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“What’s wrong my dear?” the Hatter asked Alice. “Is it the tea, or the cup?”
“It’s the conversation,” Alice said plainly. The afternoon had not been to Alice’s liking one bit, and these odd characters were neither civil nor hospitable.
“Well, you needn’t be so rude,” the Hatter replied. “I thought we were having a delightful conversation, before you mentioned You-Know-Who,” the Hatter said, pointing to the March Hare. Quietly the Hatter added, “He’s very sensitive you know. About the ears.”
“Oh? I think they’re lovely ears.”
“Well, I think so too. But he’s rather ticklish about them, you know.”
“Ticklish?”
“About the ears,” the Hatter added. “It’s why he doesn’t drink his tea with cream.”
“Well, I drink my tea with milk,” Alice remarked, happy to have the conversation back on a pleasant track.
“Ah, but milk is too thin. It ruins the taste.” Alice did not fully agree, but stayed quiet. “Cream is thick and fills the cup.”
“But if the cream fills the cup,” Alice remarked, “surely there’s no room for the tea.”
“On the contrary,” replied the Hatter. “The cream complements the tea. And the tea makes his ears twitch. And when his ears twitch…well…seven year’s bad luck. Care for more tea?”
“Why thank you,” said Alice. The Hatter grabbed the teapot and made to pour the tea into Alice’s cup. Nothing, however, came out – much to Alice’s dismay.
“Sugar?” the Hatter offered, pulling the bowl of sugar cubes toward him.
“How shall I have sugar, if there isn’t any tea?”
“No tea?!” the Hatter cried. “How dreadful. Though I most certainly poured you some.”
“Yes, but nothing came out,” Alice said.
“But I still poured it,” the Hatter insisted.
“Yes, but nothing came out,” Alice replied.
“Well, it’s poured. You needn’t be so rude,” the Hatter said, nonplussed.
“The rudeness, if any, comes of not having any tea in the pot to begin with,” Alice remarked, “then pouring out nothing as if there was something.”
“Maybe if you put in more sugar,” the Hatter suggested, more politely.
“Treacle,” the Dormouse suggested.
“What’s the use of sugar – or treacle – if there’s no tea to have with it?” Alice asked.
“Why, to make it sweeter, of course” the Hatter replied. “Really, you are a simpleton.”
“It’s the treacle that makes it sweeter,” the March Hare interjected, rather rudely. “But my friend here is of the opinion that sugar is two times as nice and eight times as sweet.”
“Twelve times,” the Hatter replied. “Unless it’s Thursday.”
“Oh?” Alice asked, confused. “What happens on Thursday?”
“The sugar runs out, so we have to use Treacle,” the Hatter replied. “Treacle on Thursdays. That’s the rule.”
“Yes,” the March Hare replied. “And Butter on Wednesdays. With marmalade, of course. Though the Queen says she needs the marmalade when she’s in a jam.”
“How does she manage?”
“Oh, she doesn’t,” said the Hatter. “Well, not in the usual sense. Twice she’s declined our invitation to tea. Something about croquet, or croquettes, or cockatoos.”
“Cockatoos,” the Dormouse replied. “Cockathrees. Cockafours. Cockafives…”
“Counting the cocks again,” the March Hare interjected. “He’s tried sheep, but they seem to fall asleep before he does. Tried gophers, but they kept disappearing.”
“….Cockasevens, Cockaeights…”
“He’s never gotten to Cockadoodle, and you should be thankful for that!” the Hatter said. “Now, if you insist on having no more sugar in your tea, I shall have to box someone’s ears.” The Hatter pointed his thumb in the March Hare’s direction. “And finding a hatbox big enough to put those ears in will take all afternoon, in which case you will be the one helping me box them.”
Alice sighed. The prospect of boxing the March Hare’s ears – or anyone’s ears – did not sit well with her, no matter how it was to be done. Instead, she quietly sipped her empty teacup, much to the seeming satisfaction of the Hatter, hoping the conversation would turn more pleasant.