“It ought to!” said Blasterjinx.
“Why?”
Taking the top in his hand Blasterjinx unscrewed the upper part. “See,” said he. Snythergen looked inside, and beheld a flock of canaries singing and flying about.
“This is the only kind of humming-top to have”
“This is the only kind of a humming-top to have,” said Blasterjinx. “For you can change the music any time you want to. I’ve tried violinists, pianists, story-tellers, singers, harpists—almost everything you can think of, but I like canaries best. Wouldn’t your friends here like to take a spin?” he asked, pointing to Squeaky and Sancho Wing.
It happened to be just what they wanted most, so Blasterjinx opened a trap door in the floor of the room inside the top, and shooed the canaries downstairs into the top basement, telling them to remain silent. Then Squeaky and Sancho Wing descended a silver ladder into the huge top, and the cover was screwed on. They found themselves in a pleasant circular room, dimly lighted by stained glass windows and ventilated by air holes. The objects in the room, piano, chairs, pictures, all were fastened securely to hold their positions when the top wobbled or fell to its side. A brass railing attached to the wall ran all the way around, to give the passengers something to hold to.
“Hold on tight now,” said Blasterjinx, and winding the top carefully he hurled it through the air. It lighted on its point, spinning at terrific speed. Through one of the ventilating holes Squeaky watched the topsy turvey landscape dance giddily about, until it made him dizzy and soon he became ill from it. Sancho Wing was too busy keeping his balance and holding on, to pay any attention to how Squeaky was getting along.