by Michael Bond
He tapped the side of his nose again. “Mum’s the word.”
“How about Mrs. Bird?” asked Paddington. “She’s not a mum, and she knows everything.”
“Especially Mrs. Bird by the sound of it,” said the man. “Remember, walls have ears, and whatever else happens, we must keep it a secret until after the concert. Listen carefully and I will give you your instructions for the night.”
“Wonders will never cease,” said Mrs. Bird two mornings later. “Paddington’s had a bath without being asked. He also wanted to know if I could get some stains off his duffle coat. He had a marmalade chunk stuck to one of the toggles.”
“Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Brown. “That is a bit worrying.”
Having a bear about the house was a heavy responsibility, and there were times when it was hard to picture what was going on in Paddington’s mind.
“He’s been acting strangely these last two days,” she said. “Ever since he got back from the market. He was going around peering at the walls this morning, and when I asked him if anything was the matter, all he said was ‘Mum’s the word.’ Then he began tapping the side of his nose.”
“I shouldn’t worry too much,” said Mrs. Bird. “There are no flies on that bear.”
“I suppose that’s why,” said Mrs. Brown vaguely.
“I only hope he enjoys the concert tonight,” said the Browns’ housekeeper.
“Paddington enjoys anything new,” said Mrs. Brown, trying to keep a brave face.
“That’s one of the nice things about him. Henry thought it would be a treat.”
It crossed Mrs. Bird’s mind that since Mr. Brown went off to work every morning, he didn’t have to face the consequences, but wisely she kept her thoughts to herself.
“We shall have to wait and see,” she said.
In the event, however, even Mrs. Bird could hardly fault Paddington’s behavior during the first half of the evening’s performance. He even insisted on being at the end of the row when they took their seats.
“I expect he wants to be near the ice creams,” whispered Jonathan.
Much to the Browns’ relief, it didn’t look as if the show involved any audience participation. It only needed a mind reader to ask for volunteers to go up onstage, or a magician who wanted to saw a member of the audience in two, and Paddington was usually the first to offer his services—almost always with disastrous results.
He didn’t even embarrass them by eating one of his marmalade sandwiches during the interval.
“I’m saving it until later,” he announced rather mysteriously.
The Browns heaved a sigh of relief. They still had vivid memories of the first time he had been taken to see a play. They had been occupying a box at the side the stalls, and Paddington had been so excited he accidentally dropped one of his sandwiches onto the head of a man sitting in a seat below them. At least they were safe from anything like that happening.
It wasn’t until the show was nearing the end that Mr. Brown happened to glance along the row and realized Paddington was missing.
“Where can he have got to?” asked Mrs. Brown anxiously. “We shall never hear the last of it if he misses the grand finale. It’s supposed to be something spectacular.”
“Miss it, nothing!” exclaimed Jonathan, who had been sitting next to him. He pointed toward the stage as the curtain began to rise. “Look! He’s in it!”
“Mercy me!” cried Mrs. Bird as she caught sight of a grand piano with a familiar figure seated at the keyboard. “Whatever is that bear up to now?”
Sporadic applause greeted the surprise item, particularly as it was some while before anything actually happened. Having spent some time staring at an area above the keys with a hopeful expression on his face, almost as though he expected to see a door of some kind, Paddington climbed off the stool and went around to the side of the piano.
Raising the lid as best he could, he peered inside.
But if he was hoping to find what he was looking for, he was clearly disappointed. After several loud twangs as he felt around with his paw, he closed the lid and disappeared underneath the piano.
Growing increasingly restive at the delay, certain sections of the audience began to boo, and there were one or two catcalls from rougher elements at the back of the hall.
When Paddington finally emerged, he was mopping his brow, and there was a hunted look on his face as he called out to someone at the side of the stage.
“What did he say?” asked Mrs. Bird
“Something about not being able to find a socket,” said Jonathan.
