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CHAPTER II

THE IMMOVABLE TROLLEY

“What an extraordinary car,” said Alice, as she stepped into the brilliantly lighted vehicle. “It doesn’t seem to have any end to it,” she added as she passed down the aisle, looking for the front platform.

“It hasn’t,” said the Hatter. “It just runs on forever.”

“Doesn’t it stop anywhere?” cried Alice in amazement.

“It stops everywhere,” said the Hatter. “What I mean is it hasn’t any ends at all. It’s just one big circular car that runs all around the city and joins itself where it began in the beginning. We call it the M. O. Express, M. O. standing for Municipal Ownership—-“

“And Money Owed,” laughed a Weasel that sat on the other side of the car.

“Put that fellow off,” said the March Hare indignantly. “Conductor–out with him.”

The Conductor immediately threw the Weasel out of the window, as ordered, and the Hatter resumed.

“We call it the express because it is so fast,” he continued.

“You’d hardly think it was going at all,” observed Alice, as she noticed the entire lack of motion in the car.

“It isn’t,” said the Hatter. “It’s built on a solid foundation and doesn’t move an inch, and yet at the same time it runs all around the city. It was my idea,” he added proudly.

“But you said it was fast,” protested Alice.

“And so it is, my child,” said the Hatter kindly. “It’s as fast as though it was glued down with mucilage. There’s several ways of being fast, you know. Did you ever hear of the Ballade of the Nancy P. D. Q.?“

“No,” said Alice.

“It’s a Sea Song in B flat,” said the Hatter. “I will sing it for you.”

And placing his hat before his lips to give a greater mellowness to his voice, the Hatter sang:

THE BALLADE OF THE NANCY P. D. Q.

O the good ship Nancy P. D. Q.
From up in Boston, Mass.,
Went sailing o’er the bounding blue
Cargoed with apple sass.

She sailed around Ogunkit Bay
Down past the Banks of Quogue,
And on a brilliant summer’s day,
Just off the coast of Mandelay,
She landed in a fog.

So brace the topsails close, my lads,
And stow your grog, my crew,
For the waves are steep and the fog is deep
Round the Nancy P. D. Q.

As in the fog she groped around–
The night was black as soot–
She ran against Long Island Sound,
Out where the codfish toot.
And when the moon rose o’er the scene
So smiling, sweet and bland,
She poked her nose so sharp and keen–
‘Twas freshly painted olive green–
Deep in a bar of sand.

So splice the garboard strakes, my lads,
And reef the starboard screw–
For it sticks like tar, that sandy bar,
To the Nancy P. D. Q.

O the Skipper swore with a “Yeave-ho-ho!”
And the crew replied “Hi-hi!”
And then, with a cheerful “Heave-ho-yo,”
They pumped the bowsprit dry.
“Three cheers!” the Mate cried with a sneeze
“Hurrah for this old boat!
She sails two knots before the breeze,
But on the bar, by Jingo, she’s
The fastest thing afloat!”

So up with the gallant flag, my lads,
With a hip-hip-hip-hooroo,
For the liner fast is now outclassed
By the Nancy P. D. Q.

Alice scratched her chin in perplexity, but the Hatter never stopped.

“I got an idea from that ballad,” he rattled on. “If you want trains fast you’ve got to build ’em fast.”

“Yes, but if they don’t go–how does anybody get anywhere?” asked Alice.

“They can get off and walk,” said the Hatter. “And it’s a great deal less dangerous getting off a train that doesn’t move than off one that does.”

“I can see that,” said. Alice. “That weasel, for instance, would have been badly hurt if he had been thrown through the window of a moving car.”