But when they were a safe distance away the Possum sang out: “You’ll repent this conduct. You’ll repent bending a man’s snout so that he can hardly see over it, let alone breathe through it with comfort,” and the Wombat added, “For shame, flapping a man with sore feet.”
“We laugh with scorn at threats,” said Bill, and he added as a warning—
“I don’t repent a snout that’s bent,
And if again I tap it,
Oh, with a clout I’ll bend that snout
With force enough to snap it.”
and Sam added for the Wombat’s benefit—
“I take no shame to fight the lame
When they deserve to cop it.
So do not try to pipe your eye,
Or with my flip I’ll flop it.”
The puddin’-thieves disappeared over the hill and, as the evening happened to come down rather suddenly at that moment, Bill said, “Business bein’ over for the day, now’s the time to set about makin’ the camp fire.”
This was a welcome suggestion, for, as all travellers know, if you don’t sit by a camp fire in the evening, you have to sit by nothing in the dark, which is a most unsociable way of spending your time. They found a comfortable nook under the hedge, where there were plenty of dry leaves to rest on, and there they built a fire, and put the billy on, and made tea. The tea and sugar and three tin cups and half a pound of mixed biscuits were brought out of the bag by Sam, while Bill cut slices of steak-and-kidney from the Puddin’. After that they had boiled jam roll and apple dumpling, as the fancy took them, for if you wanted a change of food from the Puddin’, all you had to do was to whistle twice and turn the basin round.
After they had eaten as much as they wanted, the things were put away in the bag, and they settled down comfortably for the evening. “This is what I call grand,” said Bill, cutting up his tobacco. “Full-and-plenty to eat, pipes goin’ and the evenin’s enjoyment before us. Tune up on the mouth-organ, Sam, an’ off she goes with a song.”
They had a mouth-organ in the bag which they took turns at playing, and Bill led off with a song which he said was called
“When I was young I used to hold
I’d run away to sea,
And be a Pirate brave and bold
On the coast of Caribbee.
“For I sez to meself, `I’ll fill me hold
With Spanish silver and Spanish gold,
And out of every ship I sink
I’ll collar the best of food and drink.
“`For Caribbee, or Barbaree,
Or the shores of South Amerikee
Are all the same to a Pirate bold,
Whose thoughts are fixed on Spanish gold.’
“So one fine day I runs away
A Pirate for to be;
But I found there was never a Pirate left
On the coast of Caribbee.
“For Pirates go, but their next of kin
Are Merchant Captains, hard as sin,
And Merchant Mates as hard as nails
Aboard of every ship that sails.