The howls and groans of pain and grief,
The accents of remorse,
Extracted from a puddin'-thief
Are all put on, of course."
"Then, all I can say is," cried Bill, enraged, "if there's any
more of this business of puddin'-thieves, disguised as firemen,
stealing our Puddin', and puddin'-thieves, not disguised at all,
shovin' bags over our heads, blow me if I don't give up
Puddin'-owning in despair and take to keepin' carrots for a
livin'."
The Puddin' was so furious at this remark that they were forced
to eat an extra slice all round to pacify him, in spite of which
he called Bill a turnip-headed old carrot-cruncher, and other
insulting names. However, at length they set out on the road,
Bill continuing to air some very despondent remarks.
"For what is the good of havin' a noble trustin' nature," said
he, "for every low puddin'-thief in the land to take advantage of?
As far as I can see, the only thing to do is to punch every
snout we meet, and chance the odds it belongs to a puddin'-thief."
"Come," said Bunyip Bluegum, "I see you are not your wonted,
good-humoured self this morning. As a means of promoting the
general gaiety, I call on you to sing "The Salt Junk Sarah"
without delay."
This was immediately effective, and Bill with the greatest
heartiness roared out:
"Ho, aboard the Salt Junk Sarah
Rollin' round the ocean wide,
The bo'sun's mate, I grieve to state,
He kissed the bo'sun's bride.
Rollin' home, rollin' home,
Home across the foam;
The bo'sun rose and punched his nose
And banged him on the dome."
At about the fifteenth verse they came to the town of Tooraloo,
and that put a stop to the singing, because you can't sing in the
public streets unless you are a musician or a nuisance. The town
of Tooraloo is one of those dozing, snoozing, sausage-shaped places
where all the people who aren't asleep are only half awake, and
where dogs pass away their lives on the footpaths, and you fall
over cows when taking your evening stroll.
There was a surprise awaiting them at Tooraloo, for the moment they
arrived two persons in bell-toppers and long-tailed coats ran out
from behind a fence and fell flat on their backs in the middle of
the road, yelling "Help, help! thieves and ruffians are at work!"
The travellers naturally stared with amazement at this peculiar
conduct. The moment the persons in bell-toppers caught sight of
them they sprang up, and striking an attitude expressive of
horror, shouted:
"Behold the puddin'-thieves!"
"Behold the what?" exclaimed Bill.
"Puddin'-thieves," said one of the bell-topperers. "For well you
know that that dear Puddin' in your hand has been stolen from its
parents and guardians which is ourselves." And the other bell-
topperer added, "Deny it not, for with that dear Puddin' in your
hand your guilt is manifest."
"Well, if this ain't enough to dumbfound a codfish," exclaimed
Bill. "Here's two total strangers, disguised as undertakers,
actually accusin' us of stealin' our own Puddin'. Why, it's
outside the bounds of comprehension!"
"It's enough to stagger the senses," said Sam.
"It's enough to daze the mind with horror," said Bill.
"Come, come," said the bell-topperers, "cease these expressions
of amazement and hand over the stolen Puddin'."
"What d' yer mean," exclaimed Bill, "by callin' this a stolen
Puddin'? It's a respectable steak-and-kidney, apple-dumplin',
grand digestive Puddin', and any fellers in pot-hats sayin' it's
a stolen Puddin' is scoundrels of the deepest dye."
"Never use such words to people wearing bell-toppers," said one
of the bell-topperers, and the other added, "With that dear Puddin'
gazing up to heaven, how can you use such words?"
"All very fine, no doubt," sneered Bill, "but if you ain't
scoundrels of the deepest dye, remove them hats and prove you
ain't afraid to look us in the eye."
"No, no," said the first bell-topperer. "No removing hats at
present on account of sunstroke, and colds in the head, and
doctor's orders. My doctor said to me only this morning,
'Never remove your hat.' Those were his words. 'Let it be
your rule through life,' he said, 'to keep the head warm,
whatever happens.'"
"No singing `God save the King,' neither," said the other
belltopperer. "Let your conduct be noble, and never sing the
National Anthem to people wearing bell-toppers."
"In fact," said the first bell-topperer, "All we say is, Hand
over the Puddin' with a few well-chosen words, and all ill-feeling
will be dropped."
