The Magic Pudding by Norman Lindsay (books for 9th graders .TXT) đ
"Put 'em up, ye puddin'-snatchers," shouted Bill. "Don't keep ussparrin' up here all day. Come out an' take your gruel whileyou've got the chance."
The Possum wished to turn the matter off by saying, "I see theprice of eggs has gone up again," but Bill gave him a punch on thesnout that bent it like a carrot, and Sam caught the Wombat such aflip with his flapper that he gave in at once.
"I shan't be able to fight any more this afternoon," said theWombat, "as I've got sore feet." The Possum said hurriedly, "Weshall be late for that appointment," and they took their grindstoneand off they went.
But when they were a safe distance away the Possum sang out:"You'll repent this conduct. You'll repent bending a man's snoutso that he can hardly see over it, let alone breathe through itwith comfort," and the Wombat added, "For shame, flapp
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âThatâs where the Magic comes in,â explained Bill. âThe more you eats the more you gets. Cut-anâ-come-again is his name, anâ cut, anâ come again, is his nature. Me anâ Sam has been eatinâ away at this Puddinâ for years, and thereâs not a mark on him. Perhaps,â he added, âyou would like to hear how we came to own this remarkable Puddinâ.â
âNothing would please me more,â said Bunyip Bluegum.
âIn that case,â said Bill, âLet her go for a song.
âHo, the cook of the âSaucy Sausageâ, Was a feller called Curry and Rice, A son of a gun as fat as a tun With a face as round as a hot cross bun, Or a barrel, to be precise.
âOne winterâs morn we rounds the Horn, A-rollinâ homeward bound. We strikes on the ice, goes down in a trice, And all on board but Curry and Rice And me anâ Sam is drowned.
âFor Sam anâ me anâ the cook, yer see, We climbs on a lump of ice, And there in the sleet we suffered a treat For several months from frozen feet, With nothinâ at all but ice to eat, And ice does not suffice.
âAnd Sam and me we couldnât agree With the cook at any price. We was both as thin as a piece of tin While that there cook was bustinâ his skin On nothinâ to eat but ice.
âSays Sam to me, âItâs a mystery More deep than words can utter; Whatever we do, hereâs me an you, Us both as thin as Irish stoo, While heâs as fat as butter.â
âBut late one night we wakes in fright To see by a pale blue flare, That cook has got in a phantom pot A big plum-duff anâ a rump-steak hot, And the guzzlinâ wizard is eatinâ the lot, On top of the iceberg bare.â
âThereâs a verse left out here,â said Bill, stopping the song, âowinâ to the difficulty of explaininâ exactly what happened when me and Sam discovered the deceitful nature of that cook. The next verse is as follows:â
âNow Sam anâ me can never agree What happened to Curry and Rice. The whole affair is shrouded in doubt, For the night was dark and the flare went out, And all we heard was a startled shout, Though I think meself, in the subsequent rout, That us beinâ thin, anâ him beinâ stout, In the middle of pushinâ anâ shovinâ about, HeâMUST HAVE FELL OFF THE ICE.â
âThat wonât do, you know,â began the Puddinâ, but Sam said hurriedly, âIt was very dark, and thereâs no sayinâ at this date what happened.â
âYes there is,â said the Puddinâ, âfor I had my eye on the whole affair, and itâs my belief that if he hadnât been so round youâd have never rolled him off the iceberg, for you was both singing out, `Yo heave Hoâ for half-an-hour, anâ him trying to hold on to Billâs beard.â
âIn the haste of the moment,â said Bill, âhe may have got a bit of a shove, for the ice beinâ slippy, and us beinâ justly enraged, and him beinâ as round as a barrel, he may, as I said, have been too fat to save himself from rollinâ off the iceberg. The point, however, is immaterial to our story, which concerns this Puddinâ; and this Puddinâ,â said Bill, patting him on the basin, âwas the very Puddinâ that Curry and Rice invented on the iceberg.â
âHe must have been a very clever cook,â said Bunyip.
âHe was, poor feller, he was,â said Bill, greatly affected. âFor plum duff or Irish stoo there wasnât his equal in the land. But enough of these sad subjects. Pausinâ only to explain that me anâ 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 Boâsunâs Brideâ.â
And without more ado, Bill, who had one of those beef-and-thunder voices, roared outâ
âHo, aboard the Salt Junk Sarah We was rollinâ homeward bound, When the boâsunâs bride fell over the side And very near got drowned. Rollinâ home, rollinâ home, Rollinâ home across the foam, She had to swim to save her glim And catch us rollinâ home.â
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 couldnât 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. âI see you there,â he shouted.
âYou canât see all of us,â shouted the Possum, and the Wombat added, âCause why, some of us is behind the tree.â
Bill led the others aside, in order to hold a consultation. âWhat on earthâs to be done?â he said.
âWe shall have to fight them, as usual,â said Sam.
âWhy do you have to fight them?â asked Bunyip Bluegum.
âBecause theyâre after our Puddinâ,â said Bill.
