FullReads

“O–let’s see,” said the Hatter, his face getting very red, “well–I should say on a basis of 43-1/3% to one, thirty-eight dollars would, come to about $97,347.83 in third debenture ten per cent. certificates, exclusive of the cost of printing, advertising, and the number we give away as sample copies.”

“Quite a saving,” said Alice.

“Yes,” said the Hatter. “We save all we can. Economy in real money is our watchword. We never spend a cent where a bond will serve the purpose.”

By this time Alice and her hosts had reached the building occupied by the Department of Public Verse, and upon entering its spacious doorway the party were greeted by the Commissioner, the Haberdasher, to whom Alice was promptly introduced. He reminded her very forcibly of her old acquaintance Bill the Lizard, but she was not sure enough on this point to recall their previous meeting when she had so tactlessly kicked him up through the chimney flue of the Wonderland Cottage.

“Well, Mr. Commissioner,” said the Hatter, “how are you getting along?”

“Pretty well, Mr. Mayor,” replied the Commissioner. “We’ve just finished the six line couplet for the new Chewing Gum Bonds.”

“Good,” said the Hatter. “How does it go?”

“Rather neatly I think,” said the Commissioner, and he read the following:

We promise to pay
This bond some day
If of the stuff
We’ve got enough.
And if we haven’t, pray don’t despond,
For we’ll pay it off with another bond.

“Fine,” said the Hatter. “You strike a very lofty note in that. And how do the new Limericks work?”

“We’ve finished number 3907 of series XZV,” said the Commissioner. “I’ll send for Wiggins who wrote it and let him read it to you himself.”

A pressure of an electric button brought the smiling Wiggins into the office.

“Wiggins, the Mayor would like to hear that new Limerick of yours,” said the Commissioner.

“Thanky sir,” said Wiggins. “It runs this way, your honour.

“There was an old lady named Jane
Who sat on a fence at Schoharie.
A rooster came by
And crew like the deuce
But Jane never scared for a cent.”

“That’s great,” said the Hatter. “Don’t you think so, Miss Alice?”

“Why yes,” said Alice, “but–does it rhyme?”

“Perfectly,” replied the Hatter, “that is, under our system. When we organised this Department to facilitate business and avoid the waste of time looking for rhymes we legalised such rhymes as Schoharie and cent and by and deuce. By that act we found that where one man could only turn out 800 Limericks a day under the old system, any ablebodied-poet can write 3,000 in the same number of hours. That’s very good, Wiggins,” he added turning to the workman. “I shall recommend the Commissioner to promote you to an Inspectorship in the Sonnet works.”

“Thanky sir,” said the Poet, as he blushingly bowed himself out.

“Here,” said the Commissioner, opening a door leading into a long, darkened chamber, “here, young lady, is our Thinking Department.”

Alice passed into the darkness and dimly made out a half a hundred long-haired individuals sitting in comfortable Morris chairs, their forefingers pressed hard against their brows and their eyes gazing fixedly out into space.

“These men and women think the thoughts which our municipal poetry is designed to express,” the Commissioner continued. “A thought once seized by any one of them is written down upon a pad, and then taken into this next room where it is classified and assigned to the line cutters who turn out the first draft in the rough. Then when this is done it is sent to the rhyming room where the lines are made to end in rhymes, and finally it goes to the Polishing room where the poem is made ready for publication.”

“It’s a wonderful system,” said the Hatter. “It not only improves the quality of our poetry, but in campaign times it is a great help, since we control absolutely all the campaign poetry. When I run for mayor next fall to succeed myself there won’t be a single poem written on the other side.”