“‘Chopsticks,’ Mr. Brown!” came a loud voice from somewhere nearby. “‘Chopsticks’!”
“Hear! Hear!” shouted someone else, or it could have been the same person disguising his voice.
Gradually the call was taken up by others until it seemed as though everyone was stamping their feet and shouting “Chopsticks” at the top of their voices.
As Paddington obliged, someone—it might have been the person who called out in the first place—led the audience in clapping to the beat of the music—and toward the end, when Paddington produced a sandwich from under his hat and took a large nibble, cheers shook the rafters.
The applause as Paddington stood to take his bow was deafening. So much so, he began looking anxiously at the ceiling.
“Best turn I’ve seen in years,” remarked a neighbor of the Browns as they left the theater. “We shall be seeing that bear’s name in lights one of these days.”
“If you want my advice,” said Mr. Gruber with a twinkle in his eye when he bumped into them farther along the road, “I should retire at your peak, Mr. Brown. Otherwise, you may find the going downhill from now on.”
Paddington stared at his friend. It really was uncanny how things kept repeating themselves.
“That’s exactly what my manager said!” he exclaimed. “But he did tell me he’s earmarked some of the money for the Home for Retired Bears in Lima. I must send Aunt Lucy a postcard and tell her to expect it.”
Jonathan gave his sister a nudge. “I didn’t know he had a manager. I wonder if that’s who it was calling out for ‘Chopsticks’?”
“He certainly saved the day,” said Judy. “Have you any idea who it was, Mr. Gruber?”
But for some reason best known to himself, Paddington’s friend was making haste to wave good night.
“To sum up,” said Mrs. Bird, as they turned into Windsor Gardens and the familiar green front door of number 32 came into view, “it proves there’s a lot of truth in the old saying ‘A friend in need is a friend indeed.’”
Chapter Four
PADDINGTON TAKES THE CAKE
ONE MORNING THE Brown family was about to sit down to breakfast as usual when Mr. Brown noticed something strange going on in the garden.
“What is Paddington up to!” he said as a familiar figure in a duffle coat dashed past the French windows. “That’s my best broom he’s got hold of.”
“Perhaps he’s sweeping up,” said Jonathan. “It looks as though he’s got a book of instructions.”
“Even Paddington can’t need instructions to sweep the patio,” said Mr. Brown.
“Besides, it’s my lawn broom. It’s a special one made of twigs.”
“Quick!” cried Judy as a shadowy figure shot past, heading back the way it had come. “There he goes again!”
From the brief glimpse they had, it looked as though Paddington was trying to keep the business end of Mr. Brown’s broom between his legs with one paw while at the same time wave a book up and down with his other, not unlike a bird that had fallen out of its nest and was learning to fly.
A moment later there was a loud clatter from somewhere outside, and a dustbin lid rolled slowly past the French windows.
Jonathan jumped to his feet. “It sounds as though he’s had a crash landing,” he cried.
“Are you surprised?” asked Judy. “He had his eyes closed.”
“It isn’t like him to go r
ushing around the garden before breakfast,” broke in Mrs. Brown. “I do hope he’s all right.”
“He was as right as rain when he went to bed last night,” said Judy. “I met him on the landing. He said he was going to do his accounts.”
“Perhaps he found he was overdrawn,” said Mr. Brown. “I’d better have a quiet word with him after breakfast.”
Mrs. Bird gave a snort as she came into the room carrying a coffeepot. “There’s nothing wrong with that bear’s accounts,” she said. “If you ask me, he’s planning something. Earlier on he was asking me if I had any pumpkins.”
“Ssh!” warned Mrs. Brown. “Here he comes.”
The Browns were only just in time. They had scarcely settled down, trying to look as though butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths, when Paddington entered the room.
After mopping his brow several times with a napkin, he joined them at the table, and while he was unscrewing the lid on the marmalade jar they managed to get a closer look at his book.