Bill was so enraged at this suggestion that he dashed his hat on
the ground and kicked it to relieve his feelings. "Law or no
law," he shouted, "I call on all hands to knock them bell-toppers
off."
All hands made a rush for the bell-topperers, who shouted, "An
Englishman's hat is his castle," and "Top-hats are sacred things;"
but they were overpowered by numbers, and their hats were
snatched off. "THE PUDDIN'-THIEVES!" shouted the company.
Those bell-toppers had disguised that snooting, snouting scoundrel,
the Possum, and his snoozing, boozing friend the Wombat! There
was an immense uproar over this discovery, Bill and Sam flapping
and snout-bending away at the puddin'-thieves, the puddin'thieves
roaring for mercy. Ben denounced them as bag snatchers, and Bunyip
Bluegum expressed his indignation in a fine burst of oratory,
beginning:
"Base, indeed, must be those scoundrels, who, lost to all sense of
decency and honour, boldly assume the outward semblance of worthy
citizens, and, by the pretentious nature of their appearance, not
only seek the better to impose upon the noble incredulity of
Puddin'-owners, but, with dastardly cunning, strike a blow at
Society's most sacred emblem-the pot-hat."
The uproar brought the Mayor of Tooraloo hastening to the scene,
followed by the local constable. The Mayor was a little, fat,
breathless, beetle-shaped man, who hastened with difficulty owing
to his robe of office being trodden on by the Constable, who ran
close behind him in order to finish eating a banana in secret. He
had some more bananas in a paper bag, and his face was one of those
feeble faces that make one think of eggs and carrots and feathers,
if you take my meaning.
"How now, how now!" shouted the Mayor. "A riot going on here,
a disturbance in the town of Tooraloo. Constable, arrest these
rioters and disturbers."
"Before going to extremes," said the Constable, in a tremulous
voice, "my advice to you is, read the Riot Act, and so have all
the honour and glory of stopping the riot yourself."
"Unfortunately," said the Mayor, "in the haste of departure, I
forgot to bring the Riot Act, so there's nothing else for it; you
must have all the honour and glory of quelling it."
"The trouble is," said the Constable, "that there are far too
manyrioters. One would have been quite sufficient. If there had
been only one small undersized rioter, I should have quelled him
with the utmost severity."
"Constable," said the Mayor, sternly, "in the name of His Majesty
the King I call on you to arrest these rioters without delay."
"Look here," said Bill, "you're labourin' under an error. This
ain't a riot at all. This is merely two puddin'-thieves gettin'
a hidin' for tryin' to steal our Puddin'."
"Puddin'-thieves! " exclaimed the Mayor. "Don't tell me that
puddin'-thieves have come to Tooraloo.
"It staggers me with pain and grief,
I can't believe it's true,
That we should have a puddin'-thief
Or two in Tooraloo.
"It is enough to make one dumb
And very pale in hue
To know that puddin'-thieves should come
To sacred Tooraloo.
"The Law's just anger must appear.
Ho! seize these scoundrels who
Pollute the moral atmosphere
Of rural Tooraloo."
"We protest against these cruel words," said the Possum.
"We have been assaulted and battered and snout-bended by
ruffians of the worst description."
"How can Your Worship say such things," said the Wombat,
"and us a-wearin' bell-toppers before your very eyes."
"If you've been assaulted and battered," said the Mayor,
"we shall have to arrest the assaulters and batterers as well."
"What's fair to one is fair to all," said the Constable.
"You'll admit that, of course?" he added to Bill.
"I admit nothin' of the sort," said Bill. "If you want to
arrest anybody, do your duty and arrest these here
puddin'-snatchers.
"If you're an officer of the Law,
A constant felon-catcher,
Then do not hesitate before
A common puddin'-snatcher."
"We call on you to arrest these assaulters and batterers of people
wearing top-hats," said the puddin'-thieves;
"Our innocence let all attest,
We prove it by our hatter;
It is your duty to arrest
Not those in top-hats of the best,
But those who top-hats batter."
"It's very clear that somebody has to be arrested," said the
Mayor. "I can't be put to the trouble of wearing my robes of
office in public without somebody having to pay for it. I don't
care whether you arrest the top-hat batterers, or the battered
top-hatterers; all I say is, do your duty, whatever happens--
"So somebody, no matter who,
You must arrest or rue it;
As I'm the Mayor of Tooraloo,
And you've the painful job to do,
I call on you to do it."
