The Magic Pudding by Norman Lindsay (books for 9th graders .TXT) 📕

“Before bringing accusations,” said the Possum, “prove where the Puddin’ is.”

“It’s under that feller’s hat,” roared Bill, pointing at the Wombat.

“Prove it,” said the Wombat.

“You can’t wear hats that high, without there’s Puddin’s under them,” said Bill.

“That’s not Puddin’s,” said the Possum; “that’s ventilation. He wears his hat like that to keep his brain cool.”

“Very well,” said Bill. “I call on Ben Brandysnap, as an independent witness whose bag has been stolen, to prove what’s under that hat.”

Ben put on his spectacles in order to study the Wombat carefully, and gravely pronounced this judgment—

“When you see a hat Stuck up like that You remark with some surprise, `Has he been to a shop, And bought for his top A hat of the largest size?’

” Or else you say, As you note the way He wears it like a wreath, `It cannot be fat That bulges his hat; He’s got something underneath.’

“But whether or not It’s a Puddin’ he’s got Can only be settled by lifting his pot. Or by taking a stick, A stone or a brick, And hitting him hard on the head with it quick. If he yells, you hit fat, If he doesn’t, well that Will prove it’s a Puddin’ that’s under his hat.”

“Now are you satisfied?” asked Bill, and they all shouted—

“Hurrah! hurray! Just listen to that; He knows the way To bell the cat. You’d better obey His judgment pat,

Without delay Remove the hat; It’s tit-for-tat, We tell you flat, You’ll find it pay To lift your hat.

Obey the mandate of our chosen lawyer, Remove that hat, or else we’ll do it faw yer.”

“No, no,” said the Possum, shaking his head. “No removing people’s hats. Removing hats is larceny, and you’ll get six months for it.”

“No bashing heads, either,” said the Wombat. “That’s manslaughter, and we’ll have you hung for it.”

Bill scratched his head. “This is an unforeseen predicament,” he said. “Just mind them puddin’-thieves a minute, Ben, while we has a word in private.” He took Sam and Bunyip aside, and almost gave way to despair. “What a frightful situation,” wailed he. “We can’t unlawfully take a puddin’-thief s hat off, and while it remains on who’s to prove our Puddin’s under it? This is one of the worst things that’s happened to Sam and me for years.”

“It’s worse than being chased by wart-hogs,” said Sam.

“It’s worse than rolling off a cowshed,” said Bill.

“It’s worse than wearing soup tureens for hats,” said Sam.

“It’s almost as bad as swallowing thistle buttons,” said Bill, and both sang loudly—

“It’s worse than running in a fright, Pursued by Polar bears; It’s worse than being caught at night By lions in their lairs.

“It’s worse than barrel organs when They play from night till morn; It’s worse than having large-sized men A-standing on your corn.

“It’s worse than when at midnight you Tread on a silent cat, To have a puddin’-snatcher who Will not remove his hat.”

“All is not yet lost,” said Bunyip Bluegum. “Without reverting to violent measures, I will engage to have the hat removed.”

“You will?” exclaimed Bill, grasping Bunyip by the hand.

“I will,” said Bunyip firmly. “All I ask is that you strike a dignified attitude in the presence of these scoundrels, and, at a given word, follow my example.”

They all struck a dignified attitude in front of the puddin’-thieves, and Bunyip Bluegum, raising his hat, struck up the National Anthem, the others joining in with superb effect.

“Hats off in honour to our King,” shouted Bill, and off came all the hats. The puddin’-thieves, of course, were helpless. The Wombat had to take his hat off, or prove himself disloyal, and there was Puddin’ sitting on his head.

“Now who’s a liar?” shouted Bill, hitting the Possum a swingeing blow on the snout, while Sam gave the Wombat one of his famous over-arm flip flaps that knocked all the wind out of him. The Wombat tried to escape punishment by shouting, “Never strike a man with a Puddin’ on his head;” but, now that their guilt was proved, Bill and Sam were utterly remorseless, and gave the puddin’-thieves such a trouncing that their shrieks pierced the firmament. When this had been done, all hands gave them an extra thumping in the interests of common morality. Eggs were rubbed in their hair by Benjimen, and Bill and Sam attended to the beating and snout-bending, while Bunyip did the reciting. Standing on a stump, he declaimed—

“The blows you feel we do not deal In common, vulgar thumping; To higher motives we appeal— It is to teach you not to steal, Your heads we now are bumping. You need not go on pumping Appeals for kinder dealing, We like to watch you jumping, We like to hear you squealing. We rather think this thumping Will take a bit of healing. We hope these blows upon the nose, These bended snouts, these tramped-on toes, These pains that you are feeling The truth will be revealing How wrong is puddin’-stealing.”

Then, with great solemnity, he recited the following fine moral lesson:—

“A puddin’-thief, as I’ve heard tell, Quite lost to noble feeling, Spent all his days, and nights as well, In constant puddin’-stealing.

“He stole them here, he stole them there, He knew no moderation; He stole the coarse, he stole the rare, He stole without cessation.

