Alice In Blunderland

by John Kendrick Bangs

  "It is very pretty," commented Alice. "Only I think a few ribbons would improve it a little."

  "Possibly," said the Hatter. "We haven't had time yet to look after the millinery aspect of the situation, but we'll take that up at our next Cabinet meeting. I thank you for the suggestion. But you see how the thing works. This little book here has a list of the names of everybody in town with their Municipaphone numbers attached. The lowly as well as the highly, from the newsboy up to the Bridge Whist set, are all represented here, so that all are connected in one way or another with each other. There is no man, woman, or child so poor and humble of birth, that he or she cannot get into immediate relations with the haughty and proud. Everybody is on speaking terms with everybody else, and we have thereby reached socially a condition wherein all men though not related are nevertheless connected. You frequently hear a wash-lady remark that while she has not met Mrs. Van Varick Van Astorbilt or Mrs. Willieboy de Crudoil personally, they are nevertheless connections of hers if not by blood or marriage at least by wire, which is stronger than either. Some day instead of having Societies of the Cincinnati, and Sons and Daughters of the Revolution I hope to see associations of Brothers and Sisters of the Municipaphone which shall become a factor of overwhelming solidarity in all social and political affairs.

  "It's a splendid scheme," said Alice.

  "It is a tie of material strength which binds together our first and last families, increasing the pride of the latter, and diminishing that of the former until we have at last reached an average of self-satisfaction which knows no barriers of class distinction," said the Hatter. "But it wouldn't have worked if we hadn't formulated strict rules by which every household in town is governed. One of our rules is that the person called upon must answer immediately and truthfully any question which the person at the other end asks, and of course in perfectly polite language. For instance, suppose you try it yourself. Just ring up Number 83115, Bloomingdale, and ask for Mrs. S. Van Livingston Smythe. She's the biggest swell in town. Ask her anything that comes into your head, and you'll see how it works. Tell her you are Mrs. O'Flaherty, the Head Wash-Lady of the Municipal Laundry."

  Alice took her place at the Municipaphone and called 83115 Bloomingdale, as instructed.

  "Hello!" she said.

  "Hush! Don't say that—say Ah there!" interrupted the Hatter. "Hello comes under the head of profanity, which is against the law."

  "Excuse me," said Alice. "Ah there!" she added. "Give me 83115 Bloomingdale, please, Central."

  "Name, please," said Central.

  "Bridget O'Flaherty," replied Alice.

  "Address?" asked Central.

  "Tub 37, Municipal Laundry," said Alice.

  "Occupation?" continued the other.

  "Wringer," laughed Alice.

  "All right, there you are," said Central, making the desired connection.

  "Is this Mrs. S. Van Livingston Smythe?" asked Alice.

  "Yes," said a sweet voice from the other end of the line. "What is it?"

  "I am Bridget O'Flaherty," said Alice, "of the Municipal Laundry, and I wanted to ask was your grandfather ever a monkey?"

  It was not a very polite question, but under the excitement of the moment Alice could think of nothing better to ask.

  "I don't believe so, Mrs. O'Flaherty," came the sweet voice in answer. "I have looked over every branch of our family tree and there isn't a cocoanut on it. Why, are you looking for a missing grandfather of your own?"

  "No," smiled Alice, "but I've read all the books in the public library and I thought he might have a tail to tell that I would find amusing."

  "Well, I'm very sorry," said the sweet voice. "Grandfather died forty years ago, so I don't believe he can help you. I would advise you to go up to the Monkeyhouse and ask one of your own brothers. Good-bye."

  "Good-bye," said Alice.

  "Well?" asked the Hatter with a grin. "What do you think of it?"

  "Why—it's perfectly wonderful," said Alice. "If that were to happen in New York or even in Brooklyn or Binghamton Mrs. S. Van Livingston Smythe would have been very indignant, not only over the question, but for the mere fact that the—er—wash-lady dared ring her up at all."

  "Exactly," said the Hatter, with a bland smile of satisfaction. "This Municipaphone controlled by strict rules which people must obey is a great social leveller."

  "But why did Central want my name and address?" asked Alice.

  "Because Central has to keep a record of all that everybody says for the Inspector of Personal Communications," explained the Hatter. "Every word you and Mrs. Smythe spoke was recorded at the Central Office, and if either of you had used any expression stronger than Fudge, or O Tutt you would have been fined five dollars for each expression and repetition thereof. We expect to establish Civic Control of Public and Private Speech within the next year, and we have begun it with supervision of the Municipaphone."