"Very well," said the Constable, peevishly, "as I've got to take
all the responsibility, I'll settle the matter by arresting the
Puddin'. As far as I can see, he's the ringleader in this
disturbance."
"You're a carrot-nosed poltroon," said the Puddin' loudly. "As
for the Mayor, he's a sausage-shaped porous plaster," and he gave
him a sharp pinch in the leg.
"What a ferocious Puddin'," said the Mayor, turning as pale as a
turnip. "Officer, do your duty and arrest this dangerous felon
before he perpetrates further sacrilegious acts."
"That's all very well, you know," said the Constable, turning as
pale as tripe; "but he might nip me."
"I can't help that," cried the Mayor, angrily. "At all costs I
must be protected from danger. Do your duty and arrest this felon
with your hat."
The Constable looked around, gasped, and, summoning all his
courage, scooped up the Puddin' in his hat.
"My word," he said, breathlessly, "but that was a narrow squeak.
I expected every moment to be my last."
"Now we breathe more freely," said the Mayor, and led the way
to the Tooraloo Court House.
"If this isn't too bad," said Bill, furiously. "Here we've had
all the worry and trouble of fightin' puddin'-thieves night and
day, and, on top of it all, here's this Tooralooral tadpole of a
Mayor shovin' his nose into the business and arrestin' our
Puddin' without rhyme or reason."
As they had arrived at the Court House at that moment, Bill was
forced to smother his resentment for the time being. There was
nobody in Court except the Judge and the Usher, who were seated on
the bench having a quiet game of cards over a bottle of port.
"Order in the Court," shouted the Usher, as they all came
crowding in; and the Judge, seeing the Constable carrying the
Puddin' in his hat, said severely:
"This won't do, you know; it's Contempt of Court, bringing your
lunch here."
"An' it please you, My Lord," said the Constable hurriedly,
"this here Puddin' has been arrested for pinching the Mayor."
"As a consequence of which, I see you've pinched the Puddin',"
said the Judge facetiously. "Dear me, what spirits I am in
to-day, to be sure!"
"The felon has an aroma most dangerously suggestive of beef
gravy," said the Usher, solemnly.
"Beef gravy?" said the Judge. "Now, it seems to me that the
aroma is much more subtly suggestive of steak and kidney."
"Garnished, I think, with onions," said the Usher.
"In order to settle this knotty point, just hand the felon up
here a moment," said the Judge. "I don't suppose you've got a
knife about you?" he asked.
"I've got a paper-knife," said the Usher; and, the Puddin'
having been handed up to the bench, the Judge and the Usher
cut a slice each, and had another glass of port.
Bill was naturally enraged at seeing total strangers eating
Puddin'owners' private property, and he called out loudly:
"Common justice and the lawful rights of Puddin'-owners."
"Silence in the Court while the Judge is eating," shouted the
Usher; and the Judge said severely:
"I really think you ought
To see I'm taking food,
So, Silence in the Court!
(I'm also taking port),
If you intrude, in manner rude,
A lesson you'll be taught."
"An' it please Your Lordship," said the Mayor, pointing to Bill,
"this person is a brutal assaulter of people wearing top-hats."
"No insults," said Bill, and he gave the Mayor a slap in the face.
The Mayor went as pale as cheese, and the Usher called out: "No
face-slapping while the Judge is dining!" and the Judge said,
angrily:
"It's really far from nice,
As you ought to be aware,
While I am chewing a slice,
To have you slapping the Mayor.
If I have to complain of you again
I'll commit you in a trice,
You'd better take my advice;
Don't let me warn you twice."
"All very well for you to talk," said Bill, scornfully, "sittin'
up there eatin' our Puddin'. I'm a respectable Puddin'-owner,
an' I calls on you to hand over that Puddin' under threat of an
action-at-law for wrongful imprisonment, trespass, and illegally
using the same."
"Personal remarks to the Judge are not allowed," shouted the
Usher, and the Judge said solemnly:
"A Judge must be respected,
A Judge you mustn't knock,
Or else you'll be detected
And shoved into the dock.
You'll get a nasty shock
When gaolers turn the lock.
In prison cell you'll give a yell
To hear the hangman knock."
Here, the Usher took off his coat, as the day was warm, and hung
it on the back of his chair. He then rapped on the bench and said:
"In the name of the Law I must request
Less noise while we're having a well-earned rest.
