One rainy evening, as you were looking through your drawer to find your missing sock, you came across an old box. It was dusty and had a big rusty lock, but without a key, there was no way for you to open it.
You took it to your father, and he said, “Best not to bother with that old thing, Max. I have no idea where the key is.” You decided to keep the box anyway, and you put it on your bookshelf. Day after day, you found yourself staring at the box, trying to think of something that would fit.
Then one Saturday, you and your father were looking in the back yard for the football that had gone missing. But instead of the football, you found the old garden shed that hadn’t been used for years. “An adventure!” you thought. You pulled at the door, but it simply fell over.
Inside was a tangled mass of old garden tools and bits and pieces. As you rummaged through it, you discovered a board that hid another random assortment of rubbish. But when you lifted the board, there was something shiny looking back at you. As you pulled it out, you realized it was an old key. It was a bit rusty and had other bits of metal stuck to it, but, as luck would have it, it looked just like it would fit the box.
Rushing upstairs, you put the key in the lock. With a turn, it made a satisfying click, and you opened the box. As you did, a cloud of dust came up and filled your nose, making you sneeze. You gave the box a shake, and to your surprise, bits of paper started to tumble out.
You picked them up and found that one of the bits was a note. It read:
“To whomever shall read this, inside this box, shall be a surprise. But be warned, it will lead you on many adventures, and not all shall be pleasant. But rewards will come all the same. Good luck and journey wherever the winds shall take you.”
This was exciting. You looked back in the box and saw that it was all just a pile of papers. But then, as you examined them, you saw that some were blue, some were red, some were yellow and some were green. Of your colors, the one you like most is the blue one.
You unraveled it, and saw that it was made out of some silver foil, with an old note next to it. You picked it up and read it.
“Open your window then wave the blue flag, then close your eyes and think of the world you wish to be in.”
That wasn’t such an interesting adventure, you thought. So you decided to try the red one instead. It had another note, and it read:
“Open your door and put the red flag on the floor, then throw flour and grains of rice on it, and jump on the doormat three times. Then last of all say the password. But remember, write the password down in the box so you shan’t forget what it is.”
But, you thought, flour and rice - they will cost a fortune! So instead, you took out a yellow one, as you had wished.
It was a fair-sized piece of paper with an old map and a note. You unraveled the note and read it aloud:
“Where there is a will, there is a way!”
At that, you laughed, as it seemed such a silly thing to say. Then you read the map and found it led to a bank. How could that be?
But after thinking a bit, you understood that there was a bank where anybody could go if only they knew where to find it, so you determined to find that bank.
You looked at the map again, and saw that if you went around to the back room cupboard, and looked in the far left-hand corner, there was a trapdoor. If you went through the trapdoor, you got to the bank itself.
It was hard work getting the door open, as it had been so long since it had been opened last. At last, you managed to pull it up. Then you turned the light on, and there in front of you was a narrow dark hole. You got a piece of string, tied it to a torch, and lowered it. Then you felt with your foot to see how deep it was, and you found that it was nothing like deep enough to give you any worry.
You crawled rather uncomfortably along the dark tunnel, but at last it opened out, and in front of you was a huge door, with a lion’s head on it, and it had a handle in the mouth of the lion.
You said to the lion, in case it should answer you: “What’s the time, Mr. Wolf?”
Nothing happened, so you took hold of the handle, and turned it round on its hinges.
A great white undulating cloud of smoke came out of the door and advanced towards you. You were too scared to do anything except to rush back down the dark passage. But soon it stopped following you.
You pulled the trapdoor shut behind you, and took a candle to have a closer look at the door.
As you held the candle near it, you saw plainly the words carved on it, “The Land of Banks” over the lion’s ugly mouth.
You had half a mind to see what there was behind the door, but you thought you shan’t do that till you have had an adventure or two out in the world.
Then you determined to take the red path at the bottom of the blue bank’s map. It didn’t matter which you took or where they led, because every road went to every other bank, so it was just a question of paths. The blue path led to a bank with a lot of spires behind a multitude of waves.
