"Take me watermelon," he gasped, "but spare me life."

"Stuff an' nonsense," said Bill. "We don't want your life.
What we want is some information. Have you seen a singed possum
about this morning?"

"Singed possums, sir, yes sir, certainly sir," gasped the
Bandicoot, trembling violently.

"What, exclaimed Bill, "Do yer mean to say you have seen a
singed possum?"

"Singed possums, sir, yes sir," gulped the Bandicoot. "Very
plentiful, sir, this time of the year, sir, owing to the bush
fires, sir."

"Rubbish," roared Bill. "I don't believe he's seen a singed
possum at all."

"No, sir," quavered the Bandicoot. "Certainly not, sir.
Wouldn't think of seeing singed possums if there was any
objection, sir."

"You're a poltroon," shouted Bill. "You're a slaverin',
quaverin', melon-carryin' nincompoop. There's no more chance
of getting information out of you than out of a terrified Turnip."

Leaving the Bandicoot to pursue his quavering, melon-humping
existence, they set off again, Bill giving way to some very
despondent expressions.