The Magic Pudding Part 8

'I've got him,' shouted Bill. 'Catch a hold of his other leg and give me a chance to get his whiskers off.'

'But why are you taking his whiskers off?' inquired Bunyip Bluegum.

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'Because they're stuck on with glue,' shouted Bill. 'I saw it at a glance. It's Watkin Wombat, Esq., disguised as a company promoter.'

'Dear me,' said Bunyip, hurriedly, 'you are making a mistake. This is not a puddin'-thief, this is an Uncle.'

'A what?' exclaimed Bill, letting go the whiskers.

'An Uncle,' replied Bunyip Bluegum.

'An Uncle,' roared Uncle Wattleberry. 'An Uncle of the highest integrity. You have most disgracefully and unmercifully pulled an Uncle's whiskers.'

'I can a.s.sure you,' said Bill, 'I pulled them under the delusion that you was a disguised Wombat.'

'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-eyed, 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 a.s.suaged 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 amus.e.m.e.nt 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.

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'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.'

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'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 n.o.ble intentions we have, you'd be ashamed of them words.'

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'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.

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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 other's toes--especially Sam's, who endured agonies, having no boots on.

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'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 m.u.f.fled tones--