"What's to be done about this astoundin' predicament?" said Bill.
"If there is a present, of course we may as well have it.
If there ain't a present, of course we shall simply have to punch
their snouts as usual."
"One must confess," said Bunyip Bluegum, "to the prompting of a certain curiosity as to the nature of this present;" and Sam added, "Anyway, there's no harm in having a look at it."
"No harm whatever," said the Possum, and he held the bag open invitingly. The Puddin'-owners hesitated a moment, but the temptation was too strong, and they all looked in together. It was a fatal act. The Possum whipped the bag over their heads, the Wombat whipped a rope round the bag, and there they were, helpless.
The worst of it was that the Puddin', being too short to look in, was left outside, and the puddin'-thieves grabbed him at once and ran off like winking. To add to the Puddin'-owners' discomfiture there was a considerable amount of bran in the bag; and, as Bill said afterwards, if there's anything worse than losing a valuable Puddin', it's bran in the whiskers. They bounded and plunged about, but soon had to stop that on account of treading on each others toes-especially Sam's, who endured agonies, having no boots on.
"What a frightful calamity," groaned Bill, giving way to despair. "It's worse than being chased by natives on the Limpopo River," said Sam.
"It's worse than fighting Arabs single-handed," croaked Bill.
"It's almost as bad as being pecked on the head by eagles," said
Sam, and in despair they sang in muffled tones
"O what a fearful fate it is,
O what a frightful fag,
To have to walk about like this
All tied up in a bag.
"Our noble confidence has sent
Us on this fearful jag;
In noble confidence we bent
To look inside this bag.
"Deprived of air, in dark despair
Upon our way we drag;
Condemned for evermore to wear
This frightful, fearsome bag."