For there they sat, grouped insolently around the fountain, drinking tears out of mugs of enormous sighs, and hammering with their fists upon the peculiarly disagreeable-looking tables at which they sat.  These tables were of various sizes, but they were all very ponderous and slippery-looking; and observing them closely, Sara saw that her instinctive aversion was well founded—­for they were multiplication tables.  The Two-Times table was nearest to her, being placed just to the left of the dimple-holder; and they increased regularly in size up to the Twelve-Times table, at which the officers were sitting.  The whole crowd of invaders were disgustingly haughty and self-important—­worse even than the Strained Relations, Sara thought; but the officers were the worst of all.  From the Least Common Multiple up to the Greatest Common Divisor, from the thin, poker-like Quotient with the fierce white moustache to the enormous, puffy Multiplicand, Sara thought they were the most pompous lot she had ever seen.  However, since they were officers and units, she could imagine that they might have some excuse; but what possible excuse could there be for conceit in the Fractions, every one of whom had something missing about him?  Some of them, of course, lacked only an ear or a little finger; but numbers of them had only one leg or one arm, and many of them were much worse off!  Why, at the farthest side of the Three-Times table Sara saw a Fraction who consisted entirely of one eye!

There was one table, to be sure, the Eleven-Times, the noisiest of all, that was occupied entirely by Improper Fractions; but aside from their table-manners and general behavior, which were shocking, Sara thought they looked even worse than the proper ones.  For one of them had two faces, another three feet, and a third one had as many arms as an octopus.  Sara positively refused to look at them.

While Sara stood gazing in horror and dismay, and feeling so grieved for her friends that she could not bring herself to ask anybody what had happened or what could be done, she saw Schlorge coming at a run down the path from the Dimplesmithy.  He looked as wild and distracted as any of them, but Sara felt a great relief when she saw him, because she knew he was so clever and practical.  She felt, too, that she could ask him what the trouble was and he could bear it—­better than the Teacup, for instance, who, she feared, would go all to pieces, or the Echo of the Plynck, who was clearly all in.  So she ran up to him and touched his elbow and asked, almost crying, “What is it, Schlorge?  How did it happen?”

Schlorge, even in his excitement, was comforted by her sympathy, and evidently very glad to see another ally.  “Why—­a—­” he began, and then, remembering, he cried excitedly, “Where’s the stump—­where’s the stump?  I have to tell Sara about it!”