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12. The Silent Valley
“How agreeable and pleasant this valley is,” thought Milo as once again they
bounced along the highway, with the Humbug humming snatches of old songs, to
his own vast amusement, and Tock sniffing contentedly at the wind.
“I really can’t see what Dr. Dischord was so concerned about; there certainly
couldn’t be anything unpleasant along this road.” And just as the thought crossed his
mind they passed through a heavy stone gateway and everything was very different.
At first it was difficult to tell just what had changed—it all looked the same and
it all smelled the same—but, for some reason, nothing sounded the same.
“I wonder what’s happened?” said Milo. At least that’s what he tried to say, for,
although his lips moved, not a sound came from his mouth.
And suddenly he realized what it was, for Tock was no longer ticking and the
Humbug, although happily singing, was doing so in complete silence. The wind no
longer rustled the leaves, the car no longer squeaked, and the insects no longer
buzzed in the fields. Not the slightest thing could be heard, and it felt as if, in some
mysterious way, a switch had been thrown and all the sound in the world had been
turned off at the same instant.
The Humbug, suddenly realizing what had happened, leaped to his feet in
terror, and Tock worriedly checked to see if he was still keeping time. It was
certainly a strange feeling to know that no matter how loudly or softly you chatted
or rattled or bumped, it all came out the same way—as nothing.
“How dreadful,” thought Milo as he slowed down the car.
The three of them began to talk and shout at once with absolutely no result
until, hardly noticing where they were going, they had driven into the midst of a
large crowd of people marching along the road. Some of them were singing at the
tops of their nonexistent voices and the others were carrying large signs which
proclaimed:
DOWN WITH SILENCE
ALL QUIET IS NO DIET
IT’S LAUDABLE TO BE AUDIBLE
MORE SOUND FOR ALL
And one enormous banner stated simply:
HEAR HERE
Except for these, and the big brass cannon being pulled along behind, they all
looked very much like the residents of any other small valley to which you’ve never
been.
When the car had stopped, one of them held up a placard which said:
“WELCOME TO THE VALLEY OF SOUND.” And the others cheered as loudly
as possible, which was not very loud at all.
“HAVE YOU COME TO HELP US?” asked another, stepping forward with his
question.
“PLEASE!” added a third.
Milo tried desperately to say who he was and where he was going, but to no
avail. As he did, four more placards announced:
LISTEN LOOK CAREFULLY
AND WE
WILL TELL YOU
OF OUR TERRIBLE MISFORTUNE
And while two of them held up a large blackboard, a third, writing as fast as he
could, explained why there was nothing but quiet in the Valley of Sound.
“At a place in the valley not far from here,” he began, "where the echoes used
to gather and the winds came to rest, there is a great stone fortress, and in it lives the
Soundkeeper, who rules this land. When the old king of Wisdom drove the demons
into the distant mountains, he appointed her guardian of all sounds and noises, past,
present, and future.
“For years she ruled as a wise and beloved monarch, each morning at sunrise
releasing the day’s new sounds, to be borne by the winds throughout the kingdom,
and each night at moonset gathering in the old sounds, to be catalogued and filed in
the vast storage vaults below.”
The writer paused for a moment to mop his brow and then, since the
blackboard was full, erased it completely and continued anew from the top.
“She was generous to a fault and provided us with all the sound we could
possibly use: for singing as we worked, for bubbling pots of stew, for the chop of an
ax and the crash of a tree, for the creak of a hinge and the hoot of an owl, for the
squish of a shoe in the mud and the friendly tapping of rain on the roof, and for the
sweet music of pipes and the sharp snap of winter ice cracking on the ground.”
He paused again as a tear of longing rolled from cheek to lip with the sweetsalty taste of an old memory.
"And all these sounds, when once used, would be carefully placed in
alphabetical order and neatly kept for future reference. Everyone lived in peace, and
the valley flourished as the happy home of sound. But then things began to change.
"Slowly at first, and then in a rush, more people came to settle here and brought
with them new ways and new sounds, some very beautiful and some less so. But
everyone was so busy with the things that had to be done that they scarcely had time
to listen at all. And, as you know, a sound which is not heard disappears forever and
is not to be found again.
“People laughed less and grumbled more, sang less and shouted more, and the
sounds they made grew louder and uglier. It became difficult to hear even the birds
or the breeze, and soon everyone stopped listening for them.”
He again cleared the blackboard, as the Humbug choked back a sob, and
continued writing.
"The Soundkeeper grew worried and disconsolate. Each day there were fewer
sounds to be collected, and most of those were hardly worth keeping. Many people
thought it was the weather, and others blamed the moon, but the general consensus
of opinion held that the trouble began at the time that Rhyme and Reason were
banished. But, no matter what the cause, no one knew what to do.
"Then one day Dr. Dischord appeared in the valley with his wagon of
medicines and the bluish smoggy DYNNE. He made a thorough examination and
promised to cure everyone of everything; and the Soundkeeper let him try.
“He gave several bad-tasting spoonfuls of medicine to every adult and child,
and it worked—but not really as expected. For he cured everybody of
everything but noise. The Soundkeeper became furious. She chased him from the
valley forever and then issued the following decree:
” ‘FROM THIS DAY FORWARD THE VALLEY OF SOUND SHALL BE
SILENT. SINCE SOUND IS NO LONGER APPRECIATED, I HEREBY
ABOLISH IT. PLEASE RETURN ALL UNUSED AMOUNTS TO THE
FORTRESS IMMEDIATELY.’
“And that’s the way it has been ever since,” he concluded sadly. “There is
nothing we can do to change it, and each day new hardships are reported.”
A small man, with his arms full of letters and messages, pushed through the
crowd and offered them to Milo. Milo took one which read:
Dear Soundkeeper,
We had a thunderstorm last week and the thunder still
hasn’t arrived. How long should we wait?
Yours truly,
A friend.
Then he took a telegram which stated:
BAND CONCERT GREAT SUCCESS STOP WHEN MAY WE EXPECT
THE MUSIC STOP
“Now you see,” continued the writer, “why you must help us attack the fortress
and free sound.”
“What can I do?” wrote Milo.
“You must visit the Soundkeeper and bring from the fortress one sound, no
matter how small, with which to load our cannon. For, if we can reach the walls
with the slightest noise, they will collapse and free the rest. It won’t be easy, for she
is hard to deceive, but you must try.”
Milo thought for just a moment and then, with a resolute “I shall,” volunteered
to go.
Within a few minutes he stood bravely at the fortress door. “Knock, knock,” he
wrote neatly on a piece of paper, which he pushed under the crack. In a moment the
great portal swung open, and, as it closed behind him, a gentle voice sang out:
“Right this way; I’m in the parlor.”
“Can I talk now?” cried Milo happily, hearing his voice once again.
“Yes, but only in here,” she replied softly. “Now do come into the parlor.”
Milo walked slowly down the long hallway and into the little room where the
Soundkeeper sat listening intently to an enormous radio set, whose switches, dials,
knobs, meters, and speaker covered one whole wall, and which at the moment was
playing nothing.
“Isn’t that lovely?” she sighed. "It’s my favorite program—fifteen minutes of
silence—and after that there’s a half hour of quiet and then an interlude of lull.
Why, did you know that there are almost as many kinds of stillness as there are
sounds? But, sadly enough, no one pays any attention to them these days.
“Have you ever heard the wonderful silence just before the dawn?” she
inquired. “Or the quiet and calm just as a storm ends? Or perhaps you know the
silence when you haven’t the answer to a question you’ve been asked, or the hush of
a country road at night, or the expectant pause in a roomful of people when
someone is just about to speak, or, most beautiful of all, the moment after the door
closes and you’re all alone in the whole house? Each one is different, you know, and
all very beautiful, if you listen carefully.”
As she spoke, the thousands of little bells and chimes which covered her from
head to toe tinkled softly and, as if in reply, the telephone began to ring, too.
“For someone who loves silence, she certainly talks a great deal,” thought Milo.
“At one time I was able to listen to any sound made any place at any time,” the
Soundkeeper remarked, pointing towards the radio wall, “but now I merely—”
“Pardon me,” interrupted Milo as the phone continued to ring, “but aren’t you
going to answer it?”
“Oh no, not in the middle of the program,” she replied, and turned the silence
up a little louder.
“But it may be important,” insisted Milo.
“Not at all,” she assured him; “it’s only me. It gets so lonely around here, with
no sounds to distribute or collect, that I call myself seven or eight times a day just to
see how I am.”
“How are you?” he asked politely.
“Not very well, I’m afraid. I seem to have a touch of static,” she complained.
“But what brings you here? Of course—you’ve come to tour the vaults. Well,
they’re usually open to the public only on Mondays from two to four, but since
you’ve traveled so far, we’ll have to make an exception. Follow me, please.”
She quickly bounced to her feet with a chorus of jingles and chimes and started
down the hallway.
“Don’t you just love jingles and chimes? I do,” she answered quickly. “Besides,
they’re very convenient, for I’m always getting lost in this big fortress, and all I have
to do is listen for them and then I know exactly where I am.”
They entered a tiny cagelike elevator and traveled down for fully three quarters
of a minute, stopping finally in an immense vault, whose long lines of file drawers
and storage bins stretched in all directions from where here began to where there
ended, and from floor to ceiling.
“Every sound that’s ever been made in history is kept here,” said the
Soundkeeper, skipping down one of the corridors with Milo in hand. “For instance,
look here.” She opened one of the drawers and pulled out a small brown envelope.
“This is the exact tune George Washington whistled when he crossed the Delaware
on that icy night in 1777.”
Milo peered into the envelope and, sure enough, that’s exactly what was in it.
“But why do you collect them all?” he asked as she closed the drawer.
“If we didn’t collect them,” said the Soundkeeper as they continued to stroll
through the vault, “the air would be full of old sounds and noises bouncing around
and bumping into things. It would be terribly confusing, because you’d never know
whether you were listening to an old one or a new one. Besides, I do like to collect
things, and there are more sounds than almost anything else. Why, I have
everything here from the buzz of a mosquito a million years ago to what your
mother said to you this morning, and if you come back here in two days, I’ll tell you
what she said tomorrow. It’s really very simple; let me show you. Say a word—any
word.”
“Hello,” said Milo, for that was all he could think of.
“Now where do you think it went?” she asked with a smile.
“I don’t know,” said Milo, shrugging his shoulders. “I always thought that—”
“Most people do,” she hummed, peering down one of the corridors. “Now, let
me see: first we find the cabinet with today’s sounds. Ah, here it is. Then we look
under G for greetings, then under M for Milo, and here it is already in its envelope.
So, you see, the whole system is quite automatic. It’s a shame we hardly use it any
more.”
“That’s wonderful,” gasped Milo. “May I have one little sound as a souvenir?”
“Certainly,” she said with pride, and then, immediately thinking better of it,
added, “not. And don’t try to take one, because it’s strictly against the rules.”
Milo was crestfallen. He had no idea how to steal a sound, even the smallest
one, for the Soundkeeper always had at least one eye carefully focused on him.
“Now for a look at the workshops,” she cried, whisking him through another
door and into a large abandoned laboratory full of old pieces of equipment, all
untended and rusting.
“This is where we used to invent the sounds,” she said wistfully.
“Do they have to be invented?” asked Milo, who seemed surprised at almost
everything she told him. “I thought they just were.”
“No one realizes how much trouble we go through to make them,” she
complained. “Why, at one time this shop was crowded and busy from morning to
night.”
“But how do you invent a sound?” Milo inquired.
“Oh, that’s very easy,” she said. “First you must decide exactly what the sound
looks like, for each sound has its own exact shape and size. Then you make some of
them here in the shop, and grind each one three times into an invisible powder, and
throw a little of each into the air every time you need it.”
“But I’ve never seen a sound,” Milo insisted.
“You never see them out there,” she said, waving her arm in the general
direction of everywhere, “except every once in a while on a very cold morning
when they freeze. But in here we see them all the time. Here, let me show you.”
She picked up a padded stick and struck a nearby bass drum six times. Six large
woolly, fluffy cotton balls, each about two feet across, rolled silently out onto the
floor.
“You see,” she said, putting some of them into a large grinder. “Now listen.”
And she took a pinch of the invisible powder and threw it into the air with a
“BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM.”
“Do you know what a handclap looks like?”
Milo shook his head.
“Try it,” she commanded.
He clapped his hands once and a single sheet of clean white paper fluttered to
the floor. He tried it three more times and three more sheets of paper did the very
same thing. And then he applauded as fast as he could and a great cascade of papers
filled the air.
“Isn’t that simple? And it’s the same for all sounds. If you think about it, you’ll
soon know what each one looks like. Take laughter, for instance,” she said,
laughing brightly, and a thousand tiny brightly colored bubbles flew into the air and
popped noiselessly. “Or speech,” she continued. “Some of it is light and airy, some
sharp and pointed, but most of it, I’m afraid, is just heavy and dull.”
“How about music?” asked Milo excitedly.
“Right over here—we weave it on our looms. Symphonies are the large
beautiful carpets with all the rhythms and melodies woven in. Concertos are these
tapestries, and all the other bolts of cloth are serenades, waltzes, overtures, and
rhapsodies. And we also have some of the songs that you often sing,” she cried,
holding up a handful of brightly colored handkerchiefs.
She stopped for a moment and said sadly, “We even had one section over there
that did nothing but put the sound of the ocean into sea shells. This was once such a
happy place.”
“Then why don’t you make sound for everyone now?” he shouted, so eagerly
that the Soundkeeper leaped back in surprise.
“Don’t shout so, young man! If there’s one thing we need more of around here,
it’s less noise. Now come with me and I’ll tell you all about it—and put that down
immediately!” Her last remark was directed toward Milo’s efforts to stuff one of the
large drumbeats into his back pocket.
They returned quickly to the parlor, and when the Soundkeeper had settled
herself in a chair and carefully tuned the radio to a special hour of hush, Milo asked
his question once again, in a somewhat lower voice.
“It doesn’t make me happy to hold back the sounds,” she began softly, “for if
we listen to them carefully they can sometimes tell us things far better than words.”
“But if that is so,” asked Milo—and he had no doubt that it was—“shouldn’t
you release them?”
“NEVER!” she cried. “They just use them to make horrible noises which are
ugly to see and worse to hear. I leave all that to Dr. Dischord and that awful, awful
DYNNE.”
“But some noises are good sounds, aren’t they?” he insisted.
“That may be true,” she replied stubbornly, “but if they won’t make the sounds
that I like, they won’t make any.”
“But—” he started to say, and it got no further than that. For while he was
about to say that he didn’t think that that was quite fair (a thought to which the
obstinate Soundkeeper might not have taken kindly) he suddenly discovered the
way he would carry his little sound from the fortress. In the instant between saying
the word and before it sailed off into the air he had clamped his lips shut—and the
“but” was trapped in his mouth, all made but not spoken.
“Well, I mustn’t keep you all day,” she said impatiently. “Now turn your
pockets out so that I can see that you didn’t steal anything and you can be on your
way.”
When he had satisfied the Soundkeeper, he nodded his farewell—for it would
have been most impractical to say “Thank you” or “Good afternoon”—and raced
out the door.

13. Unfortunate Conclusions
With his mouth shut tight, and his feet moving as fast as thoughts could make
them, Milo ran all the way back to the car. There was great excitement when he
arrived, as Tock raced happily down the road to greet him. The Humbug personally
accepted all congratulations from the crowd.
“Where is the sound?” someone hastily scribbled on the blackboard, and they
all waited anxiously for the reply.
Milo caught his breath, picked up the chalk, and explained simply, “It’s on the
tip of my tongue.”
Several people excitedly threw their hats into the air, some shouted what would
have been a loud hurrah, and the rest pushed the heavy cannon into place. They
aimed it directly at the thickest part of the fortress wall and packed it full of
gunpowder.
Milo stood on tiptoe, leaned over into the cannon’s mouth, and parted his lips.
The small sound dropped silently to the bottom and everything was ready. In
another moment the fuse was lit and sputtering.
“I hope no one gets hurt,” thought Milo, and, before he had time to think again,
an immense cloud of gray and white smoke leaped from the gun and, along with it,
so softly that it was hardly heard, came the sound of—
BUT
It flew toward the wall for several seconds in a high, lazy arc and then struck
ever so lightly just to the right of the big door. For an instant there was an ominous
stillness, quieter and more silent than ever before, as if even the air was holding its
breath.
And then, almost immediately, there was a blasting, roaring, thundering smash,
followed by a crushing, shattering, bursting crash, as every stone in the fortress
came toppling to the ground and the vaults burst open, spilling the sounds of history
into the wind.
Every sound that had ever been uttered or made, from way back to when there
were none, to way up when there were too many, came hurtling out of the debris in
a way that sounded as though everyone in the world was laughing, whistling,
shouting, crying, singing, whispering, humming, screaming, coughing, and
sneezing, all at the same time. There were bits of old speeches floating about, as
well as recited lessons, gunshots from old wars, babies’ cries, auto horns, waterfalls,
electric fans, galloping horses, and a great deal of everything else.
For a while there was total and deafening confusion and then, almost as quickly
as they’d come, all the old sounds disappeared over the hill in search of their new
freedom, and things were normal again.
The people quickly went about their busy talkative business and, as the smoke
and dust cleared, only Milo, Tock, and the Humbug noticed the Soundkeeper sitting
disconsolately on a pile of rubble.
“I’m terribly sorry,” said Milo sympathetically as the three of them went to
console her.
“But we had to do it,” added Tock, sniffing around the ruins.
“What a terrible mess,” observed the Humbug, with his knack for saying
exactly the wrong thing.
The Soundkeeper looked around with an expression of unrelieved sadness on
her unhappy face, “It will take years to collect all those sounds again,” she sobbed,
“and even longer to put them back in proper order. But it’s all my fault. For you
can’t improve sound by having only silence. The problem is to use each at the
proper time.”
As she spoke, the familiar and unmistakable squinch-squanch, squinchsquanch of the DYNNE’s heavy toot-steps could be heard plodding over the hill,
and when he finally appeared he was dragging an incredibly large sack behind him.
“Can anyone use these sounds?” he puffed, mopping his forehead. “They all
came over the hill at once and none of them are awful enough for me.”
The Soundkeeper peered into the sack, and there were all the sounds which had
burst from the vaults.
“How nice of you to return them!” she cried happily. “You and the doctor must
come by for an evening of beautiful music when my fortress is repaired.”
The thought of it so horrified the DYNNE that he excused himself immediately
and dashed off down the road in a great panic.
“I hope I haven’t offended him,” she said with some concern.
“He only likes unpleasant sounds,” volunteered Tock.
“Ah yes,” she sighed; “I keep forgetting that many people do. But I suppose
they are necessary, for you’d never really know how pleasant one was unless you
knew how unpleasant it wasn’t.” She paused for a moment, then continued: “If only
Rhyme and Reason were here, I’m sure things would improve.”
“That’s why we’re going to rescue them,” said Milo proudly.
“What a long, hard journey that will be! You’ll need some nourishment,” she
cried, handing Milo a small brown package, neatly wrapped and tied with string.
“Now remember: they’re not for eating, but for listening, because you’ll often be
hungry for sounds as well as food. Here are street noises at night, train whistles a
long way off, dry leaves burning, busy department stores, crunching toast, creaking
bedsprings, and, of course, all kinds of laughter. There’s a little of each, and in faroff lonely places I think you’ll be glad to have them.”
“I’m sure we will,” replied Milo gratefully.
“Just take this road to the sea and turn left,” she told them. “You’ll soon be in
Digitopolis.”
Arid almost before she had finished, they had said good-by and left the valley
behind them.
The shore line was peaceful and flat, and the calm sea bumped it playfully
along the sandy beach. In the distance a beautiful island covered with palm trees
and flowers beckoned invitingly from the sparkling water.
“Nothing can possibly go wrong now,” cried the Humbug happily, and as soon
as he’d said it he leaped from the car, as if stuck by a pin, and sailed all the way to
the little island.
“And we’ll have plenty of time,” answered Tock, who hadn’t noticed that the
bug was missing—and he, too, suddenly leaped into the air and disappeared.
“It certainly couldn’t be a nicer day,” agreed Milo, who was too busy looking at
the road to see that the others had gone. And in a split second he was gone also.
He landed next to Tock and the terrified Humbug on the tiny island, which now
looked completely different. Instead of palms and flowers, there were only rocks
and the twisted stumps of long-dead trees. It certainly didn’t seem like the same
place they had seen from the road.
“Pardon me,” said Milo to the first man who happened by; “can you tell me
where I am?”
“Pardon me,” replied the man; “can you tell me who I am?”
The man was dressed in a shaggy tweed jacket and knickers with long woolen
stockings and a cap that had a peak both front and back, and he seemed as confused
as he could be.
“You must know who you are,” said Milo impatiently.
“You must know where you are,” he replied with equal annoyance.
“Oh dear, this is going to be difficult,” Milo whispered to Tock. “I wonder if we
can help him.”
They conferred for a few minutes and finally the bug looked up and said, “Can
you describe yourself?”
“Yes, indeed,” the man replied happily. “I’m as tall as can be”—and he grew
straight up until all that could be seen of him were his shoes and stockings—“and
I’m as short as can be”—and he shrank down to the size of a pebble. “I’m as
generous as can be,” he said, handing each of them a large red apple, “and I’m as
selfish as can be,” he snarled, grabbing them back again.
“I’m as strong as can be,” he roared, lifting an enormous boulder over his head,
“and I’m as weak as can be,” he gasped, staggering under the weight of his hat. “I’m
as smart as can be,” he remarked in twelve different languages, “and I’m as stupid as
can be,” he admitted, putting both feet in one shoe.
“I’m as graceful as can be,” he hummed, balancing on one toe, “and I’m as
clumsy as can be,” he cried, sticking his thumb in his eye. “I’m as fast as can be,” he
announced, running around the island twice in no time at all, “and I’m as slow as
can be,” he complained, waving good-by to a snail. “Is that any help to you?”
Once again they conferred in busy whispers until all three agreed.
“It’s really very simple,” said the Humbug, twirling his cane.
“If everything you say is true,” added Tock.
“Then, without a doubt,” Milo concluded brightly, “you must be Canby.”
“Of course, yes, of course,” the man shouted. “Why didn’t I think of that? I’m as
happy as can be.” Then he quickly sat down, put his head in his hands, and sighed.
“But I’m also as sad as can be.”
“Now will you tell me where we are?” asked Tock as he looked around the
desolate island.
“To be sure,” said Canby; “you’re on the Island of Conclusions. Make yourself
at home. You’re apt to be here for some time.”
“But how did we get here?” asked Milo, who was still a bit puzzled by being
there at all.
“You jumped, of course,” explained Canby. “That’s the way most everyone gets
here. It’s really quite simple: every time you decide something without having a
good reason, you jump to Conclusions whether you like it or not. It’s such an easy
trip to make that I’ve been here hundreds of times.”
“But this is such an unpleasant-looking place,” Milo remarked.
“Yes, that’s true,” admitted Canby; “it does look much better from a distance.”
As he spoke, at least eight or nine more people sailed onto the island from
every direction possible.
“Well, I’m going to jump right back,” announced the Humbug, who took two or
three practice bends, leaped as far as he could, and landed in a heap two feet away.
“That won’t do at all,” scolded Canby, helping him to his feet. “You can never
jump away from Conclusions. Getting back is not so easy. That’s why we’re so
terribly crowded here.”
That was certainly the truth, for all along the bleak shore and clustered on the
rocks for as far as anyone could see were enormous crowds of people, all sadly
looking out to sea.
“Isn’t there even a boat?” asked Milo, anxious to get on with his trip.
“Oh no,” replied Canby, shaking his head. “The only way back is to swim, and
that’s a very long and a very hard way.”
“I don’t like to get wet,” moaned the unhappy bug, and he shuddered at the
thought.
“Neither do they,” said Canby sadly. “That’s what keeps them here. But I
wouldn’t worry too much about it, for you can swim all day in the Sea of
Knowledge and still come out completely dry. Most people do. But you must
excuse me now. I have to greet the new arrivals. As you know, I’m as friendly as
can be.”
Over the Humbug’s strenuous objections, Milo and Tock decided to swim, and,
protesting loudly, the bug was dragged along with them toward the sea.
Canby hurried off to answer more questions, and the last thing he was heard to
say was “Pardon me, can you tell me who I am?”
They swam and swam and swam for what seemed like hours, and only Tock’s
firm encouragement kept Milo struggling through the icy water. At last they
reached the shore, thoroughly exhausted and, except for the bug, completely
soaked.
“That wasn’t bad at all,” the Humbug said, straightening his tie and brushing
himself off. “I must visit there again.”
“I’m sure you will,” gasped Milo. “But from now on I’m going to have a very
good reason before I make up my mind about anything. You can lose too much time
jumping to Conclusions.”
The car was just where they’d left it, and in a moment they were on their way
again as the road turned away from the sea and began its long climb into the
mountains. The warm sun and billowy breezes dried them as they went.
