  ************************************************************** THERE IS AN IMPROVED ILLUSTRATED EDITION OF THIS TITLE WHICH MAY BE VIEWED AS EBOOK (# 23625) at /ebooks/23625 ************************************************************** Title: The Magic Pudding Author: Norman Lindsay Edition: 10 Language: English This eBook was produced by Geoffrey Cowling. The Magic Pudding: by Norman Lindsay [ Bunyip Bluegum ] [ and his Uncle ] [ are koalas ] [ ] This is a frontways view of Bunyip Bluegum and his Uncle Wattleberry. At a glance you can see what a fine, round, splendid fellow Bunyip Bluegum is, without me telling you. At a second glance you can see that the Uncle is more square than round, and that his face has whiskers on it. Looked at sideways you can still see what a splendid fellow Bunyip is, though you can only see one of his Uncle's whiskers. Observed from behind, however, you completely lose sight of the whiskers, and so fail to realize how immensely important they are. In fact, these very whiskers were the chief cause of Bunyip's leaving home to see the world, for, as he often said to himself— "Whiskers alone are bad enough The plain truth was that Bunyip and his Uncle lived in a small house in a tree, and there was no room for the whiskers. What was worse, the whiskers were red, and they blew about in the wind, and Uncle Wattleberry would insist on bringing them to the dinner table with him, where they got in the soup. Bunyip Bluegum was a tidy bear, and he objected to whisker soup, so he was forced to eat his meals outside, which was awkward, and besides, lizards came and borrowed his soup. His Uncle refused to listen to reason on the subject of his whiskers. It was quite useless giving him hints, such as presents of razors, and scissors, and boxes of matches to burn them off. On such occasions he would remark— "Shaving may add an air that's somewhat brisker, Or, when more deeply moved, he would exclaim— "As noble thoughts the inward being grace, Prayers and entreaties to remove the whiskers being of no avail, Bunyip decided to leave home without more ado. The trouble was that he couldn't make up his mind whether to be a Traveller or a Swagman. You can't go about the world being nothing, but if you are a traveller you have to carry a bag, while if you are a swagman you have to carry a swag, and the question is: Which is the heavier? At length he decided to put the matter before Egbert Rumpus Bumpus, the poet, and ask his advice. He found Egbert busy writing poems on a slate. He was so busy that he only had time to sing out, "Don't interrupt the poet, friend, and went on writing harder than ever. He wrote all down one side of the slate and all up the other, and then remarked, "As there's no time to finish that, "The fact is," said Bunyip, "I have decided to see the world, and I cannot make up my mind whether to be a Traveller or a Swagman. Which would you advise?" Then said the Poet— "As you've no bags it's plain to see "Dear me," said Bunyip Bluegum, "I never thought of that. What must I do in order to see the world without carrying swags or bags?" The Poet thought deeply, put on his eyeglass, and said impressively— "Take my advice, don't carry bags, "You have solved the problem," said Bunyip Bluegum, and wringing his friend's hand, he ran straight home, took his Uncle's walking-stick, and, assuming an air of pleasure, set off to see the world. He found a great many things to see, such as dandelions, and ants, and traction engines, and bolting horses, and furniture being removed, besides being kept busy raising his hat, and passing the time of day with people on the road, for he was a very well-bred young fellow, polite in his manners, graceful in his attitudes, and able to converse on a great variety of subjects, having read all the best Australian poets. Unfortunately, in the hurry of leaving home, he had forgotten to provide himself with food, and at lunch time found himself attacked by the pangs of hunger. "Dear me," he said, "I feel quite faint. I had no idea that one's stomach was so important. I have everything I require, except food; but without food everything is rather less than nothing. "I've got a stick to walk with. As he was indulging in these melancholy reflections he came round a bend in the road, and discovered two people in the very act of having lunch. These people were none other than Bill Barnacle, the sailor, and his friend, Sam Sawnoff, the penguin bold. Bill was a small man with a large hat, a beard half as large as his hat, and feet half as large as his beard. Sam Sawnoff's feet were sitting down and his body was standing up, because his feet were so short and his body so long that he had to do both together. They had a pudding in a basin, and the smell that arose from it was so delightful that Bunyip Bluegum was quite unable to pass on. "Pardon me," he said, raising his hat, "but am I right in supposing that this is a steak-and-kidney pudding?" "At present it is," said Bill Barnacle. "It smells delightful," said Bunyip Bluegum. "It is delightful," said Bill, eating a large mouthful. Bunyip Bluegum was too much of a gentleman to invite himself to lunch, but he said carelessly, "Am I right in supposing that there are onions in this pudding?" Before Bill could reply, a thick, angry voice came out of the pudding, saying— "Onions, bunions, corns and crabs, "Albert, Albert," said Bill to the Puddin', "where's your manners?" "Where's yours?" said the Puddin' rudely, "guzzling away there, and never so much as offering this stranger a slice." "There you are," said Bill. "There's nothing this Puddin' enjoys more than offering slices of himself to strangers." "How very polite of him," said Bunyip, but the Puddin' replied loudly— "Politeness be sugared, politeness be hanged, "Always anxious to be eaten," said Bill, "that's this Puddin's mania. Well, to oblige him, I ask you to join us at lunch." "Delighted, I'm sure," said Bunyip, seating