The Magic Pudding | Page 7

rapid back-flap and landing with a thump on Bill's head.
As Bill was unprepared for this act of boisterous humour, his face was
pushed into the Puddin' with great violence, and the gravy as splashed

in his eye.
"What d'yer mean, playin' such bungfoodlin' tricks on a man at
breakfast?" roared Bill.
"What d'yer mean," shouted the Puddin', "playing such foodbungling
tricks on a Puddin' being breakfasted at?"
"Breakfast humour, Bill, merely breakfast humour," said Sam, hastily.
"Humour's humour," shouted Bill, "but puddin' in the whiskers is no
joke."
"Whiskers in the Puddin' is worse than puddin' in the whiskers,"
shouted the Puddin', standing up in his basin.
"Observe the rules, Bill," said Sam hurriedly. "Boisterous humour at
the breakfast table must be greeted with roars of laughter."
"To Jeredelum with the rules," shouted Bill. "Pushing a man's face into
his own breakfast is beyond rules or reason, and deserves a punch in
the gizzard."
Seeing matters arriving at this unpromising situation, Bunyip Bluegum
interposed by saying, "Rather than allow this happy occasion to be
marred by unseemly recriminations, let us, while admitting that our
admirable friend, Sam, may have unwittingly disturbed the composure
of our admirable friend, Bill, at the expense of our admirable Puddin's
gravy, let us, I say, by the simple act of extending the hand of
friendship, dispel in an instant these gathering clouds of disruption. In
the words of the poem--
`Then let the fist of Friendship Be kept for Friendship's foes. Ne'er let
that hand in anger land On Friendship's holy nose.'"
These fine sentiments at once dispelled Bill's anger. He shook hands
warmly with Sam, wiped the gravy from his face, and resumed
breakfast with every appearance of hearty good humour.

The meal over, the breakfast things were put away in the bag, Sam and
Bill took Puddin' between them, and all set off along the road,
enlivening the way with song and story. Bill regaled them with portions
of the "Ballad of the Salt Junk Sarah," which is one of those songs that
go on for ever. Its great advantage, as Bill remarked, was that as it
hadn't got an ending it didn't need a beginning, so you could start it
anywhere.
"As for instance," said Bill, and he roared out--
"Ho, aboard the Salt Junk Sarah, Rollin' home across the line, The
Bo'sun collared the Captain's hat And threw it in the brine. Rollin'
home, rollin' home, Rollin' home across the foam, The Captain sat
without a hat The whole way rollin' home."
Entertaining themselves in this way as they strolled along, they were
presently arrested by shouts of "Fire! Fire!" and a Fireman in a large
helmet came bolting down the road, pulling a fire hose behind him.
"Aha!" said Bill. "Now we shall have the awe-inspirin' spectacle of a
fire to entertain us," and, accosting the Fireman, he demanded to know
where the fire was.
"The fact is," said the Fireman, "that owing to the size of this helmet I
can't see where it is; but if you will kindly glance at the surrounding
district, you'll see it about somewhere."
They glanced about and, sure enough, there was a fire burning in the
next field. It was only a cowshed, certainly, but it was blazing very
nicely, and well worth looking at.
"Fire," said Bill, "in the form of a common cowshed, is burnin' about
nor'-nor'-east as the crow flies."
"In that case," said the Fireman, "I invite all present to bravely assist in
putting it out. But," he added impressively, "if you'll take my advice,
you'll shove that Puddin' in this hollow log and roll a stone agen the
end to keep him in, for if he gets too near the flames he'll be cooked

again and have his flavour ruined."
"This is a very sensible feller," said Bill, and though Puddin' objected
strongly, he was at once pushed into a log and securely fastened in with
a large stone.
"How'd you like to be shoved in a blooming log," he shouted at Bill,
"when you was burning with anxiety to see the fire?" but Bill said
severely, "Be sensible, Albert, fires is too dangerous to Puddins'
flavours."
No more time was lost in seizing the hose and they set off with the
greatest enthusiasm. For, as everyone knows, running with the reel is
one of the grand joys of being a fireman. They had the hose fixed to a
garden tap in no time, and soon were all hard at work, putting out the
fire.
Of course there was a great deal of smoke and shouting, and getting
tripped up by the hose, and it was by the merest chance Bunyip
Bluegum glanced back in time to see the Wombat in the act of stealing
the Puddin' from the hollow