Buch lesen: «Paddington on Top»

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

1. Paddington Goes to School

2. Paddington Cleans Up

3. Paddington Goes to Court

4. A Birthday Treat

5. Keeping Fit

6. Paddington in Touch

7. Comings and Goings at Number Thirty-Two

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Other Books by Michael Bond

About the Publisher

Chapter One PADDINGTON GOES TO SCHOOL

“PADDINGTON HAS TO go to school?” exclaimed Mrs Brown. She clutched at the front door of number thirty-two Windsor Gardens and gazed at the man standing on the step. “But there must be some mistake. Paddington isn’t a…” She broke off as Mrs Bird gave her a nudge. “I mean, he’s a…”

“May I ask why he has to go to school?” interrupted the Browns’ housekeeper.

The man consulted a pile of papers in his hand. “According to our information,” he said, “he’s been living here for a number of years and we’ve no record of a single attendance at St Luke’s or anywhere else for that matter.”

“But he was brought up in Darkest Peru,” exclaimed Mrs Brown. “His Aunt Lucy taught him all she knew before he left. She had to go into a Home for Retired Bears in Lima, you see, and…” Her voice trailed away as she caught sight of the expression on the School Inspector’s face.

“I’m very much afraid,” he said, allowing himself a slight smile, “that neither the Home for Retired Bears in Lima nor Aunt Lucy happen to be on our list of approved establishments.”

He snapped the file shut with an air of finality. “We shall expect to see him at school first thing tomorrow morning,” he continued sternly, “otherwise certain steps will have to be taken.”

Mrs Brown gazed after the Inspector as he disappeared down the road. “Tomorrow morning!” she repeated. “What are we going to do?”

“I think,” said Mrs Bird wisely, “there’s only one thing we can do. Make sure that bear arrives on time. After all,” she added meaningly, “we do have his circumstances to think of. I daresay it’s only a matter of the authorities setting their records to rights, but until they do, I think we’d better tread very carefully.

“And if Paddington is going to school tomorrow,” she continued, “we’d better get busy as well. I must sew a name-tag on his duffle coat for a start. We shall never hear the last of it if that gets lost.” Mrs Bird paused at the kitchen door. “Will you tell him or shall I?”

Mrs Brown gave a sigh. “I will,” she said.

She knew exactly what Mrs Bird meant. Ever since Paddington first arrived on the scene, she’d had a nagging fear in the back of her mind that something like this would happen if only because they’d never actually reported his arrival to anyone, and the thought of breaking the news to him was not one she exactly relished.

But Paddington took the matter surprisingly well, and while the others busied themselves getting his things ready, he spent the afternoon going through some of Jonathan and Judy’s old text books. The rest of the time he spent polishing his suitcase, and that evening he even had a bath without being asked, which was most unusual.

All in all, he looked so spick and span the following morning, even Mrs Bird’s eagle eyes were unable to find fault.

“I still can’t believe it,” said Mrs Brown, as he set off down the road. “The house’ll seem so quiet without him.”

Mrs Bird gave a snort. “I should make the most of it,” she said. “You mark my words, it’ll be four o’clock and he’ll be back home again before we’ve had time to turn round.”

All the same, it was noticeable that the Browns’ housekeeper spent an unusually long time cleaning the step that morning, and she didn’t finish it until long after the small figure in a duffle coat and hat had disappeared around the corner.

But Paddington himself didn’t have any time to dwell on the matter. The school was only a short distance away from Windsor Gardens and as he drew near, one of the teachers hurried forward to greet him.

“Good morning,” he said. “I take it you’re one Brown, P?”

“One brown pea?” repeated Paddington in surprise. He gave the man a hard stare. “No, I’m not. I’m Paddington Brown.”

The man let go of Paddington’s paw. “Er… that’s really what I was asking,” he said nervously. “I have instructions to check your arrival. If you hurry, you’ll just be in time for the roll.”

