Then they both bowed low, and their curls got entangled
together.

Alice laughed so much at this, that she had to run back into
the wood for fear of their hearing her; and when she next peeped
out the Fish-Footman was gone, and the other was sitting on the
ground near the door, staring stupidly up into the sky.

Alice went timidly up to the door, and knocked.

`There's no sort of use in knocking,' said the Footman, `and
that for two reasons. First, because I'm on the same side of the
door as you are; secondly, because they're making such a noise
inside, no one could possibly hear you.' And certainly there was
a most extraordinary noise going on within--a constant howling
and sneezing, and every now and then a great crash, as if a dish
or kettle had been broken to pieces.

`Please, then,' said Alice, `how am I to get in?'

`There might be some sense in your knocking,' the Footman went
on without attending to her, `if we had the door between us. For
instance, if you were INSIDE, you might knock, and I could let
you out, you know.' He was looking up into the sky all the time
he was speaking, and this Alice thought decidedly uncivil. `But
perhaps he can't help it,' she said to herself; `his eyes are so
VERY nearly at the top of his head. But at any rate he might
answer questions.--How am I to get in?' she repeated, aloud.

`I shall sit here,' the Footman remarked, `till tomorrow--'