For the Judge and the Usher never must shirk
A well-earned rest in the middle of work.
It's the duty of both they are well aware
To preserve their precious lives with care;
It's their duty, when feeling overwrought,
To preserve their lives with Puddin' and Port."
He sat down and tossed off a bumper of port to prove his words.
"Your deal, I think," said the Judge, and they went on sipping
and munching and dealing out cards. At this, Bill gave way to
despair.
"What on earth's to be done?" he asked. "Here's these legal
ferrets has got our Puddin' in their clutches, and here's us,
spellbound with anguish, watchin' them wolfin' it. Here's a
situation as would wring groans from the breast of a boiled onion."
"Why it's worse than droppin' soverins down a drain," said Sam.
"It's worse than catchin' your whiskers in the mangle," said Bill.
By a fortunate chance, at this moment the Possum happened to put
his snout within Bill's reach, and Bill hit it a swingeing clout
to relieve his feelings.
"It's unlawful," shouted the Possum, "to hit a man's snout
unexpectedly when he isn't engaged puddin'-stealing."
"Observe the rules," said the Wombat solemnly. "Be kind to
snouts when not engaged in theft."
"If it hadn't been for you two tryin' to steal our Puddin' all
this trouble wouldn't have happened," said Bill.
"It's the Mayor's fault for bringing us all here," cried the
Possum, angrily. "If you was a just man, you'd clout him on
the snout, too."
"The Mayor's to blame," said the Wombat. "What about the whole
lot of us settin' on to him?"
At this suggestion the Mayor trembled so violently that his hat
fell off.
"What dreadful words are these?" he asked, and the Constable
said hurriedly, "Never set on to the Mayor while the local
Constable is present. Let that be your golden rule."
"That's all very well," said Bill, "but if you two hadn't come
interferin' at the wrong moment, our Puddin' wouldn't have been
arrested, and all this trouble wouldn't have happened. As you're
responsible, the question now is, What are you going to do about it?"
"My advice is," said the Constable, impressively, "resign
yourselves to Fate."
"My advice," said the Mayor in a low voice, "is general
expressions of esteem and friendship, hand-shaking all round,
inquiries after each other's health, chatty remarks about the
weather, the price of potatoes, and how well the onions are
looking."
Bill treated these suggestions with scorn. "If any man in the
company has better advice to offer, let him stand forth," said he.
Bunyip Bluegum stood forth. "My advice," he said, "is this: try
the case without the Judge; or, in other words, assume the legal
functions of this defaulting personage in the bag-wig who is at
present engaged in distending himself illegally with our Puddin'.
For mark how runs the axiom:
"If you've a case without a Judge,
It's clear your case will never budge;
But if a Judge you have to face,
The chances are you'll lose your case.
To win your case, and save your pelf,
Why, try the blooming case yourself! "
"As usual, our friend here solves the problem in a few well-chosen
words," said Bill, and preparations were made at once for trying
the case. After a sharp struggle, in which it was found necessary
to bend the Possum's snout severely in order to make him listen to
reason, the puddin'-thieves were forced into the dock. Their
top-hats and frockcoats were taken away, for fear the jury might
take them for undertakers, and not scoundrels. The Mayor and the
Constable were pushed into the jury box to perform the duties of
twelve good men and true, and the others took seats about the Court
as witnesses for the prosecution.
There was some delay before the proceedings began, for Bill said,
"Here's me, the Crown Prosecutor, without a wig. This'll never
do." Fortunately, a wig was found in the Judge's private room,
and Bill put it on with great satisfaction.
"I'm afraid this is unconstitutional," said the Mayor to the
Constable.
"It is unconstitutional," said the Constable; "but it's better
than getting a punch on the snout."
The Mayor turned so pale at this that the Constable had to thrust
a banana into his mouth to restore his courage.
"Thank you," said the Mayor, peevishly; " but, on the whole,
I prefer to be restored with peeled bananas."
"Order in the jury box," said Bill, sharply, and the Mayor having
hurriedly bolted his banana, peel and all, proceedings commenced.
