Chapter One: Personal Remarks

There was a table set out under a tree in front of the house, and the March Hare and the Hatter were having tea at it: a Dormouse was sitting between them fast asleep, and the other two were using it as a cushion, resting their elbows on it, and talking over its head. “Very uncomfortable for the Dormouse,” thought Alice, “only, as it’s asleep, I suppose it doesn’t mind.”

The table was a large one, but the three were all crowded together at one corner of it: “No room! No room!” they cried out when they saw Alice coming.

“There’s plenty of room!” said Alice, indignantly, and she sat down in a large armchair at one end of the table...

“It wasn’t very civil of you to sit down without being invited,” said the March Hare...

“Your hair wants cutting,” said the Hatter. He had been looking at Alice for some time with great curiosity, and this was his first speech.

“You should learn not to make personal remarks,” Alice said, with some severity. “It’s very rude.”

The Hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this...

Alice Liddell sighed. She had been in this Wonderland for ages—indeed, since her original adventures; and then the March Hare had rescued her from the Queen of Hearts and her playing-card army—but anyways, it had been too long, and Alice wondered was she ever going to get home?

“Have some tea,” said the Hatter. He had used this phrase several times in the last three hours.

“No, thank you,” the seventeen-year-old girl replied archly, trying very hard to be polite to the rudest member of the party.

But the Hatter’s eyes widened and he took offence. “Why ever not?! Very good tea it is too; fresh-brewed last month, after all, what? Here: just have half a cup, if you’re going to be so tetchy about it,” and he promptly seized the tea-pot, poured some tea into a cup, whacked it (cup, not tea) in half using the butter-knife, and threw half-cup and contents at Alice.

She had to catch the half-cup in mid-air, to prevent the brown liquid sloshing over her tailored purple dress. Alice gazed, unappetized, at the bread-crumbs and bits of butter that had dislodged from the knife and were now bobbing about in her tea.

“Oh, give it here,” cried the March Hare in exasperation. He took Alice’s cup and drained it, crumbs and all.

Alice felt ill at the sight.

The grandfather clock struck seven.

“Goodness me! time to go home!” squeaked the Dormouse, emerging from the cream-pitcher with such force that it toppled over, taking him with it.

“But how is it seven o’ clock, when you said Time hates you so?” Alice asked the Hatter, mystified.

“Does it matter?” he replied carelessly. “Home I go! Good-by, Hare!”

“Good-by, Hatter! Be so kind as to stop by for tea to-morrow!”

“What a novel idea! I shall!” And the Hatter took up his gloves and pocket-watch, which was still gently dripping butter, and began to go away.

“But—wait!” exclaimed Alice, as it occurred to her that she should have no place to sleep that night, “Whatever is to become of me?”

The Hatter only pretended to think this over. “Sleep, like the Dormouse, in one of the pots,” he suggested; “we’ll come for you in the morning.”

“Oh, do stop it, both of you!” snapped the Hare. “Alice, you may stay in my house at night.”

The Hatter’s jaw dropped, for he had briefly entertained this idea concerning his own house; but Alice merely said, “That’s very kind of you, good Sir Hare,” took the proffered paw, and departed with her host in high dudgeon.

XXX

“I cannot understand,” lamented the Hare as they stepped into the house, “why you two Humans—yourself and Reggie—despise each other so very much.”

Alice was momentarily confused. “Why, who is Reggie?”

“Oh! Excuse me.” The March Hare chuckled. “Our friend the Hatter, of course. Did you think his name was actually Mad Hatter’?”

When embarrassed Alice gave no reply, the Hare went on. “His name is, in fact, Reginald L. Theophilus III. Only I call him Reggie.

“You should probably call him Mr. Theophilus,” he added, after a moment’s reflection, “until you get to know him better.”

Alice was going to explain that she did not want to get to know the Mad Hatter better, let alone have anything more to do with him; but she said merely, “I see.”

“Back to the subject, Miss Alice Liddell, back to the subject. Why are you so hateful of the man?

Now Alice would answer. “Well,” she started. “For one thing, he seems to hate me. And besides! he's so prideful, and arrogant, and conceited, and rude, and—” Alice stopped at once, horrified, her hands flying to her mouth. “Oh! I’m sorry! I forgot he is your friend!”

But the March Hare only nodded and smiled serenely. “It’s true, all of it, Alice Liddell. He appears that way to almost everyone. But I believe he’s a good man, and whether you want to get to know him or not—”

Alice stared at him. Could he read minds?

“—you will, and you’ll find him precisely as I say.”

“Hmph,” said Alice.