“No use whatever. That’s why we do it. Oh, but do not laugh. We are not quite devoid of reason, because we are all mad!”
“Are you really mad?”
“Yes,” was the gay response, “we don’t mind it a bit. We are all as crooked as a teetotaler’s corkscrew! I am glad you do not like the Revolving Houses, because I am going to sell them to the Clerk of the Weather and his eight new assistants!”
“I did not know the Clerk of the Weather required any assistance,” exclaimed Willie, though personally he did not know the Clerk of the Weather.
“Oh yes, he must have assistants. He does things so badly, and with eight more he will, if he is careful, do them worse.”
Here was another one of those contradictions that the children could not understand. I hope you can’t, because I don’t myself, generally. The Jackarandajam went on reflectively:—
“It is bound to happen. The Clerk of the Weather has only one assistant now, and it