At one end of the room there was a small narrow door. Pinocchio walked to it and tried to open it. Still, though the door was not locked, it would not open. It seemed as if some one were holding it closed from the inside. The marionette pushed it, kicked it, struggled with it, and finally he succeeded in opening it. He was able to put just the tip of his nose in the crack.
He had no sooner done this, though, than it was held as in a vise. Pinocchio felt something pulling and pulling.
“My nose will surely come off,” he thought; but after trying and trying he was at last free again.
“I wonder what that was? What can be behind that door? In any case it may be better to have some weapon of defense,” and thinking this, Pinocchio looked around.
“Those shelves may hold something useful.”
But when he came near them, what did he see? A mattress, pillows, sheets!
“What could this have been? A hospital?”
Poor Pinocchio! He was most certainly a dunce!
On the floor in a corner he found a pair of large boots.