“It’s really far from nice,
  As you ought to be aware,
While I am chewing a slice,
  To have you slapping the Mayor. 
If I have to complain of you again
  I’ll commit you in a trice,
  You’d better take my advice;
  Don’t let me warn you twice.”

“All very well for you to talk,” said Bill, scornfully, “sittin’ up there eatin’ our Puddin’.  I’m a respectable Puddin’-owner, an’ I calls on you to hand over that Puddin’ under threat of an action-at-law for wrongful imprisonment, trespass, and illegally using the same.”

“Personal remarks to the Judge are not allowed,” shouted the Usher, and the Judge said solemnly: 

“A Judge must be respected,
  A Judge you mustn’t knock,
Or else you’ll be detected
    And shoved into the dock. 
    You’ll get a nasty shock
    When gaolers turn the lock. 
In prison cell you’ll give a yell
    To hear the hangman knock.”

Here, the Usher took off his coat, as the day was warm, and hung it on the back of his chair.  He then rapped on the bench and said: 

“In the name of the Law I must request
Less noise while we’re having a well-earned rest. 
For the Judge and the Usher never must shirk
A well-earned rest in the middle of work. 
It’s the duty of both they are well aware
To preserve their precious lives with care;
It’s their duty, when feeling overwrought,
To preserve their lives with Puddin’ and Port.”

He sat down and tossed off a bumper of port to prove his words.  “Your deal, I think,” said the Judge, and they went on sipping and munching and dealing out cards.  At this, Bill gave way to despair.

“What on earth’s to be done?” he asked.  “Here’s these legal ferrets has got our Puddin’ in their clutches, and here’s us, spellbound with anguish, watchin’ them wolfin’ it.  Here’s a situation as would wring groans from the breast of a boiled onion.”

“Why it’s worse than droppin’ soverins down a drain,” said Sam.

“It’s worse than catchin’ your whiskers in the mangle,” said Bill.  By a fortunate chance, at this moment the Possum happened to put his snout within Bill’s reach, and Bill hit it a swingeing clout to relieve his feelings.

“It’s unlawful,” shouted the Possum, “to hit a man’s snout unexpectedly when he isn’t engaged puddin’-stealing.”

“Observe the rules,” said the Wombat solemnly.  “Be kind to snouts when not engaged in theft.”

“If it hadn’t been for you two tryin’ to steal our Puddin’ all this trouble wouldn’t have happened,” said Bill.

“It’s the Mayor’s fault for bringing us all here,” cried the Possum, angrily.  “If you was a just man, you’d clout him on the snout, too.”

“The Mayor’s to blame,” said the Wombat.  “What about the whole lot of us settin’ on to him?”

At this suggestion the Mayor trembled so violently that his hat fell off.