“Must you be so clumsy?” shouted the duke.
“All I said was——” began the earl, rubbing his head.
“We heard you,” said the minister angrily, “and you’ll have to find an expression that’s less dangerous.”
The earl dusted himself off as the others snickered audibly.
“You see,” cautioned the count, “you must pick your words very carefully and be sure to say just what you intend to say. And now we must leave to make preparations for the Royal Banquet.”
“You’ll be there, of course,” said the minister.
But before Milo had a chance to say anything, they were rushing off across the square as fast as they had come.
“Enjoy yourself in the market,” shouted back the undersecretary.
“Market,” recited the duke: “an open space or covered building in which——”
And that was the last Milo heard as they disappeared into the crowd.
“I never knew words could be so confusing,” Milo said to Tock as he bent down to scratch the dog’s ear.
“Only when you use a lot to say a little,” answered Tock.
Milo thought this was quite the wisest thing he’d heard all day. “Come,” he shouted, “let’s see the market. It looks very exciting.”
4. Confusion in the Market Place
Indeed it was, for as they approached, Milo could see crowds of people pushing and shouting their way among the stalls, buying and selling, trading and bargaining. Huge wooden-wheeled carts streamed into the market square from the orchards, and long caravans bound for the four corners of the kingdom made ready to leave. Sacks and boxes were piled high waiting to be delivered to the ships that sailed the Sea of Knowledge, and off to one side a group of minstrels sang songs to the delight of those either too young or too old to engage in trade. But above all the noise and tumult of the crowd could be heard the merchants’ voices loudly advertising their products.
“Get your fresh-picked ifs, ands, and buts.”
“Hey-yaa, hey-yaa, hey-yaa, nice ripe wheres and whens.”
“Juicy, tempting words for sale.”
So many words and so many people! They were from every place imaginable and some places even beyond that, and they were all busy sorting, choosing, and stuffing things into cases. As soon as one was filled, another was begun. There seemed to be no end to the bustle and activity.
Milo and Tock wandered up and down the aisles looking at the wonderful assortment of words for sale. There were short ones and easy ones for everyday use, and long and very important ones for special occasions, and even some marvelously fancy ones packed in individual gift boxes for use in royal decrees and pronouncements.
“Step right up, step right up—fancy, best-quality words right here,” announced one man in a booming voice. “Step right up—ah, what can I do for you, little boy? How about a nice bagful of pronouns—or maybe you’d like our special assortment of names?”
Milo had never thought much about words before, but these looked so good that he longed to have some.
“Look, Tock,” he cried, “aren’t they wonderful?”
“They’re fine, if you have something to say,” replied Tock in a tired voice, for he was much more interested in finding a bone than in shopping for new words.
“Maybe if I buy some I can learn how to use them,” said Milo eagerly as he began to pick through the words in the stall. Finally he chose three which looked particularly good to him—“quagmire,” “flabbergast,” and “upholstery.” He had no idea what they meant, but they looked very grand and elegant.
“How much are these?” he inquired, and when the man whispered the answer he quickly put them back on the shelf and started to walk on.
“Why not take a few pounds of ‘happys’?” advised the salesman. “They’re much more practical—and very useful for Happy Birthday, Happy New Year, happy days, and happy-go-lucky.”
“I’d like to very much,” began Milo, “but——”
“Or perhaps you’d be interested in a package of ‘goods’—always handy for good morning, good afternoon, good evening, and good-by,” he suggested.
Milo did want to buy something, but the only money he had was the coin he needed to get back through the tollbooth, and Tock, of course, had nothing but the time.
“No, thank you,” replied Milo. “We’re just looking.” And they continued on through the market.
As they turned down the last aisle of stalls, Milo noticed a wagon that seemed different from the rest. On its side was a small neatly lettered sign that said, “DO IT YOURSELF,” and inside were twenty-six bins filled with all the letters of the alphabet from A to Z.
“These are for people who like to make their own words,” the man in charge informed him. “You can pick any assortment you like or buy a special box complete with all letters, punctuation marks, and a book of instructions. Here, taste an A; they’re very good.”
Milo nibbled carefully at the letter and discovered that it was quite sweet and delicious—just the way you’d expect an A to taste.
“I knew you’d like it,” laughed the letter man, popping two G’s and an R into his mouth and letting the juice drip down his chin. “A’s are one of our most popular letters. All of them aren’t that good,” he confided in a low voice. “Take the Z, for instance—very dry and sawdusty. And the X? Why, it tastes like a trunkful of stale air. That’s why people hardly ever use them. But most of the others are quite tasty. Try some more.”
He gave Milo an I, which was icy and refreshing, and Tock a crisp, crunchy C.
“Most people are just too lazy to make their own words,” he continued, “but it’s much more fun.”
“Is it difficult? I’m not much good at making words,” admitted Milo, spitting the pits from a P.
“Perhaps I can be of some assistance—a-s-s-i-s-t-a-n-c-e,” buzzed an unfamiliar voice, and when Milo looked up he saw an enormous bee, at least twice his size, sitting on top of the wagon.
“I am the Spelling Bee,” announced the Spelling Bee. “Don’t be alarmed—a-1-a-r-m-e-d.”
Tock ducked under the wagon, and Milo, who was not overly fond of normal-sized bees, began to back away slowly.
“I can spell anything—a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g,” he boasted, testing his wings. “Try me, try me!”
“Can you spell ‘good-by’?” suggested Milo as he continued to back away.
The bee gently lifted himself into the air and circled lazily over Milo’s head.
“Perhaps—p-e-r-h-a-p-s—you are under the misapprehension—m-i-s-a-p-p-r-e-h-e-n-s-i-o-n—that I am dangerous,” he said, turning a smart loop to the left. “Let me assure—a-s-s-u-r-e—you that my intentions are peaceful—p-e-a-c-e-f-u-l.” And with that he settled back on top of the wagon and fanned himself with one wing. “Now,” he panted, “think of the most difficult word you can and I’ll spell it. Hurry up, hurry up!” And he jumped up and down impatiently.
“He looks friendly enough,” thought Milo, not sure just how friendly a friendly bumblebee should be, and tried to think of a very difficult word. “Spell ‘vegetable,’ ” he suggested, for it was one that always troubled him at school.
“That is a difficult one,” said the bee, winking at the letter man. “Let me see now … hmmmmmm …” He frowned and wiped his brow and paced slowly back and forth on top of the wagon. “How much time do I have?”
“Just ten seconds,” cried Milo excitedly. “Count them off, Tock.”
“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,” the bee repeated, continuing to pace nervously. Then, just as the time ran out, he spelled as fast as he could—“v-e-g-e-t-a-b-1-e.”
“Correct,” shouted the letter man, and everyone cheered.
