The Magic Pudding by Norman Lindsay (best classic books .txt) 📖

>“Come,” said Bunyip Bluegum, “I see you are not your wonted, good-humoured self this morning. As a means of promoting the general gaiety, I call on you to sing “The Salt Junk Sarah” without delay.”

This was immediately effective, and Bill with the greatest heartiness roared out:

“Ho, aboard the Salt Junk Sarah Rollin’ round the ocean wide, The bo’sun’s mate, I grieve to state, He kissed the bo’sun’s bride.

Rollin’ home, rollin’ home, Home across the foam; The bo’sun rose and punched his nose And banged him on the dome.”

At about the fifteenth verse they came to the town of Tooraloo, and that put a stop to the singing, because you can’t sing in the public streets unless you are a musician or a nuisance. The town of Tooraloo is one of those dozing, snoozing, sausage-shaped places where all the people who aren’t asleep are only half awake, and where dogs pass away their lives on the footpaths, and you fall over cows when taking your evening stroll.

There was a surprise awaiting them at Tooraloo, for the moment they arrived two persons in belltoppers and long-tailed coats ran out from behind a fence and fell flat on their backs in the middle of the road, yelling “Help, help! thieves and ruffians are at work!”

The travellers naturally stared with amazement at this peculiar conduct. The moment the persons in belltoppers caught sight of them they sprang up, and striking an attitude expressive of horror, shouted:

“Behold the puddin’-thieves!”

“Behold the what?” exclaimed Bill.

“Puddin’-thieves,” said one of the belltopperers. “For well you know that that dear Puddin’ in your hand has been stolen from its parents and guardians which is ourselves.” And the other belltopperer added, “Deny it not, for with that dear Puddin’ in your hand your guilt is manifest.”

“Well, if this ain’t enough to dumbfound a codfish,” exclaimed Bill. “Here’s two total strangers, disguised as undertakers, actually accusin’ us of stealin’ our own Puddin’. Why, it’s outside the bounds of comprehension!”

“It’s enough to stagger the senses,” said Sam.

“It’s enough to daze the mind with horror,” said Bill.

“Come, come,” said the belltopperers, “cease these expressions of amazement and hand over the stolen Puddin’.”

“What d’ yer mean,” exclaimed Bill, “by callin’ this a stolen Puddin’? It’s a respectable steak-and-kidney, apple-dumplin’, grand digestive Puddin’, and any fellers in pot-hats sayin’ it’s a stolen Puddin’ is scoundrels of the deepest dye.”

“Never use such words to people wearing belltoppers,” said one of the belltopperers, and the other added, “With that dear Puddin’ gazing up to heaven, how can you use such words?”

“All very fine, no doubt,” sneered Bill, “but if you ain’t scoundrels of the deepest dye, remove them hats and prove you ain’t afraid to look us in the eye.”

“No, no,” said the first belltopperer. “No removing hats at present on account of sunstroke, and colds in the head, and doctor’s orders. My doctor said to me only this morning, ‘Never remove your hat.’ Those were his words. ‘Let it be your rule through life,’ he said, ‘to keep the head warm, whatever happens.’”

“No singing `God save the King,’ neither,” said the other belltopperer. “Let your conduct be noble, and never sing the National Anthem to people wearing belltoppers.”

“In fact,” said the first belltopperer, “All we say is, Hand over the Puddin’ with a few well-chosen words, and all ill-feeling will be dropped.”

Bill was so enraged at this suggestion that he dashed his hat on the ground and kicked it to relieve his feelings. “Law or no law,” he shouted, “I call on all hands to knock them belltoppers off.”

All hands made a rush for the belltopperers, who shouted, “An Englishman’s hat is his castle,” and “Top-hats are sacred things;” but they were overpowered by numbers, and their hats were snatched off. “THE PUDDIN’-THIEVES!” shouted the company.

Those belltoppers had disguised that snooting, snouting scoundrel, the Possum, and his snoozing, boozing friend the Wombat! There was an immense uproar over this discovery, Bill and Sam flapping and snout-bending away at the puddin’-thieves, the puddin’thieves roaring for mercy. Ben denounced them as bag snatchers, and Bunyip Bluegum expressed his indignation in a fine burst of oratory, beginning:

“Base, indeed, must be those scoundrels, who, lost to all sense of decency and honour, boldly assume the outward semblance of worthy citizens, and, by the pretentious nature of their appearance, not only seek the better to impose upon the noble incredulity of Puddin’-owners, but, with dastardly cunning, strike a blow at Society’s most sacred emblem-the pot-hat.”

The uproar brought the Mayor of Tooraloo hastening to the scene, followed by the local constable. The Mayor was a little, fat, breathless, beetle-shaped man, who hastened with difficulty owing to his robe of office being trodden on by the Constable, who ran close behind him in order to finish eating a banana in secret. He had some more bananas in a paper bag, and his face was one of those feeble faces that make one think of eggs and carrots and feathers, if you take my meaning.

“How now, how now!” shouted the Mayor. “A riot going on here, a disturbance in the town of Tooraloo. Constable, arrest these rioters and disturbers.”

“Before going to extremes,” said the Constable, in a tremulous voice, “my advice to you is, read the Riot Act, and so have all the honour and glory of stopping the riot yourself.”

“Unfortunately,” said the Mayor, “in the haste of departure, I forgot to bring the Riot Act, so there’s nothing else for it; you must have all the honour and glory of quelling it.”

“The trouble is,” said the Constable, “that there are far too manyrioters. One would have been quite sufficient. If there had been only one small undersized rioter, I should have quelled him with the utmost severity.”