himself. "There's nothing I enjoy more than a good go in at steak-and-kidney pudding in the open air." "Well said," remarked Sam Sawnoff, patting him on the back. "You'll enjoy this Puddin'," said Bill, handing him a large slice. "This is a very rare Puddin'." "It's a cut-an'-come-again Puddin'," said Sam. "It's a Christmas steak and apple-dumpling Puddin'," said Bill. "It's a —. Shall I tell him?" he asked, looking at Bill. Bill nodded, and the Penguin leaned across to Bunyip Bluegum and said in a low voice, "It's a Magic Puddin'." "No whispering," shouted the Puddin' angrily. "Speak up. Don't strain a Puddin's ears at the meal table." "No harm intended, Albert," said Sam, "I was merely remarking how well the crops are looking. Call him Albert when addressing him," he added to Bunyip Bluegum. "It soothes him." "I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Albert," said Bunyip. "No soft soap from total strangers," said the Puddin', rudely. "Don't take no notice of him, mate," said Bill, "That's only his rough and ready way. What this Puddin' requires is politeness and constant eatin'." They had a delightful meal, eating as much as possible, for whenever they stopped eating the Puddin' sang out "Eat away, chew away, munch and bolt and guzzle, But at length they had to stop, in spite of these encouraging remarks, and as they refused to eat any more, the Puddin' got out of his basin, remarking—"If you won't eat any more here's giving you a run for the sake of exercise," and he set off so swiftly on a pair of extremely thin legs that Bill had to run like an antelope to catch him up. "My word," said Bill, when the Puddin' was brought back. "You have to be as smart as paint to keep this Puddin' in order. He's that artful, lawyers couldn't manage him. Put your hat on, Albert, like a little gentleman," he added, placing the basin on his head. He took the Puddin's hand, Sam took the other, and they all set off along the road. A peculiar thing about the Puddin' was that, though they had all had a great many slices off him, there was no sign of the place whence the slices had been cut. "That's where the Magic comes in," explained Bill. "The more you eats the more you gets. Cut-an'-come-again is his name, an' cut, an' come again, is his nature. Me an' Sam has been eatin' away at this Puddin' for years, and there's not a mark on him. Perhaps," he added, "you would like to hear how we came to own this remarkable Puddin'." "Nothing would please me more," said Bunyip Bluegum. "In that case," said Bill, "Let her go for a song. "Ho, the cook of the 'Saucy Sausage", "One winter's morn we rounds the Horn, "For Sam an' me an' the cook, yer see, "And Sam and me we couldn't agree "Says Sam to me, 'It's a mystery "But late one night we wakes in fright "There's a verse left out here," said Bill, stopping the song, "owin' to the difficulty of explainin' exactly what happened when me and Sam discovered the deceitful nature of that cook. The next verse is as follows:— "Now Sam an' me can never agree "That won't do, you know," began the Puddin', but Sam said hurriedly, "Yes there is," said the Puddin', "for I had my eye on the whole affair, and it's my belief that if he hadn't been so round you'd have never rolled him off the iceberg, for you was both singing out, `Yo heave Ho' for half-an-hour, an' him trying to hold on to Bill's beard." "In the haste of the moment," said Bill, "he may have got a bit of a shove, for the ice bein' slippy, and us bein' justly enraged, and him bein' as round as a barrel, he may, as I said, have been too fat to save himself from rollin' off the iceberg. The point, however, is immaterial to our story, which concerns this Puddin'; and this Puddin'," said Bill, patting him on the basin, "was the very Puddin' that Curry and Rice invented on the iceberg." "He must have been a very clever cook," said Bunyip. "He was, poor feller, he was," said Bill, greatly affected. "For plum duff or Irish stoo there wasn't his equal in the land. But enough of these sad subjects. Pausin' only to explain that me an' Sam got off the iceberg on a homeward bound chicken coop, landed on Tierra del Fuego, walked to Valparaiso, and so got home, I will proceed to enliven the occasion with `The Ballad of the Bo'sun's Bride'." And without more ado, Bill, who had one of those beef-and-thunder voices, roared out— "Ho, aboard the Salt Junk Sarah It was a very long song, so the rest of it is left out here, but there was a great deal of rolling and roaring in it, and they all joined in the chorus. They were all singing away at the top of their pipe, as Bill called it, when round a bend in the road they came on two low-looking persons hiding behind a tree. One was a Possum, with one of those sharp, snooting, snouting sort of faces, and the other was a bulbous, boozy-looking Wombat in an old long-tailed coat, and a hat that marked him down as a man you couldn't trust in the fowl-yard. They were busy sharpening up a carving knife on a portable grindstone, but the moment they caught sight of the travellers the Possum whipped the knife behind him and the Wombat put his hat over the grindstone. Bill Barnacle flew into a passion at these signs of treachery. "You can't see all of us," shouted the Possum, and the Wombat added, "Cause why, some of us is behind the tree." Bill led the others aside, in order to hold a consultation. "We shall have to fight them, as usual," said Sam. "Why do you have to fight them?" asked Bunyip Bluegum. "Because they're after our Puddin'," said Bill. "They're after our Puddin'," explained Sam, "because they're professional puddin'-thieves." "And as we're perfessional puddin'-owners," said Bill, "we have to fight them on principle. The fighting," he added, "is a mere flea-bite, as the sayin' goes. The trouble is, what's to be done with the Puddin'?" "While you do the fighting," said Bunyip bravely, "I shall mind the Puddin'." "The trouble is," said Bill, "that this is a very