âTheyâre after our Puddinâ,â explained Sam, âbecause theyâre professional puddinâ-thieves.â
âAnd as weâre perfessional puddinâ-owners,â said Bill, âwe have to fight them on principle. The fighting,â he added, âis a mere flea-bite, as the sayinâ goes. The trouble is, whatâs to be done with the Puddinâ?â
âWhile you do the fighting,â said Bunyip bravely, âI shall mind the Puddinâ.â
âThe trouble is,â said Bill, âthat this is a very secret, crafty Puddinâ, anâ if you wasnât up to his games heâd be askinâ you to look at a spider anâ then run away while your back is turned.â
âThatâs right,â said the Puddinâ, gloomily. âTake a Puddinâs character away. Donât mind his feelings.â
âWe donât mind your feelinâs, Albert,â said Bill. âWhat we minds is your treacherous âabits.â But Bunyip Bluegum said, âWhy not turn him upside-down and sit on him?â
âWhat a brutal suggestion,â said the Puddinâ; 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 puddinâ-thieves and commenced sparring up at them with the greatest activity.
âPut âem up, ye puddinâ-snatchers,â shouted Bill. âDonât keep us sparrinâ up here all day. Come out anâ take your gruel while youâve got the chance.â
The Possum wished to turn the matter off by saying, âI see the price of eggs has gone up again,â 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.
âI shanât be able to fight any more this afternoon,â said the Wombat, âas Iâve got sore feet.â The Possum said hurriedly, âWe shall be late for that appointment,â and they took their grindstone and off they went.
But when they were a safe distance away the Possum sang out: âYouâll repent this conduct. Youâll repent bending a manâs snout so that he can hardly see over it, let alone breathe through it with comfort,â and the Wombat added, âFor shame, flapping a man with sore feet.â
âWe laugh with scorn at threats,â said Bill, and he added as a warningâ
âI donât repent a snout thatâs bent, And if again I tap it, Oh, with a clout Iâll bend that snout With force enough to snap it.â
and Sam added for the Wombatâs benefitâ
âI take no shame to fight the lame When they deserve to cop it. So do not try to pipe your eye, Or with my flip Iâll flop it.â
The puddinâ-thieves disappeared over the hill and, as the evening happened to come down rather suddenly at that moment, Bill said, âBusiness beinâ over for the day, nowâs the time to set about makinâ the camp fire.â
This was a welcome suggestion, for, as all travellers know, if you donât sit by a camp fire in the evening, you have to sit by nothing in the dark, which is a most unsociable way of spending your time. They found a comfortable nook under the hedge, where there were plenty of dry leaves to rest on, and there they built a fire, and put the billy on, and made tea. The tea and sugar and three tin cups and half a pound of mixed biscuits were brought out of the bag by Sam, while Bill cut slices of steak-and-kidney from the Puddinâ. After that they had boiled jam roll and apple dumpling, as the fancy took them, for if you wanted a change of food from the Puddinâ, all you had to do was to whistle twice and turn the basin round.
After they had eaten as much as they wanted, the things were put away in the bag, and they settled down comfortably for the evening. âThis is what I call grand,â said Bill, cutting up his tobacco. âFull-and-plenty to eat, pipes goinâ and the eveninâs enjoyment before us. Tune up on the mouth-organ, Sam, anâ off she goes with a song.â
They had a mouth-organ in the bag which they took turns at playing, and Bill led off with a song which he said was called
SPANISH GOLDâWhen I was young I used to hold Iâd run away to sea, And be a Pirate brave and bold On the coast of Caribbee.
âFor I sez to meself, `Iâll fill me hold With Spanish silver and Spanish gold, And out of every ship I sink Iâll collar the best of food and drink.
â`For Caribbee, or Barbaree, Or the shores of South Amerikee Are all the same to a Pirate bold, Whose thoughts are fixed on Spanish gold.â
âSo one fine day I runs away A Pirate for to be; But I found there was never a Pirate left On the coast of Caribbee.
âFor Pirates go, but their next of kin Are Merchant Captains, hard as sin, And Merchant Mates as hard as nails Aboard of every ship that sails.
âAnd I worked aloft and I worked below, I worked wherever I had to go, And the winds blew hard and the winds blew cold, And I sez to meself as the ship she rolled,
â`O Caribbee! O Barbaree! O shores of South Amerikee! O, never go there: if the truth be told, Youâll get more kicks than Spanish gold.ââ
âAnd thatâs the truth, mate,â said Bill to Bunyip Bluegum. âThere ainât no pirates nowadays at sea, except western ocean First Mates, and manyâs the bootinâ Iâve had for not takinâ in the slack of the topsail halyards fast enough to suit their fancy. Itâs a hard life, the sea, and Sam hereâll bear me out when I say that beinâ hit on the head with a belayinâ pin while tryinâ to pick up the weather earring is an experience that no man wants twice. But toon up, and a song all round.â
âI shall sing you the `The Penguin Bold,ââ said Sam, and, striking a graceful attitude, he sang this songâ
âTo see the penguin out at sea, And watch how he behaves, Would prove that penguins cannot be And never shall be slaves. You havenât got a notion How penguins brave the ocean, And
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