Most of the cover was filled with the silhouette of an elderly lady astride a broomstick. The pointed hat she wore matched her sharply pointed nose as she hovered above a row of chimney pots. Far from being called Teach Yourself to Fly, the book bore the words Everything You Need to Know About Witches, Warlocks, and Hobgoblins.
Mr. Brown gave a groan. “Of course! It’s October thirty-first.”
“Halloween,” said Judy.
“Trick-or-treat time,” added Jonathan.
Paddington spread a liberal helping of marmalade on his freshly buttered toast.
“Mr. Gruber lent it to me,” he explained. “I haven’t read anything about warlocks or hobgoblins yet, but there’s a very good chapter on witches and making masks. And there’s another one telling you how to decorate a patio using lanterns made out of hollowed-out pumpkins. They’re called jack-o’-lanterns, and if you put a lighted candle inside them it keeps evil spirits away.
“There’s another chapter on superstitions,” he continued. “It says if you take a three-legged stool and sit at some crossroads while the church clock strikes midnight, it will tell you the names of all those who will die during the next twelve months.”
“Very cheering, I must say,” said Mrs. Bird. “I know one thing. Anyone who sits on a stool near our crossroads at midnight could well end up at the top of the list.”
All the same, Paddington’s enthusiasm was infectious and as soon as the rest of the family finished their meal they gathered around his chair.
“I’ve never been to a Halloween party,” he said wistfully. “I don’t think they have them in Darkest Peru.”
Mrs. Brown caught her husband’s eye. “We haven’t had one for ages, Henry,” she said. “It might be fun.”
“Please, Dad,” chorused Jonathan and Judy.
Mr. Brown weakened. “Perhaps a small one,” he said. “Just for the family, but no more. It’s bad enough as it is with all those people ringing the front doorbell and calling ‘Trick or treat’ through the letter box. The only time I didn’t answer it last year, we lost our dustbin lid.”
“It did get found in the canal,” said Jonathan.
“I’ll get some chocolate bars in,” said Mrs. Brown hastily. “They always go down well.”
Paddington turned over the page. “There’s a recipe for a witches’ brew,” he read.
“It’s called stir fly, and it sounds very interesting.”
“I think you must mean ‘stir fry,’ dear,” said Mrs. Brown. “Unless, of course, it’s a misprint.”
Jonathan took a closer look. “No,” he said firmly. “Paddington’s right. It is stir fly.”
“It gives the recipe,” announced Paddington, reading from the book. “It’s a mixture of toenail clippings, bats’ blood, and dead flies.”
“Charming,” said Mr. Brown. “I can’t wait!”
“They’re not real,” piped up Judy, seeing the look on everyone’s faces. “You can make pretend toenail clippings out of pieces of chicory, and for the flies all you need are some old currants that have gone hard. Mix it all together with tomato ketchup, and Bob’s your uncle.”
“Bob’s welcome to it, whoever he is,” murmured Mr. Brown. “I’m not sure I wouldn’t prefer the real thing.”
“Look,” said Jonathan, gazing over Paddington’s shoulder. “There’s something here about taking a kipper to bed with you.”
“That’s another very good chapter,” said Paddington knowledgeably. “I read it under the eiderdown last night. It says if you take a kipper to bed and eat it before you go to sleep, the person you are going to marry will bring you a glass of water during the night to quench your thirst.”
“Hmm,” said Mrs. Bird. “I hope whoever it turns out to be is prepared to wash the sheets in the morning, that’s all I can say.”
“Anyway,” said Judy, “you’re not thinking of getting married, are you?”
“I might be,” said Paddington darkly. “There is another way,” he continued. “It says here, if you cut the letters of the alphabet out of some newspaper headlines and float them in a bowl of water, they will spell out the name for you.”
Mr. Brown pointedly glanced at his watch and then reached for his morning paper. “I think it’s time I went to the office,” he said. “It’s a bit early in the day for origami.”
“What a bit of luck it’s half term,” said Jonathan after Mr. Brown had said his good-byes. “We can help get everything ready.”
