The Humbug dropped his needle and stared in disbelief while Milo and Tock began to back away slowly. “I am the Terrible Trivium, demon of petty tasks and worthless jobs, ogre of wasted effort, and monster of habit.” “Quite correct!” he shrieked triumphantly. “Because, my young friends,” he muttered sourly, “what could be more important than doing unimportant things? If you stop to do enough of them, you’ll never get to where you’re going.” He punctuated his last remark with a villainous laugh. “Then why bother?” asked Tock, whose alarm suddenly began to ring. “I wouldn’t have asked you to do it if I thought it was important.” And now, as he turned to face them, he didn’t seem quite so pleasant. “Of course it’s not important,” he snarled angrily. “All I meant was that perhaps it isn’t too important,” Milo repeated, trying not to be impolite. “WORTH WHILE!” the man roared indignantly. “But it hardly seems worth while,” said Milo softly. “Well, you’d better get on with it then.” “Is that so?” replied the man, without even turning around. “Pardon me,” he said, tugging at the man’s sleeve and holding the sheet of figures up for him to see, “but it’s going to take eight hundred and thirty-seven years to do these jobs.” Milo took the shiny pencil from his pocket and quickly calculated that, at the rate they were working, it would take each of them eight hundred and thirty-seven years to finish. “Why not use your magic staff and find out?” replied Tock as clearly as anyone could with an eye dropper in his mouth. “Well, I wish I knew how long it was going to take,” Milo whispered as the dog went by again. “Perhaps you will,” the man agreed with a yawn (at least it sounded like a yawn). I could go right on the same way forever.” “I’ve been working steadily all this time, and I don’t feel the slightest bit tired or hungry. “How very strange,” said Milo, without stopping for a moment. Tock shuffled steadily back and forth with the dropper in his teeth, but the full well was still almost as full as when he began, and Milo’s new pile of sand was hardly a pile at all. After what seemed like days, he had dug a hole scarcely large enough for his thumb. The Humbug whistled gaily at his work, for he was never as happy as when he had a job which required no thinking at all.
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