“I hope we reach Digitopolis soon,” said Milo, thinking of the breakfast they
hadn’t eaten. “I wonder how far it is.”

14. The Dodecahedron Leads the Way
Up ahead, the road divided into three and, as if in reply to Milo’s question, an
enormous road sign, pointing in all three directions, stated clearly:
DIGITOPOLIS
5 Miles
1,600 Rods
8,800 Yards
26,400 Feet
316,800 Inches
633,600 Half inches
AND THEN SOME

“Let’s travel by miles,” advised the Humbug; “it’s shorter.”
“Let’s travel by half inches,” suggested Milo; “it’s quicker.”
“But which road should we take?” asked Tock. “It must make a difference.”
As they argued, a most peculiar little figure stepped nimbly from behind the
sign and approached them, talking all the while. “Yes, indeed; indeed it does;
certainly; my, yes; it does make a difference; undoubtedly.”
He was constructed (for that’s really the only way to describe him) of a large
assortment of lines and angles connected together into one solid many-sided
shape—somewhat like a cube that’s had all its corners cut off and then had all its
corners cut off again. Each of the edges was neatly labeled with a small letter, and
each of the angles with a large one. He wore a handsome beret on top, and peering
intently from one of his several surfaces was a very serious face. Perhaps if you
look at the picture you’ll know what I mean.
When he reached the car, the figure doffed his cap and recited in a loud clear
voice:
“My angles are many.
My sides are not few.
I’m the Dodecahedron.
Who are you?”

“What’s a Dodecahedron?” inquired Milo, who was barely able to pronounce
the strange word.
“See for yourself,” he said, turning around slowly. “A Dodecahedron is a
mathematical shape with twelve faces.”
Just as he said it, eleven other faces appeared, one on each surface, and each
one wore a different expression.
“I usually use one at a time,” he confided, as all but the smiling one
disappeared again. “It saves wear and tear. What are you called?”
“Milo,” said Milo.
“That is an odd name,” he said, changing his smiling face for a frowning one.
“And you only have one face.”
“Is that bad?” asked Milo, making sure it was still there.
“You’ll soon wear it out using it for everything,” replied the Dodecahedron.
“Now I have one for smiling, one for laughing, one for crying, one for frowning,
one for thinking, one for pouting, and six more besides. Is everyone with one face
called a Milo?”
“Oh no,” Milo replied; “some are called Henry or George or Robert or John or
lots of other things.”
“How terribly confusing,” he cried. “Everything here is called exactly what it
is. The triangles are called triangles, the circles are called circles, and even the same
numbers have the same name. Why, can you imagine what would happen if we
named all the twos Henry or George or Robert or John or lots of other things?
You’d have to say Robert plus John equals four, and if the four’s name were Albert,
things would be hopeless.”
“I never thought of it that way,” Milo admitted.
“Then I suggest you begin at once,” admonished the Dodecahedron from his
admonishing face, “for here in Digitopolis everything is quite precise.”
“Then perhaps you can help us decide which road to take,” said Milo.
“By all means,” he replied happily. “There’s nothing to it. If a small car
carrying three people at thirty miles an hour for ten minutes along a road five miles
long at 11:35 in the morning starts at the same time as three people who have been
traveling in a little automobile at twenty miles an hour for fifteen minutes on
another road exactly twice as long as one half the distance of the other, while a dog,
a bug, and a boy travel an equal distance in the same time or the same distance in an
equal time along a third road in mid-October, then which one arrives first and which
is the best way to go?”
“Seventeen!” shouted the Humbug, scribbling furiously on a piece of paper.
“Well, I’m not sure, but—” Milo stammered after several minutes of frantic
figuring.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” scolded the Dodecahedron, “or you’ll never
know how far you’ve gone or whether or not you’ve ever gotten there.”
“I’m not very good at problems,” admitted Milo.
“What a shame,” sighed the Dodecahedron. “They’re so very useful. Why, did
you know that if a beaver two feet long with a tail a foot and a half long can build a
dam twelve feet high and six feet wide in two days, all you would need to build
Boulder Dam is a beaver sixty-eight feet long with a fifty-one-foot tail?”
“Where would you find a beaver that big?” grumbled the Humbug as his pencil
point snapped.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” he replied, “but if you did, you’d certainly know what
to do with him.”
“That’s absurd,” objected Milo, whose head was spinning from all the numbers
and questions.
“That may be true,” he acknowledged, “but it’s completely accurate, and as long
as the answer is right, who cares if the question is wrong? If you want sense, you’ll
have to make it yourself.”
“All three roads arrive at the same place at the same time,” interrupted Tock,
who had patiently been doing the first problem.
“Correct!” shouted the Dodecahedron. “And I’ll take you there myself. Now
you can see how important problems are. If you hadn’t done this one properly, you
might have gone the wrong way.”
“I can’t see where I made my mistake,” said the Humbug, frantically rechecking
his figures.
“But if all the roads arrive at the same place at the same time, then aren’t they
all the right way?” asked Milo.
“Certainly not!” he shouted, glaring from his most upset face. “They’re all
the wrong way. Just because you have a choice, it doesn’t mean that any of
them has to be right.”
He walked to the sign and quickly spun it around three times. As he did, the
three roads vanished and a new one suddenly appeared, heading in the direction that
the sign now pointed.
“Is every road five miles from Digitopolis?” asked Milo.
“I’m afraid it has to be,” the Dodecahedron replied, leaping onto the back of the
car. “It’s the only sign we’ve got.”
The new road was quite bumpy and full of stones, and each time they hit one,
the Dodecahedron bounced into the air and landed on one of his faces, with a sulk
or a smile or a laugh or a frown, depending upon which one it was.
“We’ll soon be there,” he announced happily, after one of his short flights.
“Welcome to the land of numbers.”
“It doesn’t look very inviting,” the bug remarked, for, as they climbed higher
and higher, not a tree or a blade of grass could be seen anywhere. Only the rocks
remained.
“Is this the place where numbers are made?” asked Milo as the car lurched
again, and this time the Dodecahedron sailed off down the mountainside, head over
heels and grunt over grimace, until he landed sad side up at what looked like the
entrance to a cave.
“They’re not made,” he replied, as if nothing had happened. “You have to dig
for them. Don’t you know anything at all about numbers?”
“Well, I don’t think they’re very important,” snapped Milo, too embarrassed to
admit the truth.
“NOT IMPORTANT!” roared the Dodecahedron, turning red with fury. “Could
you have tea for two without the two—or three blind mice without the three? Would
there be four corners of the earth if there weren’t a four? And how would you sail
the seven seas without a seven?”
“All I meant was—” began Milo, but the Dodecahedron, overcome with
emotion and shouting furiously, carried right on.
“If you had high hopes, how would you know how high they were? And did
you know that narrow escapes come in all different widths? Would you travel the
whole wide world without ever knowing how wide it was? And how could you do
anything at long last,” he concluded, waving his arms over his head, “without
knowing how long the last was? Why, numbers are the most beautiful and valuable
things in the world. Just follow me and I’ll show you.” He turned on his heel and
stalked off into the cave.
“Come along, come along,” he shouted from the dark hole. “I can’t wait for you
all day.” And in a moment they’d followed him into the mountain.
It took several minutes for their eyes to become accustomed to the dim light,
and during that time strange scratching, scraping, tapping, scuffling noises could be
heard all around them.
“Put these on,” instructed the Dodecahedron, handing each of them a helmet
with a flashlight attached to the top.
“Where are we going?” whispered Milo, for it seemed like the kind of place in
which you whispered.
“We’re here,” he replied with a sweeping gesture. “This is the numbers mine.”
Milo squinted into the darkness and saw for the first time that they had entered
a vast cavern lit only by a soft, eerie glow from the great stalactites which hung
ominously from the ceiling. Passages and corridors honeycombed the walls and
wound their way from floor to ceiling, up and down the sides of the cave. And,
everywhere he looked, Milo saw little men no bigger than himself busy digging and
chopping, shoveling and scraping, pulling and tugging carts full of stone from one
place to another.
“Right this way,” instructed the Dodecahedron, “and watch where you step.”
As he spoke, his voice echoed and re-echoed and reechoed again, mixing its
sound with the buzz of activity all around them. Tock trotted along next to Milo,
and the Humbug, stepping daintily, followed behind.
“Whose mine is it?” asked Milo, stepping around two of the loaded wagons.
“BY THE FOUR MILLION EIGHT HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SEVEN
THOUSAND SIX HUNDRED AND FIFTY-NINE HAIRS ON MY HEAD, IT’S
MINE, OF COURSE!” bellowed a voice from across the cavern. And striding
toward them came a figure who could only have been the Mathemagician.
He was dressed in a long flowing robe covered entirely with complex
mathematical equations and a tall pointed cap that made him look very wise. In his
left hand he carried a long staff with a pencil point at one end and a large rubber
eraser at the other.
“It’s a lovely mine,” apologized the Humbug, who was always intimidated by
loud noises.
“The biggest number mine in the kingdom,” said the Mathemagician proudly.
“Are there any precious stones in it?” asked Milo excitedly.
“PRECIOUS STONES!” he roared, even louder than before. And then he
leaned over toward Milo and whispered softly, “By the eight million two hundred
and forty-seven thousand three hundred and twelve threads in my robe, I’ll say there
are. Look here.”
He reached into one of the carts and pulled out a small object, which he
polished vigorously on his robe. When he held it up to the light, it sparkled brightly.
“But that’s a five,” objected Milo, for that was certainly what it was.
“Exactly,” agreed the Mathemagician; “as valuable a jewel as you’ll find
anywhere. Look at some of the others.”
He scooped up a great handful of stones and poured them into Milo’s arms.
They included all the numbers from one to nine, and even an assortment of zeros.
“We dig them and polish them right here,” volunteered the Dodecahedron,
pointing to a group of workers busily employed at the buffing wheels; “and then we
send them all over the world. Marvelous, aren’t they?”
“They are exceptional,” said Tock, who had a special fondness for numbers.
“So that’s where they come from,” said Milo, looking in awe at the glittering
collection of numbers. He returned them to the Dodecahedron as carefully as
possible but, as he did, one dropped to the floor with a smash and broke in two. The
Humbug winced and Milo looked terribly concerned.
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” said the Mathemagician as he scooped up the
pieces. “We use the broken ones for fractions.”
“Haven’t you any diamonds or emeralds or rubies?” asked the bug irritably, for
he was quite disappointed in what he’d seen so far.
“Yes, indeed,” the Mathemagician replied, leading them to the rear of the cave;
“right this way.”
There, piled into enormous mounds that reached almost to the ceiling, were not
only diamonds and emeralds and rubies but also sapphires, amethysts, topazes,
moonstones, and garnets. It was the most amazing mass of wealth that any of them
had ever seen.
“They’re such a terrible nuisance,” sighed the Mathemagician, “and no one can
think of what to do with them. So we just keep digging them up and throwing them
out. Now,” he said, taking a silver whistle from his pocket and blowing it loudly,
“let’s have some lunch.”
And for the first time in his life the astonished bug couldn’t think of a thing to
say.

15. This Way to Infinity
Into the cavern rushed eight of the strongest miners carrying an immense
caldron which bubbled and sizzled and sent great clouds of savory steam spiraling
slowly to the ceiling. A sweet yet pungent aroma hung in the air and drifted easily
from one anxious nose to the other, stopping only long enough to make several
mouths water and a few stomachs growl. Milo, Tock, and the Humbug watched
eagerly as the rest of the workers put down their tools and gathered around the big
pot to help themselves.
“Perhaps you’d care for something to eat?” said the Mathemagician, offering
each of them a heaping bowlful.
“Yes, sir,” said Milo, who was beside himself with hunger.
“Thank you,” added Tock.
The Humbug made no reply, for he was already too busy eating, and in a
moment the three of them had finished absolutely everything they’d been given.
“Please have another portion,” said the Mathemagician, filling their bowls once
more; and as quickly as they’d finished the first one the second was emptied too
“Don’t stop now,” he insisted, serving them again, and again,
and again,
and again,
and again.
“How very strange,” thought Milo as he finished his seventh helping. "Each one
I eat makes me a little hungrier than the one before.
“Do have some more,” suggested the Mathemagician, and they continued to eat
just as fast as he filled the plates.
After Milo had eaten nine portions, Tock eleven, and the Humbug, without
once stopping to look up, twenty-three, the Mathemagician blew his whistle for a
second time and immediately the pot was removed and the miners returned to work.
