"You see?" Phil told the Baudelaire sisters, from across a bundle of boards. "There's nothing wrong with Klaus. He's working the machine perfectly. You spent all that time worrying for nothing."
Stamp!
"Maybe," Violet said doubtfully, blowing on the M in "Lumbermill."
"And I told you that stamping was the easiest part of the lumbermill industry," Phil said. Stamp! "Your lips get a little sore from all the blowing, but that's all."
"Wiro," Sunny said, which meant something like "That's true, but I'm still worried about Klaus."
"That's the spirit," said Phil, misunderstanding her. "I told you that if you just looked on the bright side-"
Stam-crash-aah!
Phil fell to the floor in midsentence, his face pale and sweaty. Of all the terrible noises to be heard at the Lucky Smells Lumbermill, this one was the most terrible by far. The thunderous stamp!ing sound had been cut off by a wrenching crash and a piercing shriek. The stamping machine had gone horribly wrong, and the huge flat stone had not been brought down where it was supposed to be brought down, on the bundle of boards. Most of the stone had been brought down on the string machine, which was now hopelessly smashed. But part of it had been brought down on Phil's leg.
Foreman Flacutono dropped his pots and ran over to the controls of the stamping machine, pushing the dazed Klaus aside. With a flip of the switch he brought the stone up again, and everyone gathered around to see the damage.
The cage part of the string machine was split open like an egg, and the string had become completely entwined and entangled. And I simply cannot describe the grotesque and unnerving sight-the words "grotesque" and "unnerving" here mean "twisted, tangled, stained, and gory"-of poor Phil's leg. It made Violet's and Sunny's stomachs turn to gaze upon it, but Phil looked up and gave them a weak smile.
"Well," he said, "this isn't too bad. My left leg is broken, but at least I'm right-legged. That's pretty fortunate."
"Gee," one of the other employees murmured. "I thought he'd say something more along the lines of 'Aaaaah! My leg! My leg!'"
"If someone could just help me get to my foot," Phil said, "I'm sure that I can get back to work."
"Don't be ridiculous," Violet said. "You need to go to a hospital."
"Yes, Phil," another worker said. "We have those coupons from last month, fifty percent off a cast at the Ahab Memorial Hospital. Two of us will chip in and get your leg all fixed up. I'll call for an ambulance right away."
Phil smiled. "That's very kind of you," he said.
"This is a disaster!" Foreman Flacutono shouted. "This is the worst accident in the history of the lumbermill!"
"No, no," Phil said. "It's fine. I've never liked my left leg so much, anyway."
"Not your leg, you overgrown midget," Foreman Flacutono said impatiently. "The string machine! Those cost an inordinate amount of money!"
"What does 'inordinate' mean?" somebody asked.
"It means many things," Klaus said suddenly, blinking. "It can mean 'irregular.' It can mean 'immoderate.' It can mean 'disorderly.' But in the case of money, it is more likely to mean 'excessive.' Foreman Flacutono means that the string machine costs a lot of money."
The two Baudelaire sisters looked at one another and almost laughed in relief. "Klaus!" Violet cried. "You're defining things!"
Klaus looked at his sisters and gave them a sleepy smile. "I guess I am," he said.
"Nojeemoo!" Sunny shrieked, which meant something along the lines of "You appear to be back to normal," and she was right. Klaus blinked again, and then looked at the mess he had caused.
"What happened here?" he asked, frowning. "Phil, what happened to your leg?"
"It's perfectly all right," Phil said, wincing in pain as he tried to move. "It's just a little sore."
"You mean you don't remember what happened?" Violet asked.
"What happened when?" Klaus asked, frowning. "Why, look! I'm not wearing any shoes!"
"Well, I certainly remember what happened!" Foreman Flacutono shouted, pointing at Klaus. "You smashed our machine! I will tell
Sir about this right away! You've put a complete halt to the stamping process! Nobody will earn a single coupon today!"
"That's not fair!" Violet said. "It was an accident. And Klaus never should have been put in charge of that machine! He didn't know how to use it!"
"Well, he'd better learn," Foreman Flacu-tono said. "Now pick up my pots, Klaus!"
Klaus went over to pick up the pots, but halfway there Foreman Flacutono stuck his foot out, playing the same trick he had played the previous day, and I'm sorry to tell you that it worked just as well. Again, Klaus fell right to the ground of the lumbermill, and again, his glasses fell off his face and skittered over to the bundle of boards, and worst of all, once again they became all twisted and cracked and hopelessly broken, like my friend Tatiana's sculptures.
"My glasses!" Klaus cried. "My glasses are broken again!"
Violet got a funny feeling in her stomach, all quivery and slithery as if she had eaten snakes, rather than gum, during the lunch break. "Are you sure?" she asked Klaus. "Are you sure you can't wear them?"
"I'm sure," Klaus said miserably, holding them up for Violet to see.
"Well, well, well," Foreman Flacutono said. "How careless of you. I guess you're due for another appointment with Dr. Orwell."
"We don't want to bother him," Violet said quickly. "If you give me some basic supplies, I'm sure I can build some glasses myself."
"No, no," the foreman said, his surgical mask curling into a frown. "You'd better leave optometry to the experts. Say good-bye to your brother."
"Oh, no," Violet said, desperately. She thought again of the promise she made to her parents. "We'll take him! Sunny and I will bring him to Dr. Orwell."
"Derix!" Sunny shrieked, which clearly meant something along the lines of "If we can't prevent him from going to Dr. Orwell, at least we can go with him!"
"Well, all right," said Foreman Flacutono, and his beady little eyes grew even darker than usual. "That's a good idea, come to think of it. Why don't all three of you go see Dr. Orwell?"
CHAPTER Eight
The Baudelaire orphans stood outside the gates of the Lucky Smells Lumbermill and looked at an ambulance rushing past them as it took Phil to the hospital. They looked at the chewed-up gum letters of the lumbermill sign. And they looked down at the cracked pavement of Paltry-ville's street. In short, they looked everywhere but at the eye-shaped building.
"We don't have to go," Violet said. "We could run away. We could hide until the next train arrived, and take it as far as possible. We know how to work in a lumbermill now, so we could get jobs in some other town."
"But what if he found us?" Klaus said, squinting at his sister. "Who would protect us from Count Olaf, if we were all by ourselves?"
"We could protect ourselves," Violet replied.
"How can we protect ourselves," Klaus asked, "when one of us is a baby and another one can barely see?"
"We've protected ourselves before," Violet said.
"Just barely," Klaus replied. "We've just barely escaped from Count Olaf each time. We can't run away and try to get along by ourselves, without glasses. We have to go see Dr. Orwell and hope for the best."
Sunny gave a little shriek of fear. Violet, of course, was too old to shriek except in emergency situations, but she was not too old to be frightened. "We don't know what will happen to us inside there," she said, looking at the black door in the eye's pupil. "Think, Klaus. Try to think. What happened to you when you went inside?"