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“That ought to be a great help,” said Alice.

“Yes,” said the Hatter. “It will be. Every employee in this Department will not only vote for me but will work for me as well. Same way in the gas plant and the trolley–in fact in all the City Departments. It is only another evidence of the very great value of Municipal Ownership. It is uncertainty in political times that upsets business, but with the Municipality in control of all these Departments from Gas to Poetry there is no uncertainty about who will win, so that business is not unsettled by it.”

“Wonderful,” said Alice.

“By the way, Mr. Commissioner, you’d better start the Rhyming Bureau on the search for rhymes to Hatter at once,” said, the Mayor. “We don’t want to be caught unprepared at the last minute.”

“The list is being compiled now,” replied the Commissioner. “We already have, Matter, Batter, Tatter, Smatter Patter, Ratter, Spatter and Scatter.”

“Fine!” chortled the Hatter.

“Don’t forget Chatter,” put in Alice.

“Thank you–I’ll make a note of it,” said the Commissioner.

“And Snatter,” growled the March Hare gloomily, who evidently felt that somebody ought to be looking for rhymes to March Hare as well.

“What does snatter mean?” demanded the Hatter frowning.

“It’s a corrupt form for snatcher,” retorted the March Hare. “One who snatches everything he can lay his hands on, without regard to whether it’s his by divine right or not. I guess they can use it in poems calling attention to your Civic Virtues.”

“Except by unanimous vote of the Common Council over my veto Snatter stays out of the Municipal Vocabulary,” returned the Hatter coldly. “Your own confession that it is corrupt is enough to condemn it with me.”

“I wouldn’t use batter either, Mr. Mayor,” said the Commissioner. “Batter is dough and we haven’t got any worth mentioning.”

“It is also to whack, slam, bang, bust, smack,” retorted the Hatter, “so your recommendation is not accepted. Seems to me I can almost hear the campaign clubs singing as they march:

“O the noble, noble Hatter,
Ain’t he grand!
How his enemies do scatter
Thro the land!
How his foemen he doth batter
With their idle gloomy chatter
On this Muni–cipal Matter
Beats the band!”

“O Gee!” ejaculated the March Hare. “Do you call that poetry?”

“Sir, I call it truth,” returned the Hatter, “and poetry is truth just as art is truth, and if you don’t believe it all you’ve got to do is to try and run against me next fall on that issue. I’ll beat you to a stand-still.”

“Of course you will,” sighed the March Hare. “But you wouldn’t but for that last ordinance you jammed through while I was off on my vacation.”

“What was that?” demanded the Hatter.

“Giving the Election Commission absolute control over the votes, and then appointing yourself Election Commissioner ex-officio,” said the March Hare. “I don’t believe that Municipal Control of the ballot is constitutional.”

“Well, it will be constitutional,” said the Hatter drily.

“When?” demanded the March Hare.

“When we secure Municipal Control of the Constitution,” said the Hatter. “I’ll make it Constitutional if I have to rewrite the whole blessed Constitution myself.”

Whereupon the Hatter walked majestically forth into the street once more, and Alice and the March Hare together with the White Knight followed meekly in his train.

CHAPTER VII

OWNERSHIP OF CHILDREN

“What time is it?” asked the Hatter, suddenly turning to the White Knight.

“Six o’clock,” replied the White Knight, looking at his watch.

“Mercy!” cried Alice. “I had no idea it was so late! I shall have to run along home–it’s supper time.”

The Hatter laughed.

“O, as for that,” he said, “there’s no hurry. Under our present system of Municipal Ownership of Everything, I can issue, as Mayor, a general order postponing the Municipal Supper Hour to seven or eight o clock. Still–if you’d prefer to go home—-“

“I don’t want to,” said Alice courteously, “but I think I’d better. My mother would be worried not finding me in the nursery. You see, I left home without telling anybody where I was going.”