  "But," cried Alice, "If I had said something that required a fine, wouldn't Mrs. O'Flaherty, who is innocent, have had to pay?"

  "Yes," said the Hatter. "But in all cases where the public welfare is concerned, private interests must yield however great the hardship. That is one of the fundamental principles of Municipal Ownership. Mrs. O'Flaherty would have to suffer in order that the great principle involved in Polite Speech for all Classes might prevail. The strict enforcement of our anti-Gosh legislation has resulted almost in the complete elimination of profane speech in Blunderland—so much so in fact that in the new Dictionary we are compiling such words as Golramit, Dodgastit, and Goshallhemlocks are being left out altogether."

  "It is a great moral agency," said the White Knight. "It increases the self-respect of the submerged, curbs the pride of the rich, and holds in complete subjection those evil communications which corrupt good manners."

  "And nothing but the result of Municipal Ownership," put in the March Hare enthusiastically, forgetting his grouch for a moment.

  "It has other advantages, too," said the Hatter, "to which I feel I should call your attention. These phones being in every room in town with which anybody may be connected at any moment and thus overhear what other people are saying, gossip is gradually dying out, and people everywhere are more careful of what they say even in private, for nowadays the walls literally have ears. To give you an example, I will connect you at once with the home of the Duchess whom you met, if you remember, in your journey through Wonderland and you may judge for yourself of how useful this Municipaphone is to us in ascertaining the general trend of public opinion."

  The Hatter gave the order to Central and in a minute Alice stood transfixed at the phone listening intently. She recognised the voice of the Duchess immediately.

  "As for that old fool of a Hatter," she was saying, "he is the biggest jackass from Dan to Beersheba."

  "Well?" said the Hatter. "Can you hear her?"

  "Yes," giggled Alice. "Very plainly."

  "What does she say?" asked the Hatter, simpering.

  "Why," said Alice reddening, "she—she's talking about you."

  "The dear Duchess," ejaculated the Hatter, with a foolish smirk. "I'm very much afraid—ahem—that the Duchess has her eye on me."

  "She has," said Alice. "She is referring to you in the warmest tones—she thinks you're big—great—the very greatest from Dan to Beersheba."

  "Ah me!" sighed the Hatter. "If I were only a younger man!"

  "They'll make a match of it yet," said the White Knight in a soft whisper to Alice.

  "Yes," sneered the March Hare, who had overheard, jealously, "and a fine old sulphur-headed lucifer of a match it will be too.

  "Well, it's all very nice," said Alice, very anxious to change the subject. "But I can't say that I'm sure I'd like it. Why, you can't have any secrets from anybody."

  "And why should you wish to, my dear child?" asked the Hatter, coming out of his dream of romance. "Why not so order your life that you have no need for secrecy?"

  "Yes," said Alice. "I s
uppose that is better, but then, Mr. Hatter, isn't there to be any more private life?"

  "Not under Municipal Ownership," said the Hatter. "Carried to its logical conclusion that with all other so-called private rights will be merged in the glorious culmination of a complete well rounded Municipal Life. It is toward that Grand Civic Eventuation that I and my associates in this noble movement are constantly striving."

  "Are you going to have Municipal Control of Marriage?" asked Alice, slyly.

  The Hatter blushed and smiled foolishly. "I—ah—am thinking about that," he said with a funny little laugh. "It would be a most excellent thing to do, for in my opinion a great many people nowadays get married too thoughtlessly. Just because they happen to love each other they go off and get married, but under Municipal Control it would be much more difficult for a man or a woman to take so serious a step. For instance, if I had my way the Common Council would have to be asked for permission for a man to marry. The question would come up in the form of a bill, which would immediately be referred to the Committee on Matrimony, who would discuss it very thoroughly before bringing it before the Council. If a majority of the Committee considered that the application should be granted, then the matter should be placed before the whole Council, by which it should be debated in open public sessions, the applicant having been invited to appear and under cross-examination by the District Attorney demonstrate his fitness to be married. All others knowing any reason why he should not be married should also have the opportunity to appear and state their reasons for opposing the granting of the application. I am inclined to believe that this would put a stop to these hasty marriages which have given rise to that beautiful proverb, Married in Camden, Repent at South Dakota."

  "I should think it would," said Alice. "And when do you propose to start this plan along?"

  "Well, you see," said the Hatter with a giggle, "before I take final steps in the matter I wish to have a few words with—er—well—you know who—I——"

  "The Duchess," Alice ventured.