secret, crafty Puddin', an' if you wasn't up to his games he'd be askin' you to look at a spider an' then run away while your back is turned." "That's right," said the Puddin', gloomily. "Take a Puddin's character away. Don't mind his feelings." "We don't mind your feelin's, Albert," said Bill. "What we minds is your treacherous 'abits." But Bunyip Bluegum said, "Why not turn him upside-down and sit on him?" "What a brutal suggestion," said the Puddin'; but no notice was taken of his objections, and as soon as he was turned safely upside down, Bill and Sam ran straight at the puddin'-thieves and commenced sparring up at them with the greatest activity. "Put 'em up, ye puddin'-snatchers," shouted Bill. "Don't keep us sparrin' up here all day. Come out an' take your gruel while you've got the chance." The Possum wished to turn the matter off by saying, "I see the price of eggs has gone up again," but Bill gave him a punch on the snout that bent it like a carrot, and Sam caught the Wombat such a flip with his flapper that he gave in at once. "I shan't be able to fight any more this afternoon," said the Wombat, "as I've got sore feet." The Possum said hurriedly, "We shall be late for that appointment," and they took their grindstone and off they went. But when they were a safe distance away the Possum sang out: "You'll repent this conduct. You'll repent bending a man's snout so that he can hardly see over it, let alone breathe through it with comfort," and the Wombat added, "For shame, flapping a man with sore feet." "We laugh with scorn at threats," said Bill, and he added as a warning— "I don't repent a snout that's bent, and Sam added for the Wombat's benefit— "I take no shame to fight the lame The puddin'-thieves disappeared over the hill and, as the evening happened to come down rather suddenly at that moment, Bill said, "Business bein' over for the day, now's the time to set about makin' the camp fire." This was a welcome suggestion, for, as all travellers know, if you don't sit by a camp fire in the evening, you have to sit by nothing in the dark, which is a most unsociable way of spending your time. They found a comfortable nook under the hedge, where there were plenty of dry leaves to rest on, and there they built a fire, and put the billy on, and made tea. The tea and sugar and three tin cups and half a pound of mixed biscuits were brought out of the bag by Sam, while Bill cut slices of steak-and-kidney from the Puddin'. After that they had boiled jam roll and apple dumpling, as the fancy took them, for if you wanted a change of food from the Puddin', all you had to do was to whistle twice and turn the basin round. After they had eaten as much as they wanted, the things were put away in the bag, and they settled down comfortably for the evening. "This is what I call grand," said Bill, cutting up his tobacco. "Full-and-plenty to eat, pipes goin' and the evenin's enjoyment before us. Tune up on the mouth-organ, Sam, an' off she goes with a song." They had a mouth-organ in the bag which they took turns at playing, and Bill led off with a song which he said was called SPANISH GOLD"When I was young I used to hold "For I sez to meself, `I'll fill me hold "`For Caribbee, or Barbaree, "So one fine day I runs away "For Pirates go, but their next of kin "And I worked aloft and I worked below, "`O Caribbee! O Barbaree! "And that's the truth, mate," said Bill to Bunyip Bluegum. "There ain't no pirates nowadays at sea, except western ocean First Mates, and many's the bootin' I've had for not takin' in the slack of the topsail halyards fast enough to suit their fancy. It's a hard life, the sea, and Sam here'll bear me out when I say that bein' hit on the head with a belayin' pin while tryin' to pick up the weather earring is an experience that no man wants twice. But toon up, and a song all round." "I shall sing you the `The Penguin Bold,'" said Sam, and, striking a graceful attitude, he sang this song— "To see the penguin out at sea, "To see the penguin at his ease "O see the penguin as he goes "It's all very fine," said the Puddin' gloomily, "singing about the joys of being penguins and pirates, but how'd you like to be a Puddin' and be eaten all day long?" And in a very gruff voice he sang as follows:— "O, who would be a puddin', "I wouldn't be a puddin' "But as I am a puddin', "Very well sung, Albert," said Bill encouragingly, "though you're a trifle husky in your undertones, which is no doubt due to the gravy in your innards. However, as a reward for bein' a bright little feller we shall have a slice of you all round before turnin' in for the night." So they whistled up the plum-duff side of the Puddin', and had supper. When that was done, Bill stood up and made a speech to Bunyip Bluegum. "I am now about to put before you an important proposal," said Bill. "Here you are, a young intelligent feller, goin' about seein' the world by yourself. Here is Sam an' me, two as fine fellers as ever walked, goin' about the world with a Puddin'. My proposal to you is—Join us, and become a member of the Noble Society of Puddin'-Owners. The duties of the Society," went on Bill, "are light. The members are required to wander along the roads, indulgin' in conversation, song and story, eatin' at regular intervals at the Puddin'. And now, what's your answer?" "My answer," said Bunyip Bluegum, "is, Done with you." THE PUDDIN'-OWNERS' ANTHEM."The solemn word is plighted, "Hurrah for puddin'-owning, "When we with rage assemble, "Hurrah, we'll stick together, "Having given three rousing cheers, they shook hands once more and turned in for the night. After such a busy day, walking, talking, fighting, singing, and eating puddin', they were all asleep in a pig's whisper. SECOND SLICEThe Society of Puddin'-Owners were up bright and early next morning, and had the billy on and tea made before six o'clock, which is the best part of the day, because the world has just had his face washed, and the air