Back at the table, Pikkle licked his spoon clean, quaffed down a beaker of shrewbeer and began on his third pudding. “Absolutely delicious pud, wot? You must tell cook to give me the recipe. Old Tubbyguts is enjoyin’ it, too, aren’t you old lad? My my, you are a messy eater, Tubbyguts!”

With pudding festooning his chin and apple smeared across his face, the fat shrew lifted his head and glared at Pikkle. “The name’s Tubgutt, hare, and I’ll make you sorry you ever went into a contest against me!”

“Sorry, old chap? One could never be sorry with all this beautiful scoff about. May I pour you some more shrewbeer?”

At the end of his eighth bowl Tubgutt began to slow down. He put the bowl aside and reached for another. Bowley the cook rapped his paw with a ladle.

“Bowl not finished there. Still puddin’ in it, see.”

“Never mind, chum.” Pikkle grabbed the bowl from Tubgutt. “You carry on—I’ll finish it. Waste not want not, that’s what we always say back at the mountain!”

Pikkle was becoming very popular with the shrews. His good humor and impeccable table manners endeared him to them. The Gousssom began to cheer support for the young hare.

“Come on, Pik. Slow and easy does the trick!”

“I’ll bet a barrel of shrewbeer he beats Tubgutt!”

“I’ll take that bet. Tubgutt’s eaten nine, he’s only on his sixth.”

“I’ll bet my sword the mountain hare wins. He’s a good un!”

The banter went back and forth as the two contestants battled on. Tubgutt undid his belt and leaned back. A look of disgust crossed his face as he picked up his eleventh pudding and dug a spoon halfheartedly into it. Pikkle now had eight empty bowls to his credit and was halfway through his ninth. The incorrigible hare drank another beaker of shrewbeer, wiped his lips delicately on a napkin and winked at his opponent.

“Good stuff this. I say, Tubby guts, don’t take that one—it looks bigger than the rest. Leave it for me. Try that little one—it only looks half full, wot!”

On his thirteenth pudding Tubgutt stopped. He was breathing heavily and his mouth hung slackly open. The two little thin shrews fanned him with napkins and gave him a beaker of shrewbeer, but he pushed it away with a flabby paw.

Mara nudged Nordo. “Now watch Pikkle really take off!”

The young hare now had eleven empty bowls to his credit. He licked his spoon shiny clean and selected a twelfth.

“Tubbyguts old pal, you’ve gone green. I must say, you looked much better your other color. Pass another pudden, will you?”

With the spoon halfway to his lips, Tubgutt’s stomach heaved and his paw went limp. The spoon clattered back into the bowl.

A hushed silence fell over the onlookers.