“U-g-g-g-h-h-h,” gasped the bug, suddenly realizing that he was twenty-three
times hungrier than when he started, “I think I’m starving.”
“Me, too,” complained Milo, whose stomach felt as empty as he could ever
remember; “and I ate so much.”
“Yes, it was delicious, wasn’t it?” agreed the pleased Dodecahedron, wiping the
gravy from several of his mouths. “It’s the specialty of the kingdom—subtraction
stew.”
“I have more of an appetite than when I began,” said Tock, leaning weakly
against one of the larger rocks.
“Certainly,” replied the Mathemagician; “what did you expect? The more you
eat, the hungrier you get. Everyone knows that.”
“They do?” said Milo doubtfully. “Then how do you ever get enough?”
“Enough?” he said impatiently. “Here in Digitopolis we have our meals when
we’re full and eat until we’re hungry. That way, when you don’t have anything at all,
you have more than enough. It’s a very economical system. You must have been
quite stuffed to have eaten so much.”
“It’s completely logical,” explained the Dodecahedron. “The more you want,
the less you get, and the less you get, the more you have. Simple arithmetic, that’s
all. Suppose you had something and added something to it. What would that make?”
“More,” said Milo quickly.
“Quite correct,” he nodded. “Now suppose you had something and added
nothing to it. What would you have?”
“The same,” he answered again, without much conviction.
“Splendid,” cried the Dodecahedron. “And suppose you had something and
added less than nothing to it. What would you have then?”
“FAMINE!” roared the anguished Humbug, who suddenly realized that that
was exactly what he’d eaten twenty-three bowls of.
“It’s not as bad as all that,” said the Dodecahedron from his most sympathetic
face. “In a few hours you’ll be nice and full again—just in time for dinner.”
“Oh dear,” said Milo sadly and softly. “I only eat when I’m hungry.”
“What a curious idea,” said the Mathemagician, raising his staff over his head
and scrubbing the rubber end back and forth several times on the ceiling. “The next
thing you’ll have us believe is that you only sleep when you’re tired.” And by the
time he’d finished the sentence, the cavern, the miners, and the Dodecahedron had
vanished, leaving just the four of them standing in the Mathemagician’s workshop.
“I often find,” he casually explained to his dazed visitors, “that the best way to
get from one place to another is to erase everything and begin again. Please make
yourself at home.”
“Do you always travel that way?” asked Milo as he glanced curiously at the
strange circular room, whose sixteen tiny arched windows corresponded exactly to
the sixteen points of the compass. Around the entire circumference were numbers
from zero to three hundred and sixty, marking the degrees of the circle, and on the
floor, walls, tables, chairs, desks, cabinets, and ceiling were labels showing their
heights, widths, depths, and distances to and from each other. To one side was a
gigantic note pad set on an artist’s easel, and from hooks and strings hung a
collection of scales, rulers, measures, weights, tapes, and all sorts of other devices
for measuring any number of things in every possible way.
“No indeed,” replied the Mathemagician, and this time he raised the sharpened
end of his staff, drew a thin straight line in the air, and then walked gracefully
across it from one side of the room to the other. “Most of the time I take the shortest
distance between any two points. And, of course, when I should be in several places
at once,” he remarked, writing 7 × 1 = 7 carefully on the note pad, “I simply
multiply.”
Suddenly there were seven Mathemagicians standing side by side, and each one
looked exactly like the other.
“How did you do that?” gasped Milo.
“There’s nothing to it,” they all said in chorus, “if you have a magic staff.” Then
six of them canceled themselves out and simply disappeared.
“But it’s only a big pencil,” the Humbug objected, tapping at it with his cane.
“True enough,” agreed the Mathemagician; “but once you learn to use it, there’s
no end to what you can do.”
“Can you make things disappear?” asked Milo excitedly.
“Why, certainly,” he said, striding over to the easel. “Just step a little closer and
watch carefully.”
After demonstrating that there was nothing up his sleeves, in his hat, or behind
his back, he wrote quickly:
4 + 9 − 2 × 16 + 1 ÷ 3 × 6 − 67 + 8 × 2 − 3 + 26 − 1 ÷ 34 + 3 ÷ 7 + 2 − 5 =
Then he looked up expectantly. “Seventeen!” shouted the bug, who always
managed to be first with the wrong answer.
“It all comes to zero,” corrected Milo.
“Precisely,” said the Mathemagician, making a very theatrical bow, and the
entire line of numbers vanished before their eyes. “Now is there anything else you’d
like to see?”
“Yes, please,” said Milo. “Can you show me the biggest number there is?”
“I’d be delighted,” he replied, opening one of the closet doors. “We keep it right
here. It took four miners just to dig it out.”
Inside was the biggest Milo had ever seen. It was fully twice as high as the
Mathemagician.
“No, that’s not what I mean,” objected Milo. “Can you show me the longest
number there is?”
“Surely,” said the Mathemagician, opening another door. “Here it is. It took
three carts to carry it here.”
Inside this closet was the longest imaginable. It was just about as
wide as the three was high.
“No, no, no, that’s not what I mean either,” he said, looking helplessly at Tock.
“I think what you would like to see,” said the dog, scratching himself just under
half-past four, “is the number of greatest possible magnitude.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” said the Mathemagician, who was busily
measuring the edge of a raindrop. “What’s the greatest number you can think of?”
“Nine trillion, nine hundred ninety-nine billion, nine hundred ninety-nine
million, nine hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred ninety-nine,” recited Milo
breathlessly.
“Very good,” said the Mathemagician. “Now add one to it. Now add one
again,” he repeated when Milo had added the previous one. “Now add one again.
Now add one again. Now add one again. Now add one again. Now add one again.
Now add one again. Now add—”
“But when can I stop?” pleaded Milo.
“Never,” said the Mathemagician with a little smile, “for the number you want
is always at least one more than the number you’ve got, and it’s so large that if you
started saying it yesterday you wouldn’t finish tomorrow.”
“Where could you ever find a number so big?” scoffed the Humbug.
“In the same place they have the smallest number there is,” he answered
helpfully; “and you know what that is.”
“Certainly,” said the bug, suddenly remembering something to do at the other
end of the room.
“One one-millionth?” asked Milo, trying to think of the smallest fraction
possible.
“Almost,” said the Mathemagician. “Now divide it in half. Now divide it in half
again. Now divide it in half again. Now divide it in half again. Now divide it in half
again. Now divide it in half again. Now divide—”
“Oh dear,” shouted Milo, holding his hands to his ears, “doesn’t that ever stop
either?”
“How can it,” said the Mathemagician, “when you can always take half of
whatever you have left until it’s so small that if you started to say it right now you’d
finish even before you began?”
“Where could you keep anything so tiny?” Milo asked, trying very hard to
imagine such a thing.
The Mathemagician stopped what he was doing and explained simply, “Why,
in a box that’s so small you can’t see it—and that’s kept in a drawer that’s so small
you can’t see it, in a dresser that’s so small you can’t see it, in a house that’s so small
you can’t see it, on a street that’s so small you can’t see it, in a city that’s so small
you can’t see it, which is part of a country that’s so small you can’t see it, in a world
that’s so small you can’t see it.”
Then he sat down, fanned himself with a handkerchief, and continued. “Then,
of course, we keep the whole thing in another box that’s so small you can’t see it—
and, if you follow me, I’ll show you where to find it.”
They walked to one of the small windows and there, tied to the sill, was one
end of a line that stretched along the ground and into the distance until completely
out of sight.
“Just follow that line forever,” said the Mathemagician, “and when you reach
the end, turn left. There you’ll find the land of Infinity, where the tallest, the
shortest, the biggest, the smallest, and the most and the least of everything are
kept.”
“I really don’t have that much time,” said Milo anxiously. “Isn’t there a quicker
way?”
“Well, you might try this flight of stairs,” he suggested, opening another door
and pointing up. “It goes there, too.”
Milo bounded across the room and started up the stairs two at a time. “Wait for
me, please,” he shouted to Tock and the Humbug. “I’ll be gone just a few minutes.”

16. A Very Dirty Bird
Up he went—very quickly at first—then more slowly—then in a little while
even more slowly than that—and finally, after many minutes of climbing up the
endless stairway, one weary foot was barely able to follow the other. Milo suddenly
realized that with all his effort he was no closer to the top than when he began, and
not a great deal further from the bottom. But he struggled on for a while longer,
until at last, completely exhausted, he collapsed onto one of the steps.
“I should have known it,” he mumbled, resting his tired legs and filling his
lungs with air. “This is just like the line that goes on forever, and I’ll never get
there.”
“You wouldn’t like it much anyway,” someone replied gently. “Infinity is a
dreadfully poor place. They can never manage to make ends meet.”
Milo looked up, with his head still resting heavily in his hand; he was
becoming quite accustomed to being addressed at the oddest times, in the oddest
places, by the oddest people—and this time he was not at all disappointed. Standing
next to him on the step was exactly one half of a small child who had been divided
neatly from top to bottom.
“Pardon me for staring,” said Milo, after he had been staring for some time,
“but I’ve never seen half a child before.”
“It’s .58 to be precise,” replied the child from the left side of his mouth (which
happened to be the only side of his mouth).
“I beg your pardon?” said Milo.
“It’s .58,” he repeated; “it’s a little bit more than a half.”
“Have you always been that way?” asked Milo impatiently, for he felt that that
was a needlessly fine distinction.
“My goodness, no,” the child assured him. “A few years ago I was just .42 and,
believe me, that was terribly inconvenient.”
“What is the rest of your family like?” said Milo, this time a bit more
sympathetically.
“Oh, we’re just the average family,” he said thoughtfully; “mother, father, and
2.58 children—and, as I explained, I’m the .58.”
“It must be rather odd being only part of a person,” Milo remarked.
“Not at all,” said the child. “Every average family has 2.58 children, so I always
have someone to play with. Besides, each family also has an average of 1.3
automobiles, and since I’m the only one who can drive three tenths of a car, I get to
use it all the time.”
“But averages aren’t real,” objected Milo; “they’re just imaginary.”
“That may be so,” he agreed, “but they’re also very useful at times. For
instance, if you didn’t have any money at all, but you happened to be with four other
people who had ten dollars apiece, then you’d each have an average of eight dollars.
Isn’t that right?”
“I guess so,” said Milo weakly.
“Well, think how much better off you’d be, just because of averages,” he
explained convincingly. “And think of the poor farmer when it doesn’t rain all year:
if there wasn’t an average yearly rainfall of 37 inches in this part of the country, all
his crops would wither and die.”
It all sounded terribly confusing to Milo, for he had always had trouble in
school with just this subject.
“There are still other advantages,” continued the child. “For instance, if one rat
were cornered by nine cats, then, on the average, each cat would be 10 per cent rat
and the rat would be 90 per cent cat. If you happened to be a rat, you can see how
much nicer it would make things.”
“But that can never be,” said Milo, jumping to his feet.
“Don’t be too sure,” said the child patiently, “for one of the nicest things about
mathematics, or anything else you might care to learn, is that many of the things
which can never be, often are. You see,” he went on, “it’s very much like your
trying to reach Infinity. You know that it’s there, but you just don’t know where—
but just because you can never reach it doesn’t mean that it’s not worth looking for.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” said Milo, starting down the stairs. “I think I’ll
go back now.”
“A wise decision,” the child agreed; “but try again someday—perhaps you’ll get
much closer.” And, as Milo waved good-by, he smiled warmly, which he usually
did on the average of 47 times a day.
“Everyone here knows so much more than I do,” thought Milo, as he leaped
from step to step. “I’ll have to do a lot better if I’m going to rescue the princesses.”
In a few moments he’d reached the bottom again and burst into the workshop,
where Tock and the Humbug were eagerly watching the Mathemagician perform.
“Ah, back already,” he cried, greeting him with a friendly wave. “I hope you
found what you were looking for.”
“I’m afraid not,” admitted Milo. And then he added in a very discouraged tone,
“Everything in Digitopolis is much too difficult for me.”
The Mathemagician nodded knowingly and stroked his chin several times.
“You’ll find,” he remarked gently, “that the only thing you can do easily is be
wrong, and that’s hardly worth the effort.”
Milo tried very hard to understand all the things he’d been told, and all the
things he’d seen, and, as he spoke, one curious thing still bothered him. “Why is it,”
he said quietly, “that quite often even the things which are correct just don’t seem to
be right?”
A look of deep melancholy crossed the Mathemagician’s face and his eyes grew
moist with sadness. Everything was silent, and it was several minutes before he was
able to reply at all.
“How very true,” he sobbed, supporting himself on the staff. “It has been that
way since Rhyme and Reason were banished.”
