They set off at once, and, after a brisk walk, came to a small house with a signboard on it saying, “Henderson Hedgehog, Horticulturist.”  Henderson himself was in the garden, horticulturing a cabbage, and they asked him if he had chanced to see a singed possum that morning.  “What’s that?  What, what?” said Henderson Hedgehog, and when they had repeated the question, he said, " You must speak up, I’m a trifle deaf.”

“Have you seen a singed possum?” shouted Bill.  “I can’t hear you,” said Henderson.

“Have you seen a singed possum?” roared Bill.

“To be sure,” said Henderson, “but the turnips are backward.”

“Turnips be stewed,” yelled Bill in such a tremendous voice that he blew his own hat off.  “Have you seen A singed possum?”

“Good season for wattle blossom,” said Henderson.  “Well, yes, but a very poor season for carrots.”

“A man might as well talk to a carrot as try an’ get sense out of this runt of a feller,” said Bill, disgusted.  “Come an’ see if we can’t find someone that it won’t bust a man’s vocal cords gettin’ information out of.”

They left Henderson to his horticulturing and walked on till they met a Parrot who was a Swagman, or a Swagman who was a Parrot.  He must have been one or the other, if not both, for he had a bag and a swag, and a beak and a billy, and a thundering bad temper into the bargain, for the moment Bill asked him if he had met a singed possum he shouted back—­

" Me eat a singed possum!  I wouldn’t eat a possum if he was singed, roasted, boiled, or fried.”

" Not ett—­met,” shouted Bill.  “I said, met a singed possum.”

“Why can’t yer speak plainly, then,” said the Parrot.  “Have you got a fill of tobacco on yer?”

He took out his pipe and scowled at Bill.

“Here you are,” said Bill.  “Cut a fill an’ answer the question.”

" All in good time,” said the Parrot, and he added to Sam, “You got any tobacco?”

Sam handed him a fill, and he put it in his pocket.  “You ain’t got any tobacco,” he said scornfully to Bunyip Bluegum.  “I can see that at a glance.  You’re one of the non-smoking sort, all fur and feathers.”

“Here,” said Bill angrily, “Enough o’ this beatin’ about the bush.  Answer the question.”

“Don’t be impatient,” said the Parrot.  “Have you got a bit o’ tea an’ sugar on yer?”

“Here’s yer tea an’ sugar,” said Bill, handing a little of each out of the bag.  “An that’s the last thing you get.  Now will you answer the question?”

“Wot question,” asked the Parrot.

“Have yer seen a singed possum?” roared Bill.

“No, I haven’t,” said the Parrot, and he actually had the insolence to laugh in Bill’s face.

“Of all the swivel-eyed, up-jumped, cross-grained, sons of a cock-eyed tinker,” exclaimed Bill, boiling with rage.  “If punching parrots on the beak,wasn’t too painful for pleasure, I’d land you a sockdolager on the muzzle that ud lay you out till Christmas.  Come on, mates,” he added, “it’s no use wastin’ time over this low-down, hook-nosed, tobacco-grabber.  “And leaving the evil-minded Parrot to pursue his evil-minded way, they hurried off in search of information.