34

the steps, tripping over “Silence” as
he went.
“This sounds like something new,”

thought Alice, as she hurried after
him. She caught up with him just as
he was disappearing through a win-
dow of the large barn on Lower
Campus. Alice just managed to
squeeze after him, and landed in a
heap, coughing furiously, for the lit-
tle stall was so full of smoke she
thought all the hay in the barn must
have caught fire.

“Have a cigarette,’ said a Voice.
Alice peered through the haze, and
saw the person who had spoken—no
less than her old friend the March
Hare.

“T don’t see any cigarettes.’ said
Alice, looking sadly at the pile of
smouldering butts in the ash-tray,
from which all the smoke was coming.

“There aren’t any,’ said the March
Hare. ‘Go on, Duchess.”

Alice was about to be angry, but
her rage at the March Hare’s rude-
ness gave way to amazement as the
other figures in the room appeared
through the smoke. At the table, with
a pile of manuscripts in her lap, sat
the Duchess, the Frog Footman at her
feet. The White Queen was perched
on the window-sill, staring pensively
at her finger-nails. The Red Queen was
sitting on the table, looking aggriey-
edly at the Mock Turtle, who was
clicking his knitting-needles too loud-
ly. The Mad Hatter and the March
Hare sat on the sofa, with the Dor-
mouse dozing between them.

“Need we go on with this?” said
the Duchess, glaring at Alice.







30

“Go on with what?” Alice asked.

“The Soul-Portrait of the Amphi-
oxus,” the White Queen explained
wearily. “TZ think it’s very—soulful.”

“You would!” snapped the Mad
Hatter. “J, for one, think it’s guite—”

“Quite what?’ asked the Mock Tur-
tle, as the Hatter paused.

“Stark!” bellowed the Hatter. “One
must think carefully before one speaks
on such debatable issues.”

“Oh,” said the Mock Turtle weakly.

“Of course, of course; just what I
Was going to remark myself,’ mut-
tered the Dormouse, as the March
Hare poked him in the ribs to wake
him up.

“The question is, how is it going to
get in?” said the Red Queen. “Are
we to bar things on the ground of
incomprehensibility ?”

“The question is, zs it to get in at
all?” answered the Frog Footman,
who never deigned to take his eyes
off the ceiling. Alice thought him
rather haughty.

“It’s only incomprehensible because
you don’t know how to read it,” said
the March Hare, looking at the Duch-
ess with contempt.

“Then why don’t you read it your-
self?” As the Duchess spoke, the

paper that had been in her hand flew

through the smoke, and hit the March
Hare in the eye.

“Because you won’t let him,” the
Mad Hatter half rose from the sofa—