than once from the decks of ships, at long range, curving in and out of the water. But now that I see it close and still, I very strongly suspect that the Sea-serpent of history is no other than the Great Glass Sea-snail that the fidgit told us of. If that isn't the only fish of its kind in the seven seas, call me a carrion-crow--Tommy, we're in luck. Our job is to get the Doctor down here to look at that prize specimen before it moves off to the Deep Hole. If we can, then trust me, we may leave this blessed island yet. You stay here and keep an eye on it while I go after the Doctor. Don't move or speak--don't even breathe heavy: he might get scared--awful timid things, snails. Just watch him; and I'll be back in two shakes."