“Quite so,” began the Humbug. “I personally feel that—”
“AND ALL BECAUSE OF THAT STUBBORN WRETCH AZAZ,” roared the
Mathemagician, completely overwhelming the bug, for now his sadness had
changed to fury and he stalked about the room adding up anger and multiplying
wrath. “IT’S ALL HIS FAULT.”
“Perhaps if you discussed it with him—” Milo started to say, but never had
time to finish.
“He’s much too unreasonable,” interrupted the Mathemagician again. “Why,
just last month I sent him a very friendly letter, which he never had the courtesy to
answer. See for yourself.”
He handed Milo a copy of the letter, which read:
“But maybe he doesn’t understand numbers,” said Milo, who found it a little
difficult to read himself.
“NONSENSE!” he bellowed. “Everyone understands numbers. No matter what
language you speak, they always mean the same thing. A seven is a seven anywhere
in the world.”
“My goodness,” thought Milo, “everybody is so terribly sensitive about the
things they know best.”
“With your permission,” said Tock, changing the subject, “we’d like to rescue
Rhyme and Reason.”
“Has Azaz agreed to it?” the Mathemagician inquired.
“Yes, sir,” the dog assured him.
“THEN I DON’T,” he thundered again, “for since they’ve been banished, we’ve
never agreed on anything—and we never will.” He emphasized his last remark with
a dark and ominous look.
“Never?” asked Milo, with the slightest touch of disbelief in his voice.
“NEVER!” he repeated. “And if you can prove otherwise, you have my
permission to go.”
“Well,” said Milo, who had thought about this problem very carefully ever
since leaving Dictionopolis. “Then with whatever Azaz agrees, you disagree.”
“Correct,” said the Mathemagician with a tolerant smile.
“And with whatever Azaz disagrees, you agree.”
“Also correct,” yawned the Mathemagician, nonchalantly cleaning his
fingernails with the point of his staff.
“Then each of you agrees that he will disagree with whatever each of you
agrees with,” said Milo triumphantly; “and if you both disagree with the same thing,
then aren’t you really in agreement?”
“I’VE BEEN TRICKED!” cried the Mathemagician helplessly, for no matter
how he figured, it still came out just that way.
“Splendid effort,” commented the Humbug jovially; “exactly the way I would
have done it myself.”
“And now may we go?” added Tock.
The Mathemagician accepted his defeat with grace, nodded weakly, and then
drew the three travelers to his side.
“It’s a long and dangerous journey,” he began softly, and a furrow of concern
creased his forehead. “Long before you find them, the demons will know you’re
there. Watch for them well,” he emphasized, “for when they appear, it might be too
late.”
The Humbug shuddered down to his shoes, and Milo felt the tips of his fingers
suddenly grow cold.
“But there is one problem even more serious than that,” he whispered
ominously.
“What is it?” gasped Milo, who was not sure he really wanted to know.
“I’m afraid I can tell you only when you return. Come along,” said the
Mathemagician, “and I’ll show you the way.” And, simply by carrying the three, he
transported them all to the very edge of Digitopolis. Behind them lay all the
kingdoms of Wisdom, and up ahead a narrow rutted path led toward the mountains
and darkness.
“We’ll never get the car up that,” said Milo unhappily.
“True enough,” replied the Mathemagician, “but you can be in Ignorance quick
enough without riding all the way; and if you’re to be successful, it will have to be
step by step.”
“But I would like to take my gifts,” he insisted.
“So you shall,” announced the Dodecahedron, who appeared from nowhere
with his arms full. “Here are your sights, here are your sounds, and here,” he said,
handing Milo the last of them disdainfully, “are your words.”
“And, most important of all,” added the Mathemagician, “here is your own
magic staff. Use it well and there is nothing it cannot do for you.”
He placed in Milo’s breast pocket a small gleaming pencil which, except for the
size, was much like his own. Then, with a last word of encouragement, he and the
Dodecahedron (who was simultaneously sobbing, frowning, pining, and sighing
from four of his saddest faces) made their farewells and watched as the three tiny
figures disappeared into the forbidding mountains of Ignorance.
Almost immediately the light began to fade as the difficult path wandered
aimlessly upward, inching forward almost as reluctantly as the trembling Humbug.
Tock as usual led the way, sniffing ahead for danger, and Milo, his bag of precious
possessions slung over one shoulder, followed silently and resolutely behind.
“Perhaps someone should stay back to guard the way,” said the unhappy bug,
offering his services; but, since his suggestion was met with silence, he followed
glumly along.
The higher they went, the darker it became, though it wasn’t the darkness of
night, but rather more like a mixture of lurking shadows and evil intentions which
oozed from the slimy moss-covered cliffs and blotted out the light. A cruel wind
shrieked through the rocks and the air was thick and heavy, as if it had been used
several times before.
On they went, higher and higher up the dizzying trail, on one side the sheer
stone walls and brutal peaks towering above them, and on the other an endless,
limitless, bottomless nothing.
“I can hardly see a thing,” said Milo, taking hold of Tock’s tail as a sticky mist
engulfed the moon. “Perhaps we should wait until morning.”
“They’ll be mourning for you soon enough,” came a reply from directly above,
and this was followed by a hideous cackling laugh very much like someone choking
on a fishbone.
Clinging to one of the greasy rocks and blending almost perfectly with it was a
large, unkempt, and exceedingly soiled bird who looked more like a dirty floor mop
than anything else. He had a sharp, dangerous beak, and the one eye he chose to
open stared down maliciously.
“I don’t think you understand,” said Milo timidly as the watchdog growled a
warning. “We’re looking for a place to spend the night.”
“It’s not yours to spend,” the bird shrieked again, and followed it with the same
horrible laugh.
“That doesn’t make any sense, you see—” he started to explain.
“Dollars or cents, it’s still not yours to spend,” the bird replied haughtily.
“But I didn’t mean—” insisted Milo.
“Of course you’re mean,” interrupted the bird, closing the eye that had been
open and opening the one that had been closed. “Anyone who’d spend a night that
doesn’t belong to him is very mean.”
“Well, I thought that by—” he tried again desperately.
“That’s a different story,” interjected the bird a bit more amiably. “If you want
to buy, I’m sure I can arrange to sell, but with what you’re doing you’ll probably end
up in a cell anyway.”
“That doesn’t seem right,” said Milo helplessly, for, with the bird taking
everything the wrong way, he hardly knew what he was saying.
“Agreed,” said the bird, with a sharp click of his beak, “but neither is it left,
although if I were you I would have left a long time ago.”
“Let me try once more,” he said in an effort to explain. “In other words—”
“You mean you have other words?” cried the bird happily. “Well, by all means,
use them. You’re certainly not doing very well with the ones you have now.”
“Must you always interrupt like that?” said Tock irritably, for even he was
becoming impatient.
“Naturally,” he cackled; “it’s my job. I take the words right out of your mouth.
Haven’t we met before? I’m the Everpresent Wordsnatcher, and I’m sure I know
your friend the bug.” And then he leaned all the way forward and gave a terrible
knowing smile.
The Humbug, who was too big to hide and too frightened to move, denied
everything.
“Is everyone who lives in Ignorance like you?” asked Milo.
“Much worse,” he said longingly. “But I don’t live here. I’m from a place very
far away called Context.”
“Don’t you think you should be getting back?” suggested the bug, holding one
arm up in front of him.
“What a horrible thought.” The bird shuddered. “It’s such an unpleasant place
that I spend almost all my time out of it. Besides, what could be nicer than these
grimy mountains?”
“Almost anything,” thought Milo as he pulled his collar up. And then he asked
the bird, “Are you a demon?”
“I’m afraid not,” he replied sadly, as several filthy tears rolled down his beak.
“I’ve tried, but the best I can manage to be is a nuisance,” and, before Milo could
reply, he flapped his dingy wings and flew off in a cascade of dust and dirt and
fuzz.
“Wait!” shouted Milo, who’d thought of many more questions he wanted to ask.
“Thirty-four pounds,” shrieked the bird as he disappeared into the fog.
“He was certainly no help,” said Milo after they had been walking again for
some time.
“That’s why I drove him off,” cried the Humbug, fiercely brandishing his cane.
“Now let’s find the demons.”
“That might be sooner than you think,” remarked Tock, looking back at the
suddenly trembling bug; and the trail turned again and continued to climb.
In a few minutes they’d reached the crest, only to find that beyond it lay another
one even higher, and beyond that several more, whose tops were lost in the swirling
darkness. For a short stretch the path became broad and flat, and just ahead, leaning
comfortably against a dead tree, stood a very elegant-looking gentleman.
He was beautifully dressed in a dark suit with a well-pressed shirt and tie. His
shoes were polished, his nails were clean, his hat was well brushed, and a white
handkerchief adorned his breast pocket. But his expression was somewhat blank. In
fact, it was completely blank, for he had neither eyes, nose, nor mouth.
“Hello, little boy,” he said, amiably shaking Milo by the hand. “And how’s the
faithful dog?” he inquired, giving Tock three or four strong and friendly pats. “And
who is this handsome creature?” he asked, tipping his hat to the very pleased
Humbug. “I’m so happy to see you all.”
“What a pleasant surprise to meet someone so nice,” they all thought, “and
especially here.”
“I wonder if you could spare me a little of your time,” he inquired politely, “and
help with a few small jobs?”
“Why, of course,” said the Humbug cheerfully.
“Gladly,” added Tock.
“Yes, indeed,” said Milo, who wondered for just a moment how it was possible
for someone so agreeable to have a face with no features at all.
“Splendid,” he said happily, “for there are just three tasks. Firstly, I would like
to move this pile from here to there,” he explained, pointing to an enormous mound
of fine sand; “but I’m afraid that all I have is this tiny tweezers.” And he gave them
to Milo, who immediately began transporting one grain at a time.
“Secondly, I would like to empty this well and fill the other; but I have no
bucket, so you’ll have to use this eye dropper.” And he handed it to Tock, who
undertook at once to carry one drop at a time from well to well.
“And, lastly, I must have a hole through this cliff, and here is a needle to dig
it.” The eager Humbug quickly set to work picking at the solid granite wall.
When they had all been safely started, the very pleasant man returned to the
tree and, leaning against it once more, continued to stare vacantly down the trail,
while Milo, Tock, and the Humbug worked hour after hour after hour after hour
after hour after hour after hour after hour after hour after hour after hour after hour
after hour after hour after hour after hour after hour after hour after hour after hour
after hour—

17. Unwelcoming Committee
The Humbug whistled gaily at his work, for he was never as happy as when he
had a job which required no thinking at all. After what seemed like days, he had dug
a hole scarcely large enough for his thumb. Tock shuffled steadily back and forth
with the dropper in his teeth, but the full well was still almost as full as when he
began, and Milo’s new pile of sand was hardly a pile at all.
“How very strange,” said Milo, without stopping for a moment. “I’ve been
working steadily all this time, and I don’t feel the slightest bit tired or hungry. I
could go right on the same way forever.”
“Perhaps you will,” the man agreed with a yawn (at least it sounded like a
yawn).
“Well, I wish I knew how long it was going to take,” Milo whispered as the dog
went by again.
“Why not use your magic staff and find out?” replied Tock as clearly as anyone
could with an eye dropper in his mouth.
Milo took the shiny pencil from his pocket and quickly calculated that, at the
rate they were working, it would take each of them eight hundred and thirty-seven
years to finish.
“Pardon me,” he said, tugging at the man’s sleeve and holding the sheet of
figures up for him to see, “but it’s going to take eight hundred and thirty-seven years
to do these jobs.”
“Is that so?” replied the man, without even turning around. “Well, you’d better
get on with it then.”
“But it hardly seems worth while,” said Milo softly.
“WORTH WHILE!” the man roared indignantly.
“All I meant was that perhaps it isn’t too important,” Milo repeated, trying not
to be impolite.
“Of course it’s not important,” he snarled angrily. “I wouldn’t have asked you to
do it if I thought it was important.” And now, as he turned to face them, he didn’t
seem quite so pleasant.
“Then why bother?” asked Tock, whose alarm suddenly began to ring.
“Because, my young friends,” he muttered sourly, “what could be more
important than doing unimportant things? If you stop to do enough of them, you’ll
never get to where you’re going.” He punctuated his last remark with a villainous
laugh.
“Then you must—” gasped Milo.
“Quite correct!” he shrieked triumphantly. “I am the Terrible Trivium, demon
of petty tasks and worthless jobs, ogre of wasted effort, and monster of habit.”
The Humbug dropped his needle and stared in disbelief while Milo and Tock
began to back away slowly.