"Gentlemen of the jury," said Bill, "the case before you is one
aboundin' in horror and amazement. Persons of the lowest morals
has disguised themselves in pot-hats in order to decoy a Puddin'
of tender years from his lawful guardians. It is related in the
archives of the Noble Order of Puddin'-Owners that previous to this
dastardly attempt a valuable bag, the property of Sir Benjimen
Brandysnap, had been stolen and the said Puddin'-owners invited
to look at a present inside it. The said bag was then pulled over
their heads, compellin' the Puddin'-owners aforesaid to endure
agonies of partial suffocation, let alone walkin' on each others
corns for several hours. Had not Sir Benjimen, the noble owner,
appeared like a guardian angel and undone the bag, it is doubtful
if Sir Samuel Sawnoff's corns could have stood the strain much
longer, his groans bein' such as would have brought tears to the
eyes of a hard-boiled egg."
"A very moving story," said the Constable, and the Mayor was so
affected that the Constable had to stuff a banana into his mouth to
prevent him bursting into tears.
"I now propose to call Sir Benjimen Brandysnap as first witness
for the prosecution," said Bill. "Kindly step into the
witness-box, Sir Benjimen, and relate the circumstances ensuin' on
your bag bein' stole."
Benjimen stepped into the box and, taking a piece of paper from his
egg basket, said solemnly: "I was very busy that morning, Gentlemen
of the jury, owing to the activity of the vegetables, as hereunder
described:
"On Tuesday morn, as it happened by chance,
The parsnips stormed in a rage,
Because the young carrots were singing like parrots
On top of the onions' cage.
"The radishes swarmed on the angry air
Around with the bumble bees,
While the brussels-sprouts were pulling the snouts
Of all the young French peas.
"The artichokes bounded up and down
On top of the pumpkins' heads,
And the cabbage was dancing the highland fling
All over the onion beds.
"So I hadn't much time, as Your Honour perceives,
For watching the habits of puddin'thieves."
"Tut, tut, Sir Benjimen," said Bill, "stir up your memory, sir;
cast your eye over them felons in the dock, and tell the Court
how you seen them steal the bag."
"The fact is," said Benjimen, after studying the puddin'-thieves
carefully, "as they had their backs turned to me when they were
engaged in stealing the bag, I should be able to judge better if
they were turned round."
"Officer," said Bill to Bunyip Bluegum, "Kindly turn the felons'
backs to the witness."
The Possum and the Wombat objected, saying there wasn't room enough
in the witness-box to turn round, so it was found necessary to
twist their snouts the opposite way.
"From this aspect," said Ben, "I have no hesitation in saying
that those are the backs that stole the bags."
"Make a note of that, Gentlemen of the jury," said Bill, and
the Constable obligingly made a note of it on his banana bag.
"The identity of the bag-stealers bein' now settled," went on
Bill, "I shall kindly ask Sir Benjimen to step down, and call on
Sir Samuel Sawnoff to ascend the witness-box."
Sam stepped up cheerfully, but, as the witness-box was the wrong
size for Penguins, they had to hand him a chair to stand on.
"Now, Sir Samuel," said Bill, impressively, "I am about to ask
you a most important leadin' question. Do you happen to notice
such a thing as a Puddin' in the precinks of the Court?"
Sam shaded his eyes with his flapper and, seeing the Puddin' on
the bench, started back dramatically.
"Do my eyes deceive me, or is yon object a Puddin'?" he cried.
"Well acted," said the Mayor, and the Constable clapped loudly.
"I am now about to ask you another leadin' question," said Bill.
"Do you recognize that Puddin'?"
"Do I recognize that Puddin'?" cried Sam in thrilling tones.
"That Puddin', sir, is dearer to me than an Uncle. That Puddin',
sir, an' me has registered vows of eternal friendship and esteem.
"That Puddin', sir, an' me have sailed the seas,
Known tropic suns, and braved the Artic breeze.
We've heard on Popocatepetl's peak
The savage Tom-Tom sharpenin' of his beak.
We've served the dreadful Jim-Jam up on toast,
When shipwrecked off the Coromandel coast,
And when we heard the frightful Bim-Bam rave,
Have plunged beneath the Salonican wave.
We've delved for Bulbuls' eggs on coral strands,
And chased the Pompeydon in distant lands.
That Puddin', sir, and me, has, back to back,
Withstood the fearful Rumty Tums' attack,
And swum the Indian Ocean for our lives,
Pursued by Oysters, armed with oyster knives.
Let me but say, e'er these adventures cloy,
I've knowed that Puddin' since he were a boy."
