The 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,
It's risin' from leaves at dawnin',
If there's anythin' better than sleepin' at eve,
It's wakin' up in the mawnin'.
"If there's anythin' better than camp firelight,
It's bright sunshine on wakin'.
If there's anythin' better than puddin' at night,
It's puddin' when day is breakin'.
"If there's anythin' better than singin' away
While the stars are gaily shinin',
Why, it's singin' a song at dawn of day,
On puddin' for breakfast dinin'."
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
Be kept for Friendship's foes.
Ne'er let that hand in anger land
On Friendship's holy nose.'"
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,
Rollin' home across the line,
The Bo'sun collared the Captain's hat
And threw it in the brine.
Rollin' home, rollin' home,
Rollin' home across the foam,
The Captain sat without a hat
The whole way rollin' home."
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
Bill, "when you was burning with anxiety to see the fire?" but
Bill said severely, "Be sensible, Albert, fires is too dangerous
to Puddins' flavours."
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
Sam, casting himself down beside Bill.
"It's one of the most frightful things that's ever happened," said
Bill.
"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
Aldobrantifoscofornio," said Bill, and they both sang loudly--
"It's worse than weevils, worse than warts,
It's worse than corns to bear.
It's worse than havin' several quarts
Of treacle in your hair.
"It's worse than beetles in the soup,
It's worse than crows to eat.
It's worse than wearin' small-sized boots
Upon your large-sized feet.
"It's worse than kerosene to boose,
It's worse than ginger hair.
It's worse than anythin' to lose
A Puddin' rich and rare."
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,
The dandelions abound.
Is this a time for sad despair
And sitting on the ground?
"Let gloom give way to angry glare,
Let weak despair be drowned,
Let vengeance in its rage declare
Our Puddin' must be found.
"Our Puddin' in some darksome lair
In iron chains is bound,
While puddin'-snatchers on him fare,
And eat him by the pound.
"Then let's resolve to do and dare.
Let teeth with rage be ground.
Let voices to the heavens declare
Our Puddin' MUST be found."
"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,
"You got any tobacco?"
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
Bandicoot, trembling violently.
"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,
Immune from loudest howl,
Let bandicoots lump melons big,
Let peevish parrots prowl.
"Shall puddin'-owners bow the head
At such affronts as these?
No, no! March on, by anger led,
Our Puddin' to release.
"Let courage high resolve inflame
Our captive Pud to free;
Our banner wave, our words proclaim
We march to victory!"
"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
Possum, hurrying out.
"No charge whatever," said Bunyip Bluegum.
So on the principle of always getting something for nothing, as the
Wombat said, Puddin' was brought out and placed on the ground.
"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
He generally mutters
His gruesome blasts and bans.
But I, you need not doubt it,
Prefer aloud to shout it,
Hey, Presto! Pots and Pans."
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 around the Horn,
The Bo'sun pulls the Captain's nose
For treatin' him with scorn.
"Rollin' home, rollin' home,
Rollin' home across the foam.
The Bo'sun goes with thumps and blows
The whole way 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--