Late one evening, our inquisitive librarian, Alice, who has been working a double shift at the reference desk today and who is tired, hungry, and generally irritable, begins roving the reference area when she comes upon an eccentric gentleman wearing a garrish plaid jacket and absurd top hat. Intrepid Alice inquires, "may I help you?" The man asks, "Why is a raven like a writing-desk?" Alice first thinks "Great. I have five minutes before I go home, and this mad man is asking riddles." Yet since she has nothing else to do and thinks to herself that perhaps this could be fun. She tries to remember everything she can about ravens and writing-desks (which isn't much), checks a few sources, finds nothing, and replies -- as one would to any riddle -- "I give it up. What's the answer?" "I haven't the slightest idea," says the gentleman. Alice, having been stumped by the reference question and really wanting to know the answer, sighs wearily and responds in frustration "I think you might do something better with the time," she said, "than waste it in asking riddles that have no answers!" The mad man replies triumphantly, "I thought answering questions with no answers, my dear, was the job of reference librarians!" -- and he promptly leaves.
In the preface of the 1896 edition of ALICE, Carroll wrote: "Enquiries have been so often addressed to me, as to whether any answer to the Hatter's Riddle can be imagined, that I may as well put on record here what seems to me to be a fairly appropriate answer, viz: 'Because it can produce a few notes, tho they are very flat; and it is nevar [sic] put with the wrong end in front' This, however, is merely an afterthought; the Riddle, as originally invented, had no answer at all." In later printings, nevar was "corrected" to never (undoubtedly by an overzealous editor).