“Don’t try to leave,” he ordered, with a menacing sweep of his arm, “for there’s
so very much to do, and you still have over eight hundred years to go on the first
job.”
“But why do only unimportant things?” asked Milo, who suddenly remembered
how much time he spent each day doing them.
“Think of all the trouble it saves,” the man explained, and his face looked as if
he’d be grinning an evil grin—if he could grin at all. “If you only do the easy and
useless jobs, you’ll never have to worry about the important ones which are so
difficult. You just won’t have the time. For there’s always something to do to keep
you from what you really should be doing, and if it weren’t for that dreadful magic
staff, you’d never know how much time you were wasting.”
As he spoke, he tiptoed slowly toward them with his arms outstretched and
continued to whisper in a soft, deceitful voice, “Now do come and stay with me.
We’ll have so much fun together. There are things to fill and things to empty, things
to take away and things to bring back, things to pick up and things to put down, and
besides all that we have pencils to sharpen, holes to dig, nails to straighten, stamps
to lick, and ever so much more. Why, if you stay here, you’ll never have to think
again—and with a little practice you can become a monster of habit, too.”
They were all transfixed by the Trivium’s soothing voice, but just as he was
about to clutch them in his well-manicured fingers a voice cried out, “RUN! RUN!”
Milo, who thought it was Tock, turned suddenly and dashed up the trail.
“RUN! RUN!” it shouted again, and this time Tock thought it was Milo and
quickly followed him.
“RUN! RUN!” it urged once more, and now the Humbug, not caring who said
it, ran desperately after his two friends, with the Terrible Trivium close behind.
“This way! This way!” the voice called again. They turned in its direction and
scrambled up the difficult slippery rocks, sliding back at each step almost as far as
they’d gone forward. With a great effort and many helping paws from Tock, they
reached the top of the ridge at last, but only two steps ahead of the furious Trivium.
“Over here! Over here!” advised the voice, and without a moment’s hesitation
they started through a puddle of sticky ooze, which quickly became ankle-deep,
then knee-deep, then hip-deep, until finally they were struggling along through what
felt very much like a waist-deep pool of peanut butter.
The Trivium, who had discovered a mound of pebbles which needed counting,
followed no more, but stood at the edge shaking his fist, shouting horrible threats,
and promising to rouse every demon in the mountains.
“What a nasty fellow,” gasped Milo, who was having great difficulty just
getting his legs to move. “I hope I never meet him again.”
“I believe he’s stopped chasing us,” said the bug, looking back over his
shoulder.
“It’s not what’s behind that worries me,” remarked Tock as they stepped from
the sticky mess, “but what’s ahead.”
“Keep going straight! Keep going straight!” counseled the voice as they
continued to pick their way carefully along the new path.
“Now step up! Now step up!” it recommended, and almost before they knew
what had happened, they had all taken a step up and then plunged to the bottom of a
deep murky pit.
“But he said up!” Milo complained bitterly from where he lay sprawling.
“Well, I hope you didn’t expect to get anywhere by listening to me,” said the
voice gleefully.
“We’ll never get out of here,” the Humbug moaned, looking at the steep,
smooth sides of the pit.
“That is quite an accurate evaluation of the situation,” said the voice coldly.
“Then why did you help us at all?” shouted Milo angrily.
“Oh, I’d do as much for anybody,” he replied; “bad advice is my specialty. For,
as you can plainly see, I’m the long-nosed, green-eyed, curly-haired, wide-mouthed,
thick-necked, broad-shouldered, round-bodied, short-armed, bowlegged, big-footed
monster—and, if I do say so myself, one of the most frightening fiends in this
whole wild wilderness. With me here, you wouldn’t dare try to escape.” And, with
that, he shuffled to the edge of the pit and leered down at his helpless prisoners.
Tock and the Humbug turned away in fright, but Milo, who had learned by now
that people are not always what they say they are, reached for his telescope and took
a long look for himself. And there at the rim of the hole, instead of what he’d
expected, stood a small furry creature with very worried eyes and a rather sheepish
grin.
“Why, you’re not long-nosed, green-eyed, curly-haired, wide-mouthed, thicknecked, broad-shouldered, round-bodied, short-armed, bowlegged, or big-footed—
and you’re not at all frightening,” said Milo indignantly. “What kind of a demon are
you?”
The little creature, who seemed stunned at being found out, leaped back out of
sight and began to whimper softly.
“I’m the demon of insincerity,” he sobbed. “I don’t mean what I say, I don’t
mean what I do, and I don’t mean what I am. Most people who believe what I tell
them go the wrong way, and stay there, but you and your awful telescope have
spoiled everything. I’m going home.” And, crying hysterically, he stamped off in a
huff.
“It certainly pays to have a good look at things,” observed Milo as he wrapped
up the telescope with great care.
“Now all we have to do is climb out,” said Tock, placing his front paws as high
on the wall as he could. “Here, hop up on my back.”
Milo climbed onto the dog’s shoulders. Then the bug crawled up both of them
and, by standing on Milo’s head, just managed to hook his cane on the root of an old
gnarled tree. With loud complaints he hung on doggedly until the other two had
climbed out over him and pulled him up, somewhat dazed and discouraged.
“I’ll lead the way for a while,” he said, brushing himself off. “Follow me and
we’ll stay out of trouble.”
He guided them along one of five narrow ledges, all of which led to a grooved
and rutted plateau. They stopped for a moment to rest and make plans, but before
they had done either the whole mountain trembled violently and, with a sudden
lurch, rose high into the air, carrying them along with it. For, quite accidentally,
they had stepped into the callused hand of the Gelatinous Giant.
“AND WHAT HAVE WE HERE!” he roared, looking curiously at the tiny
figures huddled in his palm—and licking his lips.
He was an incredible size even sitting down, with long unkempt hair, bulging
eyes, and a shape hardly worth speaking of. He looked, in fact, very much like a
colossal bowl of jelly, without the bowl.
“HOW DARE YOU DISTURB MY NAP!” he bellowed furiously, and the
force of his hot breath tumbled them over in his hand.
“We’re terribly sorry,” said Milo meekly, when he’d untangled himself, “but
you looked just like part of the mountain.”
“Naturally,” the giant replied in a more normal voice (but even this was like an
explosion). “I have no shape of my own, so I try to be just like whatever I’m near. In
the mountains I’m a lofty peak, on the beach a broad sand bar, in the forest a
towering oak, and sometimes in the city I’m a very handsome twelve-story
apartment house. I just hate to be conspicuous; it’s really not safe, you know.” Then
he looked at them again with hungry eyes and wondered how well they’d taste.
“You look much too big to be afraid of anything,” said Milo quickly, for the
giant had already begun to open his mouth wide.
“I’m not,” he said, with a slight shiver that ran all over his gelatinous body. “I’m
afraid of everything. That’s why I’m so ferocious. If the others found out, I’d just
die. Now do be quiet while I eat my breakfast.” He raised his hand toward his
gaping mouth and the Humbug shut his eyes tightly and clasped both hands over his
head.
“Then aren’t you really a fearful demon?” Milo asked desperately, on the
assumption that the giant had been brought up well enough not to talk with a
mouthful.
“Well, approximately yes,” he replied, lowering his arm to the vast relief of the
bug; “that is, comparatively no. What I mean is, relatively maybe—in other words,
roughly perhaps. What does everyone else think? There, you see,” he said
peevishly; “I’m even afraid to make a positive statement. So please stop asking
questions before I lose my appetite altogether.” Then he raised his arm again and
prepared to swallow the three of them in one gulp.
“Why don’t you help us rescue Rhyme and Reason? Then maybe things will get
better,” shouted Milo again, this time almost too late, for in another instant they
would have all been gone.
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that,” said the Giant thoughtfully, lowering his arm once
more. “I mean, why not leave well enough alone? That is, it’ll never work. I
wouldn’t take a chance. In other words, let’s keep things as they are—changes are so
frightening.” As he spoke he began to look a bit ill. “Maybe I’ll just eat one of you,”
he remarked unhappily, “and save the rest for later. I don’t feel very well.”
“I have a better idea,” said Milo.
“You do?” interrupted the giant, losing any desire to eat at all. “If it’s one thing
I can’t swallow, it’s ideas: they’re so hard to digest.”
“I have a box full of all the ideas in the world,” said Milo, proudly holding up
the gift King Azaz had given him.
The thought of it terrified the giant, who began to shake like an enormous
pudding.
“PUT ME DOWN AND JUST GO AWAY,” he pleaded, forgetting for a
moment who had hold of whom; “AND PLEASE DON’T OPEN THAT BOX!”
In another moment he’d set them down on the next jagged peak and, with panic
in his eyes, lumbered off to warn the others of this terrible new threat.
But news travels quickly. The Wordsnatcher, the Trivium, and the long-nosed,
green-eyed, curly-haired, wide-mouthed, thick-necked, broad-shouldered, roundbodied, short-armed, bowlegged, big-footed monster had already spread the alarm
throughout the evil, unenlightened mountains.
And out the demons came—from every cave and crevice, through every fissure
and crack, from under the rocks and up from the mud, stomping and shuffling,
slithering and sliding, through the murky shadows. And all had only one thought in
mind: destroy the intruders and protect Ignorance.
From where they stood, Milo, Tock, and the Humbug could see them moving
steadily forward, still far away but coming quickly. On all sides the cliffs were alive
with this evil collection of crawling, looming, creeping, lurching shapes. Some
could be seen plainly, others were but dim silhouettes, and yet still more, only now
beginning to stir from their foul places, would be along much sooner than they were
wanted.
“We’d better hurry,” barked Tock, “or they’re sure to catch us.” And he started
up the trail again.
Milo took one deep breath and did the same; and the bug, now that he knew
what lay behind, ran ahead with renewed enthusiasm.

18. Castle in the Air
Higher and higher they climbed, in search of the castle and the two banished
princesses—from one crest to the next, from jagged rock to jagged rock, up
frightful crumbling cliffs and along desperately narrow ledges where a single
misstep meant only good-by. An ominous silence dropped like a curtain around
them and, except for the scuffling of their frantic footsteps, there wasn’t a sound.
The world that Milo knew was a million thoughts away, and the demons—the
demons were there in the distance.
“They’re gaining!” shouted the Humbug, wishing he’d never looked back.
“But there it is!” cried Milo at the same instant, for straight ahead, climbing up
from atop the highest peak, was a spidery spiral stair, and at the other end stood the
Castle in the Air.
“I see it, I see it,” said the happy bug as they struggled up the twisting mountain
trail. But what he didn’t see was that, curled up right in front of the first step, was a
little round man in a frock coat, sleeping peacefully on a very large and well-worn
ledger.
A long quill pen sat precariously behind his ear, there were inkstains all over
his hands and face as well as his clothing, and he wore a pair of the thickest
eyeglasses that Milo had ever seen.
“Be very careful,” whispered Tock when they’d finally reached the top, and the
Humbug stepped gingerly around and started up the stairs.
“NAMES?” the little man called out briskly, just as the startled bug reached the
first step. He sat up quickly, pulled the book out from under him, put on a green
eye-shade, and waited with his pen poised in the air.
“Well, I—” stammered the bug.
“NAMES?” he cried again, and as he did he opened the book to page 512 and
began to write furiously. The quill made horrible scratching noises, and the point,
which was continually catching in the paper, flicked tiny inkblots all over him. As
they called out their names, he noted them carefully in alphabetical order.
“Splendid, splendid, splendid,” he muttered to himself. “I haven’t had an M in
ages.”
“What do you want our names for?” asked Milo, looking anxiously over his
shoulder. “We’re in a bit of a hurry.”
“Oh, this won’t take a minute,” the man assured them. “I’m the official Senses
Taker, and I must have some information before I can take your senses. Now, if
you’ll just tell me when you were born, where you were born, why you were born,
how old you are now, how old you were then, how old you’ll be in a little while,
your mother’s name, your father’s name, your aunt’s name, your uncle’s name, your
cousin’s name, where you live, how long you’ve lived there, the schools you’ve
attended, the schools you haven’t attended, your hobbies, your telephone number,
your shoe size, shirt size, collar size, hat size, and the names and addresses of six
people who can verify all this information, we’ll get started. One at a time, please;
stand in line; and no pushing, no talking, no peeking.”
The Humbug, who had difficulty remembering anything, went first. The little
man leisurely recorded each answer in five different places, pausing often to polish
his glasses, clear his throat, straighten his tie, and blow his nose. He managed also
to cover the distressed bug from head to foot in ink.
“NEXT!” he announced very officially.
