The Phantom Tollbooth

“Now see here,” cried the startled bug, for that was the last thing in the world he wanted to do.

“You will find him dependable, brave, resourceful, and loyal,” continued Azaz, and the Humbug was so overcome by the flattery that he quite forgot to object again.

“I’m sure he’ll be a great help,” cried Milo as they drove across the square.

“I hope so,” thought Tock to himself, for he was far less sure.

“Good luck, good luck; do be careful!” shouted the king, and down the road they went.

Milo and Tock wondered what strange adventures lay ahead. The Humbug speculated on how he’d ever become involved in such a hazardous undertaking. And the crowd waved and cheered wildly, for, while they didn’t care at all about anyone arriving, they were always very pleased to see someone go.

9. It’s All in How You Look at Things

Soon all traces of Dictionopolis had vanished in the distance and all those strange and unknown lands that lay between the kingdom of words and the kingdom of numbers stretched before them. It was late afternoon and the dark-orange sun floated heavily over the distant mountains. A friendly, cool breeze slapped playfully at the car, and the long shadows stretched out lazily from the trees and bushes.

“Ah, the open road!” exclaimed the Humbug, breathing deeply, for he now seemed happily resigned to the trip. “The spirit of adventure, the lure of the unknown, the thrill of a gallant quest. How very grand indeed.” Then, pleased with himself, he folded his arms, sat back, and left it at that.

In a few more minutes they had left the open countryside and driven into a dense forest.

“THIS IS THE SCENIC ROUTE: STRAIGHT AHEAD TO POINT OF VIEW”

announced a rather large road sign; but, contrary to its statement, all that could be seen were more trees. As the car rushed along, the trees grew thicker and taller and leafier until, just as they’d hidden the sky completely, the forest abruptly ended and the road bent itself around a broad promontory. Stretching below, to the left, the right, and straight ahead, as far as anyone could see, lay the rich green landscape through which they had been traveling.

“Remarkable view,” announced the Humbug, bouncing from the car as if he were responsible for the whole thing.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” gasped Milo.

“Oh, I don’t know,” answered a strange voice. “It’s all in the way you look at things.”

“I beg your pardon?” said Milo, for he didn’t see who had spoken.

“I said it’s all in how you look at things,” repeated the voice.

Milo turned around and found himself staring at two very neatly polished brown shoes, for standing directly in front of him (if you can use the word “standing” for anyone suspended in mid-air) was another boy just about his age, whose feet were easily three feet off the ground.

“For instance,” continued the boy, “if you happened to like deserts, you might not think this was beautiful at all.”

“That’s true,” said the Humbug, who didn’t like to contradict anyone whose feet were that far off the ground.

“For instance,” said the boy again, “if Christmas trees were people and people were Christmas trees, we’d all be chopped down, put up in the living room, and covered with tinsel, while the trees opened our presents.”

“What does that have to do with it?” asked Milo.

“Nothing at all,” he answered, “but it’s an interesting possibility, don’t you think?”

“How do you manage to stand up there?” asked Milo, for this was the subject which most interested him.

“I was about to ask you a similar question,” answered the boy, “for you must be much older than you look to be standing on the ground.”

“What do you mean?” Milo asked.

“Well,” said the boy, “in my family everyone is born in the air, with his head at exactly the height it’s going to be when he’s an adult, and then we all grow toward the ground. When we’re fully grown up or, as you can see, grown down, our feet finally touch. Of course, there are a few of us whose feet never reach the ground no matter how old we get, but I suppose it’s the same in every family.”

He hopped a few steps in the air, skipped back to where he started, and then began again.

“You certainly must be very old to have reached the ground already.”

“Oh no,” said Milo seriously. “In my family we all start on the ground and grow up, and we never know how far until we actually get there.”

“What a silly system.” The boy laughed. “Then your head keeps changing its height and you always see things in a different way? Why, when you’re fifteen things won’t look at all the way they did when you were ten, and at twenty everything will change again.”

“I suppose so,” replied Milo, for he had never really thought about the matter.