"Where did the Doctor go to on this voyage?" I asked as Matthew
handed round the meat to them.

"I couldn't tell you," he answered. "Nobody never knows where he
goes, nor when he's going, nor when he's coming back. He lives
all alone except for his pets. He's made some great voyages and
some wonderful discoveries. Last time he came back he told me
he'd found a tribe of Red Indians in the Pacific Ocean--lived on
two islands, they did. The husbands lived on one island and the
wives lived on the other. Sensible people, some of them savages.
They only met once a year, when the husbands came over to visit
the wives for a great feast--Christmas-time, most likely. Yes,
he's a wonderful man is the Doctor. And as for animals, well,
there ain't no one knows as much about 'em as what he does."

"How did he get to know so much about animals?" I asked.

The cat's-meat-man stopped and leant down to whisper in my ear.

"HE TALKS THEIR LANGUAGE," he said in a hoarse, mysterious voice.

"The animals' language?" I cried.

"Why certainly," said Matthew. "All animals have some kind of a
language. Some sorts talk more than others; some only speak in
sign-language, like deaf-and-dumb. But the Doctor, he understands
them all--birds as well as animals. We keep it a secret though,
him and me, because folks only laugh at you when you speak of it.
Why, he can even write animal-language. He reads aloud to his
pets. He's wrote history-books in monkey-talk, poetry in canary