The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Magic Pudding, by Norman Lindsay This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: The Magic Pudding Author: Norman Lindsay Release Date: November 26, 2007 [EBook #23625] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAGIC PUDDING *** Produced by Suzanne Shell, Janet Blenkinship and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net The MAGIC PUDDING Written and Illustrated by NORMAN LINDSAY DOVER PUBLICATIONS, INC. Mineola, New York Bibliographical Note This Dover edition, first published in 2006, is an unabridged republication of the work published by Angus and Robertson, Ltd., Sydney, Australia, in 1918. International Standard Book Number: 0-486-45281-6 Manufactured in the United States of America Dover Publications, Inc., 31 East 2nd Street, Mineola, N.Y. 11501 CONTENTS First Slice Second Slice Third Slice Fourth Slice First Slice This is a frontways view of Bunyip Bluegum and his Uncle Wattleberry. At a glance you can see what a fine, round, splendid fellow Bunyip Bluegum is, without me telling you. At a second glance you can see that the Uncle is more square than round, and that his face has whiskers on it. [Pg 5] Contents [Pg 6] Looked at sideways you can still see what a splendid fellow Bunyip is, though you can only see one of his Uncle's whiskers. Observed from behind, however, you completely lose sight of the whiskers, and so fail to realize how immensely important they are. In fact, these very whiskers were the chief cause of Bunyip's leaving home to see the world, for, as he often said to himself— 'Whiskers alone are bad enough Attached to faces coarse and rough; But how much greater their offence is When stuck on Uncles' countenances.' [Pg 7] [Pg 8] The plain truth was that Bunyip and his Uncle lived in a small house in a tree, and there was no room for the whiskers. What was worse, the whiskers were red, and they blew about in the wind, and Uncle Wattleberry would insist on bringing them to the dinner table with him, where they got in the soup. Bunyip Bluegum was a tidy bear, and he objected to whisker soup, so he was forced to eat his meals outside, which was awkward, and besides, lizards came and borrowed his soup. His Uncle refused to listen to reason on the subject of his whiskers. It was quite useless giving him hints, such as presents of razors, and scissors, and boxes of matches to burn them off. On such occasions he would remark— [Pg 9] 'Shaving may add an air that's somewhat brisker, For dignity, commend me to the whisker.' Or, when more deeply moved, he would exclaim— 'As noble thoughts the inward being grace, So noble whiskers dignify the face.' Prayers and entreaties to remove the whiskers being of no avail, Bunyip decided to leave home without more ado. The trouble was that he couldn't make up his mind whether to be a Traveller or a Swagman. You can't go about the world being nothing, but if you are a traveller you have to carry a bag, while if you are a swagman you have to carry a swag, and the question is: Which is the heavier? [Pg 10] At length he decided to put the matter before Egbert Rumpus Bumpus, the poet, and ask his advice. He found Egbert busy writing poems on a slate. He was so busy that he only had time to sing out— 'Don't interrupt the poet, friend, Until his poem's at an end.' and went on writing harder than ever. He wrote all down one side of the slate and all up the other, and then remarked— 'As there's no time to finish that, The time has come to have our chat. Be quick, my friend, your business state, Before I take another slate.' 'The fact is,' said the Bunyip, 'I have decided to see the world, and I cannot make up my mind whether to be a Traveller or a Swagman. Which would you advise?' Then said the Poet— 'As you've no bags it's plain to see A traveller you cannot be; And as a swag you haven't either You cannot be a swagman neither. For travellers must carry bags, And swagmen have to hump their swags Like bottle-ohs or ragmen. As you have neither swag nor bag You must remain a simple wag, And not a swag- or bagman.' [Pg 11] [Pg 12] 'Dear me,' said Bunyip Bluegum, 'I never thought of that. What must I do in order to see the world without carrying swags or bags?' The Poet thought deeply, put on his eyeglass, and said impressively— 'Take my advice, don't carry bags, For bags are just as bad as swags; They're never made to measure. To see the world, your simple trick Is but to take a walking-stick— Assume an air of pleasure, And tell the people near and far You stroll about because you are A Gentleman of Leisure.' 'You have solved the problem,' said Bunyip Bluegum, and, wringing his friend's hand, he ran straight home, took his Uncle's walking-stick, and assuming an air of pleasure, set off to see the world. He found a great many things to see, such as dandelions, and ants, and traction [Pg 13] engines, and bolting horses, and furniture being removed, besides being kept busy raising his hat, and passing the time of day with people on the road, for he was a very well-bred young fellow, polite in his manners, graceful in his attitudes, and able to converse on a great variety of subjects, having read all the best Australian poets. Unfortunately, in the hurry of leaving home, he had forgotten to provide himself with food, and at lunch time found himself attacked by the pangs of hunger. 