“My boy, I am a snail; and snails never hurry.”
In the meantime an hour passed by, then two; and the door was not opened. Pinocchio, trembling with the cold, knocked again. At the second knock the window on the third story opened and the Snail looked out.
“Beautiful Snail,” cried Pinocchio from the street, “I have waited two hours; and two hours in this weather seem like two years. Please hurry, won’t you?”
“My boy,” replied the Snail, “I am a snail; and snails never hurry.”
Some time afterward it struck midnight; then one; then two; but the door remained always closed. Then Pinocchio, losing patience, took hold of the knocker and was about to strike with all his might when the knocker became an eel and, slipping through his hands, dropped into a stream of water that ran in the street.
“Ho! ho!” cried Pinocchio, more enraged than ever. “If the knocker disappears I will use my foot.” He then kicked the door so hard that his foot went through the wood and stuck there. He tried to pull it out but he could not. Just imagine how he felt! He was obliged to wait with one foot on the ground and the other in the door until morning came.
