"Dear me," muttered the Doctor, reading. "It's from that farmer in Lincolnshire whose Brussels sprouts we imported for Gub-Gub. I forgot to answer his letter—you remember, he wrote asking me if I could tell him what the trouble was. And I was so busy it went clean out of my mind. Dear me! I must pay the poor fellow back somehow. I wonder—oh, but there's this. I can send him the pearl. That will pay for his sprouts and something to spare. What a good idea!"
And to Dab-Dab's horror, the Doctor tore a clean piece off the farmer's letter, scribbled a reply, wrapped the pearl up in it and handed it to the swallow.
"Tell Speedy," said he, "to send that off right away—registered. I am returning to Fantippo to-morrow. Good-bye and thank you for the special delivery."
As Quip-the-Carrier disappeared into the distance with the Doctor's priceless pearl Dab-Dab turned to Jip and murmured:
"There goes the Dolittle fortune. My, but it is marvelous how money doesn't stick to that man's fingers!"
"Heigh ho!" sighed Jip, "it's a circus for us, all right."
"Easy comes, easy goes," murmured Gub-Gub. "Never mind. I don't suppose it's really such fun being rich. Wealthy people have to behave so unnaturally."
[CHAPTER VII]
A MYSTERIOUS LETTER
We are now come to an unusual event in the history of the Doctor's post office, to the one which was, perhaps, the greatest of all the curious things that came about through the institution of the Swallow Mail.