“Oh!” said Alice, “isn’t it provoking! Now I shall have to have a kitten, after all—and I suppose it will eat the bird, and scratch the doll, and tear up the books, and make me angry all day long.”
“No doubt,” said the wooden man, callously.
“But what does he mean by the races?” asked curious Alice.
“The reindeer races,” replied the wooden man. “They race annually on Saturn’s race track, and the winning Santa Claus is the boss Santa Claus of the year, and makes the rounds on Christmas eve. It doesn’t take a minute to get there, and probably by this time the races are over.”
“I hope our Santa Claus won, don’t you?” cried Alice.
“What’s the difference?” asked the wooden man. “They all look alike.”
“That’s so,” said Alice, reflectively, “but this one was very nice.”
“They’re paid to be nice,” said the wooden man cynically. “I’m paid to be nice. You don’t think I’ve been piloting you round all afternoon for fun, do you?”
“Well,” said Alice, with spirit, “I like that! I’m sure if I knew who paid you, I’d report you and you wouldn’t get a penny. You don’t deserve it, for you haven’t been nice. I shall leave you, this minute.”