'Dear me,' he said, 'I feel quite faint. I had no idea that one's stomach was so important. I have everything I require, except food; but without food everything is rather less than nothing. 'I've got a stick to walk with. I've got a mind to think with. I've got a voice to talk with. I've got an eye to wink with. I've lots of teeth to eat with, A brand new hat to bow with, A pair of fists to beat with, A rage to have a row with. No joy it brings To have indeed A lot of things One does not need. Observe my doleful plight. For here am I without a crumb To satisfy a raging tum— O what an oversight!' As he was indulging in these melancholy reflexions he came round a bend in the road, and discovered two people in the very act of having lunch. These people were none other than Bill Barnacle, the sailor, and his friend, Sam Sawnoff, the penguin bold. Bill was a small man with a large hat, a beard half as large as his hat, and feet half as large as his beard. Sam Sawnoff's feet were sitting down and his body was standing up, because his feet were so short and his body so long that he had to do both together. They had a pudding in a basin, and the smell that arose from it was so delightful that Bunyip Bluegum was quite unable to pass on. [Pg 14] [Pg 15] 'Excuse me,' he said, raising his hat, 'but am I right in supposing that this is a steak-and-kidney pudding?' 'At present it is,' said Bill Barnacle. 'It smells delightful,' said Bunyip Bluegum. 'It is delightful,' said Bill, eating a large mouthful. Bunyip Bluegum was too much of a gentleman to invite himself to lunch, but he said carelessly, 'Am I right in supposing that there are onions in this pudding?' Before Bill could reply, a thick, angry voice came out of the pudding, saying— 'Onions, bunions, corns and crabs, Whiskers, wheels and hansom cabs, Beef and bottles, beer and bones, Give him a feed and end his groans.' 'Albert, Albert,' said Bill to the Puddin', 'where's your manners?' 'Where's yours?' said the Puddin' rudely, 'guzzling away there, and never so much as offering this stranger a slice.' 'There you are,' said Bill. 'There's nothing this Puddin' enjoys more than offering slices of himself to strangers.' 'How very polite of him,' said Bunyip, but the Puddin' replied loudly— 'Politeness be sugared, politeness be hanged, Politeness be jumbled and tumbled and banged. It's simply a matter of putting on pace, Politeness has nothing to do with the case.' [Pg 16] 'Always anxious to be eaten,' said Bill, 'that's this Puddin's mania. Well, to oblige him, I ask you to join us at lunch.' 'Delighted, I'm sure,' said Bunyip, seating himself. 'There's nothing I enjoy more than a good go in at steak-and-kidney pudding in the open air.' 'Well said,' remarked Sam Sawnoff, patting him on the back. 'Hearty eaters are always welcome.' 'You'll enjoy this Puddin',' said Bill, handing him a large slice. 'This is a very rare Puddin'.' 'It's a cut-an'-come-again Puddin',' said Sam. 'It's a Christmas, steak, and apple-dumpling Puddin',' said Bill. 'It's a—Shall I tell him?' he asked, looking at Bill. Bill nodded, and the Penguin leaned across to Bunyip Bluegum and said in a low voice, 'It's a Magic Puddin'.' 'No whispering,' shouted the Puddin' angrily. 'Speak up. Don't strain a Puddin's ears at the meal table.' 'No harm intended, Albert,' said Sam, 'I was merely remarking how well the crops are looking. Call him Albert when addressing him,' he added to Bunyip Bluegum. 'It soothes him.' 'I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Albert,' said Bunyip. 'No soft soap from total strangers,' said the Puddin', rudely. 'Don't take no notice of him, mate,' said Bill. 'That's only his rough and ready way. What this Puddin' requires is politeness and constant eatin'.' They had a delightful meal, eating as much as possible, for whenever they stopped eating the Puddin' sang out— 'Eat away, chew away, munch and bolt and guzzle, Never leave the table till you're full up to the muzzle.' [Pg 17] [Pg 18] But at length they had to stop, in spite of these encouraging remarks, and, as they refused to eat any more, the Puddin' got out of his basin, remarking—'If you won't eat any more here's giving you a run for the sake of exercise', and he set off so swiftly on a pair of extremely thin legs that Bill had to run like an antelope to catch him up. 'My word,' said Bill, when the Puddin' was brought back. 'You have to be as smart as paint to keep this Puddin' in order. He's that artful, lawyers couldn't manage him. Put your hat on, Albert, like a little gentleman,' he added, placing the basin on his head. He took the Puddin's hand, Sam took the other, and they all set off along the road. A peculiar thing about the Puddin' was that, though they had all had a great many slices off him, there was no sign of the place whence the slices had been cut. 'That's where the Magic comes in,' explained Bill. 'The more you eats the more you gets. Cut-an'-come-again is his name, an' cut, an' come again, is his nature. Me an' Sam has been eatin' away at this Puddin' for years, and there's not a mark on him. Perhaps,' he added, 'you would like to hear how we came to own this remarkable Puddin'.' 