“I do wish he’d hurry,” said Milo, stepping forward, for in the distance he could
see the first of the demons already beginning to scale the mountain toward them, no
more than a few minutes away.
The little man wrote with painful deliberation, finally finished with both Milo
and Tock, and looked up happily.
“May we go now?” asked the dog, whose sensitive nose had picked up a
loathsome, evil smell that grew stronger every second.
“By all means,” said the man agreeably, “just as soon as you finish telling me
your height; your weight; the number of books you read each year; the number of
books you don’t read each year; the amount of time you spend eating, playing,
working, and sleeping every day; where you go on vacations; how many ice-cream
cones you eat in a week; how far it is from your house to the barbershop; and which
is your favorite color. Then, after that, please fill out these forms and applications—
three copies of each—and be careful, for if you make one mistake, you’ll have to do
them all over again.”
“Oh dear,” said Milo, looking at the pile of papers, “we’ll never finish these.”
And even as he spoke the demons swarmed stealthily up the mountain.
“Come, come,” said the Senses Taker, chuckling gaily to himself, “don’t take
all day. I’m expecting several more visitors any minute now.”
They set to work feverishly on the difficult forms, and when they’d finished,
Milo placed them all in the little man’s lap. He thanked them politely, took off his
eye-shade, put the pen behind his ear, closed the book, and went back to sleep. The
Humbug took one horrified look back over his shoulder and quickly started up the
stairs.
“DESTINATION?” shouted the Senses Taker, sitting up again, putting on his
eyeshade, taking the pen from behind his ear, and opening his book.
“But I thought—” protested the astonished bug.
“DESTINATION?” he repeated, making several notations in the ledger.
“The Castle in the Air,” said Milo impatiently.
“Why bother?” said the Senses Taker, pointing into the distance. “I’m sure
you’d rather see what I have to show you.”
As he spoke, they all looked up, but only Milo could see the gay and exciting
circus there on the horizon. There were tents and side shows and rides and even
wild animals—everything a little boy could spend hours watching.
“And wouldn’t you enjoy a more pleasant aroma?” he said, turning to Tock.
Almost immediately the dog smelled a wonderful smell that no one but he
could smell. It was made up of all the marvelous things that had ever delighted his
curious nose.
“And here’s something I know you’ll enjoy hearing,” he assured the Humbug.
The bug listened with rapt attention to something he alone could hear—the
shouts and applause of an enormous crowd, all cheering for him.
They each stood as if in a trance, looking, smelling, and listening to the very
special things that the Senses Taker had provided for them, forgetting completely
about where they were going and who, with evil intent, was coming up behind
them.
The Senses Taker sat back with a satisfied smile on his puffy little face as the
demons came closer and closer, until less than a minute separated them from their
helpless victims.
But Milo was too engrossed in the circus to notice, and Tock had closed his
eyes, the better to smell, and the bug, bowing and waving, stood with a look of
sheer bliss on his face, interested only in the wild ovation.
The little man had done his work well and, except for some ominous crawling
noises just below the crest of the mountain, everything was again silent. Milo, who
stood staring blankly into the distance, let his bag of gifts slip from his shoulder to
the ground. And, as he did, the package of sounds broke open, filling the air with
peals of happy laughter which seemed so gay that first he, then Tock, and finally the
Humbug joined in. And suddenly the spell was broken.
“There is no circus,” cried Milo, realizing he’d been tricked.
“There were no smells,” barked Tock, his alarm now ringing furiously.
“The applause is gone,” complained the disappointed Humbug.
“I warned you; I warned you I was the Senses Taker,” sneered the Senses
Taker. “I help people find what they’re not looking for, hear what
they’re not listening for, run after what they’re not chasing, and smell what isn’t even
there. And, furthermore,” he cackled, hopping around gleefully on his stubby legs,
“I’ll steal your sense of purpose, take your sense of duty, destroy your sense of
proportion—and, but for one thing, you’d be helpless yet.”
“What’s that?” asked Milo fearfully.
“As long as you have the sound of laughter,” he groaned unhappily, “I cannot
take your sense of humor—and, with it, you’ve nothing to fear from me.”
“But what about THEM?” cried the terrified bug, for at that very instant the
other demons had reached the top at last and were leaping forward to seize them.
They ran for the stairs, bowling over the disconsolate Senses Taker, ledger, ink
bottle, eyeshade, and all, as they went. The Humbug dashed up first, then Tock, and
lastly Milo, almost too late, as a scaly arm brushed his shoe.
The dangerous stairs danced dizzily in the wind, and the clumsy demons
refused to follow; but they howled with rage and fury, swore bloody vengeance, and
watched with many pairs of burning eyes as the three small shapes vanished slowly
into the clouds.
“Don’t look down,” advised Milo as the bug tottered upward on unsteady legs.
Like a giant corkscrew, the stairway twisted through the darkness, steep and
narrow and with no rail to guide them. The wind howled cruelly in an effort to tear
them loose, and the fog dragged clammy fingers down their backs; but up the giddy
flight they went, each one helping the others, until at last the clouds parted, the
darkness fell away, and a glow of golden sunrays warmed their arrival. The castle
gate swung smoothly open, and on a rug as soft as a snowdrift they entered the great
hall and they stood shyly waiting.
“Come right in, please; we’ve been expecting you,” sang out two sweet voices
in unison.
At the far end of the hall a silver curtain parted and two young women stepped
forward. They were dressed all in white and were beautiful beyond compare. One
was grave and quiet, with a look of warm understanding in her eyes, and the other
seemed gay and joyful.
“You must be the Princess of Pure Reason,” said Milo, bowing to the first.
She answered simply, “Yes,” and that was just enough.
“Then you are Sweet Rhyme,” he said, with a smile to the other.
Her eyes sparkled brightly and she answered with a laugh as friendly as the
mailman’s ring when you know there’s a letter for you.
“We’ve come to rescue you both,” Milo explained very seriously.
“And the demons are close behind,” said the worried Humbug, still shaky from
his ordeal.
“And we should leave right away,” advised Tock.
“Oh, they won’t dare come up here,” said Reason gently; “and we’ll be down
there soon enough.”
“Why not sit for a moment and rest?” suggested Rhyme. “I’m sure you must be
tired. Have you been traveling long?”
“Days,” sighed the exhausted dog, curling up on a large downy cushion.
“Weeks,” corrected the bug, flopping into a deep comfortable armchair, for it
did seem that way to him.
“It has been a long trip,” said Milo, climbing onto the couch where the
princesses sat; “but we would have been here much sooner if I hadn’t made so many
mistakes. I’m afraid it’s all my fault.”
“You must never feel badly about making mistakes,” explained Reason quietly,
“as long as you take the trouble to learn from them. For you often learn more by
being wrong for the right reasons than you do by being right for the wrong reasons.”
“But there’s so much to learn,” he said, with a thoughtful frown.
“Yes, that’s true,” admitted Rhyme; “but it’s not just learning things that’s
important. It’s learning what to do with what you learn and learning why you learn
things at all that matters.”
“That’s just what I mean,” explained Milo, as Tock and the exhausted bug
drifted quietly off to sleep. “Many of the things I’m supposed to know seem so
useless that I can’t see the purpose in learning them at all.”
“You may not see it now,” said the Princess of Pure Reason, looking knowingly
at Milo’s puzzled face, “but whatever we learn has a purpose and whatever we do
affects everything and everyone else, if even in the tiniest way. Why, when a
housefly flaps his wings, a breeze goes round the world; when a speck of dust falls
to the ground, the entire planet weighs a little more; and when you stamp your foot,
the earth moves slightly off its course. Whenever you laugh, gladness spreads like
the ripples in a pond; and whenever you’re sad, no one anywhere can be really
happy. And it’s much the same thing with knowledge, for whenever you learn
something new, the whole world becomes that much richer.”
“And remember, also,” added the Princess of Sweet Rhyme, “that many places
you would like to see are just off the map and many things you want to know are
just out of sight or a little beyond your reach. But someday you’ll reach them all, for
what you learn today, for no reason at all, will help you discover all the wonderful
secrets of tomorrow.”
“I think I understand,” he said, still full of questions and thoughts; “but which is
the most important—”
At that moment the conversation was interrupted by a far-off chopping noise.
With each loud blow, the entire room and everything in it shook and rattled. Down
below, on the murky peak, the demons were busily cutting the stairway loose with
axes and hammers and saws. Before long the whole thing collapsed with a
tremendous crash and the startled Humbug leaped to his feet just in time to see the
castle drifting slowly off into space.
“We’re moving!” he shouted, which was a fact that had already become obvious
to everyone.
“I think we had better leave now,” said Rhyme softly, and Reason agreed with a
nod.
“But how will we get down?” groaned the Humbug, looking at the wreckage
below. “There’s no stairway and we’re sailing higher every minute.”
“Well, time flies, doesn’t it?” asked Milo.
“On many occasions,” barked Tock, jumping eagerly to his feet. “I’ll take
everyone down.”
“Can you carry us all?” inquired the bug.
“For a short distance,” said the dog thoughtfully. “The princesses can ride on
my back, Milo can catch hold of my tail, and you can hang on to his ankles.”
“But what of the Castle in the Air?” the bug objected, not very pleased with the
arrangement.
“Let it drift away,” said Rhyme.
“And good riddance,” added Reason, “for no matter how beautiful it seems, it’s
still nothing but a prison.”
Tock then backed up three steps and, with a running start, bounded through the
window with all his passengers and began the long glide down. The princesses sat
tall and unafraid, Milo held on as tight as he could, and the bug swung crazily, like
the tail on a kite. Down through the darkness they plunged, to the mountains and the
monsters below.

19. The Return of Rhyme and Reason
Sailing past three of the tallest peaks, and just over the outstretched arms of the
grasping demons, they reached the ground and landed with a sudden jolt.
“Quick!” urged Tock. “Follow me! We’ll have to run for it.”
With the princesses still on his back, he galloped down the rocky trail—and not
a moment too soon. For, pounding down the mountainside, in a cloud of clinging
dust and a chorus of chilling shrieks, came all the loathsome creatures who choose
to live in Ignorance and who had waited so very impatiently.
Thick black clouds hung heavily overhead as they fled through the darkness,
and Milo, looking back for just a moment, could see the awful shapes coming closer
and closer. Just to the left, and not very far away, were the Triple Demons of
Compromise—one tall and thin, one short and fat, and the third exactly like the
other two. As always, they moved in ominous circles, for if one said “here,” the
other said “there,” and the third agreed perfectly with both of them. And, since they
always settled their differences by doing what none of them really wanted, they
rarely got anywhere at all—and neither did anyone they met.
Jumping clumsily from boulder to boulder and catching hold with his cruel,
curving claws was the Horrible Hopping Hindsight, a most unpleasant fellow whose
eyes were in the rear and whose rear was out in front. He invariably leaped before
he looked and never cared where he was going as long as he knew why he shouldn’t
have gone to where he’d been.
And, most terrifying of all, directly behind, inching along like giant soft-shelled
snails, with blazing eyes and wet anxious mouths, came the Gorgons of Hate and
Malice, leaving a trail of slime behind them and moving much more quickly than
you’d think.
“FASTER!” shouted Tock. “They’re closing in.”
Down from the heights they raced, the Humbug with one hand on his hat and
the other flailing desperately in the air, Milo running as he never ran before, and the
demons just a little bit faster than that.
From off on the right, his heavy bulbous body lurching dangerously on the
spindly legs which barely supported him, came the Overbearing Know-it-all, talking
continuously. A dismal demon who was mostly mouth, he was ready at a moment’s
notice to offer misinformation on any subject. And, while he often tumbled heavily,
it was never he who was hurt, but, rather, the unfortunate person on whom he fell.
Next to him, but just a little behind, came the Gross Exaggeration, whose
grotesque features and thoroughly unpleasant manners were hideous to see, and
whose rows of wicked teeth were made only to mangle the truth. They hunted
together, and were bad luck to anyone they caught.
Riding along on the back of anyone who’d carry him was the Threadbare
Excuse, a small, pathetic figure whose clothes were worn and tattered and who
mumbled the same things again and again, in a low but piercing voice: “Well, I’ve
been sick—but the page was torn out—I missed the bus—but no one else did it—
well, I’ve been sick—but the page was torn out—I missed the bus—but no
one else did it.” He looked quite harmless and friendly but, once he grabbed on, he
almost never let go.
Closer and closer they came, bumping and jolting each other, clawing and
snorting in their eager fury. Tock staggered along bravely with Rhyme and Reason,
Milo’s lungs now felt ready to burst as he stumbled down the trail, and the Humbug
was slowly falling behind. Gradually the path grew broader and more flat as it
reached the bottom of the mountain and turned toward Wisdom. Ahead lay light and
safety—but perhaps just a bit too far away.