“If I were you, Paddington,” said Mrs. Bird, “I’d get down to the market as soon as possible. Once people begin to realize what day it is, there could be a run on pumpkins.” She reached for her handbag. “While you’re there you can get a box of night-lights to go inside them.”
“Don’t forget we need some chicory for the toenails,” called Judy.
Paddington made a note of it, and in no time at all he set off with his list, leaving Jonathan and Judy to start making the masks.
“Very wise,” said Mrs. Bird approvingly when she saw what they were up to. “Speaking from experience, that bear and glue pots are best kept as far apart as possible. He can help me with the pumpkins when he gets back.”
“You don’t think Paddington was serious about getting married, do you?” asked Judy when she and Jonathan were on their own.
“I can’t picture him carrying anyone over the threshold if that’s what you mean,” said Jonathan. “He’d be bound to drop them, or else get stuck halfway through the door; besides, he’s got to find someone first.”
“It’s hard to picture anyone wanting to share kippers in bed with him,” said Judy, reaching for the paint. “It would be a bad start to married life. I think we’re fairly safe.”
By the time Paddington got back from the market, they had both made so many masks it was hard to find anywhere to sit. Having tried his paw unsuccessfully at painting one while standing up, Jonathan suggested that Paddington might look in the garage for some old pieces of frayed rope so that he could make a wig for himself.
Mrs. Bird set to work hollowing out the pumpkins, and as soon as that job was done, having left Jonathan and Judy to put the night-lights inside them, she turned her attention to the cooking, leaving Paddington to look for some way of dying his wig black.
One way or another everyone was kept busy, but if the first half of the day passed quickly, waiting for it to get dark seemed to take forever.
In order to pass the time, Paddington retired to his bedroom to write some Halloween poems while he was trying out his costume.
“I’m ready for the trick-or-treat part,” he announced when he came back downstairs at long last.
With the addition of a black pointed hat similar to the one on the cover of Mr. Gruber’s book, everyone agreed he made a very good witch indeed. The finishing touch was a set of white fangs Judy had made for him out of some orange peel turned inside out.
“I wouldn’t like to meet you on a dark night,” said Jonathan when they went out into the front
garden.
“I thought perhaps we could start with Mr. Curry, as he’s nearest,” said Paddington.
“Do you think that’s wise?” asked Judy.
“I’ve written a special poem for him,” said Paddington. “I don’t want to waste it.”
“You must like living dangerously,” said Jonathan. “I doubt if you’ll get anything out of him. It would be easier to get blood out of a stone.”
“Pigs might fly!” agreed Judy.
“I don’t suppose he’ll recognize me in my outfit,” said Paddington optimistically, as he set off through the front gate, leaving the others to hide behind the fence.
“I wouldn’t bank on it,” called Jonathan.
But he was too late, for Paddington was already out of earshot.
Having pressed Mr. Curry’s bell push several times, Paddington hid in the shadows, carefully keeping the lantern behind him so that his face wouldn’t show.
“Yes?” barked the Browns’ neighbor as he opened the door a fraction and peered through the gap. “Who is it?”
“Hurry, hurry, Mr. Curry,” called Paddington, disguising his voice. “Give me a gift, and I’ll be swift.”
“Go away, bear!” exclaimed Mr. Curry. “How dare you! Any more of that nonsense and I shall call the police.” And with that he slammed the door in Paddington’s face.
“That settles it,” said Jonathan when they heard what had happened. “It’s time for tricks, not treats. I found a good one in your book while you were in the garage this morning. You tie one end of a length of cord to someone’s front doorknob. Then you pull it tight and tie the other end to a convenient tree.
“After that you ring the front doorbell and hide. If it’s done properly, when they try to open the door they think it’s stuck. I’ve brought some cord in case it was needed.”
“It’ll serve him right for being so mean,” said Judy.
“I’ll do it,” said Paddington eagerly. “Bears are good at knots.”