'Nothing would please me more,' said Bunyip Bluegum. 'In that case,' said Bill, 'let her go for a song.' 'Ho, the cook of the Saucy Sausage, Was a feller called Curry and Rice, A son of a gun as fat as a tun With a face as round as a hot-cross bun, [Pg 19] Or a barrel, to be precise. 'One winter's morn we rounds the Horn, A-rollin' homeward bound. We strikes on the ice, goes down in a trice, And all on board but Curry and Rice And me an' Sam is drowned. 'For Sam an' me an' the cook, yer see, We climbs on a lump of ice, And there in the sleet we suffered a treat For several months from frozen feet, With nothin' at all but ice to eat, And ice does not suffice. 'And Sam and me we couldn't agree With the cook at any price. We was both as thin as a piece of tin While that there cook was busting his skin On nothin' to eat but ice. [Pg 20] [Pg 21] 'Says Sam to me, "It's a mystery More deep than words can utter; Whatever we do, here's me an' you, Us both as thin as Irish stoo, While he's as fat as butter." 'But late one night we wakes in fright To see by a pale blue flare, That cook has got in a phantom pot A big plum-duff an' a rump-steak hot, And the guzzlin' wizard is eatin' the lot, On top of the iceberg bare.' 'There's a verse left out here,' said Bill, stopping the song, 'owin' to the difficulty of explainin' exactly what happened, when me and Sam discovered the deceitful nature of that cook. The next verse is as follows— 'Now Sam an' me can never agree What happened to Curry and Rice. The whole affair is shrouded in doubt, For the night was dark and the flare went out, And all we heard was a startled shout, Though I think meself, in the subsequent rout, That us bein' thin, an' him bein' stout, In the middle of pushin' an' shovin' about, He—MUST HAVE FELL OFF THE ICE.' 'That won't do, you know,' began the Puddin', but Sam said hurriedly, 'It was very dark, and there's no sayin' at this date what happened.' 'Yes there is,' said the Puddin', 'for I had my eye on the whole affair, and it's my belief that if he hadn't been so round you'd have never rolled him off the iceberg, for you was both singin' out "Yo heave Ho" for half an hour, an' him trying to hold on to Bill's beard.' [Pg 22] 'In the haste of the moment,' said Bill, 'he may have got a bit of a shove, for the ice bein' slippy, and us bein' justly enraged, and him bein' as round as a barrel, he may, as I said, have been too fat to save himself from rollin' off the iceberg. The point, however, is immaterial to our story, which concerns this Puddin'; and this Puddin',' said Bill patting him on the basin, 'was the very Puddin' that Curry and Rice invented on the iceberg.' 'He must have been a very clever cook,' said Bunyip. 'He was, poor feller, he was,' said Bill, greatly affected. 'For plum duff or Irish stoo there wasn't his equal in the land. But enough of these sad subjects. Pausin' only to explain that me an' Sam got off the iceberg on a homeward bound chicken coop, landed on Tierra del Fuego, walked to Valparaiso, and so got home, I will proceed to enliven the occasion with "The Ballad of the Bo'sun's Bride".' And without more ado, Bill, who had one of those beef-and-thunder voices, roared out— 'Ho, aboard the Salt Junk Sarah We was rollin' homeward bound, When the bo'sun's bride fell over the side And very near got drowned. Rollin' home, rollin' home, Rollin' home across the foam, She had to swim to save her glim And catch us rollin' home.' It was a very long song, so the rest of it is left out here, but there was a great deal of rolling and roaring in it, and they all joined in the chorus. They were all singing away at the top of their pipe, as Bill called it, when round a bend in the road they came on two low-looking persons hiding behind a tree. One was a Possum, with one of those sharp, snooting, snouting sort of faces, and the other was a bulbous, boozy-looking Wombat in an old long-tailed coat, and a hat that marked him down as a man you couldn't trust in the fowlyard. They were busy sharpening up a carving knife on a portable grind-stone, but the moment they caught sight of the travellers the Possum whipped the knife behind him and the Wombat put his hat over the grindstone. Bill Barnacle flew into a passion at these signs of treachery. 'I see you there,' he shouted. [Pg 23] 'You can't see all of us,' shouted the Possum, and the Wombat added, ''Cause why, some of us is behind the tree.' Bill led the others aside, in order to hold a consultation. 'What on earth's to be done?' he said. 'We shall have to fight them, as usual,' said Sam. 'Why do you have to fight them?' asked Bunyip Bluegum. 'Because they're after our Puddin',' said Bill. 'They're after our Puddin',' explained Sam, 'because they're professional puddin'-thieves.' 'And as we're perfessional Puddin'-owners,' said Bill, 'we have to fight them on principle. The fighting,' he added, 'is a mere flea-bite, as the sayin' goes. The trouble is, what's to be done with the Puddin'?' 'While you do the fighting,' said Bunyip bravely, 'I shall mind the Puddin'.' 'The trouble is,' said Bill, 'that this is a very secret, crafty Puddin', an' if you wasn't up to his game he'd be askin' you to look at a spider an' then run away while your back is turned.' [Pg 24] [Pg 25]