“Oh, as to that, you may run if you wish. You see we of the Jumping Dragoons pride ourselves on our ability to go long distances in a very little time.”
Nevertheless they proceeded leisurely, chatting as they descended. Beader—for such proved to be the name of Dan’s escort—explained many things as they went and was just on the point of answering Dan’s question about the thing that looked so much like a grandfather’s clock when they reached the floor of the valley.
“Here,” said the mouse, “we enter the town proper. And,” he added, making a very low bow, “Beader takes pride in being the first to welcome you to the Valley of Tick Tock.”
“What an odd name!” exclaimed Dan. “Why do you call it that?”
“Listen a moment and you will hear,” replied Beader.
So Dan hearkened. And out of the silence there came a slow and very measured and very musical sound. It was as if an ocean were not far away or a brook had come to make its home near the trees. But, unlike the boom of the surf or the song of a stream, this strange voice sang a much different tune. Indeed, as Dan listened, he could plainly hear it say—“Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock!”
“Now,” Beader broke in, “if you will be careful as to where you step and follow me closely, we will soon be in the main part of the town.”
Thus, he of the Jumping Dragoons leaping in advance—his red coat a bright splotch in the moonlight—Dan followed him, wonderingly.
CHAPTER XXIII IN WHICH DAN SPENDS A NIGHT IN THE VALLEY OF TICK TOCK
As Dan, guided by Beader, entered the town that lay in the center of the Valley of Tick Tock, he saw that it had been built so that the trees stood at the foot of it while the corn patches and the wheat fields stretched on both sides and one end. From the fields and the woods streets ran hither and thither at all sorts of angles. These were lined with no end of queer houses. Some were of sticks, and some were of weeds and still others were made of very fine grass. Now and then appeared a dwelling more imposing than the rest. There was one that must have been quite three stories high. All the houses faced on extremely scant roadways that could not have been more than two-mouses wide.
But the street over which Beader took Dan was of a far different kind. Indeed, it was almost as broad as a path in a park. It was well sprinkled with sand and along both its sides were rows of tall corn. Dan was about to ask if the street had a name when he noted a sign fixed to the top of a stick. Stooping down he read: