The sloth-bear blinked his eyes, sleepily, and muttered, “What’s up?”
“Why, aren’t you going to make a start?” inquired the Dodo, angrily; “how do you suppose we shall ever get to our destination if you go on like this?”
The sloth-bear, after staring vacantly awhile slowly shook his head. “Speed not to exceed quarter of a mile an hour, them’s my orders,” he said, “and four times nine is—er—ninety-nine, so you’ll get there about next Thursday week. Y—ah—a—a—ow,” and he gave another tremendous yawn, as his head sank between his knees again.
“Good gracious! what’s to be done?” said Dick, getting down from the chariot. “It’s not the slightest use our trying to go anywhere in this thing.”
“What did he mean by saying four times nine were ninety-nine? They ain’t,” said Fidge, “”cos I know my ”four times,” and four nines are thirty-six.”
“Perhaps it was something to do with the number of miles we shall have to travel before we reach the place where the ships start from,” suggested Marjorie.
“Wake him up again, will you, please?” she said, turning to the Dodo. “Perhaps he will tell us.”
“All right,” said the Dodo, “I’ll wake him up. Here!” he cried, going up to the sloth-bear, and giving him a good shake. “Wake up! Wake up!”
The creature slowly lifted his head, and, staring reproachfully at the Dodo, began to cry. “Boo—hoo—hoo! Boo—hoo—hoo!” he sobbed. “It’s a shame, it is.”