A queer sound, like the ticking of a clock, fell on his ear, but
there was no clock anywhere, and presently he discovered that the
sound came from a bunch of keys. One of the keys had apparently
just been put into the cash-box, and the other keys swung to and
fro with the regular movement of a pendulum. This went on for quite
a little while. Then there was silence once more, and when it was
as still as still could be, a low whistling sound, like the wind
blowing through the rigging of a ship, or steam escaping through
a narrow tube, could be heard. The sound was made by the snails;
but as they were of different sizes, each one of them whistled in
a different key; it sounded like a whole orchestra of whistlers.
Victor, who was born on a Thursday, and therefore understood the
birds' language, pricked up his ears and tried to catch what they
were whistling. It was not long before he understood what they were
saying.

"I have the prettiest name," said one of them, "for I am called
Strombus pespelicanus!"

"I'm much the best looking," said the purple-snail, whose name was
Murex and something else quaint.

"But I've the best voice," said the tiger-shell; it is called
tiger-shell because it looks like a panther.

"Oh! tut, tut!" said the common garden-snail, "I'm more in demand
than any other snail in the world; you'll find me all over the
flower-beds in the summer, and in the winter I lie in the wood-shed
in a cabbage tub. They call me uninteresting, but they can't do
without me."