The Phantom Tollbooth. Norton Juster

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      “At 8 o’clock we get up, and then we spend

      “From 8.00 to 9.00 daydreaming.

      “From 9.00 to 9.30 we take our early midmorning nap.

      “From 9.30 to 10.30 we dawdle and delay.

      “From 10.30 to 11.30 we take our late early morning nap.

      “From 11.30 to 12.00 we bide our time and then eat lunch.

      “From 1.00 to 2.00 we linger and loiter.

      “From 2.00 to 2.30 we take our early afternoon nap.

      “From 2.30 to 3.30 we put off for tomorrow what we could have done today.

      “From 3.30 to 4.00 we take our early late afternoon nap.

      “From 4.00 to 5.00 we loaf and lounge until dinner.

      “From 6.00 to 7.00 we dilly-dally.

      “From 7.00 to 8.00 we take our early evening nap, and then for an hour before we go to bed at 9.00 we waste time.

      “As you can see, that leaves almost no time for brooding, lagging, plodding, or procrastinating, and if we stopped to think or laugh, we’d never get nothing done.”

      “You mean you’d never get anything done,” corrected Milo.

      “We don’t want to get anything done,” snapped another angrily; “we want to get nothing done, and we can do that without your help.”

      “You see,” continued another in a more conciliatory tone, “it’s really quite strenuous doing nothing all day, so once a week we take a holiday and go nowhere, which was just where we were going when you came along. Would you care to join us?”

      “I might as well,” thought Milo. “That’s where I seem to be going anyway.”

      “Tell me,” he yawned, for he felt ready for a nap now himself, “does everyone here do nothing”

      “Everyone but the terrible watchdog,” said two of them, shuddering in chorus. “He’s always sniffing around to see that nobody wastes time. A most unpleasant character.”

      “The watchdog?” said Milo quizzically.

      “THE WATCHDOG,” shouted another, fainting from fright, for racing down the road barking furiously and kicking up a great cloud of dust was the very dog of whom they had been speaking.

      “RUN!”

      “WAKE UP!”

      “RUN!”

      “HERE HE COMES!”

      “THE WATCHDOG!”

      Great shouts filled the air as the Lethargarians scattered in all directions and soon disappeared entirely.

      “R-R-R-G-H-R-O-R-R-H-F-F,” exclaimed the watchdog as he dashed up to the car, loudly puffing and panting.

      Milo’s large eyes opened wide, for there in front of him was a large dog with a perfectly normal head, four feet, and a tail – and the body of a loudly ticking alarm clock.

      “What are you doing here?” growled the watchdog.

      “Just killing time,” replied Milo apologetically. “You see—”

      “KILLING TIME!” roared the dog – so furiously that his alarm went off. “It’s bad enough wasting time without killing it.” And he shuddered at the thought. “Why are you in the Doldrums anyway – don’t you have anywhere to go?”

      “I was on my way to Dictionopolis when I got stuck here,” explained Milo. “Can you help me?”

      “Help you! You must help yourself,” the dog replied, carefully winding himself with his left hind leg. “I suppose you know why you got stuck.”

      “I suppose I just wasn’t thinking,” said Milo.

      “PRECISELY,” shouted the dog as his alarm went off again. “Now you know what you must do.”

      “I’m afraid I don’t,” admitted Milo, feeling quite stupid.

      “Well,” continued the watchdog impatiently, “since you got here by not thinking, it seems reasonable to expect that, in order to get out, you must start thinking.” And with that he hopped into the car.

      “Do you mind if I get in? I love car rides.”

      Milo began to think as hard as he could (which was very difficult, since he wasn’t used to it). He thought of birds that swim and fish that fly. He thought of yesterday’s lunch and tomorrow’s dinner. He thought of words that began with J and numbers that end in 3. And, as he thought, the wheels began to turn.

      “We’re moving, we’re moving,” he shouted happily.

      “Keep thinking,” scolded the watchdog.

      The little car started to go faster and faster as Milo’s brain whirled with activity, and down the road they went. In a few moments they were out of the Doldrums and back on the main road. All the colours had returned to their original brightness, and as they raced along the road, Milo continued to think of all sorts of things; of the many detours and wrong turns that were so easy to take, of how fine it was to be moving along, and, most of all, how much could be accomplished with just a little thought. And the dog, his nose in the wind, just sat back, watchfully ticking.

       Chapter Three WELCOME TO DICTIONOPOLIS

      “YOU MUST EXCUSE MY gruff conduct,” the watchdog said, after they’d been driving for some time, “but you see it’s traditional for watchdogs to be ferocious…”

      Milo was so relieved at having escaped the Doldrums that he assured the dog that he bore him no ill will and, in fact, was very grateful for the assistance.

      “Splendid,” shouted the watchdog, “I’m very pleased – I’m sure we’ll be great friends for the rest of the trip. You may call me Tock.”

      “That is a strange name for a dog who goes tickticktickticktick all day,” said Milo. “Why didn’t they call you—”

      “Don’t say it,” gasped the dog, and Milo could see a tear well up in his eye.

      “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” said Milo, not meaning to hurt his feelings.

      “That’s all right,” said the dog, getting hold of himself. “It’s an old story and a sad one, but I can tell it to you now.

      “When my brother was born, the first pup in the family, my parents were overjoyed and immediately named him Tick in expectation of the sound they were sure he’d make. On first winding him, they discovered to their horror that, instead of going tickticktickticktick, he went tocktocktocktocktocktock. They rushed to the Hall of Records to change the name, but too late. It had already been officially inscribed, and nothing could be done. When I arrived they were determined not to make the same mistake twice and, since it seemed logical that all their children would make the same sound, they named me Tock. Of course, you know the rest –