smells like Pears' soap. "Aha," said Bill Barnacle, cutting up slices of the Puddin', "this is what I call grand. Here we are, after a splendid night's sleep on dry leaves, havin' a smokin' hot slice of steak-and-kidney for breakfast round the camp fire. What could be more delightful?" "What indeed?" said Bunyip Bluegum, sipping his tea. "Why, as I always say," said Bill, "if there's one thing more entrancin' than sittin' round a camp fire in the evenin' it's sittin' round a camp fire in the mornin'. No beds and blankets and breakfast tables for Bill Barnacle. For as I says in my `Breakfast Ballad'— "If there's anythin' better than lyin' on leaves, "If there's anythin' better than camp firelight, "If there's anythin' better than singin' away There was a hearty round of applause at this song, for, as Bunyip Bluegum remarked, "singing at breakfast should certainly be more commonly indulged in, as it greatly tends to enliven what is on most occasions a somewhat dull proceeding." "One of the great advantages of being a professional puddin'-owner," said Sam Sawnoff, "is that songs at breakfast are always encouraged. None of the ordinary breakfast rules, such as scowling while eating, and saying the porridge is as stiff as glue and the eggs are as tough as leather, are observed. Instead, songs, roars of laughter, and boisterous jests are the order of the day. For example, this sort of thing," added Sam, doing a rapid back-flap and landing with a thump on Bill's head. As Bill was unprepared for this act of boisterous humour, his face was pushed into the Puddin' with great violence, and the gravy as splashed in his eye. "What d'yer mean, playin' such bungfoodlin' tricks on a man at breakfast?" roared Bill. "What d'yer mean," shouted the Puddin', "playing such foodbungling tricks on a Puddin' being breakfasted at?" "Breakfast humour, Bill, merely breakfast humour," said Sam, hastily. "Humour's humour," shouted Bill, "but puddin' in the whiskers is no joke." "Whiskers in the Puddin' is worse than puddin' in the whiskers," shouted the Puddin', standing up in his basin. "Observe the rules, Bill," said Sam hurriedly. "Boisterous humour at the breakfast table must be greeted with roars of laughter." "To Jeredelum with the rules," shouted Bill. "Pushing a man's face into his own breakfast is beyond rules or reason, and deserves a punch in the gizzard." Seeing matters arriving at this unpromising situation, Bunyip Bluegum interposed by saying, "Rather than allow this happy occasion to be marred by unseemly recriminations, let us, while admitting that our admirable friend, Sam, may have unwittingly disturbed the composure of our admirable friend, Bill, at the expense of our admirable Puddin's gravy, let us, I say, by the simple act of extending the hand of friendship, dispel in an instant these gathering clouds of disruption. In the words of the poem— `Then let the fist of Friendship These fine sentiments at once dispelled Bill's anger. He shook hands warmly with Sam, wiped the gravy from his face, and resumed breakfast with every appearance of hearty good humour. The meal over, the breakfast things were put away in the bag, Sam and Bill took Puddin' between them, and all set off along the road, enlivening the way with song and story. Bill regaled them with portions of the "Ballad of the Salt Junk Sarah," which is one of those songs that go on for ever. Its great advantage, as Bill remarked, was that as it hadn't got an ending it didn't need a beginning, so you could start it anywhere. "As for instance," said Bill, and he roared out— "Ho, aboard the Salt Junk Sarah, Entertaining themselves in this way as they strolled along, they were presently arrested by shouts of "Fire! Fire!" and a Fireman in a large helmet came bolting down the road, pulling a fire hose behind him. "Aha!" said Bill. "Now we shall have the awe-inspirin' spectacle of a fire to entertain us," and, accosting the Fireman, he demanded to know where the fire was. "The fact is," said the Fireman, "that owing to the size of this helmet I can't see where it is; but if you will kindly glance at the surrounding district, you'll see it about somewhere." They glanced about and, sure enough, there was a fire burning in the next field. It was only a cowshed, certainly, but it was blazing very nicely, and well worth looking at. "Fire," said Bill, "in the form of a common cowshed, is burnin' about nor'-nor'-east as the crow flies." "In that case," said the Fireman, "I invite all present to bravely assist in putting it out. But," he added impressively, "if you'll take my advice, you'll shove that Puddin' in this hollow log and roll a stone agen the end to keep him in, for if he gets too near the flames he'll be cooked again and have his flavour ruined." "This is a very sensible feller," said Bill, and though Puddin' objected strongly, he was at once pushed into a log and securely fastened in with a large stone. "How'd you like to be shoved in a blooming log," he shouted at No more time was lost in seizing the hose and they set off with the greatest enthusiasm. For, as everyone knows, running with the reel is one of the grand joys of being a fireman. They had the hose fixed to a garden tap in no time, and soon were all hard at work, putting out the fire. Of course there was a great deal of smoke and shouting, and getting tripped up by the hose, and it was by the merest chance Bunyip Bluegum glanced back in time to see the Wombat in the act of stealing the Puddin' from the hollow log. "Treachery is at work," he shouted. "Treachery," roared Bill, and with one blow on the snout knocked the Fireman endways on into the burning cinders, where his helmet fell off, and exposed the countenance of that snooting, snouting scoundrel, the Possum. The Possum, of course, hadn't expected to have his disguise pierced so swiftly, and, though he managed to scramble out of the fire in time to save his bacon, he was considerably singed down the