'My word,' said Bill, when the Puddin' was brought back. 'You have to be as smart as paint to keep this Puddin' in order. He's that artful, lawyers couldn't manage him. Put your hat on, Albert, like a little gentleman,' he added, placing the basin on his head. He took the Puddin's hand, Sam took the other, and they all set off along the road. A peculiar thing about the Puddin' was that, though they had all had a great many slices off him, there was no sign of the place whence the slices had been cut.
'That's where the Magic comes in,' explained Bill. 'The more you eats the more you gets. Cut-an'-come-again is his name, an' cut, an' come again, is his nature. Me an' Sam has been eatin' away at this Puddin' for years, and there's not a mark on him. Perhaps,' he added, 'you would like to hear how we came to own this remarkable Puddin'.'
'Nothing would please me more,' said Bunyip Bluegum.
'In that case,' said Bill, 'let her go for a song.'
'Ho, the cook of the Saucy Sausage,
Was a feller called Curry and Rice,
A son of a gun as fat as a tun
With a face as round as a hot-cross bun,
Or a barrel, to be precise.
'One winter's morn we rounds the Horn,
A-rollin' homeward bound.
We strikes on the ice, goes down in a trice,
And all on board but Curry and Rice
And me an' Sam is drowned.
'For Sam an' me an' the cook, yer see,
We climbs on a lump of ice,
And there in the sleet we suffered a treat
For several months from frozen feet,
With nothin' at all but ice to eat,
And ice does not suffice.
'And Sam and me we couldn't agree
With the cook at any price.
We was both as thin as a piece of tin
While that there cook was busting his skin
On nothin' to eat but ice.