"All lies," sang out the Puddin', looking over the rim of his
basin. "For well you know that you and old Bill Barnacle collared
me off Curry and Rice after rollin him off the iceberg."
"Albert, Albert," said Bill, sternly. "Where's your manners
interruptin' Sir Samuel in that rude way, and him a-performin'
like an actor for your deliverance!"
" How much longer do you expect me to stay up here, bein' guzzled
by these legal land-crabs?" demanded the Puddin'.
"You shall stay there, Albert, till the case is well and truly
tried by these here noble Peers of the Realm assembled," said
Bill, impressively.
"Too much style about you," said the Puddin', rudely, and he threw
the Judge's glass of port into Bill's face, remarking: "Take that,
for being a pumpkin-headed old shellback."
There was a great uproar over this very illegal act. The Judge
was enraged at losing his port, and the Mayor was filled with
horror because Bill wiped his face on the mayoral hat, Sam had to
feign amazement at being called a liar, and the puddin'-thieves
kept shouting "Time, time; we can't stand here all day."
In desperation, Bill bawled at the top of his voice: "I call on
Detective Bluegum to restore order in the Court."
Bunyip ran into the witness-box and, with a ready wit, shouted
I have dreadful news to impart to this honourable Court."
All eyes, of course, turned on Bunyip, who, raising his hand with
an impressive gesture, said in thrilling tones: "From information
received, it has been discovered that the Puddin' was poisoned at
ten-thirty this morning."
This news restored order at once. The Judge turned pale as lard,
and the Usher, having a darker complexion, turned as pale as soap.
The Puddin' couldn't turn pale, so he let out a howl of terror.
"Poisoned," said the Usher, feebly. "How, how?"
"Poisoned," said the Judge, feeling his stomach with trembling
hands. "Until this moment I was under the delusion that a
somewhat unpleasant sensation of being, as it were, distended,
was merely due to having eaten seven slices. But if--"
"If," said the Usher, in a quavering voice--
"If you take a poisoned Puddin'
And that poisoned Puddin' chew,
The sensations that you suffer
I should rather say were due
To the poison in the Puddin'
In the act of Poisoning You.
And I think the fact suffices
Through this dreadfulest of crimes,
As you've eaten seven slices
You've been poisoned seven times."
"It was your idea having it up on the bench," said the Judge,
angrily, to the Usher. "Now,
"If what you say is true,
That idea you'll sadly rue,
The poison I have eaten is entirely due to you.
It's by taking your advice
That I've had my seventh slice,
So I'll tell you what I'll do
You unmitigated Jew,
As a trifling satisfaction,
Why, I'll beat you black and blue,"
and with that he hit the Usher a smart crack on the head with a
port bottle.
"Don't strike a poisoned man," shouted the Usher; but the Judge
went on smacking and cracking him with the bottle, singing--
"The emotion of pity
Need never be sought
In a Judge who's been poisoned
By Puddin' and Port."
In desperation, the Usher leapt off the Bench, and landed head
first in the dock, where he stuck like a sardine.
"Too bad, too bad," shouted the puddin'-thieves. "Crowding
in here where there's only room for two." Before they could get
rid of the Usher, the Judge bounded over the bench and commenced
whacking them with the bottle, singing--
"As I find great satisfaction
Hitting anybody who
Can offer that distraction,
Why, I'll have a go at you."
and he went on bounding and whacking away with the bottle,
while the puddin'-thieves kept roaring, and the Usher kept
screaming. The uproar was deafening.
"Just listen to it," said Bill, in despair. "I'd like to know
how on earth we are going to finish the case with all this
umptydoodle rumpus going on."
"Why," said Bunyip, "the simpler course is not to finish the case
at all."
"Solved, as usual," said Bill and, seizing the Puddin' from the
bench, he dashed out of Court, followed by Sam, Ben and Bunyip
Bluegum.
As they ran, they could hear the Judge still whacking away at
everybody, including the Mayor, and the Constable, whose screams
were piercing. "Indeed," said Bunyip--
"I rather think they'll rather rue
The haste with which they sought to sue
Us in the Court of Tooraloo.
For, mark how just is Fate!
"The whole benighted, blooming crew,
The Puddin'-thieves, the Usher too,
Are being beaten black and blue
With bottles on the pate.
"I rather think they will eschew,
In future, Puddin'-owners who
Pass through the simple rural view
About the town of Tooraloo."