back. "What a murderous attack!" he exclaimed. "O, what a brutal attempt to burn a man alive!" and as some hot cinders had got down his back he gave a sharp yell and ran off, singeing and smoking. Bill, distracted with rage, ran after the Possum, then changed his mind and ran after the Wombat, so that, what with running first after one and then after the other, they both had time to get clean away, and disappeared over the skyline. "I see it all," shouted Bill, casting himself down in despair. "Them low puddin'-thieves has borrowed a fireman's helmet, collared a hose, an' set fire to a cowshed in order to lure us away from the Puddin'." "The whole thing's a low put-up job on our noble credulity," said "It's one of the most frightful things that's ever happened," said "It's worse than treading on tacks with bare feet," said Sam. "It's worse than bein' caught stealin' fowls," said Bill. "It's worse than bein' stood on by cows," said Sam. "It's almost as bad as havin' an uncle called "It's worse than weevils, worse than warts, "It's worse than beetles in the soup, "It's worse than kerosene to boose, Bunyip Bluegum reproved this despondency, saying "Come, come, this is no time for giving way to despair. Let us, rather, by the fortitude of our bearing prove ourselves superior to this misfortune and, with the energy of justly enraged men, pursue these malefactors, who have so richly deserved our vengeance. Arise! "The grass is green, the day is fair, "Let gloom give way to angry glare, "Our Puddin' in some darksome lair "Then let's resolve to do and dare. "Bravely spoken," said Bill, immediately recovering from despair. "Those gallant words have fired our blood," said Sam, and they both shook hands with Bunyip, to show that they were now prepared to follow the call of vengeance. In order to investigate this dastardly outrage," said Bunyip, "we must become detectives, and find a clue. We must find somebody who has seen a singed possum. Once traced to their lair, mother-wit will suggest some means of rescuing our Puddin'." They set off at once, and, after a brisk walk, came to a small house with a signboard on it saying, "Henderson Hedgehog, Horticulturist." Henderson himself was in the garden, horticulturing a cabbage, and they asked him if he had chanced to see a singed possum that morning. "What's that? What, what?" said Henderson Hedgehog, and when they had repeated the question, he said, " You must speak up, I'm a trifle deaf." "Have you seen a singed possum?" shouted Bill. "I can't hear you," said Henderson. "Have you seen a SINGED POSSUM?" roared Bill. "To be sure," said Henderson, "but the turnips are backward." "Turnips be stewed," yelled Bill in such a tremendous voice that he blew his own hat off. "HAVE YOU SEEN A SINGED POSSUM?" "Good season for wattle blossom," said Henderson. "Well, yes, but a very poor season for carrots." "A man might as well talk to a carrot as try an' get sense out of this runt of a feller," said Bill, disgusted. "Come an' see if we can't find someone that it won't bust a man's vocal cords gettin' information out of." They left Henderson to his horticulturing and walked on till they met a Parrot who was a Swagman, or a Swagman who was a Parrot. He must have been one or the other, if not both, for he had a bag and a swag, and a beak and a billy, and a thundering bad temper into the bargain, for the moment Bill asked him if he had met a singed possum he shouted back— " Me eat a singed possum! I wouldn't eat a possum if he was singed, roasted, boiled, or fried." " Not ett—met," shouted Bill. "I said, met a singed possum." "Why can't yer speak plainly, then," said the Parrot. "Have you got a fill of tobacco on yer?" He took out his pipe and scowled at Bill. "Here you are," said Bill. "Cut a fill an' answer the question." " All in good time," said the Parrot, and he added to Sam, Sam handed him a fill, and he put it in his pocket. "You ain't got any tobacco," he said scornfully to Bunyip Bluegum. "I can see that at a glance. You're one of the non-smoking sort, all fur and feathers." "Here," said Bill angrily, "Enough o' this beatin' about the bush. Answer the question." "Don't be impatient," said the Parrot. "Have you got a bit o' tea an' sugar on yer?" "Here's yer tea an' sugar," said Bill, handing a little of each out of the bag. "An that's the last thing you get. Now will you answer the question?" "Wot question," asked the Parrot. "Have yer seen a singed possum?" roared Bill. "No, I haven't," said the Parrot, and he actually had the insolence to laugh in Bill's face. "Of all the swivel-eyed, up-jumped, cross-grained, sons of a cock-eyed tinker," exclaimed Bill, boiling with rage. "If punching parrots on the beak,wasn't too painful for pleasure, I'd land you a sockdolager on the muzzle that ud lay you out till Christmas. Come on, mates," he added, "it's no use wastin' time over this low-down, hook-nosed, tobacco-grabber. "And leaving the evil-minded Parrot to pursue his evil-minded way, they hurried off in search of information. The next person they spied was a Bandicoot carrying a watermelon. At a first glance you would have thought it was merely a watermelon walking by itself, but a second glance would have shown you that the walking was being done by a small pair of legs attached to the watermelon, and a third glance would have disclosed that the legs were attached to a Bandicoot. They shouted, "Hi, you with the melon!" to attract his attention, and set off running after him, and the Bandicoot, being naturally of a terrified disposition, ran for all he was worth. He wasn't worth much as a runner, owing to the weight of the watermelon, and they caught him up half-way across the field. Conceiving that his hour had come, the Bandicoot gave a shrill squeak of terror and fell on his knees. "Take me watermelon," he gasped, "but spare me life." "Stuff an' nonsense," said Bill. "We don't want your life. What we want is some information. Have you seen a