The Magic Pudding | Page 4

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 We was rollin' homeward bound,
When the bo'sun's bride fell over the side And very near got drowned.
Rollin' home, rollin' home, Rollin' home across the foam, She had to
swim to save her glim And catch us rollin' home."
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. "I see you
there," he shouted.
"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. "What on
earth's to be done?" he said.
"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