The House with a Clock in Its Walls (Lewis Barnavelt, #1)

by John Bellairs

His uncle was certainly a strange person, but he was strange in a likable way.

“Oh, by the way,” he said, “you might bring Lewis a glass of iced tea, and get me a refill. No sugar. And bring out another plate of chocolate-chip cookies.” Mrs. Zimmermann stood up and clasped her hands subserviently in front of her. “How would you like your cookies, sir? Stuffed down your throat one by one, or crumbled up and sifted into your shirt collar?”

this book is really fun so far!!

When you are hiding something, you get the feeling that every other secret is connected to your secret.

He felt very proud and brave, and very frightened too. It is a hard thing to describe.

But Jonathan was puzzled about one detail. He turned to Lewis with a quizzical look on his face. “And what, may I ask, is the Ace of Nitwits?” “I don’t know. It just came to me. I guess we’ll know when we find it.”

“Ask it,” said Lewis. “Ask it what?” Jonathan looked blank. “The circumference of the moon, you bearded booby!” screamed Mrs. Zimmermann. “Where I left my hat after the Chicago World’s Fair! Now think a minute, Jonathan. What would you want to ask it?” “Where the clock is?” asked Jonathan in a small voice. A burst of rather mechanical applause came from the front room. It was the organ, smarting off as usual. Jonathan stuck his tongue out at it over his shoulder.