singed possum about this morning?" "Singed possums, sir, yes sir, certainly sir," gasped the "What, exclaimed Bill, "Do yer mean to say you have seen a singed possum?" "Singed possums, sir, yes sir," gulped the Bandicoot. "Very plentiful, sir, this time of the year, sir, owing to the bush fires, sir." "Rubbish," roared Bill. "I don't believe he's seen a singed possum at all." "No, sir," quavered the Bandicoot. "Certainly not, sir. Wouldn't think of seeing singed possums if there was any objection, sir." "You're a poltroon," shouted Bill. "You're a slaverin', quaverin', melon-carryin' nincompoop. There's no more chance of getting information out of you than out of a terrified Turnip." Leaving the Bandicoot to pursue his quavering, melon-humping existence, they set off again, Bill giving way to some very despondent expressions. "As far as I can see," he said, "if we can't find somethin' better than stone-deaf hedgehogs, peevish parrots and funkin' bandicoots we may as well give way to despair." Bunyip Bluegum was forced to exert his finest oratory to inspire them to another frame of mind. "Let it never be said," he exclaimed, "that the unconquerable hearts of puddin'-owners quailed before a parrot, a hedgehog, or a bandicoot. "Let hedgehogs deaf go delve and dig, "Shall puddin'-owners bow the head "Let courage high resolve inflame "Bravely sung," exclaimed Bill, grasping Bunyip Bluegum by the hand, and they proceeded with expressions of the greatest courage and determination. As a reward for this renewed activity, they got some useful information from a Rooster who was standing at his front gate looking up and down the road, and wishing to heaven that somebody would come along for him to talk to. They got, in fact, a good deal more information than they asked for, for the Rooster was one of those fine upstanding, bumptious skites who love to talk all day, in the heartiest manner, to total strangers while their wives do the washing. "Singed possum," he exclaimed, when they had put the usual question to him. "Now, what an extraordinary thing that you should come along and ask me that question. What an astounding and incredible thing that you should actually use the word `singed' in connection with the word `possum.' Though mind you, the word I had in my mind was not 'singed,' but `burning.' And not `possum' but `feathers.' Now, I'll tell you why. Only this morning, as I was standing here, I said to myself "somebody's been burning feathers." I called out at once to the wife—fine woman, the wife, you'll meet her presently—"Have you been burning feathers?" "No" says she. "Well," said I, "If you haven't been burning feathers, somebody else has." At the very moment that I'm repeating the word "feathers" and "burning" you come along and repeat the words "singed" and "possum." Instantly I call to mind that at the identical moment that I smelt something burning, I saw a possum passing this very gate, though whether he happened to be singed or not I didn't inquire." "Which way did he go?" inquired Bill excitedly. "Now, let me see," said the Rooster. "He went down the road, turned to the right, gave a jump and a howl, and set off in the direction of Watkin Wombat's summer residence." "The very man we're after," shouted Bill, and bolted off down the road, followed by the others, without taking any notice of the Rooster's request to wait a minute and be introduced to the wife. "His wife may be all right," said Bill as they ran, "but what I say is, blow meetin' a bloomin' old Rooster's wife when you haven't got a year to waste listenin' to a bloomin' old Rooster." They followed the Rooster's directions with the utmost rapidity, and came to a large hollow tree with a door in the side and a noticeboard nailed up which said, "Watkin Wombat, Esq., Summer Residence." The door was locked, but it was clear that the puddin'-thieves were inside, because they heard the Possum say peevishly, "You're eating too much, and here's me, most severely singed, not getting sufficient," and the Wombat was heard to say "What you want is soap," but the Possum said angrily, "What I need is immense quantities of puddin'." The avengers drew aside to hold a consultation. " What's to be done?" said Bill. " It's no use knockin', because they'd look through the keyhole and refuse to come out, and, not bein' burglars, we can't bust the door in. It seems to me that there's nothin' for it but to give way to despair." "Never give way to despair while whiskers can be made from dry grass," said Bunyip Bluegum, and suiting the action to the word, he swiftly made a pair of fine moustaches out of dried grass and stuck them on with wattle gum. "Now, lend me your hat," he said to Bill, and taking the hat he turned up the brim, dented in the top, and put it on. "The bag is also required," he said to Sam, and taking that in his hand and turning his coat inside out, he stood before them completely disguised. "You two," he said, "must remain in hiding behind the tree. You will hear me knock, accost the ruffians and hold them in conversation. The moment you hear me exclaim loudly, "Hey, Presto! Pots and Pans," you will dart out and engage the villains at fisticuffs. The rest leave to me." Waiting till the others were hidden behind the tree, Bunyip rapped smartly on the door which opened presently, and the Wombat put his head out cautiously. "Have I the extreme pleasure of addressing Watkin Wombat, Esq.?" inquired Bunyip Bluegum, with a bow. Of course, seeing a perfect stranger at the door, the Wombat had no suspicions, and said at once. "Such is the name of him you see before you." "I have called to see you," said Bunyip, "on a matter of business. The commodity which I vend is Pootles' Patent Pudding Enlarger, samples of which I have in the bag. As a guarantee of good faith we are giving samples of our famous Enlarger away to all well-known puddin'-owners. The Enlarger, one of the wonders of modern science, has but to be poured