  "Ah, you precocious child!" cried the Hatter, tapping Alice on the shoulder coyly. "You must not believe all you overhear the Duchess say about me. She is so prejudiced, and blind to my faults. I—I'm almost sorry I connected you with her over the Municipaphone."

  CHAPTER VI

  THE DEPARTMENT OF PUBLIC VERSE

  "I think," said the Hatter, "that before we go any further we would better show Miss Alice our Municipal Poetry Factory. The whistle will blow very shortly and our Divine Afflatus Dynamo will shut down, so if she is to see that feature of our work now is the time to do it.

  "Yes," said the March Hare, "although the office is in some confusion owing to your recent Municipal Order Number 20,367 making Alabazam rhyme with Mulligatawney, and extending the number of lines in the municipal quatrains from four to twenty-three. The employees are finding considerable difficulty in making twenty-three-line quatrains and at least half the force have gone home suffering from acute attacks of brainstormitis."

  "It'll do em good," laughed the Hatter. "A good brain storm may result in a few of them being struck. Come along, Miss Alice, and we'll show you our City Poets at work."

  "I don't think I understand," said Alice. "What is a city poet?"

  "He bears the same relation to Municipal Poetry that a White Wing bears to the Street Cleaning Department," explained the Hatter. "Two years ago the City took over all the Verse-making enterprises of Blunderland, appointed a Municipalaureat, otherwise a Commissioner of Public Verse, and started him along with a Department. He employs 16,743 poets who provide all the poetry that is consumed by our people. It has resulted in great good for everybody. Poetry is cheaper by eight cents a line than it used to be, and, as you may have guessed from what the March Hare has just said, we give larger measure than was the custom under the private ownership of Pegasus. Quatrains have been increased from four lines to twenty-three, and the old stingy fourteen-line sonnet has been enlarged to fifty-four lines. We have also passed an ordinance requiring that poems shall say what they mean, which is a vast improvement on the old private control method whereunder anybody was allowed to write rhymes which nobody could understand—like that thing of Miss Arethusa Spink's, for instance, called Aspiration. Remember that?"

  "I don't think I ever heard it," said Alice.

  "Well it went this way," said the Hatter, and striking a graceful attitude he recited the following lines called:

  ASPIRATION

  By Arethusa Spink

  Down by the purple opalescent sea,

  Flung like a ribbon limp athwart the sky,

  A rose lay blooming on the restless lea,

  While sundry birds came chattering sweetly by.

  'Twas then my soul that all too long had slept,

  Awoke from out its iridescent nap,

  crept

  Down where the pink-cheeked crocus blossoms

  From out fair Nature's over-bounteous lap,

  And cried aloud "Alas! What hath betode?

  What dream is this that like the ambient brook

  Forbids the mind to face the solemn goad

  And know itself forsook!"

  The Hatter paused.

  "Well?" said Alice, slightly puzzled.

  "That's all there was to it," said the Hatter. "It was printed in one of our Magazines and within forty-eight hours the ambulance from the Insane Asylum was called out 737 times by people who had gone crazy trying to find out what it meant. It capped the climax. I called a special meeting of the Common Council to take the matter up purely as a matter of public health, and before I went to bed that night they had passed and I had signed an Act giving the control of the Verse Industry to the City and taking it out of the hands of irresponsible, unlicensed independent poets.

  "And a good job it was too," said the March Hare.

  "And you chose one of the best poets in town for the Commissioner, I suppose?" suggested Alice.

  "No we didn't," said the Hatter. "I didn't want any Moonshine in a City Department and no poet is a good business man. I picked out a very successful Haberdasher in the Sixth Ward for the delicate business of organising the Department, and he has done most excellent work. We found that just as a first class confectioner made a splendid manager of our gas plant, and a successful Hoki-Poki merchant had the required push to keep our trolley systems going, so the Haberdasher had the precise kind of genius to manage the poets. He won't stand any nonsense from them, and any poem that he can't understand is immediately thrown into the Civic Waste-Basket, taken to the Municipal Ferry and used for fuel to run the boats. I guess we burn nineteen tons of refuse verse a day, don't we, Alderman?"

  "About that—on the average," said the March Hare. "Sometimes it gets as high as twenty tons and occasionally it falls off to sixteen—but using these rejected manuscripts in place of coal has reduced the loss on the Ferry about thirty-eight dollars a year in real money."

  "How much is that in bonds?" asked Alice slyly.

  "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."