"And now," said Bill, when they had run a mile or two beyond the
town, "and now for some brilliant plan, swiftly conceived, which
will put a stop to this Puddin'-snatchin' business for ever. For
the point is," continued Bill, lowering his voice, "here we are
pretty close up to the end of the book, and something will have to
be done in a Tremendous Hurry, or else we'll be cut off short by
the cover."
"The solution is perfectly simple," said Bunyip. "We have merely
to stop wandering along the road, and the story will stop
wandering through the book. This, too, will baffle the puddin'
thieves, for while we wander along the road, our Puddin' is
exposed to the covetous glances of every passing puddin'-snatcher.
Let us, then, remove to some safe, secluded spot and settle down to
a life of gaiety, dance and song, where no puddin'-thief will dare
to show a sacrilegious head. Let us, in fact, build a house in a
tree. For, mark the advantages of such a habitation--
"Up on high
No neighbours pry
In at the window,
On the sly.
"Up on high
Bricks you shy
At bores and bailiffs
Passing by.
"Up in a tree
You're always free
From bores and bailiffs,
You'll agree.
"Up in the leaves
One never grieves
Over the pranks
Of puddin'-thieves.
"If you would be
Gay and free,
Take my tip and
Live in a tree."
"We will, we will," shouted the Puddin'-owners; but the Puddin'
said sourly: "This is all very well, all this high falutin'.
But what about the dreadful news of me being poisoned at ten-thirty
this morning?"
"You ain't poisoned, Albert," said Bill. "That was only a mere
ruse de guerre, as they say in the noosepapers."
A what?" demanded the Puddin', suspiciously.
"Let words be sufficient, without explanation," said Bill,
severely. "And as we haven't time to waste talkin' philosophy
to a Puddin', why, into the bag he goes, or we'll never get the
story finished."
So Puddin' was bundled into the bag, and Bill said, hurriedly
"Brilliant as our friend Bunyip has proved himself with his ready
wit, it remains for old Bill to suggest the brightest idea of all.
Here is our friend Ben, a market gardener of the finest description.
Very well. Why not build our house in his market garden. The
advantages are obvious. Vegetables free of charge the whole year
round, and fruit in season. Eggs to be had for the askin', and a
fine, simple, honest feller like Ben, to chat to of an evening.
What could be more delightful?"
Ben looked very grave at this proposal, and began: "I very much
doubt whether there will be enough bed clothes for four people,
let alone the carrots are very nervous of strangers--" when Bill
cut him short with a hearty clap on the back.
"Say no more," said Bill, handsomely. "Rough, good-humoured
fellers like us don't need apologies, or any social fal-lals at
all. We'll take you as we find you. Without more ado, we shall
build a house in your market garden."
And, without more ado, they did.
The picture opposite saves the trouble of explaining how they
built it, and what a splendid house it is. In order that the
Puddin' might have plenty of exercise, they made him a little
Puddin' paddock, whence he can shout rude remarks to the people
passing by; a habit, I grieve to state, he is very prone to.
Of course, at night they pull up the ladder in case a stray
puddin'-thief happens to be prowling around. If a friend calls to
have a quiet chat, or to join in a sing-song round the fire, they
let the ladder down for him.
And a very pleasant life they lead, sitting of a summer evening
on the balcony while Ben does his little market-garden jobs below,
and the Puddin' throws bits of bark at the cabbages, and pulls
faces at the little pickle onions, in order to make them squeak
with terror.
On winter nights there is always Puddin' and hot coffee for
supper, and many's the good go-in I've had up there, a-sitting
round the fire. I didn't mean to let on that I knew their address,
on account of so many people wanting to have a go at the Puddin'.
However, it's out now.
When the wind blows and the rain comes down, it's jolly sitting up
aloft in the snug tree-house, especially when old Bill is in good
form and gives us "The Salt Junk Sarah", with all hands joining in
the chorus.
"Oh, rolling round the ocean,
From a far and foreign land,
May suit the common notion
That a sailor's life is grand.
"But as for me, I'd sooner be
A roaring here at home
About the rolling, roaring life
Of them that sails the foam.
"For the homeward-bounder's chorus,
Which he roars across the foam,
Is all about chucking a sailor's life,
And settling down at home.
"Home, home, home,
That's the song of them that roam,
The song of the roaring, rolling sea
Is all about rolling home."