over the puddin', with certain necessary incantations, and the puddin' will be instantly enlarged to double its normal size." He took some sugar from the bag and held it up. "I am now about to hand you some of this wonderful discovery. But," he added impressively, "the operation of enlarging the puddin' is a delicate one, and must be performed in the open air. Produce your puddin', and I will at once apply Pootles' Patent with marvellous effect." "Of course it's understood that no charge is to be made," said the "No charge whatever," said Bunyip Bluegum. So on the principle of always getting something for nothing, as the "Now, watch me closely," said Bunyip Bluegum. He sprinkled the Puddin' with sugar, made several passes with his hands, and pronounced these words— "Who incantations utters Out sprang Bill and Sam and set about the Puddin'-thieves like a pair of windmills, giving them such a clip clap clouting and a flip flap flouting, that what with being punched and pounded, and clipped and clapped, they had only enough breath left to give two shrieks of despair while scrambling back into Watkin Wombat's Summer Residence, and banging the door behind them. The three friends had Puddin' secured in no time, and shook hands all round, congratulating Bunyip Bluegum on the success of his plan. "Your noble actin'," said Bill, "has saved our Puddin's life." "Them Puddin'-thieves," said Sam, "was children in your hands." "We hear you," sang out the Possum, and the Wombat added, "Oh, what deceit! " "Enough of you two," shouted Bill. "If we catch you sneakin' after our Puddin' again, you'll get such a beltin' that you'll wish you was vegetarians. And now," said he, "for a glorious reunion round the camp fire." And a glorious reunion they had, tucking into hot steak-and-kidney puddin' and boiled jam roll, which, after the exertions of the day, went down, as Bill said, "Grand." "If them Puddin'-thieves ain't sufferin' the agonies of despair at this very moment, I'll eat my hat along with the Puddin'," said Bill, exultantly. "Indeed," said Bunyip Bluegum, "the consciousness that our enemies are deservedly the victims of acute mental and physical anguish, imparts, it must be admitted, an additional flavour to the admirable Puddin'." "Well spoken," said Bill, admiringly. "Which I will say, that for turning off a few well-chosen words no parson in the land is the equal of yourself." "Your health!" said Bunyip Bluegum. The singing that evening was particularly loud and prolonged, owing to the satisfaction they all felt at the recovery of their beloved Puddin'. The Puddin', who had got the sulks over Sam's remark that fifteen goes of steak and kidney were enough for any self-respecting man, protested against the singing, which, he said, disturbed his gravy. "`More eating and less noise,' is my motto," he said, and he called Bill a leather-headed old barrel organ for reproving him. "Albert is a spoilt child, I fear," said Bill, shoving him into the bag to keep him quiet, and without more ado, led off with— "Ho! aboard the Salt Junk Sarah, "Rollin' home, rollin' home, "But," said Bill to Bunyip Bluegum, after about fifteen verses of the 'Salt Junk Sarah', "the superior skill, ingenuity an' darin' with which you bested them Puddin'-snatchers reminds me of a similar incident in Sam's youth, which I will now sing you. The incident, though similar as regards courage an' darin', is totally different in regard to everythin' else, and is entitled— THE PENGUIN'S BRIDE"'Twas on the "Saucy Soup Tureen", "And Sam he chewed salt junk all "And Sam at once was sunk all "When sailin' by Barbado, "The passengers were sunk all "He saved the Noble Buncle "And this here niece of Buncle, "And that old Uncle Buncle, "The lovely maiding Buncle "Of course," said Sam modestly, "the song goes too far in sayin' as how I married the Hearl's niece, because, for one thing, I ain't a marryin' man, and for another thing, what she really sez to me when we got to land was, "You're a noble feller, an' here's five shillin's for you, and any time you happen to be round our way, just give a ring at the servant's bell, and there'll always be a feed waitin' for you in the kitchen." However, you've got to have songs to fill in the time with, and when a feller's got a rotten word like Buncle to find rhymes for, there's no sayin' how a song'll end." "The exigencies of rhyme," said Bunyip Bluegum, "may stand excused from a too strict insistence on verisimilitude, so that the general gaiety is thereby promoted. And now," he added, "before retiring to rest, let us all join in song," and grasping each other's hands they loudly sang— THE PUDDIN'-OWNERS' EVENSONG"Let feeble feeders stoop "We scorn digestive pills; "Let yokels coarse appease "Then plight our faith anew SLICE THREE"After our experience of yesterday," said Bill Barnacle as the company of Puddin'-owners set off along the road with their Puddin', "we shall have to be particularly careful. For what with low puddin' thieves disguisin' themselves as firemen, and low Wombats sneakin' our Puddin' while we're helpin' to put out fires, not to speak of all the worry and bother of tryin' to get information out of parrots an' bandicoots an' hedgehogs, why, it's enough to make a man suspect his own grandfather of bein' a puddin'-snatcher." "As for me," said Sam Sawnoff, practising boxing attitudes as he walked along. "I feel like laying out the first man we meet on the off-chance of his being a puddin'-thief." "Indeed," observed Bunyip Bluegum, "to have one's noblest feelings outraged by reposing a too great trust in unworthy people, is to end by regarding all humanity with an equal suspicion." "If you ask my opinion," said the Puddin' cynically, "them puddin'-thieves are too clever for you; and what's more, they're better eaters than you. Why," said the Puddin', sneering at Bill, "I'll back one puddin'-thief to eat more in a given time than three Puddin'owners put together." "These