"But now, if it is just the same to you, I will drop into plain every-day prose. You see, it is just this way, to put it in a condensed form: Myself and my fellow-Slambangarees are the sprites—or the fiends, if you will—of the canned plum-pudding. From being slammed and banged around so much in our cans we gain our name of Slambangaree. Now, you see, to put it more clearly than I could do in song, after you have eaten too much plum-pudding, against which I exhort you to refrain (for it is better to be temperate in all things), you fall asleep, and have awful nightmares—dream you are falling off houses, and all that sort of thing. It is the mission of the Slambangaree to bring about this condition of things. But as you cannot sleep to-night, I, the Slambangaree representing the plum-pudding you have eaten, have come to give you your nightmare while awake. My brother Slambangarees are taking care of the others who devoured the rest of the plum-pudding, and not until all that pudding is digested shall we be free disembodied spirits."
Here the Slambangaree took off its grin and wiped its mouth, after which the grin was readjusted with great care. Then it said, "I will now see what you have in your pockets, for I am a little curious."
Then, while Reginald felt very anxious about the precious things in his pockets, the Slambangaree's eyes became larger, and shot out of his head and across the room, seeming to be attached to long wands.
"Those are the roots of my eyes," it remarked, playfully, as it shot its eyeballs into the pockets of Reginald's trousers, and sang:
"Two boxwood tops herein I see,
A sling-shot and a knife,
And a tin horn that unto me,
With its uncanny witchery,
A burden makes of life.
"Here are two soldiers made of lead,
And here a little boat,
And seven agates, blue and red,
Likewise the hind leg and the head
Of a green candy goat."
Then the Slambangaree withdrew its eyes, as if satisfied with the result of its investigations, and, as it did so, noticed Reginald's drum lying on the floor. No sooner had it seen it than the roots of its eyes suddenly lengthened, and it began to play a solo on it with its eyeballs. As the rumpy-tum-tum filled the room, Reginald thought the noise would alarm the house and bring some one to his rescue. But in this he was mistaken. The Slambangaree played on until weary of the sport.
"How long is this going to last?" asked Reginald.
"Until the pudding within you is digested; you must have patience—"
"I would rather have some pepsin tablets," said Reginald.
"I suppose so," replied the Slambangaree; "but you must never be upset by yearning for the thing you haven't got, or you never will be happy. I can only leave you, as I said before, when the pudding is digested. I will therefore leave you by degrees. The better your digestion, the sooner you will be rid of me. Now for the fun!"