Paddington licked his lips. A roll sounded a very good way in which to start the day. “I think I shall enjoy that,” he announced.

“Good,” said the man, looking somewhat relieved. “We thought we’d put you in the Lower Fourth to start with. Mr Eustace’s class. That’s until we’ve had time to check your capabilities.” He beckoned to a boy who was standing nearby. “Young Smith here will show you where to go.”

“Gosh! Fancy putting you into old Eustace’s class,” said the boy sympathetically, as he led the way into the main building. “Hard luck! I should watch it. If he gets his knife into you, you’ll be for it.”

Paddington looked around nervously as he followed the boy into the classroom. It was a large room with windows running the length of one side. There was a blackboard on an adjoining wall and a number of desks were dotted around facing it. But although there were several other pieces of equipment he couldn’t see any actual cutlery, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he was ushered towards the front of the class.

There were about thirty other pupils already in the room and they all crowded around, anxious to make his acquaintance. Paddington was a popular figure in the neighbourhood and most of the class wanted him to sit near them.

There was soon an argument raging, and it was while the excitement was at its height that the door suddenly opened and an angular figure in a tweed suit entered the room.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he bellowed. “Back to your desks at once!”

Standing on a platform in front of the blackboard, he glowered down at the class as they scurried to their places.

“Now,” he called sarcastically, when order had been restored, “I assume I have your permission to take the roll?”

Anxious to make a good impression on his first day, Paddington busied himself behind his desk lid. “I shan’t be a moment, Mr Eustace,” he called. “I’ve nearly finished. I’ve got over thirty-three already!”

“Over thirty-three?” repeated the Form teacher in surprise.

“That’s right,” said Paddington. “That’s one each and three spare.”

“One each and three spare?” Mr Eustace stared at Paddington as if he’d suddenly lost the use of his hearing. “Three spare what?”

“Marmalade sandwiches,” explained Paddington cheerfully. He lowered his desk lid. “I hope they’ll do. I’m afraid I didn’t bring any rolls. But I’ve got some sliced loaf and some of my special marmalade from the cut-price grocers.”

“Marmalade sandwiches!” spluttered Mr Eustace. He bounded from the platform, all thoughts of checking the list of those present driven from his mind as he peered inside Paddington’s desk.

“I’ve a good mind to take these to the headmaster!” he cried.

It was Paddington’s turn to look as if he could hardly believe his ears. “All thirty-three?” he exclaimed in amazement. “Even I’ve never managed that many.”

“Silence!” shouted Mr Eustace as a titter ran around the room.

“I mean,” he said, breathing heavily as he turned back to Paddington, “that I am confiscating them. Marmalade sandwiches indeed! I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Paddington slumped back into his seat. He’d never heard of anyone having their marmalade sandwiches confiscated either, and he looked most offended.

“You’re not here to learn how to make sandwiches,” said the teacher as he removed the pile and placed it on his own desk. “You’re here to learn the three Rs.”

“The three Rs?” repeated Paddington in surprise. Despite his feeling of indignation at the unexpected loss of his sandwiches, he couldn’t help being interested at this sudden turn of events. “I didn’t know there were three Rs.”

“Ah,” said Mr Eustace, with satisfaction. “We learn something new every day. The three Rs,” he continued, “are Reading, Writing and Arithmetic, and today we happen to be starting with arithmetic.”

He turned to the blackboard. “Now,” he said, pointing to some figures, “I have written out a little problem, and I’ve made a deliberate mistake. Can anyone tell me what it is?”

In his haste to be first with the answer, Paddington nearly fell off his seat. “I can!” he exclaimed, raising his paw as high as he could.

“Ah, Brown,” said the teacher, eyeing him slightly less disapprovingly. “I’m glad to see you’re quick off the mark. What is your answer?”

“You don’t spell arithmetic with an R, Mr Eustace,” said Paddington excitedly.

Mr Eustace stared at him. “I know you don’t spell it with an R,” he said impatiently.