“He stole the steak-and-kidney stew That housewives in a rage hid; He stole the infants’ Puddin’ too, The Puddin’ of the aged.

“He lived that Puddin’s he might lure, Into his clutches stealthy; He stole the Puddin’ of the poor, The Puddin’ of the wealthy.

“This evil wight went forth one night Intent on puddin’-stealing, When he beheld a hidden light A secret room revealing.

“Within he saw a fearful man, With eyes like coals a-glowing, Whose frightful whiskers over-ran His face, like weeds a-blowing ;

“And there this fearful, frightful man, A sight to set you quaking, With pot and pan and curse and ban, Began a puddin’ making.

“‘Twas made of buns and boiling oil, A carrot and some nails-O! A lobster’s claws, the knobs off doors, An onion and some snails-O!

“A pound of fat, an old man rat, A pint of kerosene-O! A box of tacks, some cobbler’s wax, Some gum and glycerine-0!

“Gunpowder too, a hob-nailed shoe, He stirred into his pottage; Some Irish stew, a pound of glue, A high explosive sausage.

“The deed was done, that frightful one, With glare of vulture famished, Blew out the light, and in the night Gave several howls, and vanished.

“Our thieving lout, ensconced without, Came through the window slinking; He grabbed the pot and on the spot Began to eat like winking.

“He ate the lot, this guzzling sot Such appetite amazes— Until those high explosives wrought Within his tum a loud report, And blew him all to blazes.

“For him who steals ill-gotten meals Our moral is a good un. We hope he feels that it reveals The danger he is stood in Who steals a high explosive bomb, Mistaking it for Puddin’.”

The puddin’-thieves wept loudly while this severe rebuke was being administered, and promised, with sobs, to amend their evil courses, and in the future to abstain from unlawful puddin’-snatching.

“Your words,” said the Possum, “has pierced our brains with horror and remorse;” and the Wombat added: “From this time onwards our thoughts will be as far removed from Puddin’ as is the thoughts of angels.”

“We have heard that before,” said Bunyip Bluegum; “but let us hope that this time your repentance is sincere. Let us hope that the tenderness of your snouts will be, if I may be permitted a flight of poetic fancy, a guiding star to lure your steps along the path of virtue—

“For he who finds his evil course is ended By having of his snout severely bended, Along that path of virtue may be sent Where virtuous snouts are seldom ever bent.”

With that the puddin’-thieves went over the hill, the sun went down and evening arrived, punctual to the minute.

“Ah,” said Bill, “it’s a very fortunate thing that evenin’s come along at this time, for, if it hadn’t, we couldn’t have waited dinner any longer. But, before preparin’ for a night of gaiety, dance, and song, I have a proposal to put before my feller Puddin’-owners. I propose to invite our friend Ben here to join us round the camp fire. He has proved himself a very decent feller, free with his eggs, and as full of revenge against puddin’-thieves as ourselves.”

“Hospitably spoken,” said Bunyip Bluegum, and the Puddin’owners sang==

“Come join us we intreat, Come join us we implore, In Friendship’s name our guest we claim, And Friendship’s name is law.

“We’ve Puddin’ here a treat, We’ve Puddin’ here galore; Do not decline to stay and dine, Our Puddin’ you’ll adore.

“Our Puddin’, we repeat, You really cannot beat, And here are we its owners three Who graciously intreat You’ll be at our request, The Puddin’-owners’ guest.”

“For these sentiments of esteem, admiration, and respect,” said Ben, “I thank you. As one market gardener to three Puddin’-owners, I may say I wouldn’t wish to eat the Puddin’ of three finer fellers than yourselves.”

With this cordial understanding they set about preparing the camp fire, and the heartiest expressions of friendship were indulged in while the Puddin’ was being passed round. As Bunyip aptly remarked:

“All Fortune’s buffets he can surely pardon her, Who claims as guest our courteous Market Gardener.”

To which Benjimen handsomely replied—

“Still happier he, who meets three Puddin’-owners, Whose Puddin’ is the equal of its donors.”

And, indeed, a very pleasant evening they had round the camp fire.

“This is what I call satisfactory,” said Bill, as they sat at breakfast next morning. “It’s a great relief to the mind to know that them puddin’-thieves is sufferin’ the agonies of remorse, and that our Puddin’ is safe from bein’ stolen every ten minutes.”

“You’re a bun-headed old optimist,” said the Puddin’ rudely. “Puddin’-thieves never suffer from remorse. They only suffer from blighted hopes and suppressed activity.”

“Have you no trust in human nature, Albert?” asked Bill, sternly. “Don’t you know that nothin’ gives a man greater remorse than havin’ his face punched, his toes trod on, and eggs rubbed in his hair?”

“I have grave doubts myself,” said Bunyip Bluegum, “as to the sincerity of their repentance; “and Ben Brandysnap said that, speaking as a market gardener, his experience of carrot catchers, onion snatchers, pumpkin pouncers, and cabbage grabbers induced him to hold the opinion that shooting them with pea-rifles was the only sure way to make them feel remorse.

In fact as Sam said:—

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.”