And down came the demons from everywhere, frenzied creatures of darkness,
lurching wildly toward their prey. From off in the rear, the Terrible Trivium and the
wobbly Gelatinous Giant urged them on with glee. And pounding forward with a
rush came the ugly Dilemma, snorting steam and looking intently for someone to
catch on the ends of his long pointed horns, while his hoofs bit eagerly at the
ground.
The exhausted Humbug swayed and tottered on his rubbery legs, a look of
longing on his anguished face. “I don’t think I can—” he gasped, as a jagged slash
of lightning ripped open the sky and the thunder stole his words.
Closer and closer the demons loomed as the desperate chase neared its end.
Then, gathering themselves for one final leap, they prepared to engulf first the bug,
then the boy, and lastly the dog and his two passengers. They rose as one and—
And suddenly stopped, as if frozen in mid-air, unable to move, staring ahead in
terror.
Milo slowly raised his weary head, and there in the horizon, for as far as the
eye could see, stood the massed armies of Wisdom, the sun glistening from their
swords and shields, and their bright banners slapping proudly at the breeze.
For a moment everything was silent. Then a thousand trumpets sounded—then
a thousand more—and, like an ocean wave, the long line of horsemen advanced,
slowly at first, then faster and faster, until with a gallop and a shout, which was
music to Milo’s ears, they swept forward toward the horrified demons.
There in the lead was King Azaz, his dazzling armor embossed with every
letter in the alphabet, and, with him, the Mathemagician, brandishing a freshly
sharpened staff. From his tiny wagon, Dr. Dischord hurled explosion after
explosion, to the delight of the Sound-keeper, while the busy DYNNE collected
them almost at once. And, in honor of the occasion, Chroma the Great led his
orchestra in a stirring display of patriotic colors. Everyone Milo had met during his
journey had come to help—the men of the market place, the miners of Digitopolis,
and all the good people from the valley and the forest.
The Spelling Bee buzzed excitedly overhead shouting, “Charge—c-h-a-r-g-e—
charge—c-h-a-r-g-e.” Canby, who, as everyone knew, was as cowardly as can be,
came all the way from Conclusions to show that he was also as brave. And even
Officer Shrift, mounted proudly on a long, low dachshund, galloped grimly along.
Cringing with fear, the monsters of Ignorance turned in flight and, with
anguished cries too horrible ever to forget, returned to the damp, dark places from
which they came. The Humbug sighed with relief, and Milo and the princesses
prepared to greet the victorious army.
“Well done,” stated the Duke of Definition, dismounting and grasping Milo’s
hand warmly.
“Fine job,” seconded the Minister of Meaning.
“Good Work,” added the Count of Connotation.
“Congratulations,” proposed the Earl of Essence.
“CHEERS,” recommended the Undersecretary of Understanding.
And, since that’s exactly what everyone felt like doing, that’s exactly what
everyone did.
“It’s we who should thank—” began Milo, when the shouting had subsided, but,
before he could finish, they had unrolled an enormous scroll.
And, with a fanfare of trumpets and drums, they stated in order that:
“Henceforth,”
“And forthwith,”
“Let it be known by all men”
“That Rhyme and Reason”
“Reign once more in Wisdom.”
The two princesses bowed gratefully and warmly kissed their brothers, and they
all agreed that a very fine thing had happened.
“And furthermore,” continued the proclamation,
“The boy named Milo,”
“The dog known as Tock,”
“And the insect hereinafter referred to as the Humbug”
“Are hereby declared to be”
“Heroes of the realm.”
Cheer after cheer filled the air, and even the bug seemed a bit embarrassed at
having so much attention paid to him.
“Therefore,” concluded the duke, “In honor of their glorious deed, a royal holiday
is declared. Let there be parades through every city in the land and a gala carnival of
three days’ duration, consisting of jousts, games, feasts, and follies.”
The five cabinet members then rolled up the large parchment and, with many
bows and flourishes, retired.
Swift horsemen carried the news to every corner of the kingdom, and, as the
parade slowly wound its way through the countryside, crowds of people gathered to
cheer it along. Garlands of flowers hung from every house and shop and carpeted
the streets. Even the air shimmered with excitement, and shutters closed for many
years were thrown open to let the brilliant sunlight shine where it hadn’t shone in so
long.
Milo, Tock, and the very subdued Humbug sat proudly in the royal carriage
with Azaz, the Mathemagician, and the two princesses; and the parade stretched for
miles in both directions.
As the cheering continued, Rhyme leaned forward and touched Milo gently on
the arm.
“They’re shouting for you,” she said with a smile.
“But I could never have done it,” he objected, “without everyone else’s help.”
“That may be true,” said Reason gravely, “but you had the courage to try; and
what you can do is often simply a matter of what you will do.”
“That’s why,” said Azaz, “there was one very important thing about your quest
that we couldn’t discuss until you returned.”
“I remember,” said Milo eagerly. “Tell me now.”
“It was impossible,” said the king, looking at the Mathemagician.
“Completely impossible,” said the Mathemagician, looking at the king.
“Do you mean—” stammered the bug, who suddenly felt a bit faint.
“Yes, indeed,” they repeated together; “but if we’d told you then, you might not
have gone—and, as you’ve discovered, so many things are possible just as long as
you don’t know they’re impossible.”
And for the remainder of the ride Milo didn’t utter a sound.
Finally, when they’d reached a broad, flat plain midway between Dictionopolis
and Digitopolis, somewhat to the right of the Valley of Sound and a little to the left
of the Forest of Sight, the long line of carriages and horsemen stopped, and the
great carnival began.
Gaily striped tents and pavilions sprang up everywhere as the workmen
scurried about like ants. Within minutes there were racecourses and grandstands,
side shows and refreshment booths, gaming fields, Ferris wheels, banners, bunting,
and bedlam, almost without pause.
The Mathemagician provided a continuous display of brilliant fireworks made
up of exploding numbers which multiplied and divided with breath-taking results—
the colors, of course, being supplied by Chroma and the noise by a deliriously
happy Dr. Dischord. Thanks to the Soundkeeper, there was music and laughter and,
for very brief moments, even a little silence.
Alec Bings set up an enormous telescope and invited everyone to see the other
side of the moon, and the Humbug wandered through the crowd accepting
congratulations and recounting in great detail his brave exploits, most of which
gained immeasurably in the telling.
And each evening, just at sunset, a royal banquet was held. There was
everything imaginable to eat. King Azaz had ordered a special supply of delicious
words in all flavors and, for those who liked exotic foods, in all languages, too. The
Mathemagician had provided innumerable platters of division dumplings, which
Milo was very careful to avoid, for, no matter how many you ate, when you finished
there was more on your plate than when you began.
And, of course, following the meal came songs, epic poems, and speeches in
praise of the princesses and the three gallant adventurers who had rescued them.
King Azaz and the Mathemagician pledged that every year at this same time they
would lead their armies to the mountains of Ignorance until not one demon
remained, and everyone agreed that no finer carnival for no finer reason had ever
been held in Wisdom.
But even things as fine as all that must end sometime, and late on the afternoon
of the third day the tents were struck, the pavilions were folded, and everything was
packed ready to leave.
“It’s time to go now,” said Reason, “for there is much to do.” And, as she spoke,
Milo suddenly remembered his home. He wanted very much to go back, yet
somehow he could not bear the thought of leaving.
“And so you must say good-by,” said Rhyme, patting him gently on the cheek.
“To everyone?” said Milo unhappily. He looked around slowly at all the friends
he’d made, and he looked very hard so as not to forget any of them for even an
instant. But mostly he looked at Tock and the Humbug, with whom he had shared
so much—the perils, the dangers, the fears, and, best of all, the victory. Never had
anyone had two more steadfast companions.
“Can’t you both come with me?” he asked, knowing the answer as he said it.
“I’m afraid not, old man,” replied the bug. “I’d like, to, but I’ve arranged a
lecture tour which will keep me occupied for years.”
“And they do need a watchdog here,” barked Tock sadly.
Milo embraced the bug who, in his most typical fashion, was heard to mumble
gruffly, “BAH,” but whose damp eyes told quite a different story. Then the boy
threw his arms around Tock’s neck and, for just a moment, held on very tightly.
“Thank you for everything you’ve taught me,” said Milo to everybody as a tear
rolled down his cheek.
“And thank you for what you’ve taught us,” said the king—and, as he clapped
his hands, the little car was brought forward, polished like new.
Milo got in and, with one last look, started down the road, with everyone
waving him on.
“Good-by,” he shouted. “Good-by. I’ll be back.”
“Good-by,” shouted Azaz. “Always remember the importance of words.”
“And numbers,” added the Mathemagician forcefully.
“Surely you don’t think numbers are as important as words?” he heard Azaz
shout from the distance.
“Is that so?” replied the Mathemagician a little more faintly. “Why, if—”
“Oh dear,” thought Milo; “I do hope they don’t start it all again.” And in a
moment they had faded from sight as the road dipped, turned, and headed for home.

20. Good-by and Hello
As the pleasant countryside flashed by and the wind whistled a tune on the
windshield, it suddenly occurred to Milo that he must have been gone for several
weeks.
“I do hope that no one’s been worried,” he thought, urging the car on faster.
“I’ve never been away this long before.”
The late-afternoon sun had turned now from a vivid yellow to a warm lazy
orange, and it seemed almost as tired as he was. The road raced ahead in a series of
gentle curves that began to look familiar, and off in the distance the solitary
tollbooth appeared, a welcome sight indeed. In a few minutes he reached the end of
his journey, deposited his coin, and drove through. And, almost before realizing it,
he was sitting in the middle of his own room again.
“It’s only six o’clock,” he observed with a yawn, and then, in a moment, he
made an even more interesting discovery.
“And it’s still today! I’ve been gone for only an hour!” he cried in amazement,
for he’d certainly never realized how much he could do in so short a time.
Milo was much too tired to talk and almost too tired for dinner, so, without a
murmur, he went off to bed as soon as he could. He pulled the covers around him,
took a last look at his room—which somehow seemed very different than he’d
remembered—and then drifted into a deep and welcome sleep.
School went very quickly the next day, but not quickly enough, for Milo’s head
was full of plans and his eyes could see nothing but the tollbooth and what lay
beyond. He waited impatiently for the end of class, and when the time finally came,
his feet raced his thoughts all the way back to the house.
“Another trip! Another trip! I’ll leave right away. They’ll all be so glad to see
me, and I’ll—”
He stopped abruptly at the door of his room, for, where the tollbooth had been
just the night before, there was now nothing at all. He searched frantically
throughout the apartment, but it had vanished just as mysteriously as it had come—
and in its place was another bright-blue envelope, which was addressed simply:
“FOR MILO, WHO NOW KNOWS THE WAY.”
He opened it quickly and read:
Dear Milo,
You have now completed your trip, courtesy of the
Phantom Tollbooth. We trust that everything has been
satisfactory, and hope you understand why we had to
come and collect it. You see, there are so many other
boys and girls waiting to use it, too.
It’s true that there are many lands you’ve still to
visit (some of which are not even on the map) and
wonderful things to see (that no one has yet
imagined), but we’re quite sure that if you really
want to, you’ll find a way to reach them all by
yourself.
Yours truly,
The signature was blurred and couldn’t be read.
Milo walked sadly to the window and squeezed himself into one corner of the
large armchair. He felt very lonely and desolate as his thoughts turned far away—to
the foolish, lovable bug; to the comforting assurance of Tock, standing next to him;
to the erratic, excitable DYNNE; to little Alec, who, he hoped, would someday
reach the ground; to Rhyme and Reason, without whom Wisdom withered; and to
the many, many others he would remember always.
And yet, even as he thought of all these things, he noticed somehow that the
sky was a lovely shade of blue and that one cloud had the shape of a sailing ship.
The tips of the trees held pale, young buds and the leaves were a rich deep green.
Outside the window, there was so much to see, and hear, and touch—walks to take,
hills to climb, caterpillars to watch as they strolled through the garden. There were
voices to hear and conversations to listen to in wonder, and the special smell of each
day.
And, in the very room in which he sat, there were books that could take you
anywhere, and things to invent, and make, and build, and break, and all the puzzle
and excitement of everything he didn’t know—music to play, songs to sing, and
worlds to imagine and then someday make real. His thoughts darted eagerly about
as everything looked new—and worth trying.
“Well, I would like to make another trip,” he said, jumping to his feet; "but I
really don’t know when I’ll have the time. There’s just so much to do right here