"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?"