The Magic Pudding, Norman Lindsay [beach read txt] 📗

“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, Would pluck an Uncle’s whiskers in their pride, What baseness, then, doth such a man disclose Who’d raise a hand to pluck an Uncle’s nose?”

“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 Like this in festive mood. I bound that bounding may expunge The thought of insult rude.

“An Uncle’s rage must seek relief, His anger must be drowned; It is to soothe an Uncle’s grief That thus I plunge and bound.

“I bound and plunge, I seethe with rage, My mighty anger seeks So much relief that I engage To plunge and bound for weeks.”

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?”

“No, no,” sang out the Possum. “No disguises to-day.”

“No fighting, either,” said the Wombat.

“No disguises, no fighting, and no puddin’-stealing,” said the Possum. “Nothing but the fairest and most honourable dealings.”

“If you ain’t after our Puddin’, what are you after?” demanded Bill.

“We’re after bringing you a present in this bag,” said the Possum.

“Absurd,” said Bill. “Puddin’-thieves don’t give presents away.”

“Don’t say that, Bill,” said the Possum, solemnly. “If you only knew what noble intentions we have, you’d be ashamed of them words.”

“You’d blush to hear your voice a-utterin’ of them,” said the Wombat.

“I can’t make this out at all,” said Bill, scratching his head. “The idea of a puddin’-thief offering a man a present dumbfounds me, as the saying goes.”

“No harm is intended,” said the Possum, and the Wombat added: “Harm is as far from our thoughts as from the thoughts of angels.”

“Well, well,” said Bill, at length. “I’ll just glance at it first, to see what it’s like.”

But the Possum shook his head. “No, no, Bill,” he said, “no glancing,” and the Wombat added: “To prove that no deception is intended, all heads must look in the bag together.”

“What’s to be done about this astoundin’ predicament?” said Bill. “If there is a present, of course we may as well have it. If there ain’t a present, of course we shall simply have to punch their snouts as usual.”

“One must confess,” said Bunyip Bluegum, “to the prompting of a certain curiosity as to the nature of this present;” and Sam added, “Anyway, there’s no harm in having a look at it.”

“No harm whatever,” said the Possum, and he held the bag open invitingly. The Puddin’-owners hesitated a moment, but the temptation was too strong, and they all looked in together. It was a fatal act. The Possum whipped the bag over their heads, the Wombat whipped a rope round the bag, and there they were, helpless.

The worst of it was that the Puddin’, being too short to look in, was left outside, and the puddin’-thieves grabbed him at once and ran off like winking. To add to the Puddin’-owners’ discomfiture there was a considerable amount of bran in the bag; and, as Bill said afterwards, if there’s anything worse than losing a valuable Puddin’, it’s bran in the whiskers. They bounded and plunged about, but soon had to stop that on account of treading on each others toes-especially Sam’s, who endured agonies, having no boots on.

“What a frightful calamity,” groaned Bill, giving way to despair. “It’s worse than being chased by natives on the Limpopo River,” said Sam.

“It’s worse than fighting Arabs single-handed,” croaked Bill.

“It’s almost as bad as being pecked on the head by eagles,” said Sam, and in despair they sang in muffled tones

“O what a fearful fate it is, O what a frightful fag, To have to walk about like this All tied up in a bag.

“Our noble confidence has sent Us on this fearful jag; In noble confidence we bent To look inside this bag.

“Deprived of air, in dark despair Upon our way we drag; Condemned for evermore to wear This frightful, fearsome bag.”

Bunyip Bluegum reproved this faint-heartedness, saying, “As our misfortunes are due to exhibiting too great a trust in scoundrels, so let us bear them with the greater fortitude. As in innocence we fell, so let our conduct in this hour of dire extremity be guided by the courageous endurance of men whose consciences are free from guilt.”

These fine words greatly stimulated the others, and they endured with fortitude walking on Sam’s feet for an hour-and-a-half, when the sound of footsteps apprised them that a traveller was approaching.

This traveller was a grave, elderly dog named Benjimen Brandysnap, who was going to market with eggs. Seeing three people walking in a bag he naturally supposed they were practising for the sports, but on hearing their appeals for help he very kindly undid the rope.

“Preserver,” exclaimed Bill, grasping him by the hand. “Noble being,” said Sam.

“Guardian angel of oppressed Puddin’-owners,” said Bunyip Bluegum.

Benjimen was quite overcome by these expressions of esteem, and handed round eggs, which were eaten on the spot.

“And now,” said Bill, again shaking hands with their preserver,” I am about to ask you a most important question. Have you seen any puddin’-thieves about this mornin’?”

“Puddin’-thieves, “said Benjimen. “Let me see. Now that you mention it, I remember seeing two puddin’-thieves at nine-thirty this morning. But they weren’t stealing puddin’s. They were engaged stealing a bag out of my stable. I was busy at the time whistling to the carrots, or I’d have stopped them.”

“This is most important information,” said Bill. “It proves this must be the very bag they stole. In what direction did the scoundrels go, friend, after stealing your bag?”

“As I was engaged at the moment feeding the parsnips, I didn’t happen to notice,” said Benjimen. “But at this season puddin’ thieves generally go south-east, owing to the price of onions.”

“In that case,” said Bill, “we shall take a course north-west, for it’s my belief that havin’ stolen our Puddin’ they’ll make back to winter quarters.”

“We will pursue to the north-west with the utmost vigour,” said Bunyip.

“Swearin’ never to give in till revenge has been inflicted and our Puddin’ restored to us,” said Bill.

“In order to exacerbate our just anger,” said Bunyip Bluegum, “let us sing as we go—

THE PUDDIN’-OWNERS’ QUEST

“On a terrible quest we run north-west, In a terrible rage we run; With never a rest we run north-west Till our terrible work is done. Without delay Away, away, In a terrible rage we run all day.

“By our terrible zest you’ve doubtless guessed That vengeance is our work; For we seek the nest with terrible zest Where the puddin’-snatchers lurk. With rage, with gloom, With fret and fume, We seek the puddin’-snatchers’ doom.”

They ran north-west for two hours without seeing a sign of the Puddin’-thieves. Benjimen ran with them to exact revenge for the theft of his bag. It was hot work running, and having no Puddin’ they couldn’t have lunch, but Benjimen very generously handed eggs all round again.

“Eggs is all very well,” said Bill, eating them in despair, “but they don’t come up to Puddin’ as a regular diet, and all I can say is, that if that Puddin’ ain’t restored soon I shall go mad with grief.”

“I shall go mad with rage,” said Sam, and they both sang loudly—

“Go mad with grief or mad with rage, It doesn’t matter whether; Our Puddin’s left this earthly stage, So in despair we must engage To both go mad together.”

“I have a suggestion to make,” said Bunyip Bluegum, “which will at once restore your wonted good-humour. Observe me.”

He looked about till he found a piece of board, and wrote this notice on it with his fountain pen—

A GRAND PROCESSION OF THE AMALGAMATED SOCIETY OF PUDDINGS WILL PASS HERE AT 2.30 TO-DAY.

This he hung on a tree. “Now,” said he, “all that remains to be done is to hide behind this bush. The news of the procession will spread like wildfire through the district, and the puddin’-thieves, unable to resist such a spectacle, will come hurrying to view the procession. The rest will be simply a matter of springing out on them like lions.”

“Superbly reasoned,” said Bill, grasping Bunyip by the hand. They all hid behind the bush, and a Crow, who happened to be passing, read the sign and flew off at once to spread the news through the district.

In fifteen minutes, by Bill’s watch, the puddin’-thieves came running down the road, and took up a position on a stump to watch the procession. They had evidently been disturbed in the very act of eating Puddin’, for the Possum was still masticating a mouthful; and the Wombat had stuck the Puddin’ in his hat, and put his hat on his head, which clearly roved him to be a very ill-bred fellow, for in good society wearing puddin’s on the head is hardly ever done.

Bill and Sam, who were like bloodhounds straining in the leash, sprang out and confronted the scoundrels, while Bunyip and Ben got behind in order to cut off their retreat.

“We’ve got you at last,” said Bill, sparring up at the Possum with the fiercest activity. “Out with our Puddin’, or prepare for a punch on the snout.”

The Possum turned pale and the Wombat hastily got behind him.

“Puddin’,” said the Possum, acting amazement, “what strange request is this?”

“What means this strange request?” asked the Wombat.

“No bungfoodlin’,” said Bill, sternly.