The Magic Pudding | Page 2

you cannot be; And as a
swag you haven't either You cannot be a swagman neither. For
travellers must carry bags, And swagmen have to hump their swags
Like bottle-ohs or ragmen. As you have neither swag nor bag You must
remain a simple wag, And not a swag- or bagman."
"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, For bags are just as bad as swags;
They're never made to measure. To see the world, your simple trick Is
but to take a walking-stick Assume an air of pleasure, And tell the
people near and far You stroll about because you are A Gentleman of
Leisure."
"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. I've got a mind to think with. I've got a
voice to talk with. I've got an eye to wink with. I've lots of teeth to eat
with, A brand new hat to bow with, A pair of fists to beat with, A rage
to have a row with. No joy it brings To have indeed A lot of things One
does not need. Observe my doleful-plight. For here am I without a
crumb To satisfy a raging turn 0 what an oversight!"
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, Whiskers, wheels and hansom cabs,
Beef and bottles, beer and bones, Give him a feed and end his groans."
"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, Politeness be jumbled
and tumbled and banged. It's simply a matter of putting on pace,
Politeness has nothing to do with the case."
"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. "Hearty
eaters are always welcome."
"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