Chapter 5

"Gentlemen of the jury," said Bill, "the case before you is one aboundin' in horror and amazement. Persons of the lowest morals has disguised themselves in pot-hats in order to decoy a Puddin' of tender years from his lawful guardians. It is related in the archives of the Noble Order of Puddin'-Owners that previous to this dastardly attempt a valuable bag, the property of Sir Benjimen Brandysnap, had been stolen and the said Puddin'-owners invited to look at a present inside it. The said bag was then pulled over their heads, compellin' the Puddin'-owners aforesaid to endure agonies of partial suffocation, let alone walkin' on each others corns for several hours. Had not Sir Benjimen, the noble owner, appeared like a guardian angel and undone the bag, it is doubtful if Sir Samuel Sawnoff's corns could have stood the strain much longer, his groans bein' such as would have brought tears to the eyes of a hard-boiled egg."

"A very moving story," said the Constable, and the Mayor was so affected that the Constable had to stuff a banana into his mouth to prevent him bursting into tears.

"I now propose to call Sir Benjimen Brandysnap as first witness for the prosecution," said Bill. "Kindly step into the witness-box, Sir Benjimen, and relate the circumstances ensuin' on your bag bein' stole."

Benjimen stepped into the box and, taking a piece of paper from his egg basket, said solemnly: "I was very busy that morning, Gentlemen of the jury, owing to the activity of the vegetables, as hereunder described:

"On Tuesday morn, as it happened by chance, The parsnips stormed in a rage, Because the young carrots were singing like parrots On top of the onions' cage.

"The radishes swarmed on the angry air Around with the bumble bees, While the brussels-sprouts were pulling the snouts Of all the young French peas.

"The artichokes bounded up and down On top of the pumpkins' heads, And the cabbage was dancing the highland fling All over the onion beds.

"So I hadn't much time, as Your Honour perceives, For watching the habits of puddin'thieves."

"Tut, tut, Sir Benjimen," said Bill, "stir up your memory, sir; cast your eye over them felons in the dock, and tell the Court how you seen them steal the bag."

"The fact is," said Benjimen, after studying the puddin'-thieves carefully, "as they had their backs turned to me when they were engaged in stealing the bag, I should be able to judge better if they were turned round."

"Officer," said Bill to Bunyip Bluegum, "Kindly turn the felons' backs to the witness."

The Possum and the Wombat objected, saying there wasn't room enough in the witness-box to turn round, so it was found necessary to twist their snouts the opposite way.

"From this aspect," said Ben, "I have no hesitation in saying that those are the backs that stole the bags."

"Make a note of that, Gentlemen of the jury," said Bill, and the Constable obligingly made a note of it on his banana bag.

"The identity of the bag-stealers bein' now settled," went on Bill, "I shall kindly ask Sir Benjimen to step down, and call on Sir Samuel Sawnoff to ascend the witness-box."

Sam stepped up cheerfully, but, as the witness-box was the wrong size for Penguins, they had to hand him a chair to stand on.

"Now, Sir Samuel," said Bill, impressively, "I am about to ask you a most important leadin' question. Do you happen to notice such a thing as a Puddin' in the precinks of the Court?"

Sam shaded his eyes with his flapper and, seeing the Puddin' on the bench, started back dramatically.

"Do my eyes deceive me, or is yon object a Puddin'?" he cried.

"Well acted," said the Mayor, and the Constable clapped loudly. "I am now about to ask you another leadin' question," said Bill. "Do you recognize that Puddin'?"

"Do I recognize that Puddin'?" cried Sam in thrilling tones. "That Puddin', sir, is dearer to me than an Uncle. That Puddin', sir, an' me has registered vows of eternal friendship and esteem.

"That Puddin', sir, an' me have sailed the seas, Known tropic suns, and braved the Artic breeze. We've heard on Popocatepetl's peak The savage Tom-Tom sharpenin' of his beak. We've served the dreadful Jim-Jam up on toast, When shipwrecked off the Coromandel coast, And when we heard the frightful Bim-Bam rave, Have plunged beneath the Salonican wave. We've delved for Bulbuls' eggs on coral strands, And chased the Pompeydon in distant lands. That Puddin', sir, and me, has, back to back, Withstood the fearful Rumty Tums' attack, And swum the Indian Ocean for our lives, Pursued by Oysters, armed with oyster knives. Let me but say, e'er these adventures cloy, I've knowed that Puddin' since he were a boy."

