THE FOURTH CHAPTER
THE WIFF-WAFF
WHEN at last I could look around me I found that the hall was indeed simply full of animals. It seemed to me that almost every kind of creature from the countryside must be there: a pigeon, a white rat, an owl, a badger, a jackdaw—there was even a small pig, just in from the rainy garden, carefully wiping his feet on the mat while the light from the candle glistened on his wet pink back.
The Doctor took the candlestick from the duck and turned to me.
"Look here," he said: "you must get those wet clothes off—by the way, what is your name?"
"Tommy Stubbins," I said.
"Oh, are you the son of Jacob Stubbins, the shoemaker?"
"Yes," I said.
"Excellent bootmaker, your father," said the Doctor. "You see these?" and he held up his right foot to show me the enormous boots he was wearing. "Your father made me those boots four years ago, and I've been wearing them ever since—perfectly wonderful boots—Well now, look here,
24