“Constable,” said the Mayor, sternly, “in the name of His Majesty the King I call on you to arrest these rioters without delay.”

“Look here,” said Bill, “you’re labourin’ under an error. This ain’t a riot at all. This is merely two puddin’-thieves gettin’ a hidin’ for tryin’ to steal our Puddin’.”

“Puddin’-thieves! ” exclaimed the Mayor. “Don’t tell me that puddin’-thieves have come to Tooraloo.

“It staggers me with pain and grief, I can’t believe it’s true, That we should have a puddin’-thief Or two in Tooraloo.

“It is enough to make one dumb And very pale in hue To know that puddin’-thieves should come To sacred Tooraloo.

“The Law’s just anger must appear. Ho! seize these scoundrels who Pollute the moral atmosphere Of rural Tooraloo.”

“We protest against these cruel words,” said the Possum. “We have been assaulted and battered and snout-bended by ruffians of the worst description.”

“How can Your Worship say such things,” said the Wombat, “and us a-wearin’ belltoppers before your very eyes.”

“If you’ve been assaulted and battered,” said the Mayor, “we shall have to arrest the assaulters and batterers as well.”

“What’s fair to one is fair to all,” said the Constable. “You’ll admit that, of course?” he added to Bill.

“I admit nothin’ of the sort,” said Bill. “If you want to arrest anybody, do your duty and arrest these here puddin’-snatchers.

“If you’re an officer of the Law, A constant felon-catcher, Then do not hesitate before A common puddin’-snatcher.”

“We call on you to arrest these assaulters and batterers of people wearing top-hats,” said the puddin’-thieves;

“Our innocence let all attest, We prove it by our hatter; It is your duty to arrest Not those in top-hats of the best, But those who top-hats batter.”

“It’s very clear that somebody has to be arrested,” said the Mayor. “I can’t be put to the trouble of wearing my robes of office in public without somebody having to pay for it. I don’t care whether you arrest the top-hat batterers, or the battered top-hatterers; all I say is, do your duty, whatever happens—

“So somebody, no matter who, You must arrest or rue it; As I’m the Mayor of Tooraloo, And you’ve the painful job to do, I call on you to do it.”

“Very well,” said the Constable, peevishly, “as I’ve got to take all the responsibility, I’ll settle the matter by arresting the Puddin’. As far as I can see, he’s the ringleader in this disturbance.”

“You’re a carrot-nosed poltroon,” said the Puddin’ loudly. “As for the Mayor, he’s a sausage-shaped porous plaster,” and he gave him a sharp pinch in the leg.

“What a ferocious Puddin’,” said the Mayor, turning as pale as a turnip. “Officer, do your duty and arrest this dangerous felon before he perpetrates further sacrilegious acts.”

“That’s all very well, you know,” said the Constable, turning as pale as tripe; “but he might nip me.”

“I can’t help that,” cried the Mayor, angrily. “At all costs I must be protected from danger. Do your duty and arrest this felon with your hat.”

The Constable looked around, gasped, and, summoning all his courage, scooped up the Puddin’ in his hat.

“My word,” he said, breathlessly, “but that was a narrow squeak. I expected every moment to be my last.”

“Now we breathe more freely,” said the Mayor, and led the way to the Tooraloo Court House.

“If this isn’t too bad,” said Bill, furiously. “Here we’ve had all the worry and trouble of fightin’ puddin’-thieves night and day, and, on top of it all, here’s this Tooralooral tadpole of a Mayor shovin’ his nose into the business and arrestin’ our Puddin’ without rhyme or reason.”

As they had arrived at the Court House at that moment, Bill was forced to smother his resentment for the time being. There was nobody in Court except the Judge and the Usher, who were seated on the bench having a quiet game of cards over a bottle of port.

“Order in the Court,” shouted the Usher, as they all came crowding in; and the Judge, seeing the Constable carrying the Puddin’ in his hat, said severely:

“This won’t do, you know; it’s Contempt of Court, bringing your lunch here.”

“An’ it please you, My Lord,” said the Constable hurriedly, “this here Puddin’ has been arrested for pinching the Mayor.”

“As a consequence of which, I see you’ve pinched the Puddin’,” said the Judge facetiously. “Dear me, what spirits I am in to-day, to be sure!”

“The felon has an aroma most dangerously suggestive of beef gravy,” said the Usher, solemnly.

“Beef gravy?” said the Judge. “Now, it seems to me that the aroma is much more subtly suggestive of steak and kidney.”

“Garnished, I think, with onions,” said the Usher.

“In order to settle this knotty point, just hand the felon up here a moment,” said the Judge. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a knife about you?” he asked.

“I’ve got a paper-knife,” said the Usher; and, the Puddin’ having been handed up to the bench, the Judge and the Usher cut a slice each, and had another glass of port.

Bill was naturally enraged at seeing total strangers eating Puddin’owners’ private property, and he called out loudly:

“Common justice and the lawful rights of Puddin’-owners.”

“Silence in the Court while the Judge is eating,” shouted the Usher; and the Judge said severely:

“I really think you ought To see I’m taking food, So, Silence in the Court! (I’m also taking port), If you intrude, in manner rude, A lesson you’ll be taught.”

“An’ it please Your Lordship,” said the Mayor, pointing to Bill, “this person is a brutal assaulter of people wearing top-hats.”

“No insults,” said Bill, and he gave the Mayor a slap in the face.

The Mayor went as pale as cheese, and the Usher called out: “No face-slapping while the Judge is dining!” and the Judge said, angrily:

“It’s really far from nice, As you ought to be aware, While I am chewing a slice, To have you slapping the Mayor. If I have to complain