You turned your back on this bank, jumped in the nearest boat, and set out straight for the middle of one of the waves which you had guessed best.
Before you were aware, you were out of sight of the bank, and behind you was only a large white cloud, dozing on the water.
Soon, you got to the Beachcomber’s bank, which was not very far away.
All the bank itself was rubbish, but it was gold and silver and jewels. Half the country was bogs, muck, and slime, and the other half was only rubbish.
On top of it was a fine hut, and beside it a small door.
At the sides were oil lamps, and you managed to see, through the closed door, the fellow with his feet up to the fire, snoring happily. Over the fire was a pot, and he was cooking everything he had eaten in years in it.
You licked your lips, as it all smelt ever so nice. You rapped on the door, and belonging at once to somebody who lived nearby.
When he opened it, you asked him rather shyly whether his master would mind saying how do.
The Beachcomber stopped his breakfast to tell you.
So you sat down at the table, and talked. It was not long before the Beachcomber asked in turn if you would mind having something out of the pot to eat.
But no, that was not what you had come for. You asked it at once. So he looked down and see if he had got enough clothes on (he hadn’t), and then he looked in his tiny glass he carved out of diamond (and it wasn’t ever so golden, you know) to see if there was anything he calls sensible going on in his mind.
But it was absolutely empty, with not a single idea in it, so he had no business being bored. As he didn’t know there was anybody about, all those ideas came hurrying in: and all at once he was absolutely bursting with ideas.
He told you them in turn.
The hobgoblin’s home was not a bank at all, but instead it was a home. It was made of hard black wood, and it is called the land of Sable Hardwoods. In the middle of the woods, a black building came down till it almost touched the ground.
You entered the building, and found yourself outside under the grayish-green sky.
There, besides all the trains you liked, you saw exceptions of pigs, goats, and cows walking around holding words of wisdom in their mouths on bluff-topped tables.
Wherever you looked moving messages were going over flat-looking Located desktops.
You passed men with wings zipping all about, both above the flocks and the people below.
They were pulling loads and messages and carrying them.
Moving lizards were carrying piers to sat upon, one after another, all over their backs.
You passed people who spent all their lives trying to cure patients about whom nothing ever ailed; others who carte-blanche to seal-up invitations - an act invited places were celebrating.
You came to a place where folk missed the immense harvest of jars. It seemed as if dishes were oozing out garlic butter to drink; and you were met by drill sergeants backed up against ways and means from every side.
Quite dusk steadied people were drinking chit-chat, or tattle, and smoking in tattle houses, where long-necked coffee pots.
The newspaper shop had all sorts .of pictures out of rain. From among th, average bankmistress, you distinguished your impression for the blind.
You very large banks to all, you took a great look at everybody and bought sweet meat shops on bits of gray, instead of paper. Ate too many of your treats, so instead of sweetmeats you slept that night for six months on a rope at 08-0 at twelve each morning.
It was as well that your next bank was nearby or else you would not have got done even the one bank.
You paid it too long a visit, too, and that hardly got you recovered.
It was Cousin Bank and included so many shops, streets, grass, and country alongside its walls, helped you to lose yourself.
You had bread where you needed it from, and lickpennies made rules for your build. It was your bank, you thought for two minutes, and then pinched your own nose to wake you up, and sometimes shaking your head to stop you feeling.
But the gayest country in the whole knowledge of difference. Nobody ever wears boots or hats or shoes. Each one was as clean and neat, and sweet, and pretty in their own way as possible.
It rests happily in the hog. You can see where Garden State Island give it water on all four sides, instead of with taps.
You pass all the stables and livery stables with comfortable straw, remember having seen no horses with the last gone back. Everybody lies indoor crying in despair. Even the mayor sees as his volunteer bodyguard all his yeomen and honorary constables.
And though you heard dozens of the very old obliged to get some shaving or change whether they liked it or not, at last without getting into clickey shoes.