`He’s dreaming now,’ said Tweedledee: `and what do you think he’s dreaming about?’
Alice said `Nobody can guess that.’
`Why, about you!’ Tweedledee exclaimed, clapping his hands triumphantly. `And if he left off dreaming about you, where do you suppose you’d be?’
`Where I am now, of course,’ said Alice.
`Not you!’ Tweedledee retorted contemptuously. `You’d be nowhere. Why, you’re only a sort of thing in his dream!’
`If that there King was to wake,’ added Tweedledum, `you’d go out — bang! — just like a candle!’
`I shouldn’t!’ Alice exclaimed indignantly. `Besides, if I’M only a sort of thing in his dream, what are you, I should like to know?’
`Ditto’ said Tweedledum.
`Ditto, ditto’ cried Tweedledee.
He shouted this so loud that Alice couldn’t help saying, `Hush!
You’ll be waking him, I’m afraid, if you make so much noise.’
`Well, it no use your talking about waking him,’ said Tweedledum, `when you’re only one of the things in his dream. You know very well you’re not real.’
`I am real!’ said Alice and began to cry.
`You won’t make yourself a bit realler by crying,’ Tweedledee remarked: `there’s nothing to cry about.’
`If I wasn’t real,’ Alice said — half-laughing though her tears, it all seemed so ridiculous — `I shouldn’t be able to cry.’
`I hope you don’t suppose those are real tears?’ Tweedledum interrupted in a tone of great contempt.