"All lies," sang out the Puddin', looking over the rim of his basin. "For well you know that you and old Bill Barnacle collared me off Curry and Rice after rollin him off the iceberg."

"Albert, Albert," said Bill, sternly. "Where's your manners interruptin' Sir Samuel in that rude way, and him a-performin' like an actor for your deliverance!"

" How much longer do you expect me to stay up here, bein' guzzled by these legal land-crabs?" demanded the Puddin'.

"You shall stay there, Albert, till the case is well and truly tried by these here noble Peers of the Realm assembled," said Bill, impressively.

"Too much style about you," said the Puddin', rudely, and he threw the Judge's glass of port into Bill's face, remarking: "Take that, for being a pumpkin-headed old shellback."

There was a great uproar over this very illegal act. The Judge was enraged at losing his port, and the Mayor was filled with horror because Bill wiped his face on the mayoral hat, Sam had to feign amazement at being called a liar, and the puddin'-thieves kept shouting "Time, time; we can't stand here all day."

In desperation, Bill bawled at the top of his voice: "I call on Detective Bluegum to restore order in the Court."

Bunyip ran into the witness-box and, with a ready wit, shouted I have dreadful news to impart to this honourable Court."

All eyes, of course, turned on Bunyip, who, raising his hand with an impressive gesture, said in thrilling tones: "From information received, it has been discovered that the Puddin' was poisoned at ten-thirty this morning."

This news restored order at once. The Judge turned pale as lard, and the Usher, having a darker complexion, turned as pale as soap. The Puddin' couldn't turn pale, so he let out a howl of terror.

"Poisoned," said the Usher, feebly. "How, how?"

"Poisoned," said the Judge, feeling his stomach with trembling hands. "Until this moment I was under the delusion that a somewhat unpleasant sensation of being, as it were, distended, was merely due to having eaten seven slices. But if--"

"If," said the Usher, in a quavering voice--

"If you take a poisoned Puddin' And that poisoned Puddin' chew, The sensations that you suffer I should rather say were due To the poison in the Puddin' In the act of Poisoning You. And I think the fact suffices Through this dreadfulest of crimes, As you've eaten seven slices You've been poisoned seven times."

"It was your idea having it up on the bench," said the Judge, angrily, to the Usher. "Now,

"If what you say is true, That idea you'll sadly rue, The poison I have eaten is entirely due to you. It's by taking your advice That I've had my seventh slice, So I'll tell you what I'll do You unmitigated Jew, As a trifling satisfaction, Why, I'll beat you black and blue,"

and with that he hit the Usher a smart crack on the head with a port bottle.

"Don't strike a poisoned man," shouted the Usher; but the Judge went on smacking and cracking him with the bottle, singing--

"The emotion of pity Need never be sought In a Judge who's been poisoned By Puddin' and Port."

In desperation, the Usher leapt off the Bench, and landed head first in the dock, where he stuck like a sardine.

"Too bad, too bad," shouted the puddin'-thieves. "Crowding in here where there's only room for two." Before they could get rid of the Usher, the Judge bounded over the bench and commenced whacking them with the bottle, singing--

"As I find great satisfaction Hitting anybody who Can offer that distraction, Why, I'll have a go at you."

and he went on bounding and whacking away with the bottle, while the puddin'-thieves kept roaring, and the Usher kept screaming. The uproar was deafening.

"Just listen to it," said Bill, in despair. "I'd like to know how on earth we are going to finish the case with all this umptydoodle rumpus going on."

"Why," said Bunyip, "the simpler course is not to finish the case at all."

"Solved, as usual," said Bill and, seizing the Puddin' from the bench, he dashed out of Court, followed by Sam, Ben and Bunyip Bluegum.

As they ran, they could hear the Judge still whacking away at everybody, including the Mayor, and the Constable, whose screams were piercing. "Indeed," said Bunyip--

"I rather think they'll rather rue The haste with which they sought to sue Us in the Court of Tooraloo. For, mark how just is Fate!

"The whole benighted, blooming crew, The Puddin'-thieves, the Usher too, Are being beaten black and blue With bottles on the pate.