are very treacherous sentiments, Albert," said Bill, sternly. "These are very ignoble and shameless words," but the Puddin' merely laughed scornfully, and called Bill a bun-headed old beetle-crusher. "Very well," said Bill, enraged, "we shall see if a low puddin' thief is better than a noble Puddin'-owner. When you see the terrible suspicions I shall indulge in to-day you'll regret them words." To prove his words Bill insisted on closely inspecting everybody he met, in case they should be puddin'-thieves in disguise. To start off with, they had an unpleasant scene with a Kookaburra, a low larrikin who resented the way that Bill examined him. "Who are you starin' at, Poodle's Whiskers?" he asked. "Never mind," said Bill. "I'm starin' at you for a good an' sufficient reason." "Are yer? " said the Kookaburra. "Well, all I can say is that if yer don't take yer dial outer the road I'll bloomin' well take an' bounce a gibber off yer crust," and he followed them for quite a long way, singing out insulting things such as, "You with the wire whiskers," and "Get onter the bloke with the face fringe." Bill, of course, treated this conduct with silent contempt. It was his rule through life, he said, never to fight people with beaks. The next encounter they had was with a Flying-fox who, though not so vulgar and rude as the Kookaburra was equally enraged because, as Bill had suspicions that he was the Possum disguised, he insisted on measuring him to see if he was the same length. "Nice goings on, indeed," said the Flying-fox, while Bill was measuring him, "if a man can't go about his business without being measured by total strangers. A nice thing, indeed, to happen to Finglebury Flying-fox, the well-known and respected fruit stealer." However, he was found to be six inches too short, so they let him go, and he hurried off, saying, "I shall have the Law on you for this, measuring a man in a public place without being licensed as a tailor." The third disturbance due to Bill's suspicions occurred while Bunyip Bluegum was in a grocer's shop. They had run out of tea and sugar, and happening to pass through the town of Bungledoo took the opportunity of laying in a fresh supply. If Bunyip hadn't been in the shop, as was pointed out afterwards, the trouble wouldn't have occurred. The first he heard of it was a scream of "Help, help, murder is being done!" and rushing out of the shop, what was his amazement to see no less a person than his Uncle Wattleberry bounding and plunging about the road with Bill hanging on to his whiskers, and Sam hanging on to one leg. "I've got him," shouted Bill. "Catch a holt of his other leg and give me a chance to get his whiskers off." "But why are you taking his whiskers off?" inquired Bunyip "Because they're stuck on with glue," shouted Bill. "I saw it at a glance. It's Watkin Wombat, Esquire, disguised as a company promoter." "Dear me," said Bunyip, hurriedly, "you are making a mistake. "A what?" exclaimed Bill, letting go the whiskers. "An Uncle," replied Bunyip Bluegum. "An Uncle," roared Uncle Wattleberry. "An Uncle of the highest integrity. You have most disgracefully and unmercifully pulled an Uncle's whiskers." "I can assure you," said Bill, "I pulled them under the delusion that you was a disguised Wombat." "That is no excuse, sir," bellowed Uncle Wattleberry. "No one but an unmitigated ruffian would pull an Uncle's whiskers. "Who but the basest scoundrel, double-dyed, "If I've gone too far," said Bill, "I apologize. If I'd known you was an Uncle I wouldn't have done it." "Apologies are totally inadequate," shouted Uncle Wattleberry. "Nothing short of felling you to the earth with an umbrella could possibly atone for the outrage. You are a danger to the whisker growing public. You have knocked my hat off, pulled my whiskers, and tried to remove my nose." "Pullin' your nose," said Bill, solemnly, "is a mistake any man might make, for I put it to all present, as man to man, if that nose don't look as if it's only gummed on." All present were forced to admit that it was a mistake that any man might make. "Any man," as Sam remarked, "would think he was doing you a kindness by trying to pull it off." "Allow me to point out also, my dear Uncle," said Bunyip Bluegum, "that your whiskers were responsible for this seeming outrage. Let your anger, then, be assuaged by the consciousness that you are the victim, not of malice, but of the misfortune of wearing whiskers." "How now," exclaimed Uncle Wattleberry. "My nephew Bunyip among these sacrilegious whisker-pluckers and nose-pullers. My nephew, not only aiding and abetting these ruffians, but seeking to palliate their crimes! This is too much. My feelings are such that nothing but bounding and plunging can relieve them." And thereupon did Uncle Wattleberry proceed to bound and plunge with the greatest activity, shouting all the while "You need not think I bound and plunge "An Uncle's rage must seek relief, "I bound and plunge, I seethe with rage, Seeing that there was no possibility of inducing Uncle Wattleberry to look at the affair in a reasonable light, they walked off and left him to continue his bounding and plunging for the amusement of the people of Bungledoo, who brought their chairs out on to the footpath in order to enjoy the sight at their ease. Bill's intention to regard everybody he met with suspicion was somewhat damped by this mistake, and he said there ought to be a law to prevent a man going about looking as if he was a disguised puddin'-thief. The most annoying part of it all was that when the puddin' thieves did make their appearance they weren't disguised at all. They were dressed as common ordinary puddin'-thieves, save that the Possum carried a bran bag in his hand and the Wombat waved a white flag. "Well, if this isn't too bad," shouted Bill, enraged. "What d'you mean, comin' along in this unexpected way without bein' disguised?" |
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