The doctor smiled. "How many miles to Babylon?" he asked.
Now who had said that to George before? Why, it was Sir Tristram! Wasn't it queer that the doctor should say it too?
"Lucky boy!" said the doctor, taking up his hat again. "Lucky boy! We grown-ups have no luck at all. I lose my way every time I try to get there."
"What a pity!" cried George. "I'm sure your house is ready waiting there for you."
"Well, well," replied the doctor. "See that it's kept well aired for me when you're there next time, won't you? I might manage to get there some time, if only by accident."
It took George days and days to tell his story properly. Mother was never tired of hearing it, and asked heaps and heaps of questions; Father said the mere thought of a real live dragon, and especially a wicked magician, made him shiver and shake. He really did shake all over, but perhaps he was only pretending.
Nurse nodded her head very wisely, but though George asked her if she had ever seen a witch, no, she wouldn't answer anything but: "Perhaps I have; perhaps I haven't."
Uncle William was delighted to hear that Alexander could talk, and used to read him bits out of the newspaper and ask him what he thought about the weather, and all kinds of nonsense. He loved the part about Tom Tiddler, and really could imitate his voice so well that George sometimes couldn't tell the difference.