“How now,” exclaimed Uncle Wattleberry.  “My nephew Bunyip among these sacrilegious whisker-pluckers and nose-pullers.  My nephew, not only aiding and abetting these ruffians, but seeking to palliate their crimes!  This is too much.  My feelings are such that nothing but bounding and plunging can relieve them.”

And thereupon did Uncle Wattleberry proceed to bound and plunge with the greatest activity, shouting all the while

“You need not think I bound and plunge
  Like this in festive mood. 
I bound that bounding may expunge
  The thought of insult rude.

“An Uncle’s rage must seek relief,
  His anger must be drowned;
It is to soothe an Uncle’s grief
  That thus I plunge and bound.

“I bound and plunge, I seethe with rage,
  My mighty anger seeks
So much relief that I engage
  To plunge and bound for weeks.”

Seeing that there was no possibility of inducing Uncle Wattleberry to look at the affair in a reasonable light, they walked off and left him to continue his bounding and plunging for the amusement of the people of Bungledoo, who brought their chairs out on to the footpath in order to enjoy the sight at their ease.  Bill’s intention to regard everybody he met with suspicion was somewhat damped by this mistake, and he said there ought to be a law to prevent a man going about looking as if he was a disguised puddin’-thief.

The most annoying part of it all was that when the puddin’ thieves did make their appearance they weren’t disguised at all.  They were dressed as common ordinary puddin’-thieves, save that the Possum carried a bran bag in his hand and the Wombat waved a white flag.

“Well, if this isn’t too bad,” shouted Bill, enraged.  “What d’you mean, comin’ along in this unexpected way without bein’ disguised?”

“No, no,” sang out the Possum.  “No disguises to-day.”

“No fighting, either,” said the Wombat.

“No disguises, no fighting, and no puddin’-stealing,” said the Possum.  “Nothing but the fairest and most honourable dealings.”

“If you ain’t after our Puddin’, what are you after?” demanded Bill.

“We’re after bringing you a present in this bag,” said the Possum.

“Absurd,” said Bill.  “Puddin’-thieves don’t give presents away.”

“Don’t say that, Bill,” said the Possum, solemnly.  “If you only knew what noble intentions we have, you’d be ashamed of them words.”

“You’d blush to hear your voice a-utterin’ of them,” said the Wombat.

“I can’t make this out at all,” said Bill, scratching his head.  “The idea of a puddin’-thief offering a man a present dumbfounds me, as the saying goes.”

“No harm is intended,” said the Possum, and the Wombat added:  “Harm is as far from our thoughts as from the thoughts of angels.”

“Well, well,” said Bill, at length.  “I’ll just glance at it first, to see what it’s like.”