"I rather think they will eschew, In future, Puddin'-owners who Pass through the simple rural view About the town of Tooraloo."

"And now," said Bill, when they had run a mile or two beyond the town, "and now for some brilliant plan, swiftly conceived, which will put a stop to this Puddin'-snatchin' business for ever. For the point is," continued Bill, lowering his voice, "here we are pretty close up to the end of the book, and something will have to be done in a Tremendous Hurry, or else we'll be cut off short by the cover."

"The solution is perfectly simple," said Bunyip. "We have merely to stop wandering along the road, and the story will stop wandering through the book. This, too, will baffle the puddin' thieves, for while we wander along the road, our Puddin' is exposed to the covetous glances of every passing puddin'-snatcher. Let us, then, remove to some safe, secluded spot and settle down to a life of gaiety, dance and song, where no puddin'-thief will dare to show a sacrilegious head. Let us, in fact, build a house in a tree. For, mark the advantages of such a habitation--

"Up on high No neighbours pry In at the window, On the sly.

"Up on high Bricks you shy At bores and bailiffs Passing by.

"Up in a tree You're always free From bores and bailiffs, You'll agree.

"Up in the leaves One never grieves Over the pranks Of puddin'-thieves.

"If you would be Gay and free, Take my tip and Live in a tree."

"We will, we will," shouted the Puddin'-owners; but the Puddin' said sourly: "This is all very well, all this high falutin'. But what about the dreadful news of me being poisoned at ten-thirty this morning?"

"You ain't poisoned, Albert," said Bill. "That was only a mere ruse de guerre, as they say in the noosepapers."

A what?" demanded the Puddin', suspiciously.

"Let words be sufficient, without explanation," said Bill, severely. "And as we haven't time to waste talkin' philosophy to a Puddin', why, into the bag he goes, or we'll never get the story finished."

So Puddin' was bundled into the bag, and Bill said, hurriedly "Brilliant as our friend Bunyip has proved himself with his ready wit, it remains for old Bill to suggest the brightest idea of all. Here is our friend Ben, a market gardener of the finest description. Very well. Why not build our house in his market garden. The advantages are obvious. Vegetables free of charge the whole year round, and fruit in season. Eggs to be had for the askin', and a fine, simple, honest feller like Ben, to chat to of an evening. What could be more delightful?"

Ben looked very grave at this proposal, and began: "I very much doubt whether there will be enough bed clothes for four people, let alone the carrots are very nervous of strangers--" when Bill cut him short with a hearty clap on the back.

"Say no more," said Bill, handsomely. "Rough, good-humoured fellers like us don't need apologies, or any social fal-lals at all. We'll take you as we find you. Without more ado, we shall build a house in your market garden."

And, without more ado, they did.

The picture opposite saves the trouble of explaining how they built it, and what a splendid house it is. In order that the Puddin' might have plenty of exercise, they made him a little Puddin' paddock, whence he can shout rude remarks to the people passing by; a habit, I grieve to state, he is very prone to.

Of course, at night they pull up the ladder in case a stray puddin'-thief happens to be prowling around. If a friend calls to have a quiet chat, or to join in a sing-song round the fire, they let the ladder down for him.

And a very pleasant life they lead, sitting of a summer evening on the balcony while Ben does his little market-garden jobs below, and the Puddin' throws bits of bark at the cabbages, and pulls faces at the little pickle onions, in order to make them squeak with terror.

On winter nights there is always Puddin' and hot coffee for supper, and many's the good go-in I've had up there, a-sitting round the fire. I didn't mean to let on that I knew their address, on account of so many people wanting to have a go at the Puddin'. However, it's out now.

When the wind blows and the rain comes down, it's jolly sitting up aloft in the snug tree-house, especially when old Bill is in good form and gives us "The Salt Junk Sarah", with all hands joining in the chorus.

"Oh, rolling round the ocean, From a far and foreign land, May suit the common notion That a sailor's life is grand.

"But as for me, I'd sooner be A roaring here at home About the rolling, roaring life Of them that sails the foam.

"For the homeward-bounder's chorus, Which he roars across the foam, Is all about chucking a sailor's life, And settling down at home.

"Home, home, home, That's the song of them that roam, The song of the roaring, rolling sea Is all about rolling home."